Chapter 12 #2
“The murder of Isabel Kempsey was deliberate. Until now, we’d been assuming the location was also deliberately chosen, to cause Dr. Iverson problems and perhaps even damage his reputation.
But perhaps the location was merely chosen for convenience because the killer had easy access to the consulting room and the Electro Therapy Machine.
Perhaps it wasn’t a personal attack on your husband at all. ”
Mrs. Iverson leaned forward to get her next point across. “I didn’t kill her, Miss Fox.” She sat back and unclasped her fingers. “As for my sapphic nature, I haven’t told anyone. I haven’t acted on it, nor do I intend to. I have a reputation as the wife of an eminent physician to uphold.”
“Isabel Kempsey may have guessed. We did.” It was a lie, but I wasn’t going to admit that I’d failed to detect her interest in me. “Was she blackmailing you, Mrs. Iverson?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed her forehead. Her former composure was nowhere in sight.
“Regarding the anonymous letter,” Harry prompted. “Do you remember the envelope it came in and whether there was a postmark.”
She suddenly stopped rubbing and stared directly ahead at the wall. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “It wasn’t for him.”
“Pardon?”
“I’ve just realized… It may not have been intended for my husband at all.
I simply assumed it was for him, since it was clearly from someone making a rendezvous with a love interest, and he has had numerous lovers over the years.
” Her face had gone pale when I made my accusation, but it flushed with color again as she became more animated.
“Not only was the letter unsigned, but it wasn’t addressed to anyone, and it didn’t come in an envelope. ”
“No envelope?” I echoed.
“It was just a piece of folded paper among the other mail.”
“Where did the other mail come from?” Harry asked. “Did you place it on his desk after the postman handed it to you?”
“I did. It sat there for at least an hour before I was able to sort through it. I saw the note, read it, and added it to the mail that my husband needed to attend to personally.” She turned to me. “How is the letter tied in with Mrs. Kempsey’s murder?”
“It may not be,” I said. “But we won’t know for certain until we find out who authored it, who it was meant for, and whether the rendezvous was innocent or not.”
“I see.” She rose, signaling time for us to leave. “If that letter wasn’t intended for my husband, after all, then it seems you’ll have to look elsewhere for your suspects. Poor Mrs. Kempsey didn’t die by my hand, or his.”
We saw ourselves out and didn’t get far before we began to speak over each other. Harry stopped to let me continue first.
“So, if the letter wasn’t intended for Dr. Iverson, it must have been intended for Miss Wainsmith. She’s the one who usually sorts through the mail, and the author of it would probably know that.”
“Or the author knew Mrs. Iverson was there that day and it was intended for her,” he said.
“We should check the appointment book for a list of patients who would have been in the waiting room at that time on the day it was received. Any one of them could have slipped it into the pile on the desk.” It would be a time-consuming task to then question each patient, but hopefully a name stood out.
I set off in the direction of the clinic and Harry fell into step beside me. “It may not be a patient,” he said. “The author could have handed it to the postman outside and asked him to include it with his delivery. They may never have entered the building.”
My pace slowed as I considered that. “If the anonymous author didn’t go inside, he or she wouldn’t know Miss Wainsmith wasn’t there that day.
It may have been intended for her, after all.
” I stopped when we reached the intersection with Harley Street.
“You try to chase down the postman and ask him whether someone handed him the note while I’ll look at the appointment book.
We’ll meet back at your office.” I checked the time on my watch.
“Then we’d both better head back to the hotel for the final security meeting about Mr. Lombardi’s event. ”
“Meet me at Roma Café after you’ve finished at the clinic,” Harry said. “I’ll need a bowl of Luigi’s pasta by then.”
A few minutes later, I re-entered Dr. Iverson’s clinic. Miss Wainsmith looked up from the desk with a smile. It slipped when she realized it was me and not a patient, before returning brighter and quite fake.
She peered past me. “You are alone, Miss Fox. No Mr. Armitage?”
I indicated the appointment book. “May I take a peek?”
She hesitated before inviting me around to her side of the desk. She slid the book toward me. “What are you looking for?”
“The names of patients waiting here on the day the anonymous letter arrived.” I flipped back to the relevant page and quickly scanned the names. None were familiar. Drat.
“You think one of them saw it?”
I thanked her and returned the book. I was about to leave but paused. Miss Wainsmith was pretty. If I were interested in women, would I desire her? Did Mrs. Iverson?
The consulting room door opened, and Sister Dearden emerged. Like Miss Wainsmith, she seemed surprised to see me so soon after my last visit. “Hello again, Miss Fox. Do you wish to make an appointment?”
“No. Why do you say that?”
“You’re here without Mr. Armitage.”
“Oh. I see. I needed to look at the appointment book while he does something else.”
I smiled at them both, studying each through a different lens than I had on previous occasions. Did they know about Mrs. Iverson’s preference for women? Had she flirted with either of them? Would either be offended if Mrs. Iverson took an unconventional interest in them?
Miss Wainsmith was the prettier and younger of the two, and the more naive. Mrs. Iverson called the receptionist silly and seemed to have little respect for her. Was that all a ruse to throw us off the scent that she actually liked her? Could they be lovers?
As for Sister Dearden, she may be a little frumpier and older, but there was a confidence and intelligence about her that the receptionist didn’t possess.
As a nurse at a medical practice whose patients were mostly women, would she be worried they’d stop going if they thought she was sapphic after seeing Mrs. Iverson flirt with her?
Had either one killed Isabel Kempsey because she’d somehow found out and threatened to spread gossip about the doctor’s wife? Protecting reputations was a strong motive.
Yet both women liked working for Dr. Iverson. Their positions were secure and he paid well. By murdering a patient at the clinic, they risked it all by making him look guilty.
“Miss Fox?” Sister Dearden waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
She smiled, relieved. “I was worried we’d have to give you a dose of Nerve Elixir.”
Miss Wainsmith opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle. “You can use mine.”
I thanked them both and left the clinic without taking her up on the offer.
When I arrived at the Roma Café, I didn’t enter immediately. I stood on the opposite side of the street and stared at the painted sign above the door. Roma Café.
Café Royal.
I suddenly knew who the anonymous note was meant for.
Harry wasn’t there, so I ordered a cup of tea and sat at the table by the window.
After a moment, I got up again and approached the two elderly men on their stools.
I greeted them and inquired after their health in Italian.
I didn’t remember much from the lessons my father had given me, but I did remember that.
The leathery faces of both men folded into twin winces as they shrugged. The movement encompassed more than just their shoulders, making the answer clear without a single word being uttered. Like most men their age, the years were taking their toll.
I indicated the newspapers on the counter within their reach. “Have either of you read anything more about Mr. Lombardi’s Bella Vita Company since I was last here?”
They may not have understood the entire sentence, but they repeated the company name and its owner clearly back to me. They spoke over each other in Italian, but it was the shake of their heads that gave me the answer I was after.
Luigi set a teapot and two cups on a tray on the counter. “Your muddy water is ready, Miss Fox. Just in time.” He nodded at Harry as he entered. “Would you like me to bring you pasta? I made a large batch.”
Harry and I ordered a bowl each, then he picked up the tray and carried it to our table. “You look like you stumbled upon a clue,” he said. “Did you recognize a patient name in the appointment book for the day the letter arrived?”
“No, although I have realized something. But you first. Did you speak to the postman already? That was fast.”
“I intercepted him on his rounds not far from Harley Street. He’s adamant no one has ever directly handed him a letter to deliver to Dr. Iverson’s clinic.”
“Could he have accepted an unofficial payment to do it and keep quiet about it?”
“Possible, but I don’t think so. He seemed offended that I’d even suggest he’d deliver an unstamped piece of mail.”
I sighed into my teacup.
“You seem disappointed,” Harry said.
“If no one handed him the letter then it could be a patient, and I was hoping not to have to call on them all.”
“Tell me the thing you’ve realized.”
Luigi brought over bowls of pasta and placed them in front of us. It smelled delicious, and I was momentarily distracted as I picked up my fork.
“Cleo?” Harry prompted.
“The anonymous note wanted the rendezvous to occur on Regent Street, opposite the Café Royal. We’ve been wondering if the location had any significance, and I believe it does.
Mr. Chapman told me men meet men at the Café Royal, but he also said women who dress as men go there.
Although my experience of these things is limited, I believe women who dress as men often have sapphic tendencies. ”
Harry lowered his fork and met my gaze. “You think Mrs. Iverson was the intended recipient then, not Miss Wainsmith or the doctor?”
“She is sapphic. If the postman didn’t accept a bribe to deliver the anonymous note then it must have been placed with the other mail by someone inside the clinic.
They’d see Mrs. Iverson working there and know she would sort through the mail before anyone else saw it.
Therefore it has to be meant for her. Given we know she likes women, and the rendezvous was near the Café Royal, it’s very likely the note was written by another woman. ”
“Excellent deduction, Cleo. Dr. Iverson’s patients are almost all women. Any one of the patients in the waiting room that day could have placed that note there. I know it’s a long list, but at least it’s a definitive one.”
We mulled that over as we ate our pasta, discussing which women in our investigation may have written the note to Mrs. Iverson. The victim was among them, but not Edith Hamlin. She’d died a year ago, and the letter had been received only last week.
We’d just finished eating when the door opened and one of those women rushed inside, her face flushed and carrying her hat. She didn’t carry her usual bag, however. Spotting us, she rushed over.
“They’ve arrested him,” Rose Bolton blurted out. “They’ve arrested Duncan!”