The Other Side of Midnight (14 page)

I told her my new friend was named Florence. It sounded like a nice enough name. And through all the rows, that night and afterward, I never mentioned Gloria Sutter.

D
espite the restless night I’d spent after drinking Gloria’s gin, I was out of the house early the next morning. The silence in my sitting room was too much for me, the walls narrowing in. The bustle of London’s morning streets numbed my mind. I told myself I was wandering with no fixed purpose, but by the time I took the tube to Aldwych station, I admitted that was a lie. Aldwych was only a few streets from the offices of the New Society for the Furtherance of Psychical Research.

The tube doors slid open and I made my way, along with a smattering of suited men and important-looking women, up to the street. The pavements were still damp from the last evening’s rain, and a bank of gray clouds lowered over the city, threatening another round. My temples throbbed already. I was hungry and thirsty for some tea.

I had just paused at the doorway of a small café, considering a stop alone for breakfast, when a long black motorcar pulled up to the curb next to me and a man unfolded himself from the backseat.

I blinked at him in shock. It was George Sutter.

“Good morning, Miss Winter,” Sutter said, touching the brim of his hat. “Join me for coffee, will you?”

He gently rested one hand on my elbow, and I automatically let him steer me through the door and to a seat at a small table. “Just tea,” I managed to correct him after he ordered on my behalf—tea and a scone for me, black coffee for himself. Then he turned to face me, crossing one leg over the other.

He was dressed in one of his well-cut slender suits and an overcoat, a hat, and an unassuming tie. A folded umbrella sat in the crook of one arm. A businessman just like any other on a London morning, except that his air of power sent the waiter scrambling with extra speed to fetch his coffee. And I’d accompanied him at his request without question, like a servant.

Before he could speak, I asked the obvious. “How did you find me?”

“How do you think?”

I allowed a feeling of shock to move through me. “You have someone watching me? For how long? How did he follow me through the tube?”

“Does it matter, Miss Winter?”

His look told me it was a foolish question, which made me angry. “I never agreed to be followed day and night,” I said, thinking about where I’d been the night before. Had George Sutter’s man been watching? Had he seen James? “Besides, I don’t understand. If you have enough manpower at your fingertips to follow a woman through the tube, then why do you need me in this investigation at all?”

The waiter returned with our order, and Sutter didn’t answer. I could see little of Gloria in his smooth, impassive face—a little in the eyes, perhaps, but he had none of her sensual openness. He looked older than she ever had, older than she would ever now grow to be.

“I didn’t intend to anger you,” he said when we were alone again. “I wanted to speak with you privately, and I didn’t think you’d agree
to see me. I prefer to speak in person rather than over the telephone.” He sipped his coffee and put the cup down on the saucer with a soft click. “I did try to send you a letter.”

“Your letter was rude,” I informed him, still irked. “My reply was warranted. I hope you don’t often have to charm people in MI5.”

“I have never told you I work for MI5.”

No, that had been James Hawley’s idea. “Then who do you work for?”

Sutter’s demeanor didn’t crack. “You can parry me all you like, Miss Winter, but it doesn’t change the fact that I require a progress report. You’ve accepted my fee and, according to my sources, you’ve been investigating. What have you found?”

I set down my tea. He was infuriating and I didn’t quite trust him, but I reminded myself that he wanted the same thing I did: to find Gloria’s killer. Still, I took a bite of my scone and made him wait before I answered. “There isn’t much yet,” I admitted. “I’ve talked to Gloria’s assistant, Davies. The séance was the idea of Fitzroy Todd, who talked Gloria into it.”

Sutter nodded, sipping his coffee. “Go on.”

“Fitzroy says the idea was the clients’—that is, Mr. and Mrs. Dubbs. They offered him money to get Gloria to agree to the séance. Fitzroy always needs money, so he took it.”

“That isn’t in Scotland Yard’s reports,” Sutter said. “The money, that is.”

“No, it wouldn’t be. Fitzroy didn’t tell them. He probably thinks it paints him as a suspect, and he’s out to save his own skin.”

“And is he, in your opinion?” Sutter asked. “Is he a suspect?”

“I don’t know. Fitzroy is without use, but he isn’t violent. He could have done it, however. He was there, and I believe he’s strong enough.”

Sutter thought this over. “Go on,” he said again.

“I spent last night with Ramona, the spirit medium.” I didn’t bother mentioning what exactly had happened at the séance. “She’s a fraud, and she was an opportunist trying to latch onto Gloria, but I think she knows more than she’s telling me.”

Sutter evinced no emotion, but his gaze fixed on me and did not waver. “What exactly do you think she knows?”

I shook my head. It was a feeling I had—she had been so strange, so angry, and she had known so much about Gloria and me. But mostly it was the look in her eyes when she’d stopped me at her door. “She was afraid,” I said. “Terrified.”

“The police questioned her,” Sutter said. “She had nothing useful to say. It seems a great many people are lying to the police in this investigation. Which is why I need you.”

“I’ll try talking to her again,” I said. “Perhaps she’ll be more reasonable in daylight.” And after she’d had her fix for the day.

“If she was jealous of Gloria, don’t you think that would be a motive for murder?”

I looked at Sutter. He was watching me carefully, as always, his features humorless and still. “Perhaps,” I said. “But Ramona isn’t stupid, only desperate. She would be better served to use the occasion to steal Gloria’s clients, rather than risking murder.” I crumbled a piece of scone in my fingers, thinking. “Besides, Ramona is a drug addict. Her brain is addled most of the time, and she isn’t particularly healthy. I’m not sure she’s strong enough to subdue Gloria and carry her to the water. And I think a drug addict would commit a crime of opportunity, not something carefully planned.”

Sutter’s eyes gleamed. “You’re saying this was planned?”

I nodded, relieved to speak the thoughts that had gone around in my mind all night. “I’m starting to think it. I don’t have proof. But the more I look at this, the more it seems to me that Gloria was lured and set up. Someone didn’t just happen by and kill her. Someone quite deliberately, I think, wanted her dead.”

Sutter looked out the window at the busy street for a long moment, his coffee cooling in its cup. “Well,” he said finally. “That is very well-done, Miss Winter. You did almost as well as Scotland Yard.”

I leaned toward him. “What have they found?”

“I’ll admit they’ve surprised me.” Sutter uncrossed and recrossed
his legs, frowning. “The inspector there, Merriken, is smarter than I gave the Yard credit for. I have the impression that nothing much gets past him.”

“He’s asked to see me,” I said.

Sutter nodded. “He has noted that he wants to question you.”

I swallowed, my throat dry. “Am I a suspect?” I asked him. “Your information must say something.”

“The problem with Gloria’s murder is that there are too many suspects to choose from, not too few. Her life was full of shady characters, rivals, former lovers, and frauds. And those are only the people we know about.”

“You forgot clients,” I said. “Gloria’s client list was supposedly powerful. It was certainly top secret. Any one of those people could have had her killed.”

“Inspector Merriken has already covered that ground,” Sutter said. “He’s interviewed a number of Gloria’s clients—with admirable discretion, I might add.”

I stared at him, amazed. “Are you saying Davies actually gave him a list of Gloria’s clients?”

“It seems she was rather reluctant. The note in the file includes the word ‘unpleasant.’ However, Inspector Merriken can be persuasive, and he tracked down some of the names himself. He’s also spoken to your friend from the New Society.”

“James Hawley?”

Sutter sat back in his chair. “Don’t look so surprised, Miss Winter. I presume you’re on your way to the offices of the New Society to see him right now.”

He was right, of course, although I did not admit it. “Is James a suspect?”

“As I’ve mentioned, there are too many suspects at the moment. However, except for the fact that this James Hawley wrote an article about Gloria that gained him some ridicule in his profession, there isn’t much motive for murder.”

“That article was years ago. They haven’t seen each other since.”

“And yet it was revived by a journalist rather recently, it seems. He may have been subjected to a new round of disbelief in the scientific community.”

“You don’t know him,” I said. “He doesn’t give a fig about that. James is no murderer.”

Sutter raised his brows at my avid defense. “I’m only trying to assist you. The article mentions you as well and is hardly a ringing endorsement of your powers. You mustn’t trust too easily, Miss Winter. You don’t know who is involved in this.”

I gave him a pointed look. “I don’t trust anyone—believe me.” When he did not quaver in the least, I admitted, “I may contact the Dubbses next, ask them some questions.”

“That would be covering ground already covered by Scotland Yard,” Sutter countered. “Do you truly think that would be the best use of your time? I need you to talk to the people who won’t tell the truth to the police. It’s why I hired you. People like this Ramona.” The disgust with which her name rolled off his tongue was audible. “If you feel there is more than what she’s said already, it’s best if you interview her again.”

“And my powers, of course,” I said. “You also hired me because of my powers.”

He looked out the window again, as if the mention of my powers made him uneasy, though his face gave nothing away. “I admit your powers are of interest to me,” he said. “Substantial interest, in fact. But you have as much as told me that you will not use them to contact my sister.” He looked back at me. “Are you saying you’ve changed your mind?”

I thought of how my powers had slipped away from me the night before, how I’d seen that horrible woman and her baby. I shook my head. “That offer is not on the table, Mr. Sutter.” I said the words with conviction, but they felt strangely dry in my mouth. I did not take the time to ponder why.

“Then I’m afraid I have a great many things to attend to.” Sutter pushed back his chair and stood, placing several coins on the table. He bowed briefly, a formal gesture I watched with surprise. “Good day, Miss Winter.” He paused in the doorway. “Be careful,” he said to me, and then he was gone, vanishing into the London crowds as if he’d never been.

*   *   *

T
he New Society for the Furtherance of Psychical Research occupied a small set of offices in a building off the Strand, up a musty set of stairs and past doors advertising various low-rent solicitors, accountants, and even a small poetry magazine. I hadn’t been here since the day they’d tested the powers of my mother and me, and yet I remembered it perfectly, as if I’d seen it yesterday.

My knock on the office door was answered by a huge bear of a man, bearded, wearing an ill-fitting suit and carrying an umbrella, apparently on his way out.

His eyebrows shot upward when he saw me. “My goodness!” he said. “Miss Ellie Winter.” He turned and shouted at someone in the office behind him. “Sadie, do we have an appointment with Miss Winter?”

“No,” came a voice at the same time I said to him, “No.”

The man turned back and looked at me. He was pale, his light brown hair and beard threaded with gray. He had one of those faces that is impossible to age accurately, and he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty-five. He exuded intelligent vitality, and his eyes glinted at me from behind his glasses. This was Paul Golding, the president of the New Society. “A lovely surprise, then,” he said, backing away from the doorway. “Do come in.”

The main office contained three mismatched scarred desks, at one of which sat a stick-thin woman of fifty who was giving me a suspicious look. A door led to a second office, this one darkened, and a second passage led to a larger back room where, I knew, the Society
conducted its tests on psychics. The wall behind the woman was lined with wooden filing cabinets, their tops stacked with files, papers, and books, and more papers sat piled on the floor in front of the cabinets. A single window looked out onto the street and gave a view of the graying sky, the dimmed light making the entire office rather gloomy.

“I hope you remember me?” Golding said, his eyebrows rising again.

“Yes, of course,” I said softly. I hadn’t expected a strange wash of emotion to come over me at the sight of these offices. I had been there only once before, and at the time I had been so hurt, so angry, it had seemed like the end of the world. Now I realized it had been nothing close.

“I surmised it,” Golding said, “but one must be polite. Would you like a seat?” He turned to the stick-thin woman. “Sadie, fetch us some tea.”