Chapter Thirty-nine
Thirty-nine
Charlotte Warwick sat rigidly upright in the chair behind her desk.
She had been in bed when Benedict and Logan had arrived on the doorstep.
She had sent word that she would see them in the morning.
When Benedict had informed the butler that the visit concerned her son, she had donned a dressing gown and slippers and come downstairs to meet with them.
The three of them were now closeted in the library.
“You said this was about Virgil.” Charlotte gripped the polished wooden arms of the chair as though hoping it would keep her afloat in the storm that had overtaken her. She stared at Benedict and Logan. “I have told you everything I know. What do you want from me?”
“Your son abducted two women tonight,” Logan said.
“Dear heaven, no.” Charlotte’s face twisted in anguish.
“He will murder them both before this night is over if we do not stop him,” Benedict said.
Charlotte released her desperate grip on the chair and buried her face in her hands. “This cannot be happening.”
Benedict planted both hands on the top of the desk and leaned toward her. “Look at me, Mrs. Warwick. You know what your son is. You have known all along and that is something you will have to live with for the rest of your life. All we want from you tonight is an address.”
Charlotte raised her head, her eyes wet with tears. “Virgil’s address? But you already know it.”
“Not his house,” Logan said, “his studio—the place where he takes his victims to photograph them before he murders them.”
Charlotte looked dazed. “I don’t know what to tell you. If he is not at his house there is no telling where he may have gone.”
“We have reason to believe that he will have established his killing ground in a place that he believes is safe,” Benedict said.
He saw the tremor that went through Charlotte when he used the words killing ground but he ignored it.
“We know that he takes his time with his victims. He is a perfectionist when it comes to his photography. That means he requires privacy.”
“We have concluded that the most logical way that he could be assured that he won’t be discovered or interrupted is if he has established his studio in a building that he owns or controls,” Logan said.
Benedict saw comprehension begin to filter into Charlotte’s expression.
“When Miss Doncaster and I came here to ask you about your son, you mentioned that you managed the details of his life, including his finances. Inspector Logan and I stopped at Virgil’s house before we came here. There are no financial records at his house. You keep his accounts, don’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But I don’t see how that information can help you find him.”
“Does he own any property here in London?” Logan asked.
Mrs. Warwick blinked several times. “Yes, as a matter of fact. My husband left him several properties that were intended to provide income for him. The majority of the properties are rented to shopkeepers and the like who live in the rooms above their establishments.”
“Perhaps there is one that is not rented?” Benedict prodded.
Charlotte hesitated. “One of the properties is an old house near the docks that has been standing empty for nearly two years. My business manager has mentioned on a number of occasions that it should be leased or sold.”
“Why are there no tenants?” Benedict asked.
Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut. When she opened them again there was nothing but resignation and a mother’s grief in her gaze.
“Virgil told me that he had plans for the property,” she said.
“He insisted that the old house be left unoccupied until he was ready to remodel it. He said he was working with an architect. I was pleased that he was finally showing some interest in financial matters. But when I asked him how the project was coming along, he said that he had changed his mind about the original design and fired the architect. Shortly thereafter he had his first nervous breakdown and I was forced to send him to Cresswell Manor.”
“Have you ever been to the house that he said he intended to remodel?” Benedict asked.
“No.” Mrs. Warwick shook her head. “There was no reason to pay a visit to the property. My manager kept an eye on it while Virgil was being treated at the Manor to make certain that no one broke in or attempted to take up residence.”
“What did the property manager tell you about the house?” Logan asked.
“Very little,” Mrs. Warwick said. “He just mentioned that the windows were boarded up and that the locks on the front and back doors appeared to be very modern. He was satisfied that the house was secure.”