Chapter 5
“We need to alert the police,” I said to Harry as we walked away from Mr. Pierce’s house. “Thank goodness he didn’t know the hotel belongs to my family or he wouldn’t have confided in me.”
“I think you should tell Sir Ronald and let him decide whether to notify the police or not.”
“But Mr. Pierce plans on creating a disturbance of some sort. The police can stop him before it happens.”
“They can’t arrest him until a crime has been committed. All they can do is caution him and I’m not sure that will work. Pierce is a drunkard and determined, a combination that usually finds a way in my experience.”
“They can post constables at the entrance to watch for him on the day of the event.”
Harry’s pace slowed. “That’s the problem.
Sir Ronald won’t want a police presence on the day.
It’s too visible and will worry the guests.
But if you tell him, then he can alert the staff.
Frank and the other doormen are very good at keeping undesirables out, but if Pierce manages to get past them it’s unlikely he’ll also get past Goliath.
The front-of-house staff are experienced at keeping calm and being discreet.
Or perhaps Sir Ronald will decide to notify the police. Either way, it’s his decision to make.”
He had a point. It should be my uncle’s decision. However, telling him about Mr. Pierce’s threat meant I had to tell him how I’d gained the information. Should I lie and pretend the case was something milder, and not a murder investigation?
Harry watched me struggling to think of the best way to broach the topic. “I can be the one to tell him if you want. That way you don’t have to lie. I’ll say I stumbled across the information while investigating the murder at Dr. Iverson’s clinic. It’s all true anyway.”
It was an excellent idea. Not only did it keep me out of it altogether, but my uncle would be grateful to Harry for the information. The more grateful Uncle Ronald was to Harry, the better for us when it came time to inform him about our relationship.
“It’s a neat solution,” I said.
“I’ll tell him later today. So where to next? The address we have for the victim’s husband is closer than the address for the suspicious patient who may or may not have taken Sister Dearden’s key.”
“Then we’ll call on him first.”
Hopefully Mr. Kempsey could shed light on possible motives and give us a reason as to why his wife had been murdered. We were still no closer to knowing if she was supposed to die, or whether she was an innocent victim in a plot to ruin Dr. Iverson.
My experiences in dealing with the loved ones of the deceased had taught me that grief manifested in various ways.
During this investigation so far, two men had shown quite different reactions to the deaths of their wives.
Mr. Pierce had taken to drink and Mr. Hamlin had thrown himself into his work.
Mr. Kempsey seemed more irritated than angry, as if his wife’s death was an inconvenience that was taking him away from more important things.
He refused to let us into the house at first, until Harry told him it wouldn’t look good if he didn’t speak to us.
As Mr. Kempsey led us through to a library, I caught a glimpse of mourners in the front reception room.
Several men and women spoke quietly among themselves, many with handkerchiefs in hand.
One, a middle-aged woman, craned her neck to watch us.
“Well then?” Mr. Kempsey prompted once we were in the library.
“Let’s get this over with quickly. I have a funeral to organize.
” He was a thickset man with a ruddy complexion and strands of gray hair that he’d combed over his head in an attempt to hide the bald patch. I saw no hint of sadness in his eyes.
Harry’s first question got straight to the point, as requested. “Do you know why anyone would want to murder your wife?”
“Of course not. My wife was popular. Everyone liked her. What happened must have been a dreadful accident. A faulty machine, something like that.” Mr. Kempsey rocked back on his heels, hands clasped behind him, and regarded Harry levelly. Too levelly. He didn’t blink.
“Did she have a heart condition?” Harry asked.
Finally Mr. Kempsey blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Was she seeing Dr. Iverson for her heart?”
The hands behind Mr. Kempsey’s back slapped together. “She saw him for her nerves. She was otherwise in good health, as far as I’m aware. The doctor will know more, I’m sure.”
“She didn’t confide in you?” I asked.
“That’s what the doctor was for, Miss Fox.
” He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.
“While I appreciate you’re trying to clear Iverson’s name, I’m sure the police will release him soon.
There is no reason for him to have harmed my wife.
None at all.” He indicated the door. “Now, if you don’t mind. ”
He saw us out of the library, but was waylaid by the housekeeper, waiting to speak to him.
They re-entered the library while the butler saw us out of the house.
We’d just set foot on the pavement when the front door reopened.
The woman who’d taken an interest in us upon our arrival slipped through the gap and raced down the steps.
She clasped a black-beaded drawstring bag in both hands.
“A moment, if you please. I overheard you introduce yourselves to my brother-in-law as private detectives investigating the death of my sister.”
“I’m Harry Armitage and this is Cleopatra Fox. We’re very sorry for your loss, Mrs…”
“Miss Rowbottom. Isabel is—was—my baby sister.” Tears welled in eyes rimmed red from crying. “I can’t believe she’s gone. She was so full of life, so vibrant. Everyone adored her.” She sighed. “That may have been her downfall.”
“What do you mean?” Harry asked.
“She was very popular, and she welcomed that popularity. I think it got her murdered.”
My gaze moved beyond her to the house. “You mean popular with men?”
Miss Rowbottom blushed. “She was having a liaison with Dr. Iverson, but there may have been at least one other.” She removed a packet of letters from the bag, tied together with a pink ribbon.
“I found these yesterday in her belongings.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door then pressed them into Harry’s hand.
“Take them to the police if you think it’s necessary. ”
“Your brother-in-law knows about them?” he asked.
She nodded. “I showed them to him after I found them. He wanted them destroyed, but I saved them. They prove that Mrs. Iverson had a motive for killing my sister, so I didn’t want to get rid of them.”
“They prove Mr. Kempsey also had a motive.”
“No! That’s not true! I told you, he didn’t know about them until I showed them to him yesterday. Their very existence is proof that he’s innocent. If he had found them, he would have destroyed them.”
Just because he didn’t know the letters existed didn’t mean he was also unaware of the relationship, but I didn’t point that out to her. Instead, I said, “He may not have known about the letters or affair before her death, but he knows about them now. Yet he didn’t mention them to us.”
“Well, of course he didn’t. What man likes to admit to being cuckolded?
He’s very proud, and if this case goes to court, it will become a torrid, salacious business.
He wants the affair to remain private. Which is why he doesn’t want the police to see these, but I think it’s necessary.
Please don’t let them get into the wrong hands. ”
Harry slipped the letters into his jacket pocket. “Thank you, Miss Rowbottom. I must warn you, if these letters are key to finding the murderer, I cannot guarantee they or the affair will remain a private matter.”
“I understand, but do your best.” She looked over her shoulder at the house again. “If it does get out, then we’ll deal with whatever comes together. I won’t abandon my brother-in-law. Now, I must go. He needs me to act as hostess.”
“One more question,” Harry said. “What does Mr. Kempsey do?”
“He works for the Post Office. He was heavily involved in the transfer of the trunk lines held by the National Telephone Company to the Post Office a few years ago. He worked his way up from nothing, so he’s always been careful with his reputation.
As I said, he’s a very proud man. He won’t like admitting that Isabel had an affair right under his nose and he knew nothing about it. ”
I watched her hurry back up the stairs and wondered if Mr. Kempsey had been as oblivious to Isabel’s affair as her sister seemed to think.
“She seems keen,” Harry said.
“To assist her newly single brother-in-law or to besmirch her sister’s name?”
He patted the pocket containing the letters. “Both.”
“Do you think someone who works on the telephone system for the Post Office will have electricity knowledge?”
“It’s highly likely.”
We walked the short distance to Regent’s Park and sat on a bench near the large griffin vase floral display to read the letters.
There were only four from Dr. Iverson to Isabel Kempsey, but they were quite long.
They expressed his admiration for her laughter, her bright personality, and her ‘plump, womanly hips’.
I had to bite my lip to stop myself giggling at that line.
Although the language was a little overblown, each letter got quite repetitive.
Each of the four letters began ‘To my darling Izzy’ and were signed ‘Your loving Will I’ for William Iverson.
The fifth letter was different, however. For one thing, it was dated last Wednesday, five days prior to Mrs. Kempsey’s death. The others were undated. It also had no name at the bottom or top, and it was written in capital letters.
“To disguise the handwriting,” Harry suggested.