Chapter Six #2
“Whether or not the doctor was murdered is not for me to say,” I continued. “I’m just trying to collect more information to give to Constable Ellis, or whichever doctor we finally drag forth who has both knowledge and authority.”
We don’t have a great deal of information, do we?”
“Not a great deal, but we found his body close to eleven this morning. We just learned his wife might have been the last person to see him alive.”
“Excepting his killer,” Fiona corrected.
I hesitated to tell Fiona that Ada Penhollow was also a suspect in my mind.
“If he was murdered, then yes, his killer obviously saw him last, but whoever that is isn’t likely to come forward and provide that little detail, so for now it will remain an unknown.
What we do know is that Mrs. Penhollow saw her husband leave home around half past seven this morning, supposedly to catch a train to Norwich.
But he had a meeting with that unknown person first.”
“Who may have killed him.”
I acknowledged Fiona’s statement, and we walked on in silence until we reached the end of the lane.
Then we cut through the edge of the woods and came to the clearing and the field.
“Whether he intended to meet with someone or not, it is reasonable to assume he was headed for the village, since the train station is there,” I said.
I stared at the indentations in the crop of winter wheat, which were growing fainter as the foliage dried.
“I’m no expert in the study of footprints, but it might be that someone walked halfway into the field from the village, and Dr. Penhollow walked halfway through from the other side.
It could be that he did meet with someone—right there. ”
“That would be the last person who saw him alive.” Fiona gave me a smirk.
I gazed back to the woods. “It took us about fifteen minutes to walk from the Penhollows’ home to here.
We can presumably believe the doctor walked at least as quickly, so he may have met up with his mystery person as early as forty minutes past seven.
That could be the earliest time of death.
The latest being about nine o’clock this morning. ”
“But if he died here, doesn’t that mean he must have died at the earlier time? And what do you mean, he may have met someone?” Fiona asked. “It looks as if they met right in the center of the field.”
“It does look that way, but doesn’t that strike you as curious?
” We stood at the edge of the woods, under the narrow canopy of a cluster of twisted Scots pines.
They gave enough protection to keep the ground relatively dry, even after last night’s rain.
I gestured to the field, to the large impression in the center, where the body had been.
“If you were planning to meet someone in this area, wouldn’t you stay right here on the hard-packed path and wait for them to arrive rather than venture into a soggy field in order to meet them halfway?
And this crop belongs to Hadley Grange. Why would anyone tromp across it in the first place? ”
“Apparently, Dr. Penhollow did.”
“Yes, but we found him right in the center of the field, facing toward the village. It looked as though he never made it across. The foliage behind him was trampled down going toward the village, and so was the foliage between the body and the village. If he died halfway across, who made the other footprints?”
“I see what you mean,” she said. “Perhaps he did go on to the village, met with whomever he had planned to meet, then was simply returning home?”
“I had the same thought, but your footman pointed out that if that was the case, he was facing the wrong way.”
“I don’t suppose he did a pirouette before he dropped?”
“Not very likely, but why would he be going home? He was supposed to travel to Norwich.”
Fiona scowled.
“Don’t become frustrated, Fi.”
“Well, you keep negating all my suggestions,” she snapped.
“But I want them regardless. You are helping me. Part of this work is developing theories, but with the understanding that all those theories will be proved wrong save one—if you’re lucky enough to think of that one. Two heads are definitely better than one right now.”
“Very well,” she said. “Considering the storm we had last night, what if the train isn’t running today?
Then he would have returned home and come back through here, trampling down the plants in the direction …
” Her words trailed off as she gazed at the path through the field, where the plants were clearly squashed and leaning over, toward the village—the opposite of what she was about to suggest.
“I don’t understand it, either, Fi, but you do raise a good point. Let’s find out if the train to Norwich actually left this morning. Or if anyone saw Dr. Penhollow at the station.”
“Oh? So, that was a good suggestion?” Fiona gazed at me as if my answer was very important.
“Indeed, it was, and I hope you will keep them coming.”
“Very well. Then I have to point out that even if Dr. Penhollow was returning home when he died, we are still left with the question of what happened to him and why he was facing the village. Did someone murder him here? Or did he fall over dead while a second person did nothing to help him? Or was there even a second person?”
“We’ll be struggling with that question until a doctor has seen the body. It really looks like murder to me,” I said. “Even though I can’t see how it was done, I’m hopeful a doctor will.”
“I wonder who he was planning to meet,” Fiona said.
“Beatrice’s comment about him meeting someone reminded me that I did see him speaking with someone at the play last night. It was in the long hallway, while I was looking for you and Grace. It wasn’t anyone I knew, so I didn’t register their faces.”
“Their faces?” she asked. “More than one person?”
“I think so, but it’s just a blur. I might recognize them if I saw them again, but I don’t know how helpful that would be.”
Fiona heaved a sigh. “What do we do now?”
“Go to the station and find out about the train and whether anyone saw Dr. Penhollow earlier this morning.”
We crossed the clearing toward the village, keeping to the hard-packed trail.
Fiona shook some mud off her boots once we reached the path to the village.
“Whoever killed Dr. Penhollow chose a very inconvenient time, what with a gale blowing through, closing the roads and bringing down the telephone lines. Not to mention distracting the police.”
“Inconvenient for us,” I said, “but perhaps perfect for the killer.”