Otherwise Engaged (19 page)

M
r. Stanbridge suggested that I let you all view the limited evidence we have collected from the murder scenes,” Logan said. “I agreed because in my experience, there is sometimes a great deal to be said for gaining a fresh perspective—in this case a number of fresh perspectives.” He looked at Declan Garraway. “Yours as well, sir. Thank you for coming today.”

“I will be happy to assist in any way I can,” Declan said. He tugged uneasily at his tie and glanced at Benedict. “But I am by no means an authority in such matters. I had the privilege of studying under Dr. Edward Benson, who is a noted authority in the field of psychology, and I have a great personal interest in the criminal mind, but that is the sum total of my credentials. The science of explaining and predicting human behavior is still very much in its infancy.”

“It is your academic background and wide reading in the field that make your opinion so valuable,” Amity said. “In any event, the more observations, the better, as the inspector just observed.”

They were gathered in Penny’s study. Inspector Logan had arrived earlier with a small metal box that now stood open on the desk. Penny, Amity, Benedict, Logan and Declan were gathered around the desk.

Amity had been forced to be quite firm when it came to the issue of inviting Declan. Benedict had not been at all keen on the notion until she had reminded him that Declan possessed some training in the modern theories of psychology. Benedict had reluctantly relented, but he was not going out of his way to conceal his disapproval of Declan.

For his part, Declan was clearly uneasy about Benedict. The two were wary of each other, but Amity could tell that both were intrigued by the possibility of learning something new from the evidence.

“I must warn you that a number of men from the Yard have viewed these objects and come to no useful conclusions,” Logan said.

Penny studied the contents of the trunk. “This is all that has been preserved from the scenes of the murders?”

“I’m afraid so,” Logan said.

Amity considered the items. “Four plain gold rings and three lockets with chains.” She looked at Logan. “You said you believed there was a fourth murder.”

“Yes,” Logan said. “But according to the records, the family kept the locket of the first victim. They wanted it as a memento of their daughter.”

Declan frowned. “Not much to go on here.”

“Hard to believe this is all that was considered worth salvaging from the scenes of such serious crimes,” Benedict said.

Logan’s mouth tightened at the corners. “I agree. Keep in mind that I was assigned to this case only recently after my predecessor
failed to identify a suspect. I’m certain that there was more evidence but it was discarded as irrelevant.” He paused. “There were other factors that limited the scope of the investigation, as well.”

Penny nodded. “The families of the victims would have brought a great deal of pressure to bear on the police to keep things quiet.”

“There is always a great fear of scandal in cases of this sort,” Logan said. “The families did not want rumors and titillating accounts of their daughters’ deaths appearing in the press. Not that they were able to prevent that from happening, of course.”

Benedict looked at him. “I assume the lockets were tested for fingerprints?”

“Yes,” Logan said. “But none were found.”

“Presumably the killer wore gloves or wiped the jewelry clean,” Benedict said.

“Most likely.”

Amity looked at Logan. “There does not appear to be anything special about the rings.”

“No,” Logan said. “I was unable to trace them to the shop that sold them.”

“May I open the lockets?” she asked.

“Certainly,” Logan said. “The only items inside are photos of the women dressed in wedding gowns and veils.”

“The lockets are not cheap,” Penny observed. “The silver is good quality but the designs are old-fashioned.”

“I showed them to a couple of jewelers who recognized the hallmarks,” Logan said. “I was told that the lockets are all nearly a decade out of fashion and that they must have been made several years ago. I suspect the killer found them in various pawn shops.”

Amity reached into the box and took out one of the lockets. She opened it with great care and set it on the desk.

They all looked at the photograph. The picture was that of a bride viewed from the waist up. Her veil was thrown back off her face to reveal the features of an attractive young woman with dark hair. There was a bouquet of white lilies in her gloved hands. She stared straight at the camera as though confronting a cobra. Even though the photograph was small, there was no mistaking the fear and dread in the victim’s eyes.

Amity shivered. “Dear heaven,” she whispered.

No one else spoke.

She took out the other two lockets, opened them and set them beside the first. There were definite, obvious similarities about the pictures.

“It appears that these portraits were all taken in the same studio,” she said.

“I agree.” Benedict took a closer look, frowning in concentration. “The lighting is the same in each picture.”

“The flowers are all white lilies but they are slightly different in each photograph,” Penny observed.

“That makes sense,” Amity said. “It would be very difficult to make three bridal bouquets appear exactly the same.”

For a time they all stood in silence, contemplating the photos.

“White,” Amity said suddenly.

They all looked at her.

“She’s right,” Penny said. “The dresses and veils in the photographs are all white. The Queen set the style for white gowns when she was married decades ago, but only the very wealthy follow the fashion.”

Declan looked at her. “Why is that?”

Penny smiled. “White is a very impractical color for a gown. Impossible to clean, you know. Most brides are married in their best
dresses. If they do buy a new gown for the ceremony, they usually purchase one in a color and a style that can be worn after the wedding. Only the very wealthy wear white. In these photographs the gowns are all white and the veils are quite elaborate.” She looked at Logan. “But, then, we know that these three young ladies moved in wealthy circles.”

“That is correct,” Logan said.

“Nevertheless, there’s something about these three dresses.” Penny picked up one of the lockets and took a closer look, frowning in concentration. “I think these women are all wearing the same wedding gown and veil.”

“What?” Logan spoke sharply. “I had not noticed.”

“It is a detail that a woman is more likely to observe,” Penny said. “But I’m quite sure this is the same gown and veil in each of the photographs.” She opened a desk drawer and took out a magnifying glass. She examined each of the lockets in turn. “Yes, I’m certain of it. Same gown. Same veil. Take a look, Amity. What do you think?”

Amity took the magnifying glass and studied each of the small photographs. “You’re right. They are all attired in the same bridal gown. It is harder to be certain about the veil, but I think the headband is the same, too.”

“There is something else about the dress,” Penny said. She retrieved the magnifying glass and took another look at all three pictures. “It is, I believe, about two years out of date.”

Benedict looked interested. “How can you tell?”

“This particular sleeve and low neckline were very much in fashion for formal gowns about two years ago,” Penny said with cool authority.

“Interesting,” Logan said. He made a note. “I suppose it makes
sense that he used the same gown for all three victims. A man can hardly go to a fashionable dressmaker and start ordering a number of wedding gowns, not without causing comment.”

“So he bought one gown two years ago and reuses it for each victim?” Amity mused.

Declan cleared his throat. They all looked at him. He turned red under the scrutiny.

“What is it?” Benedict said. “Speak up, man.”

“It just occurred to me that perhaps the gown has some special significance,” Declan said.

“It’s a wedding gown,” Logan said. “In and of itself, that fact implies a great deal of significance.”

“No, I mean, perhaps that particular gown has some personal meaning for him,” Declan said.

“Yes, of course,” Amity said softly. “What if the gown was made for his own bride?”

Logan flipped through his notes and paused at a page of names. “Five of the men on this list that Mr. Stanbridge and his brother drew up are married. The other three are not.”

“I have a feeling that we are looking for one of those who is not married,” Declan said quietly. “At least not any longer.”

A short, stark silence fell on the room. Amity was aware of a chill on the nape of her neck.

Benedict looked at Logan. “Are there any widowers on our list? Or men who remarried after losing their first wives?”

“I don’t know,” Logan said. “But it shouldn’t be difficult to find out.” He turned back to Declan. “What makes you think that the first bride to wear that gown is dead?”

“Because there is a horrible kind of twisted logic to the thing,” Declan said. “I remember Dr. Benson lecturing on the subject of
murderers who killed again and again. He believes that there is always a pattern—a ritual—involved. If he’s right, I would not be astonished to discover that the first murdered bride was the wife of the killer.”

Benedict looked at Logan. “You said the body of the first victim was found about a year ago. She was engaged to be married but not yet a bride.”

“That’s right,” Logan said. “None of the young women was ever married.”

Declan exhaled slowly and shook his head. “I was just speculating. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“If he murdered his first wife,” Benedict said slowly, “then that narrows the suspects on our list to a man who was married approximately two years ago and who was widowed.”

“It’s worth pursuing that angle,” Logan agreed.

“And don’t forget, we also know that the killer indulges in cigarettes that are scented with spices,” Amity added. “That should help narrow the list a bit.”

“So he smokes coffin nails, does he?” Declan said.

“I beg your pardon?” Amity said.

“That’s what we call cigarettes in America,” Declan explained. “Coffin nails. Not that it stops anyone from smoking them, mind you.”

Logan glanced at him. “I heard cigarettes were good for the nerves.”

“Not according to Dr. Benson,” Declan said.

Penny stirred. “I may be able to help you narrow the list a bit more.”

Logan watched her with close attention. “How will you do that?”

Penny glanced at Amity. “By consulting an expert.”

Amity smiled. “Madame La Fontaine, your dressmaker.”

“She is an authority on all things relating to fashion,” Penny said. “Amity and I will pay a visit to her this very afternoon and see what we can discover.”

“Excellent.” Logan slipped his notebook and pencil back into the pocket of his coat. “I appreciate all of the help you four have provided today. I feel as if I know considerably more about this killer than I did before I arrived here.”

Benedict gave Declan a speculative look. “I must admit that I am quite intrigued by your observations. Maybe you should consider a career as a consultant to the police.”

“My father would be furious,” Declan said. He made a face. “The future is in oil, you know.”

“Yes, you did mention that,” Benedict said.

M
adame La Fontaine used Penny’s magnifying glass to study the photographs in the lockets arrayed on the counter. Amity and Penny waited, tense and silent. The dressmaker muttered to herself as she moved from one picture to the next. When she reached the last one, she nodded emphatically and put down the lens.

“
Oui
, Mrs. Marsden, you and your sister are correct,” she announced in her fake French accent. “There is no doubt but that it is the same gown in all three pictures and it is most certainly a design from the fall season two years ago. The truth is all there in the details of the sleeve, the neckline and the beading on the headpiece of the veil.”

“Thank you,” Penny said. “We thought as much but we wanted to be certain.”

Madame La Fontaine eyed her with a shrewd expression. “It is a very expensive gown. And in white satin, no less. So impractical. But
perhaps the three young ladies in the pictures are sisters who decided to share the dress to save money?”

“No,” Amity said. She scooped up the lockets and tucked them into the small velvet bag she had brought with her. “They were not sisters.”

“Friends of yours, perhaps?” Madame La Fontaine asked.

Amity tugged on the strings to cinch up the bag. “No. Why do you ask?”

“I am aware that you are engaged to be married and will soon be in the market for a wedding gown yourself,” Madame La Fontaine said smoothly. “I merely wondered if perhaps one of these brides had offered to sell you that white satin gown and veil at a reduced price.”

“Oh.” Amity managed to regain her composure. “No, absolutely not. Trust me when I say that this particular gown is the very last dress I would want to wear for any reason whatsoever—especially not my own wedding.”

“Ah, you show exquisite taste in fashion, Miss Doncaster.” Madame La Fontaine’s voice warmed with approval. “That dress is sadly out-of-date. No self-respecting bride would want to be caught dead in it.”

There was a short silence. Amity cleared her throat.

Penny fixed Madame La Fontaine with a polite smile infused with charm and respect. “You are the most knowledgeable dressmaker I know, madam. That is why I would not patronize any other modiste. Naturally my sister will come to you for her wedding gown when the time arrives.”

Madame La Fontaine beamed. “I will be delighted to design your gown and your veil, as well, Miss Doncaster.”

“Yes, well, thank you,” Amity said. She knew she was blushing furiously.

“Very gracious of you, madam,” Penny said smoothly. “But to
return to the subject of this particular wedding gown, is there anything else you can tell us about it?”

Madame La Fontaine’s brows shot upward. “I can’t imagine why you are interested in it. I told you, it is not at all in the current fashion.”

Penny gave her a bland smile. “We found the lockets quite by accident. They appear to be rather valuable. We are trying to track down the three women in the pictures so that we can return their jewelry to them. As we do not recognize the young ladies, we thought we might start by identifying the dressmaker who created the gown they all shared.”

“I see.” Madame La Fontaine relaxed somewhat. Evidently any suspicions that her clients might be seeking a replacement for her services had been allayed. “Very kind of you to go to the effort. I can tell you with absolute certainty that both the dress and the veil were made by Mrs. Judkins. Calls herself Madame Dubois, but between you and me she’s no more French than that streetlamp out in front of my shop.”

Amity looked at Penny. “Isn’t it amazing how many people attempt to pass themselves off as something other than what they are?”

“Astonishing,” Penny said.

Some twenty minutes later Amity stood with Penny at the sales counter of Madame Dubois, also known as Mrs. Judkins. The dressmaker examined the three images in the lockets with an air of confusion mingled with dismay.

“Yes, I made that dress,” she said. “But this is all very odd.”

Her accent was somewhat more refined than Madame La Fontaine’s but equally false.

“What is strange about the gown?” Amity prompted.

Madame Dubois looked up, brow wrinkled in bewilderment. “I did not make it for any of these young ladies. I suppose it’s possible that they all borrowed or purchased the dress secondhand, but I can’t imagine why anyone would do such a thing.”

“You mean because it’s out of style?” Penny asked.

“No,” Madame Dubois said. She removed her reading glasses and dropped the French accent, instantly transforming into Mrs. Judkins. “It easily could have been remade in the current style. I meant I can’t imagine why any young lady would want to be married in a gown that had such a tragedy attached to it. Very bad luck.”

Amity knew that she and Penny were both holding their breath now.

“What is the story behind this gown?” Amity asked. “It is very important that you tell us.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Judkins inclined her head in a knowing way. “I see you were thinking of purchasing the dress for your own wedding.”

“Well—” Amity began.

“I strongly advise against it, Miss Doncaster. No good can come of wearing that gown. The bride for whom it was made died a tragic death within weeks of her wedding. She was still on her honeymoon, as a matter of fact.”

“That would have been two years ago, correct?” Penny said.

“Yes.” Mrs. Judkins made a
tsk-tsk-tsk
sound with her teeth and tongue and shook her head. “So very sad.”

“Who was the bride?” Amity asked, hardly daring to believe they were closing in on the answers to the questions she and the others had been asking.

“Adelaide Briar,” Mrs. Judkins said. “I have the details in my files but I don’t need to look them up. I remember the whole business
quite clearly, not only because the bride was very lovely and the gown was so expensive but also because it was such a hurried affair. My seamstresses had to work night and day to complete the dress in time. Just between the three of us, I’m quite sure the bride was pregnant or, at the very least, concerned about the possibility, if you take my meaning.”

“She had been compromised,” Penny said.

“I suspect that was the situation,” Mrs. Judkins said. “It’s certainly not the first time I’ve been asked to produce a gown in a great rush. But that hurried wedding cost the young lady her life.”

Amity instinctively touched the tessen blade on her chatelaine. “What happened to her?”

“I’m not certain, exactly. The papers said something about a terrible accident. The couple went to the continent for their honeymoon. They stayed at an old castle that had been turned into a very exclusive hotel. In the middle of the night she somehow fell from an upstairs window. The fall broke her neck, but in addition she must have been cut up quite badly by the broken glass. According to the accounts, there was a great deal of blood. No, Miss Doncaster, you do not want to be married in that gown.”

Amity swallowed hard. “I believe you.”

Penny watched Mrs. Judkins very steadily. “Do you remember the name of the groom?”

“How could I forget?” Mrs. Judkins said.