The Casebook of Doakes and Haig

I looked at the figure, let out a low whistle, then stuck it in my pocket. "I was hoping for much more than that."

"It is more than fair considering."

"I respectfully decline. If you would." I held out my hand and he returned my deed and other papers. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Haig dart back inside my satchel. I placed my documents carefully around him and closed my case. "Thank you for your time and expert opinion."

"If you change your mind the offer will remain open for one week. Oh, and I will post my consulting fee on the morrow. Good day, Mr. Doakes." I winced as I made my way outside. I had not expected a fee. It would be dear, I knew.

"Weems is as low as a mine rat!"

We were now safely in my apartment, ensconced over dinner, the day's work done. Haig had steadfastly refused to discuss any of what he had learned while we were open for business, afraid perhaps I would use it as an excuse to do no work. Now he was nearly bursting to tell me.

"Aren't most barristers?"

"Let us not profane an entire profession from one poor example."

"Sorry. Go on."

"I spent the entire night going through his files. Weems is indeed representing Crosley. They are attempting to purchase that entire block of buildings, including Mrs. McLeary's, for some new venture Crosley is planning. Much of it they already own. But the others ..." He stopped to refill his pipe. He had become so animated he was nearly hidden by the tobacco cloud.

"Others?"

"Yes. They've been filing lawsuits and liens against anyone refusing to sell. Tie them up in court on false charges. Force them to expend precious funds on legal fees. Eventually, force them to sell. They had done the same to Mrs. McLeary, nearly exhausted all of her savings they did. But," he smirked, "she won in the courts."

But lost outside them. "So now what do we do?"

"Take them to the bobbers! To justice." He stamped his foot on the table and threatened to overturn my teacup. "This is not right!"

"We can't take Crosley to court. Or Weems for that matter. We have no evidence. And Crosley ..." I knew of Crosley. Everyone did. A high financier with friends in very high places. In the papers frequently as philanthropist and speculator. Beyond reproach he was. But then the tabloids like nothing better than a scandal.

"We have to do something! That dear Mrs. McLeary. And the lass Colleen. A sweet thing she is. You could not do better than with her, getting along as you are."
I winced at his reference to my bachelorhood. It had become an increasingly frequent subject of our conversations. I had been engaged. Once. But the turmoil of my increasingly failing business had driven her to the arms of a more successful man. After three years I was still licking my wounds. "He will come after her, won't he?"

"I saw the paperwork ready to be filed. Another will. Fraudulent I am sure, but sufficient to cause legal difficulties."

I stirred my tea thoughtfully. "I don't suppose you found any records of Weems hiring ...help?"
"Come now, laddie, do you think he would be as foolish as to keep a written receipt or such if he was using hooligans?"

"Never hurts to ask." After a pause I set down my glass. "I guess we'll have to do it ourselves, then."

"Do what?"

"Find the men who murdered poor Mrs. McLeary. But we'll need bait."

He knocked out the ashes from his pipe on a saucer, then studied me. "And what would that be?"

"Me."