by Blythe Baker
“Maybe it’s not your time to go yet,” I said, feeling entirely helpless and desperately sad at the same time.
His breathing was more of a wheeze than a true breath. He stared up toward the heavens. “No…” he said. “This – this was not the way I thought I might – might – ”
A gurgling sound erupted from his throat, and his muscles in his shoulder began to twitch.
Unable to stand it any longer, I stood and hurried around the tree, waving my blood-stained hands above my head as I made my way toward the fence.
“Help!” I cried. “It’s the vicar! He’s – he’s dying!”
A few faces in the street turned toward me. I recognized them all. Mrs. Georgianna. Mr. and Mrs. Trent. Mr. Hodgins, the butcher.
Mrs. Georgianna let out a terrible shriek of terror when she saw me, and turned, fleeing down the street as fast as her legs would carry her.
“Someone has hurt him!” I cried, grasping the bars of the fence as I peered out into the street. “Please, someone go get the police! Get a doctor!”
Another woman down the opposite side of the street screamed as well, which was followed by another some distance away.
Mr. Trent and Mr. Hodgins looked at one another, and without a word, hurried toward the gate leading into the cemetery.
Mrs. Trent, however, stood there, stunned…staring blankly at me, her hand clutched over her heart.
“The police!” someone further down the road shouted. “Fetch the Inspector!”
“And a doctor,” I cried. “And hurry!”
I turned and hurried back through the tombstones toward Mr. James, the blood singing in my ears.
I stumbled, nearly catching my ankle on an exposed root that was protruding up through the ground. I grabbed onto one of the graves, using it to right myself as I continued to run toward him.
Mr. Hodgins and Mr. Trent were bending over Mr. James by the time I arrived.
“We need to – ” I began to say.
“It’s too late,” Mr. Hodgins said darkly, glaring at me. “He’s already dead.”
“What?” I asked, icy fear flooding my veins.
I knelt down beside Mr. James, laying my hands on his shoulder.
“No…” I said. “He was just – he was just speaking with me. Maybe he’s only lost consciousness – ”
I reached out to touch his face, but a hand grabbed onto my wrist, preventing me.
“Why do you have blood all over your hands?”
Mr. Hodgins was glaring down at me, and Mr. Trent looked troubled behind him.
“I was – I was helping him,” I said. “I heard him calling out for help, and I just found him like this – ”
Mr. Hodgins yanked me up to my feet as easily as if I were a child. His gaze hardened. “And how do you explain the blood on your blouse?”
I looked down and saw the spatters of blood on my front. “He – he was coughing. I think his lung must have been punctured. You can see it in the corner of his mouth – ”
“Don’t lie to me…” Mr. Hodgins said. “I’ve worked with animals and blood long enough to know how easy it is to be sprayed when you are the one doing the slicing in the first place.”
My stomach flipped over. “You think I did this?”
Mr. Trent was getting to his feet, having knelt down beside Mr. James. “This sweater…” he said, looking up at me, the bloody mess cradled gently in his hands. “Is this yours, Helen?”
My mouth had suddenly gone dry. “I didn’t do this,” I said, shaking my head. “Surely you cannot be serious in thinking I would have – ”
Mr. Hodgins’ grip around my wrist tightened. “And yet, all the evidence seems to point right toward you. Who happened to be here when he died? You. Who has blood all over herself? You do.”
“No,” I said. “I came here to help. I wanted to save him – ”
“You’ve been sticking your nose into all of these murders happening around the village,” Mr. Hodgins said, a slight growl to his words. “And I’m starting to think you had more to do with them then you have been letting on.”
My heart pounded against my chest, and I struggled to free myself from his grip. It was startling to me that a normally fair minded man like Mr. Hodgins could turn so suddenly nasty. “N – no,” I said, leaning away from him, the sharp scent of the blood hanging in the air around me like a sinister perfume. “I didn’t kill anyone. I would never – ”
“Helen,” Mr. Trent said as gently as he could, sorrow clear in his aged face. “You were here at the scene of the crime. His blood is on your hands. How else do you explain this?”
I could only stare at the man. He really thought I was the one who had done this? “Why is it so hard to believe that I found him here?”
“Did he tell you who killed him?” Mr. Trent asked.
“He was – he was trying to, but he was delirious, and – ”
“Don’t ask her that,” Mr. Hodgins said. “She could very easily just lie to you about it.”
“I’m not lying,” I said, my eyes narrowing, my hand beginning to throb as Mr. Hodgins clenched it so tightly. “Now if you would kindly release me – ”
“So you can run away?” Mr. Hodgins asked. “I don’t think so. I’ll be taking you down to the police station myself, so everyone can see the blood on your hands. Mr. Trent, would you mind staying with Mr. James?”
“Of course,” Mr. Trent said heavily.
“How do we know that he can’t still be saved?” I asked, looking down at Mr. James. “If we can get a doctor here, maybe something can be done – ”
“There’s no pulse,” Mr. Trent said, shaking his head. “He’s gone.”
“And how can we be sure that he wasn’t dead long before you came crying down to us in the street?” Mr. Hodgins asked, starting to pull me along the path back toward the front gates of the churchyard. I glared at him as he dragged me along. “Why on earth would I alert you to the body if I had been the one to do it? Wouldn’t it have been much wiser if I had just killed him and fled the scene?”
“Or you were hoping to throw everyone off the scent,” Mr. Hodgins said. “Why would anyone suspect you if you were the one to just happen to stumble upon the body?”
“That clearly didn’t stop you from thinking I’d done it…” I muttered.
He gave a merciless shake as he whipped me around the corner of a large tombstone.
We returned to the path leading back down to the street, when Mr. Hodgins stopped.
I looked up…and my heart sank.
Inspector Sam Graves was standing there, glowering at the scene before him.
“Caught her in the act, Sir,” Mr. Hodgins said, shoving me toward Sam. “Or at least, just as she was finishing him off.”
I staggered to a halt in front of Sam, blowing some of my chestnut hair from my eyes. “Sam, I didn’t do this. Please, you have to believe – ”
He held up a hand to stop me in midsentence. “Whatever you are going to say, you should save it for later,” he said. His tone was flat, and his stare blank. “Thank you, Mr. Hodgins. I can take it from here.”
To my horror, I saw Sam produce a pair of handcuffs from somewhere, spinning them around his fingers.
“Just be patient,” Sam whispered to me as he stepped around behind me, gently drawing my wrists together. I felt the bite of the cold metal as it touched my wrists. “We will figure all this out.”
He snapped the handcuffs in place.
I stared helplessly up at him.
How had this all gone so horribly wrong?
3
I opened my mouth to argue with Sam as he started to lead me from the gates into the churchyard, but he gave me an almost imperceptible shake of his head, silencing me. I was vaguely aware of a pair of constables rushing past us toward the dead man we left behind. Bystanders out on the street must have alerted the police to what had happened.
Sam’s grip was firm on my upper arm as he walked me down the street toward the
police station. He wasn’t nearly as angry about it all as Mr. Hodgins was…which surprised me. As we walked, I had time to recall the butcher’s words.
Was that how people in Brookminster saw me? Did they all think I had nothing better to do than get involved in these murders that had been happening since my arrival? Couldn’t they understand that somehow, they all had some sort of tie to me?
No, they certainly wouldn’t understand that, would they? Not even if I were to explain it to them. They would write it off as an excuse…
My fingers were sticky, the dried portions of blood tugging at the skin around my knuckles as I clenched my fists.
Mr. James…how had he died in those few moments when I’d gone looking for help? And why was everyone so quick to assume it was me?
I couldn’t understand.
All the streetlights had flickered into life, bathing the street in a warm glow. It would have been an otherwise peaceful night…had the people walking past us not been reacting the way they were.
Some gasped. Others cried out. Parents drew their children to the other side of the street, covering their eyes. People I considered friends and loyal customers of my shop glared at me, or stared in horror, pale faced and frightened. I realized that I must make a horrible sight, what with all the blood spattered on me.
The police station appeared up ahead, and it couldn’t have come soon enough. The whole village seemed to have turned against me in one moment.
Sam was gentle as he walked with me up the stairs. “Now, I should let you know how things are going to proceed from here,” he said. “Once we get you through processing, I am going to take you into questioning. If I were you, I would do your best to remain calm, and to answer all of my questions as honestly as possible.”
I bit back my retort. Why on earth would I ever be anything less than truthful?
“And if we can…I’ll make sure we get you cleaned up at some point,” he said.
My heart skipped. That certainly would be preferable.
The police station was much darker than I remembered it. The lights overhead seemed dim, and the floor seemed cold and unforgiving. There was no color on the walls, and the air smelled of sweat, must, and blood.
Sam steered me clear away from the reception area, and instead led me straight to a grey, metal door that I had never been past before, nor had I ever noticed it, painted the same drab color as the rest of the wall.
Shame clung to me like a shawl as we entered. Not only was I filthy, I knew that everyone out in the front room of the station had seen me, and had likely recognized me. How was I ever going to live down this moment? Even though I was innocent, the glares I’d received told me everything I needed to know about people’s confidence in me. Was my reputation here in Brookminster really that fragile?
The room beyond was as dimly light as the foyer, with nothing more than a simple desk area and a row of chairs against the wall.
“Go ahead and have a seat,” Sam said, gesturing to the first vacancy in the empty line of cold, metal seats.
I didn’t say anything as I did as he asked. It was in my best interest to cooperate, I knew. Any fighting I might want to do instinctively would only get me in worse trouble.
My eyes stung with tears as I settled into the chair, the handcuffs behind me cutting into my flesh.
Sam approached the desk where an older gentleman was sitting, his nose bent over a page of numbers. “Evening, Jim,” Sam said. “I’ve got someone in for questioning.”
The man glanced up at him briefly. “Oh? Who is it this time, Terrance again – ”
His eyes shifted toward to me, and then widened like saucers.
“Oh, I see,” he said, looking me up and down, his gaze lingering on the spatters of blood on the front of my blouse. “Very well, here’s the forms.”
Sam took them. “Thank you,” he said.
He picked out a pen from a cup full of them, and began filling out the forms for the records. My record. It made me wonder if Sam already had notes tucked away somewhere about me, or if anyone had come in with a complaint or a false testimony about me.
I looked away, unable to stomach it any longer. How in the world had I gotten here?
When Sidney had attacked me in his home, I had defended myself. Sam had known that, and we hadn’t had to go through all these steps. Was it because I’d gone right to him that time? He had never once considered sending me to prison, even though I had been the one to…
I shook my head. It was too difficult to think about right now.
Sam must have felt my gaze on him, because he gave me a sidelong look out of the corner of his eye.
When our gazes met, I noticed a depth to his expression that surprised me. He was trying to tell me something without having to say it. What, though?
His look didn’t last long. He turned away, rather sadly, his focus on the papers before him once again.
I wasn’t left alone with my thoughts for too much longer. I heard Sam replace the cap on the pen and sigh heavily as he stood upright. “I’m going to take her right in for questioning,” he said.
“As you wish,” Jim said, giving me a startled look out of the corner of his eye.
Sam picked up a clipboard, and then walked back over to me, a blank expression on his face. “Are you ready?” he asked.
How was I supposed to answer that?
I got to my feet, and he slipped his hand underneath my arm once again, leading me down a dreary hall.
We walked in silence. I agonized over it, wanting desperately for him to say something, anything, that might make the situation a little less frightening. The longer he went without speaking, the worse I began to feel. Was I really going to be blamed for Mr. James’ murder? Was this where my luck finally ran out?
He stopped before another bare, metal door, pulling a bundle of keys from deep inside his pockets. Sliding one into the lock on the door, he glanced down at me.
“Just stay calm, all right?” he asked in a low voice, his other hand resting on the door handle. “And remember that everything you say will be overheard by more than just me.”
I swallowed, though it was a struggle, given that my throat felt more like a dry stream bed.
He pushed the door open, and my stomach dropped.
It was a type of room that I’d seen before, but I never thought I would have to enter one.
Dreary like the rest of the station, the room was small, with three blank walls, and a fourth where a large, mirrored piece of glass was inlaid.
I caught a glimpse of myself for the first time in its reflection, and the knots in my chest tightened…
The vicar’s blood was all over me. Not just sprinkled on the front of my shirt. It had somehow been smeared across my cheek, streaked across my exposed collarbone, and stained the whole front of me to the point where I couldn’t be sure that I didn’t have a wound underneath it all.
I see why Mr. Hodgins thought it was me…I realized with horror.
Sam brought me to the only piece of furniture in the room; a plain metal table with two simple chairs on either side of it.
He sat me down in one chair, and I felt his hands grab my own from behind. My heart skipped, finally thinking things might be all right, especially as he unlocked my handcuffs.
Disappointment returned full force, though, when he brought my hands around to my front, reconnected the cuffs, and attached the cuffs to another metal hook imbedded in the surface of the table. There was no way I was going anywhere.
Sam went to sit at the chair across from me when a door behind me opened, and in the glass window on the wall beside me, I saw two burly officers step into the room. They said nothing as they closed the door behind themselves, leaning against the concrete wall.
Sam glanced at the glass. “Could we get her a wet towel to clean up with?” he asked. “The stench of blood is revolting this late in the evening…”
My stomach fell to the floor. So this was how he was going to treat me, hmm?
He looked over at me, and something in his gaze made me look closer.
He squinted his eyes ever so briefly and there was an almost imperceptible shake of his head.
Was he trying to tell me that he wasn’t meaning to be unkind? Was this the only way that he could get through this while still maintaining his authority?
With the rumors flying around the station that he and I were romantically connected, then it was only natural that he would have to do his best to not show favoritism in any way.
I suppose I should expect harsh remarks like that one, then…I thought.
A few moments later, the door opened behind me again, and someone passed something through to one of the officers behind me.
He then walked around to me and tossed the cold, damp towel on my hands.
I looked up at Sam, questioning.
He nodded. “Feel free to clean up what you can, but I still expect you to cooperate with me and listen to my questions.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, doing what I could to wipe the dried blood off my hands that were locked in the cuffs.
Sam sighed, pulling the clipboard toward him. He flipped to the third page, and I watched as he scrawled my name across the top.
I wonder if he ever thought he’d have to write my name up there…
“All right, Mrs. Lightholder. I’m going to start off by asking you where you were this evening, and what you were doing.” He looked up at me, his gaze steady.
I focused on the cool wetness of the towel instead of the fear bubbling up inside of me. “I was at home for most of the evening,” I said. “I just returned from London this morning, and as I hadn’t slept at all the night before, I spent most of the day in my room, sleeping. I woke just before seven, and found I was rather hungry, so I – ”
Sam spun the tip of his pen through the air. “You can skip all of the unimportant information,” he said. “What brought you to the cemetery?”
My shoulders hunched. He’s not doing it to be unkind, I told myself. And I hoped I was right about that. “Well, as I said, I was hungry, and had no food in my house, so I decided to go to the inn for dinner.”