Wouldn't It Be Deadly (13 page)

Mrs. Higgins nodded her thanks and left the office without a glance at either of the Finches.

Mary gave an angry tug to her yellow kid gloves. “Take me out of here, Cornelius.”

As the pair turned to go, Jack cleared his throat. “I am afraid you will both have to delay your departure.”

The Finches turned back in obvious consternation.

Jack walked over to the open door. He gestured toward a police constable near the front desk. “Thomas, please escort the Finches to Interrogation Room 17.”

“What's this all about, Inspector?” Cornelius Finch asked in alarm.

“I am detaining you and your wife for questioning in the murder of Emil Nepommuck.”

“You cannot be serious!” Mary clutched at her husband.

“Mrs. Finch, I am serious about finding the murderer. I can't do that without questioning everyone who had a professional or personal relationship with the murder victim. That includes you and your husband.” He nodded toward Thomas, who entered the room.

“Come with me, please.” The policeman led a shocked Mary Finch and her unhappy husband away.

“I didn't expect you to do that.” Eliza walked over to give her cousin a kiss on the cheek. “But I'm glad you did.”

“Lizzie, I acted as a detective inspector, not your cousin. The murder happened only yesterday and I have far too many people on my list of suspects.” He yawned. “And far too little sleep. Just now I also have an appointment.” Jack stopped when he caught sight of someone in the corridor. “Excuse me, but I believe the lady has arrived.”

“Lady?” Eliza peeked out into the bustling hall.

Jack hurried to greet a fashionably dressed older woman with a regal profile and snow-white hair. Her face was partially hidden by a feathered gray hat, but Eliza would have recognized Lady Gresham anywhere. Even in a police station, the woman seemed the height of fashion in a pale gray walking suit. A silver lavaliere necklace boasting a gemstone as large as a strawberry hung from her neck.

“The Dowager Marchioness is here,” she announced to the others. “Along with her butler, Harrison. Crikey, is he the chauffeur as well?”

Pickering walked over to the door. “Don't know how many jobs that fellow does for Verena. But she always did have an eye for a handsome face. I must say, I quite forgot she was engaged to that blighter Nepommuck. I fear things are about to get even more difficult.”

Eliza and Redstone followed Pickering as he went to greet Lady Gresham. They quickly offered brief—and rather unconvincing—condolences to her.

Her butler stood silent behind Lady Gresham, but this time he was dressed in a fancy chauffeur's jacket with epaulettes. Eliza thought this made him look even more debonair.

She was distracted from the man's good looks, however, when Mary Finch scurried away from her police escort. Before she had a chance to warn the others of Mary's approach, the frantic woman threw herself in their midst.

“Your Ladyship, you ought to know the Detective Inspector will be releasing Professor Higgins any minute.”

The older woman gave Mary a long, cool stare. “Of course he is. The man should never have been brought here in the first place.”

“You can't mean that. Henry Higgins wanted the Maestro dead. I was present when he threatened to strangle him.”

“My fiancé was stabbed, was he not? I doubt a man of Professor Higgins's background would stoop to such a common method of murder. It seems the modus operandi of a dockworker, not a professor of elocution.” Lady Gresham turned her attention to Jack. “Of course, many of Emil's pupils came from common backgrounds. No doubt one of them was ill bred enough to kill him.”

“How can you say that? Professor Higgins is clearly the murderer!”

“Stop being tiresome, Mrs. Finch. If it wasn't a pupil, then it likely was a jealous husband.”

Mary Finch went pale.

“Emil confessed that he feared being called out by many husbands over his dalliances with their foolish wives,” Lady Gresham continued. “Of course, he begged my forgiveness for his mistakes. But I cared not a whit about his past indiscretions. And he cared about them even less than I did.”

Mary flinched. “Then you didn't know him as I did.”

“Stop talking to them, Mary!” Cornelius Finch shouted from the other end of the corridor, where Thomas the policeman had a firm grip on his arm. The poor fellow was flushed to the point of apoplexy.

“It is possible I didn't know my fiancé at all, especially if he was guilty of the things that were claimed in the newspaper.”

“Lies, all of it!” Spittle formed at the corners of Mary's mouth. “I will never believe such lies. The Maestro isn't even cold in his grave, and he's being treated like a criminal. Meanwhile the real criminal will be set free. And you don't seem at all upset. You're not even in mourning dress!” Sobs racked her body. “Oh Emil, my poor darling!”

Jack snapped his fingers, and two policemen came to take Mary away.

“Please accept my apologies, Your Ladyship.” Jack ushered them all into his office.

Lady Gresham stood near the doorway, refusing Jack's offer of a seat. “That woman is delusional. She has badgered Emil since she came to him for instruction. Her attentions became such a nuisance, he turned her over to Miss Doolittle for lessons.”

Eliza nodded. “I've been teaching her for weeks, although Mr. Finch continued his own lessons with the Maestro.”

“She threw herself at my Emil like a common strumpet. Calling at all hours, even though he refused to see her. Her behavior was positively frightful at the garden party. Miss Doolittle can attest to that.”

Jack turned to Eliza. “Mrs. Finch became quite upset when Her Ladyship and the Maestro announced their engagement,” she said. “Hysterical, in fact.”

Lady Gresham gestured to her manservant. “Harrison had to literally carry her off the grounds. If you seek a murderer and a motive, look no further than Mr. Finch.”

Eliza restrained herself from adding, Hear, hear.

“It seems I have my work cut out for me,” Jack said. “Along with questioning his students, I'll have to track down all those ladies Nepommuck dallied with, as well as their husbands. That could be a lengthy list.”

Lady Gresham gripped her parasol as if she wanted to batter someone about the head. “Inspector, while I want the murderer apprehended, I would prefer that my name not be associated with this case. The matter has become most embarrassing. In fact, I have already spoken to the Commissioner and he has agreed to expedite the investigation. You shan't need more than a week at most.”

Jack frowned. “Talking to all these suspects will take far longer than a week, Your Ladyship, even if I put every detective in the department on it. If only we had at least one solid clue to follow.”

Eliza snapped her fingers. “We do have a clue, Jack. I told you about it yesterday.”

“What are you talking about, Miss Doolittle?” Lady Gresham turned the full force of her hawklike gaze on her. “What clue?”

“On the day the Professor came to Belgrave Square to confront Nepommuck, I arrived early that morning for class. I found all the lights turned off in the hallway, and someone lurking just outside the Maestro's door. Whoever it was knocked me down trying to leave.”

“Good lord, Eliza.” Pickering sounded as alarmed as if it had happened that morning. “You should have told us this immediately.”

“Miss Doolittle believes that was how the killer got one of her tuning forks, which later turned up on the dead body.” Jack shrugged. “The tuning fork is evidence, not a clue.”

“That's not what I'm referring to. When I picked up the rest of my tuning forks, I found an engraved gold button on the carpeting. I believe it may belong to the murderer.”

“But my dear, it most likely belonged to one of the other students who came to the apartment for their lessons,” Pickering said.

“The housekeeping staff arrive just after dawn every morning. You could eat off the carpet after they finish their cleaning. If a button had been left on the floor, they would have swept it up.”

“You may be right, Lizzie,” Jack said. “Do you still have the button?”

“It's in my bedroom. I'll bring it back here later today.”

He rapped his knuckles on his desk. “Right then, we have a possible physical clue, and a veritable throng of elocution pupils and mistresses to hunt down. Best get started.”

Lady Gresham gave Jack an imperious look. “Whatever you must do, Inspector, it had best be done quickly. I will not tolerate any delay longer than a week in bringing this unpleasant matter to a close. And if Professor Higgins is still the most likely suspect, I regret the Commissioner will have little choice but to arrest him.”

Jack crossed his arms. “I have always tried to solve a case as quickly as possible. But I shall not let a desire for haste overtake the pursuit of justice. Not even for the Commissioner.” He gave her a hard look. “Or his friends.”

She bristled at that. “Good day, Inspector. I can find my own way out. Colonel Pickering.” After giving a brief nod at Eliza and Redstone, the Marchioness swept out of the room. The butler followed in her wake.

“I daresay she will not be pleased if this investigation drags on longer than a week,” Redstone said.

“Quite right,” Pickering said. “Verena wants things done quickly. If she had her way, the Almighty would have finished creating the world on the fifth day.”

Jack shook his head. “She has already spoken with Commissioner Dunningsworth. That means he'll be running scared. Not only does Lady Gresham have powerful friends in the government, but Dunningsworth owes his appointment to her late husband. If she wants the murder of her fiancé solved in a week, there will be the devil to pay if it isn't done by then.”

“So that's it? You have no say?” Eliza was alarmed by Jack's unhappy expression.

“I'm afraid so. We have one week to come up with a better suspect than the Professor.”

“And if we can't?” Pickering asked.

“The Commissioner will insist we arrest the Professor on a formal charge of murder.” He looked at Eliza. “I'm sorry.”

“Jack, can you please spring the Professor?” Eliza gently touched his arm. “If we only have a week, I should start working with him as soon as possible to verify his alibi.”

“Agreed, Lizzie. I'll get him released now. Don't see the point in another round of questioning with him anyway. I honestly think he enjoys the interrogation.”

“Henry does love a challenge,” Pickering said with a sigh.

“He should enjoy the next week then,” Jack said as he left the office.

Her cousin was right. It would be a challenge. As soon as the Professor joined her, Eliza would drag him off immediately to trace his footsteps. Some grocer, newsboy, or street sweeper must have seen him wandering about the city yesterday.

All they needed was a little bit of luck.

 

EIGHT

“‘Black as the eyes of a dead witch's cat.'” Higgins whipped out his notebook. “Never heard anyone use that phrase. Where do you suppose the fellow hails from? North Devon? Barnstable perhaps?”

“I have no idea,” Eliza said with an exasperated sigh. The afternoon had been an exercise in frustration. She was amazed at how indifferent Higgins seemed at being the prime suspect in a murder case. Not even a night in jail had unnerved him.

“We should engage him in conversation.” Higgins glanced back at the delivery wagon. “Eight words aren't enough to ascertain his exact birthplace. Although if I chase after every deliveryman, people will think me mad.”

“And so you are.” She took a firm grip on his sleeve and pulled him away from the men loading crates of beer in front of Cullen's Brewery. “We don't have time for any more of your eavesdropping. Now put that notebook away.”

“Infernal female,” he grumbled. “I don't know how you presume to teach phonetics when you have such little regard for its proper study.”

“Professor, keep in mind why we've been wandering the streets for hours. We must find someone—anyone!—who remembers seeing you yesterday during the time of Nepommuck's death. Writing down a new turn of phrase won't help us solve anything. And it won't clear your name.”

They turned the corner and almost bumped into a newsboy shouting, “Killer of royal 'Ungarian on the loose! Scotland Yard searching for who done 'im in!”

Higgins and Eliza hurried past.

“We're the detectives, are we?” Higgins finally tucked his notebook back into his suit pocket. “I know that Detective Inspector chap is your cousin, but you must admit that England has come to a sorry state when an innocent man has to play policeman. If I do end up going to trial, I'll probably have to serve as my own barrister as well.”

“Then let's make certain you do not go to trial.”

“We've been remarkably ineffective so far.” He shook his head. “There must be a better way.”

He was right. As soon as they left the Yard, Eliza forced Higgins to write down each street and neighborhood he could recall walking through yesterday. And for the better part of the day, they had walked or taken the tube to what felt like every nook and cranny of central London: St. John's Wood, Lambeth, Shoreditch, Maida Vale, St. George's Fields, and much more. Yet for all that, they had not come across a single soul who remembered seeing Higgins.

Even worse, Eliza couldn't shake the feeling they were being followed. She hadn't mentioned this to Higgins; he'd only say she was turning into a damnable policeman, suspecting every tradesman and milliner's assistant of some criminal deed. But she'd been raised on the streets of the dodgiest neighborhood in the city. Her instincts warned her that at least one person had been on their trail all day. She just couldn't figure out who it might be. Whenever she turned around, she saw only a mass of people with indifferent faces bustling along the pavement. Then again, maybe Jack had sent one of his detectives to keep an eye on her. If so, it was a sweet but irritating gesture.