Laura Lee Guhrke (8 page)

“What?” Chief Inspector DeWitt paused in the act of belting his smoking jacket over his pajamas and
stared at Mick as if unable to believe what he had just heard. “Somebody did what?”

“Shot at me,” Mick answered. “Around half past nine o’clock last night. Sorry to interrupt you at home, sir, but I thought I should tell you as soon as possible.”

“I knew when you arrived at my door at this hour on a Saturday morning, it had to be a matter of vital importance.” DeWitt ushered Mick into his study and closed the door behind them, “Could it have been some sort of accident?”

“No, sir. I saw the assailant just before the shot went off. He missed, but the gun was pointed at me.”

“He?”

“Or she. It was dark, and from the size of the person, it could be either a man or a woman. But it was no accident.”

DeWitt let out a low whistle and sat down at his desk. He gestured to the opposite chair for Mick to sit as well. “So you believe it was deliberate. For what reason?”

“I don’t know yet.” He gave his superior officer a smile. “I do have my very own spiritualist. Maybe she can help.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Mick’s smile widened at the dubious look DeWitt gave him. He handed his superintendent the case notes he’d written early this morning: a complete account of everything involving Miss Haversham, from her visit to the Yard yesterday afternoon to her departure from his flat last night. “This is what I know so far.”

DeWitt read Mick’s report without speaking. When he had finished, he set the notes aside and leaned back in his chair. “The girl probably did it. You agree?”

“I don’t know. What I can’t get at is the motive. The only motive I can see is someone from one of my past cases coming after me for revenge. Of course, we’ll have to thoroughly investigate her background.”

“Are you sure you don’t know her?” DeWitt paused and slanted Mick a speculative look. “You have always been one for a bit of skirt, Mick.”

Perhaps, but when he put his hands inside a woman’s skirt, it usually wasn’t to find a gun. Mick looked straight back at his superintendent. “I don’t know this one, sir.”

“There must be a connection somewhere.”

“If there is, we’ll find it. I’ve already sent Thacker out to learn more about her.” Mick pulled his watch from his waistcoat. “That was two hours ago. I told him to meet me here. He should be arriving soon.”

“What I don’t understand is, why all the stuff and nonsense about dreams and seeing the future?”

“You didn’t meet this woman,” Mick answered, his voice wry. “She’s. . .” His voice trailed off as he tried to find a way to sum up Sophie Haversham, “She’s a bit odd, to say the least.”

A knock on the study door interrupted their conversation, and a parlormaid opened the door. “Sorry, sir,” she said with a bob to DeWitt, “but there be a Sergeant Thacker to see you.”

“Send him in, Lizzie.”

The girl departed, and Thacker entered the room. He closed the door behind him, tipped his cap to the
chief inspector, and said, “I’ve got some information on Miss Haversham.”

DeWitt motioned him forward, and Thacker moved to stand beside Mick’s chair. Opening the small notebook in his hand, he began to read his report. “Sophie Marie Haversham, age twenty-four. Spinster. Born in Stoke-On-Trent, a small village in Yorkshire. Father was an attorney there, and he died twenty-one years ago. She has one sister, Charlotte Tamplin, who’s married to an attorney and lives in Hampstead. The mother got married again about nine years ago, to the local vicar. She is the cousin of a viscount, by the way.” He glanced at Mick. “Odd coincidence, that. The viscount is Lord Fortescue. If you remember, it was his wife what reported that stolen necklace yesterday.”

“This could be a fine kettle of fish,” DeWitt muttered. “Is her cousin relevant to any of this?”

“No way to tell at this point, sir.” Thacker took a deep breath, licked his thumb, and turned to the second page of his notes. “Miss Haversham moved to London to live with her aunt, a Mrs. Violet Summer-street, four years ago when the aunt’s husband died. Mr. Maxwell Summer-street left his wife badly off. Nice big house in Mayfair, but no money. She’s turned it into a lodging house to make ends meet. Respectable people she’s got living there. Miss Haversham moved here to assist her aunt with running the place. But there was also some talk about the young lady having been engaged to marry the Earl of Kenleigh, Charles Treaves. The wedding didn’t come off. He jilted her at the altar, so they say. A few weeks later, she came to London.”

“The aunt runs a lodging house,” Mick said thoughtfully. “That has possibilities.”

DeWitt gave him a sharp look. “You think it might be one of her lodgers who shot at you?”

“We can’t speculate on that until we know whether or not they have alibis for half past nine last night.”

“And if they do?” the chief inspector asked.

“Then I’ll start studying her friends and acquaintances. The best way to do that, of course, would be to move in to that lodging house myself if I could.”

“That’s a dangerous game,” DeWitt said. “I don’t like it.”

“If everyone in Miss Haversham’s household can account for themselves at half past nine last night, the danger to me is no greater living there than in my own flat. Especially since whoever shot at me was willing to do so in a public place. Miss Haversham is connected to this, and the best way for me to find out how is to go right into the lion’s den.”

“I still don’t like it,” DeWitt grumbled. “The girl sounds off her chump to me.”

“The aunt’s a mad one, too,” Thacker put in. “She’s involved in that spiritualism business.” He consulted his notes. “The London Society for Psychical Research, or something like that. Séances, planchettes, table turning, and the like. She thinks she’s the reincarnation of Cleopatra.”

Mick was not surprised. “Eccentricity runs in that family.”

“Spiritualism is quite a fashion these days,” DeWitt said, “and with people who ought to have more sense. My own wife—” He broke off and gave the sigh of a
long-suffering husband. “That doesn’t mean the aunt’s mad.”

Mick grinned. “With all due respect, sir, I doubt your wife thinks she’s Cleopatra back from the dead.”

“Thank God for that,” DeWitt muttered with heartfelt relief. “But what about the girl? Is she crazy?”

“It’s so easy to say she did it because she’s crazy,” Mick replied. “Too easy. I think we’ve got to go deeper than that.”

DeWitt nodded. “Did you find any witnesses around the Embankment who might have seen something? Or heard something?”

“No, sir,” Mick replied. “But it would surprise me if the bobbies who patrol that area heard anything. The gun was low caliber, and it didn’t make much noise. Also, the assassin wore a long, dark cloak and wouldn’t be easily spied at night.”

DeWitt looked over at Thacker. “Anything else, Sergeant?”

“Not yet, sir. I’ll keep digging.” Thacker departed, closing the door behind him.

DeWitt leaned back. “Well, Mick, what do you want to do?”

Mick didn’t hesitate. “I want to find out the truth. I don’t much care for getting shot at. And I doubt that whoever did it will leave off just because the first attempt failed.”

“What’s your next step?”

“The girl is the key. If she did it, I need to know why. If she didn’t do it, I need to find out how she learned this was going to happen and why she came to
warn me. I’m going to see her now, and I’m going to find out what everyone in that household was up to at half past nine last night. If they all have valid alibis, I’ll see if I can let a room in that lodging house.”

“Keep me informed of your progress.” DeWitt rose to his feet. “And for God’s sake, be careful, Mick. I don’t want to lose you. Keep your wits about you.”

Mick also stood up. “I always do, sir,” he answered and started for the door. “I always do.”

Four
 

Because of Michael Dunbar and his threats, Sophie had gotten very little sleep during the night, and she awoke feeling tired and cranky. After the way that wretched man had manhandled her and threatened her the night before, she was not at all surprised that someone wanted to kill him.

Something of what she felt must have shown in her face, for Violet commented on it as Sophie entered the dining room. “My dear, you still don’t look well. The sooner this mystery about the murdered policeman is solved, the better.”

“He hasn’t been murdered yet,” Sophie pointed out as she walked to the sideboard.

“Yes, I know. Grimstock told me last night.”

Sophie ignored the hint of inquiry in her aunt’s voice. She glanced around the dining room. Except for
Violet and herself, the room was empty. “Where is everyone? Am I so very late this morning?”

“It’s nearly ten o’clock. Mr. Dawes has gone to cut up a cadaver at London University Hospital, and the colonel is out for his morning walk. Hermione and Josephine have gone to Harrods.”

“Ten o’clock? Heavens, it is late.” Sophie lifted lids from the warming dishes on the sideboard, noting the eggs and bacon with disinterest. She turned away from the food, poured herself a cup of tea from the silver teapot, and sat down in her usual place at the table, pushing aside the pile of letters waiting for her that had come in the morning post. She knew most of them were bills, and she also knew there wasn’t enough money to pay them. “You didn’t go to Harrods, too?”

“Of course not. I wanted to wait for you.” Her aunt looked at her with gentle reproach. “You came in last night and didn’t even tell me what had happened. I had to get the story from Grimstock. It’s fortunate the police inspector is still alive.”

Sophie knew her aunt wanted details of the night before, but she lowered her gaze to the teacup in her hand and changed the subject. “Auntie, I must speak with you about something else.” She met her aunt’s innocent blue gaze with a steady one of her own. “The emerald necklace you took from Cousin Katherine’s house when you called on her the day before yesterday.”

Violet looked at her in wide-eyed innocence. “What are you talking about, dear?”

“You took Cousin Katherine’s necklace. Grimmy found it yesterday afternoon. You did take it, didn’t you?”

Auntie’s expression of innocence turned to one of shamefaced guilt. “I believe I did, now that you mention it.”

Sophie lifted her hands in a gesture of despair. “Auntie, I’ve told you, you can’t take things that don’t belong to you just because you think they’re pretty.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” Violet mumbled. “I don’t know what comes over me. I see jewels, and I just can’t resist. And then, of course, I forget all about it. I remember now, it was in her jewel case. You really should tell her to find a safer hiding place for her jewels,” Violet added, shaking her head. “Why, a jewel case is the first place a thief would look.”

“Well, that’s true enough,” Sophie responded with a sigh. “You did.”

“What did you and Grimstock do with it?”

“I put it in a safe place,” Sophie answered, thinking of the secret drawer in her secretaire, where she and Grimmy always put Auntie’s little mistakes until they could be returned.

“Sophie, really! You didn’t put it in the little hidden drawer of your desk, did you? Why, that’s as bad as a jewel case. The best place to put jewelry is in your undergarments, rolled in a pair of knickers or a stocking. No one, not even a burglar, would think to go through a woman’s unmentionables.”

“Auntie, how did you know about the secret drawer?”

“Well, darling, it really is my desk, if you remember. I’ve known about it for many, many years. My mama showed it to me when I was a little girl.”

Sophie was dismayed, thinking of all the stolen jewels she had placed in that drawer over the last four years, “If you think that’s where I’ve been hiding the jewels you . . . umm . . . borrow, why haven’t you taken them back again?”

Violet looked at her with gentle reproach. “Sophie, you keep your private correspondence in that desk, and I would never go through your things! Why, that would be quite improper.” An almost wicked gleam came into her eye. “Besides, stealing things from you wouldn’t be any fun. Too easy.”

“Aren’t you the least bit sorry for what you’ve done?”

“Of course I am, sweeting. I was only teasing you.”

Sophie was doubtful on that point. She leaned forward in her chair and clasped her hands together, hoping that this time she could impress upon Violet just how serious her affliction was, and how dire the consequences if she were caught. “Auntie, you must stop this. Really you must. Think of the scandal if anyone found out. You could be arrested and sent to prison.”

“What, an old woman like me? Whose cousin is a viscount? They wouldn’t.”

“The viscount is the one whose jewels you just stole. I hardly think Lord Fortescue would look kindly upon—”

“Victor and Katherine would never bring a charge of theft against me. They are quite fond of me. And they would hate a scandal. Besides, we’re supposed to go to their house in Berkshire for Ascot Week when your mother comes, so I can return the necklace just as easily as I took it in the first place.”

Sophie did not want to be reminded of her mother’s impending visit from Yorkshire, nor did she wish to be diverted from the subject at hand. “That is not the point. Besides, I’m not letting you have those emeralds back for a moment.”