Chapter Eleven #2
Where had Patrick been, and exactly what time did he arrive home? Daisy wanted to meet him. What was he like? Adventurous, his mother had said, yet with the patience and coolness to be a good cricketer.
He sounded interesting, more interesting than Aidan.
Surely Audrey wasn’t in love with him, was she?
It would explain his long absence, her distress coincident with his return, Aidan’s sudden departure, followed by hers…
. But Mrs. Jessup would never let Patrick accompany Audrey to Liverpool Street if such were the situation.
What was more, Daisy remembered Audrey saying that once Patrick came home, they could all be comfortable again. That didn’t sound like an illicit passion. No, once again, she realised, she was wandering in the realm of pure speculation.
Any moment, the Jessups would come out and see her standing there staring. Besides, it was cold on the doorstep, though no sign of impending rain was apparent.
She went in, pausing on the threshold for one last backward glance. The sun gleamed palely through thinning clouds.
The twins should go out for an airing before it disappeared again.
All nannies agreed on the health-giving effects of fresh air on children.
Nana ought to go out, too. If Daisy managed to get Mrs. Gilpin to hurry, they could all take a walk before either the rain or Alec returned.
In the latter case, she might get a chance to talk to Ernie Piper.
Her timing was perfect. As the group set out towards the path to the Heath, Ernie backed out of the bushes, took off his hat, and shook the drips from it. It was natural for Daisy to wave the others onwards while she stopped to speak to him.
“Good morning, Mr. Piper. Any luck?”
“Morning, Mrs. Fletcher.” He paused to respond to Nana’s rapturous greeting. They were old friends. “I haven’t found anything, and I expect Ardmore or Warren would’ve shouted if they had.”
“What exactly are you looking for? ‘A weapon’ is a bit vague.”
“That’s what we don’t know, Mrs. Fletcher,” said DC Warren, joining them.
His face, eyebrowless and scorched red, was gloomy.
He had indeed been struck pink, Daisy thought.
It was lucky he hadn’t had a moustache. He would have got flames up his nose, assuredly a horribly painful experience.
“Could be a stick or a stone or some weird African knobkerrie like in the detective stories.”
“You read too many of those.” Ardmore had arrived. “Dr. Ridgeway should be able to tell us what shape we’re looking for.”
“Doesn’t much matter what shape,” Piper pointed out, “seeing none of us has found anything that could be it. Leastways, I don’t see either of you carrying a life preserver or a crowbar or even a heavy walking stick.”
“Whatever it is,” said Warren, “it’s not in the pond. No need to call in divers. It’s less’n a foot deep and there’s nothing in it bigger’n a twig.”
“The children drop toys in regularly,” said Daisy, “but the nannies always fish them out. If it’s a walking stick, I can’t see how you’d ever find it. I mean, the murderer could just have walked off with it and stuck it in an umbrella stand somewhere, or thrown it in the river.”
“Prob’ly has done just that,” said Warren.
“It’s not that bad,” Piper insisted. “This here’s a private garden, isn’t it, Mrs. Fletcher?”
“Yes, sort of. Not belonging to one family, but to all the residents of Constable Circle.”
“Not like a public park at any rate. You don’t get Tom, Dick, and Harry using it. It’s not by way of being a shortcut either, is it? I looked at a map before I came.”
“No, not really. There are footpaths to the Heath up here and to Well Walk down there, but they don’t really cut corners for anyone not living here.”
“Right. So chances are, if the victim wasn’t a resident, which he prob’ly wasn’t, or the Chief’d’ve recognised him, then he was somehow connected to a resident.
These houses here, they’re big houses and you can bet they all have servants.
It’s not likely he could have called on anyone without being seen by someone else, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find out which house he was connected with.
And chances are, it was someone in that house that killed him, and chances are, he just went home afterwards and stuck the walking stick in the umbrella stand, like Mrs. Fletcher said,” Piper concluded triumphantly.
“Always s’posing it was a walking stick he used,” Warren said sourly.
“Whatever it was, he’d have trouble getting rid of it this morning,” Ardmore put in. “He’d’ve looked funny carrying anything but a brolly.”
“Whatever it was,” said Daisy, “it probably doesn’t have nice helpful fingerprints on it. Last night was so cold and wet, no one would have gone out without gloves.”
“True.” Warren sank still further into gloom.
“Might the weapon have been chucked down into an area?” Daisy proposed. “That would be a quick and easy way to get rid of it without going far.”
Piper nodded. “It’s a thought. Only thing is, it must have been heavyish, would have made a noise landing. Unless the servants were listening to the wireless or something … but still they’d’ve found it this morning.”
“Might not think anything of it,” said Ardmore. “Not enough to call it to our attention anyway. It needn’t be very big. Dr. Ridgeway was pretty sure it wasn’t getting clobbered that killed him.”
“Really?” said Daisy. “What killed him?”
All three men looked at her. She realised at once that she had inadvertently stepped over an invisible boundary.
She had reminded them, even Ernie Piper, that they ought not to be discussing the case with her, even though she was the chief inspector’s wife.
On his own, Ernie might have answered her question, but not with the other two as witnesses.
“Gosh,” she said, “Nurse and the babies are out of sight! I’d better catch up with them. Come along, Nana. Good luck!”
Hurrying along the footpath, she pondered what she had learnt and found herself impressed by Piper’s chain of logic. Unfortunately, it led to the inescapable conclusion that one of her neighbours was a murderer.