Corpse in the Canal (Murder in Moonlight #9)

Chapter One

“I want you to find my son,” Richard Harvey said.

Hat, the receptionist at Silver and Grey Investigations, had shown him directly into Solomon’s office without an appointment.

“Sorry, sir, ma’am,” she had murmured in her apologetic way as she dropped a visiting card on the desk, “but the gentleman says it’s urgent.”

It so happened that there was half an hour before their first appointment of the day, but even so, clients were only allowed to jump the queue for attention under particular circumstances, one of which was a missing child.

So after a quick glance at the card—which proclaimed their visitor to be Mr. Richard Harvey, Channing House, Buckinghamshire—Constance invited him to sit and asked Hat to bring another cup.

Constance and Solomon, proud proprietors of Silver and Grey, had not yet had the chance to enjoy their first cup of tea of the day.

“Please, sit down,” Solomon said, rising to indicate the chair on the other side of the desk.

Richard Harvey was clearly an affluent gentleman, dressed in finely tailored clothes and shining shoes, his neatly trimmed beard and side whiskers a shade grayer than his mostly light-brown hair.

Not particularly tall, he was prosperously stout.

Constance had the impression he was inclined to strut when he walked, but right now, worry meant that he merely hurried across the room, his brow deeply furrowed.

Solomon offered his hand. “I’m Solomon Grey. This is my wife.”

Harvey shook hands automatically, blinking in some surprise at Constance, although he remembered his manners enough to bow to her. “Mrs. Grey.”

Constance sat and began to pour the tea. “How old is you son, sir? And when and where did you last see him?”

Harvey, in the act of sitting, blinked in clear astonishment, though she couldn’t tell if was her questions or the fact that she’d asked them that surprised him.

“He is twenty-five, madam, and I last saw him at home in Channing House on Sunday.”

Constance did not look at Solomon. She took the requested cup and saucer from Hat, who then effaced herself.

“We ask,” Solomon said smoothly, “because we would always prioritize a missing child. But unless you have some reason to suspect your adult son’s life is in danger, we have clients with prior claims upon our time.”

“His life? His life?” Harvey blustered, reddening beneath his whiskers. “I shouldn’t be surprised if it were in danger—anything is possible with That Woman.” His speech seemed to give the final words capital letters, as though they formed her name.

Harvey stirred his tea furiously, glowering. “Once she has married him, I expect she will do away with him and inherit everything I have settled upon him!”

“Is that a serious accusation?” Solomon inquired. “Or one fired by anger and anxiety?”

“Both!”

“Perhaps you had better tell us everything,” Constance suggested. “And then we can better decide if we can help you or if you would be better involving the police.”

“The police?” he spluttered, fortunately with his teacup only halfway to his lips. “I dashed well shouldn’t think so! I am a gentleman and so is my son!”

Constance, used to such attitudes toward the relatively new police force, set down her own cup and reached for her notebook. She didn’t need it, for she remembered every conversation in its entirety, but the taking of notes during initial consultation seemed to soothe most clients.

“What is your son’s name?” she asked.

“Percival Harvey. We call him Percy.”

“And he left your home on Sunday evening,” Solomon continued. “Do you know where he was going?”

“To London. He keeps rooms off Piccadilly.”

“And did he arrive there?”

“Darren, his man, says so.”

“And when did Darren last see him?”

“On Monday morning. Monday is Darren’s half day, so he went out in the afternoon.

When he came back, Percy had not yet returned.

On Tuesday morning, Darren noticed Percy’s bed had not been slept in.

When there was still no sign of him on Wednesday morning, Darren wrote to me to see if Percy was back in Channing.

Which he wasn’t. So I came up to London to find him on Thursday. Yesterday.”

“Your son is a young man of independent means?” Solomon asked.

Harvey glared. “He is, and I know what you’re thinking. But he came here to propose—” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Look here, Grey, this may not be the kind of edifying tale you would want your wife to hear.”

Constance never knew whether to laugh or stick her tongue out at such assumptions. Instead, she smiled amiably and let Solomon answer.

“We are partners, sir. My wife needs to know everything I do. You are unlikely to shock her.”

Extremely unlikely. Although the other way around would be very easy indeed…

Harvey regarded her with a hint of distaste, then shrugged his shoulders.

“Very well. My son is a healthy young man who enjoys his pleasures. Who doesn’t, at that age?

” he asked indulgently. “However, he also has an understanding with Lady Phoebe Styles, the Earl of Dashworth’s daughter.

Percy came to London to propose to her formally.

However, on Monday, the day after Percy left, I discovered That Woman was also in London. I know what she was up to!”

“What?” Constance asked. “And—er… Who is she?”

“Adelaide Jenkins,” said Harvey, his voice dripping with scorn.

“A widow who has taken up residence in the neighborhood of Channing. She has caught Percy in her wiles, although he was never going to be foolish enough to marry her! No, he meant to do his duty by Lady Phoebe, and she followed him to London to put a spoke in the wheel!”

“Did she manage it?” Constance asked.

“What? No, of course not!” Harvey scowled, then sighed. “That is…perhaps. I called on Lord and Lady Dashworth, of course, but neither they nor Phoebe have seen Percy in a fortnight.”

“And Mrs. Jenkins?” Solomon asked. “Has she seen him?”

“How the deuce would I know? I’ve no idea where to find the woman!”

“So, you’re afraid they’ve disappeared together?” Constance hazarded.

“I put nothing past That Woman. Nothing.”

Constance, who had been That Woman for all her adult life, could not resist. She nodded sagely. “Then you would describe Mr. Percy Harvey as a weak-willed kind of a man, or na?ve, perhaps? The sort to be taken advantage of?”

Harvey immediately looked affronted, harrumphing into his beard.

“Hmph, hum, no, I would not! But she has wiles, Mrs. Grey. Wiles! She could have made it seem his duty to spend time with her, marry her even! That is my greatest fear, that he was inveigled into marriage with such a creature and is now stuck with her! And he such a bright young man with his whole life ahead of him! It would break his mother’s heart. ”

This time Constance did glance at Solomon, who sat forward in his chair.

“Mr. Harvey, it is our policy never to undertake cases that involve trust between husbands and wives. Your case comes so close—”

“This is not a matter of trust!” Harvey exploded. “I neither need nor want you to investigate That Woman. I know exactly what she’s like. I just need to know where my son is! Is that beyond your capabilities?”

Constance regarded him thoughtfully. Although he was something of an arrogant blusterer, not above bullying people into doing his bidding, the anxiety in his face and voice spoke of a genuinely painful concern. Whatever his reasons, and whatever their validity, he feared for his son.

“Probably not,” Solomon said. He met Constance’s gaze for a moment.

They understood each other. “At this point, we will make only preliminary inquiries. If we believe there is a case, we will talk about business. For now, tell us your son’s address, the names of his friends, his clubs, his favorite haunts in town, and where you have looked already… ”

*

“Have we just been flimflammed?” Solomon murmured in the brief moments between Harvey leaving the office and Hat showing the next client in.

“I don’t know. But with or without cause, he’s afraid for his boy. I expect parents always are…” Her mouth went suddenly dry. She didn’t like to think of that kind of worry, though she’d caused more of it than she’d once understood in her own mother.

Their next client, who had written to them about discovering the cause of a major disturbance in his neighborhood, turned out to be upset by a barking dog none of his neighbors would admit to owning. But since he wasn’t put off by the fees, they took him on and got him to sign a contract.

“Riveting,” Solomon remarked when the client left.

“I daresay Janey and Lenny could deal with the barking dog. If we find Percy Harvey today, then we can take on the next client tomorrow.” It was good to have a business so brisk that they had a healthy waiting list.

“You think it will be that simple?” Solomon asked.

“A wealthy young man kicking up larks in Town? I should imagine so. But I want to know why his father is so alarmed.”

“So do I,” Solomon confessed.

“Have you ever come across him?”

He shook his head. “I don’t really move in his circles.”

Solomon could move in any circles he chose. He was wealthy enough, successful enough, and with plenty of powerful connections. But his trust, like his affections, was difficult to win, and he had never been interested in what were regarded as the pleasures of Society.

At one time, she had wondered if he kept to himself through fear of rejection—after all, Society could be cruel to anyone who was, or looked, different.

Solomon, born in Jamaica of mixed blood, was indeed different—because of his quiet compassion, his practical benevolence, his keen observation, and the clever mind that had made and kept expanding his fortune.

“Harvey said his son spends much of his allowance on charitable donations,” Constance recalled.

“They must be different from those you or I support. I have certainly never encountered him at any such meetings. I shall ask around, though I’m not sure it’s the best place to start.”