Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil by Anne Perry Page B

will her to come up with an answer. She wished she could be what he expected of her, and even now she wished she could think of something that really would help Minnie Maude.
    â€œIs it someone ’oo knew where Charlie’s stable is?” she asked, wondering if it was silly even as she said it. “Cos somebody ’ad a fight there. We saw the marks, an’ the blood on the floor.”
    â€œIndeed. And do you know if it was there before Alf went out with Charlie the day he was killed?” he asked with interest.
    She saw what he was thinking. “Yer mean if it weren’t Alf or Charlie, then it ’ad ter be ter do wi’ the casket?”
    â€œI was assuming that, yes. What does this Stan do for a living, Gracie? Do you know?”
    â€œYeah. ’E’s a cabbie …”
    Mr. Balthasar nodded slowly.
    â€œAn’ ’e’s mad, an’ scared,” she added eagerly. “D’yer think Minnie Maude worked that out too?” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what violence might have happened to Minnie Maude, if Stan were the one who had left the casket for the toff.
    â€œI think we had better finish our tea and go and speak to Cob,” Balthasar answered, rising to his feet again. “Come.”
    â€œI gotta get me own shawl, please?” she said reluctantly. Compared with the thick red one, hers was plain, and wet.
    â€œI will return it to you later,” he replied. “This one will keep you warm in the meantime. Come. Now that we have so many clues, we must make all the haste we can.” And he strode across the wooden floor and flung open the back door, grasping for a large black cape and swinging it around his shoulders as he went.
    Outside in the street he allowed her to lead the way, keeping up with her easily because his legswere twice the length of hers. They did not speak, simply meeting eyes as they came to a curb, watching for traffic, then continuing.
    They found Cob on his corner, the brazier giving off a warmth she could feel even when she was six or seven feet away.
    Balthasar stood in front of Cob, half a head taller and looking alarmingly large in his black cape. He seemed very strange, very different, and several people stared at him nervously as they passed, increasing their pace a little.
    â€œGood afternoon, Mr. Cob,” Balthasar said gravely. “I must speak to you about a very terrible matter. I require absolute honesty in your answers, or the outcome may be even worse. Do you understand me?”
    Cob looked taken aback. “I dunno yer, sir, an’ I dunno nothin’ terrible. I don’t think as I can ’elp yer.” He glanced at Gracie, then away again.
    â€œI don’t know whether you will, Mr. Cob. You may have black reasons of your own for keepingsuch secrets,” Balthasar answered him. “But I believe that you can.”
    â€œI don’t ’ave no—” Cob began.
    Balthasar held up his hand, commanding silence. “It concerns the murder of a man you know as Alf, and the abduction of Minnie Maude Mudway.”
    Cob paled.
    Balthasar nodded. “I see you understand me perfectly. When Alf left you, on the day he died, which way did he go?”
    Cob pointed south.
    â€œIndeed. And it was two streets farther than that where someone caught up with him and did him to death. Somewhere in that distance Alf gave the casket to somebody. Who lives or works along those streets, Mr. Cob, that Alf would know? A pawnshop, perhaps? A public house? An old friend? To whom would such a man give a golden casket?”
    Cob looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I dunno!” he protested. “ ’E di’n’t tell me!”
    â€œHow long after Alf spoke to you did this gaunt gentleman come by?”
    Cob moved his weight from one foot to the other. “Jus’ … jus’ a few moments.”
    â€œWas he on foot?”
    â€œCourse