Chapter Nineteen #2
“Sadly not. Though they fired from Larchford Wood.”
“Leaving no clue, I suppose,” Harvey said, scowling.
By some tacit agreement, neither Constance nor Solomon mentioned the torn piece of Adelaide’s dress.
Harvey looked at Inspector Harris. “Should I have Wills inquire into everyone’s whereabouts? Mrs. Jenkins, for one. How unfortunate for you, Grey, that you had to seek help at her house. I warned—”
“I think I’d better interview our victim first,” Harris interrupted. “And get Mr. and Mrs. Grey’s perspective of the whole case. Is there somewhere we can go that wouldn’t disturb you?”
“By all means, use this room,” Harvey said, moving reluctantly toward the door. “I shan’t be needing it for a while. I have tomorrow’s funeral to arrange, and my wife to see to…”
“Well,” Harris said when the door was closed behind their host. He rose and leaned his hip against the desk so that he could see both Solomon and Constance at once. “You appear to be in trouble again. Is this attack linked to the murder of Percival Harvey?”
“It seems likely,” Solomon said.
“Anything in the magistrate’s suspicions of this Mrs. Jenkins?”
“We haven’t ruled her out,” Solomon said with caution. “But she’s by no means the manipulative, evil woman Percy’s parents seem to imagine. We think, in fact, someone is going out of their way to implicate her.”
Constance produced the torn piece of cloth and told them about its discovery and their suspicions. In the middle of her explanations, a knock sounded at the door and Sergeant Flynn came in.
Where Harris was middle-aged and pretended to be grumpy, his underling was young and presented a sunny face to the world. He grinned at Solomon and Constance as though they were old friends.
“You’re looking particularly pleased with yourself,” Constance remarked.
Flynn’s smile broadened. “I am. I am engaged to be married.” He blushed. “To someone you may remember, in fact. Miss Ellen Winsom.”
For a moment, Constance was transported back to the first case she had solved with Solomon, the murder of Ellen’s father. Ellen, lively and troubled, and very young, had been inclined to trust the wrong men. Flynn, upright and honest, was definitely trustworthy, but he was hardly of her class.
His twisted smile acknowledged it. “I’m still working on her family.
But the inspector’s in line for promotion, not before time, and I’m hoping to step into his shoes…
” Encountering his superior’s gaze, he closed his mouth, cleared his throat, and hastily sat down at the desk and took out his notebook and pencil.
“Congratulations,” Constance said warmly. “All round, in fact.”
Harris cleared his throat too, glowering. “You’d better start at the beginning,” he instructed Solomon and Constance. “Mr. Harvey says he engaged you to find his son.”
Harris was a good listener, and he appreciated succinct and unvarnished reports. Constance and Solomon kept their speculations to a minimum, knowing the inspector was quick enough to see at least all the avenues that they did.
By the end, his frown was deep enough to be a scowl, and his fingers drummed with peculiar urgency on the desk beside him. “I don’t like this. I don’t like it all. Flynn, go and talk to the servants. See if either Harvey went out yesterday morning, and get hold of all the firearms in the house.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And Flynn?”
Flynn glanced back over his shoulder.
“Be discreet. We’re dealing with a magistrate here.”
“I can’t see either of them going this far to convince us of Adelaide’s guilt,” Constance protested when Flynn had gone.
“It wouldn’t necessarily be you he was trying to convince. It’s a jury. The constable would no doubt have found that piece of cloth if you hadn’t, and then Mrs. Jenkins would have probably been arrested.”
“I don’t think he would do that,” Solomon said.
“He would if the Harveys pushed him to it. He’s the magistrate, and she’s unstable and in the first throes of grief for her beloved son.
And she knows Mrs. Jenkins killed him. She already told me so.
” Harris’s scowl came back. “You know, if it weren’t for this shooting at you, Grey, I would be inclined to go back to London and have a word with Henry Hope.
We know him all too well. And it’s more likely than someone around here taking it into their head to kill a gentleman’s son.
Plus there’s the fact Hope wouldn’t have known the local waterway and wouldn’t understand the body would be discovered so quickly.
Surely a local would know that?” He paused. “Unless it was a woman.”
Constance raised an eyebrow and regarded him in silence.
Amusement tinged Solomon’s voice. “But someone did shoot at me. Besides, we have assistants looking into Hope, and into the whereabouts of Percy’s own pistol, which he normally traveled with. And which has not yet been located.”
“They shouldn’t go near Hope,” Harris snapped. “He’s dangerous, and we’ve been after him for years.”
Oh, the devil, Constance thought, her blood chilling with guilt. Could she really rely on Janey’s nose for danger? “I’ll write again and warn her off. It might not be too late.”
*
The bandage around his head somehow gave Solomon more of a rakish air than that of a wounded soldier.
He wanted to cover the bandage with his hat, which Constance promptly took from him until he agreed to merely carry it.
She wasn’t sure about his walking all the way to Larchford with her, but after washing and changing and an hour’s rest, he was clearly too restless to stay behind.
On their way out, Constance glanced through the drawing room door to see if either of the Harveys were there. Both were, sitting close together on the sofa. They weren’t speaking, but Harvey was holding both her hands and gazing at her.
Since neither noticed her, Constance tactfully withdrew.
“What is Harris doing?” Solomon asked as they left the house.
“He said he was going to talk to Wills and then go down to the lock and see the Wests. But I wouldn’t be surprised if he or Flynn appeared at Larchford at some point. Are we redundant, do you suppose?”
Solomon turned to her, eyebrows raised into the bandage. “You mean you would leave the investigation?”
She actually considered it. “I don’t think I could at this stage.” Mostly because she believed the shooting of Solomon to have been an accident. But if she was wrong…
Involuntarily, it seemed, her arm wrapped across her stomach. She could not afford to be wrong.