“If they did, I wasn’t aware of it.” Louisa narrowed her eyes as her gaze darted between them. “Now, what’s this about? You don’t seriously think we had anything to do with the deplorable man’s death? Just because he was American doesn’t mean we’d know him.”
Ginger replied, “It’s simply a matter of procedure, Louisa. We got word that Mr. Doyle’s death is suspicious so we have to make enquiries of everyone who was present.”
“I don’t see how I can be of any more help.”
Felicia knocked lightly, but stepped in without waiting to be asked. “Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you’d like to know that I can’t find Mrs. Hartigan anywhere. She’s not upstairs in her room or the library, nor the drawing room, dining room, or morning room on this floor. I’ve even checked your office, Ginger.”
“What about in the back garden, or the stable?”
“I checked with Clement. She’s not there, and none of the staff have seen her. It’s like she’s disappeared into thin air.”
Pippins stepped in behind Felicia. “I’m afraid it’s true, madam,” he said to Ginger. “She’s not on the property.”
Basil caught Ginger’s eye and asked, “Do you have a photograph of your stepmother?”
“I have a family album in my study, but surely she’s not in danger? Quite likely she simply slipped out for a walk unnoticed.”
“Without bothering to mention it to anyone?” Felicia asked, nosing in. “And the weather’s nasty. Mrs. Hartigan doesn’t strike me as the walking kind.”
“She walks when it suits her,” Louisa said sullenly. “It wouldn’t be unlike Mother to think only of herself.”
Ginger thought her sister’s comment uncharitable, however, she was probably masking her own sense of fear with anger.
Basil got to his feet and waved Constable Braxton over.
“Sir?”
“Once Mrs. Reed procures a photograph of Mrs. Hartigan, take it to the station and ask the officers to search for her.”
“Starting where, sir?”
“Just to keep a lookout on their beats. Like Mrs. Reed said, she’s likely just doing a bit of shopping. And please let me know as soon as any information arrives regarding Mr. Doyle’s background check.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ginger hurried to her study to retrieve the photo album tucked away on one of the bookshelves. She flipped it open to a photo of her father and Sally. It was one of the last photographs taken when her father was alive, sitting with all the dignity he could muster in a wooden wheelchair with a tartan wool blanket over bony legs. Sally stood stoically to his side, neither touching her husband nor his chair. Ginger lifted the photograph from the corner attachments and removed it.
She found Constable Braxton waiting in the entrance, without Felicia and Louisa fluttering about him this time.
“Here you go,” she said to the constable as she handed him the photograph. “I do hope you won’t be needing it for long.”
“As do I, madam.” Constable Braxton fastened the strap of his helmet under his chin, nodded to Ginger, and left. “I’ll make sure it gets back to you.”
“I’m sure it’s much ado about nothing,” Louisa’s voice echoed to the high ceilings of the hall as she headed up the staircase. Poor thing, trying so hard to hide her concerned feelings. At the same moment Scout raced down with Boss on his heels, whilst Ambrosia navigated the other side, her gnarly, bejewelled fingers clasping the rail with one hand as she used her cane for balance with the other.
“Take care, Scout,” Ginger scolded lightly.
“Sorry, Mum. Me and Boss are going outside to play fetch.”
“It’s ‘Boss and I’,” Ginger said to his disappearing form.
“What on earth is going on?” Ambrosia said on seeing Ginger standing there. “It’s like a circus around here. One can’t move from one floor to the other without nearly getting bowled over.”
She kept on with her tirade as she carefully negotiated the last step. “Please don’t tell me there’s been another body. I don’t think my nerves could take it.”
“No, Grandmother,” Ginger said. “Not another body, only a missing one, apparently. Sally’s gone off the map.”
Ambrosia snorted. “Hardly a reason to call in the cavalry. The lady is probably searching for a bit of peace.”
“Basil needs to ask her a few questions about Mr. Doyle. Unfortunately, his death is being considered suspicious, and Basil wants to speak to everyone who knew him.” Not only had Sally admitted to knowing Mr. Doyle, Mrs. Beasley’s evidence against her was quite damning. Oh Sally, where are you?
Ginger hoped her stepmother wasn’t in danger, but more than that, she hoped she hadn’t run off due to a bout of guilt. What a scandal that would be, if Sally Hartigan was implicated in murder! Poor Ambrosia’s nerves would be sure to fail her then.
Basil, with hat in hand and his winter overcoat on, walked towards Ginger.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I thought my time would be better spent talking to the next set of suspects.”
Ginger felt the nerves in her face twitch at the implication: Louisa and Sally were a set of suspects.
“And who would that be?”
“Ruby Doyle and Alan Lester.”
Of course. Family members were always the first to be under suspicion.
“Do you mind if I join you?” Ginger said.
Basil’s lips curved into a crooked smile. “I was hoping you would.”
9
It had only been a day since Ginger had first visited the Lester siblings, but somehow it felt much longer. She hadn’t even had a chance to relay to Basil what had transpired then.
Now that they were travelling through the streets of London with Basil at the wheel of his Austin 7, Ginger had a moment to think. She adjusted her green wool cloche hat, admiring the reflection in the glass.
“I expected awkwardness,” Ginger said, “and emotion. One could hardly expect otherwise after the sudden death of someone so close—”
“But?” Basil prompted.
“They were quite guarded, and at one point spoke out of turn as if they’d forgotten I was in the room.”
Basil slowed behind a bright red double decker bus, whose occupants on the open top section looked down at them. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“They mentioned being in danger, and then Mr. Lester tried to make me believe they’d been referring to his travelling to America. He actually claimed he’d never been on a ship because he was a poor swimmer.”
“What about his plans to travel to Australia?”
“Exactly.”
When they parked in front of the terraced house off Oxford Street, the lights were dim, and Ginger worried that Mr. Lester and his sister weren’t at home. How dull if all their suspects continually proved to be difficult to track down. However, she needn’t have been concerned, as Mr. Lester himself answered the door after Basil had knocked.
“Mr. Lester,” Basil started. “We do apologise for coming uninvited, but it’s now a matter of police business that we’re here. Would you mind if we came in?”
The question was a polite courtesy, but Ginger knew as well as Mr. Lester that it wasn’t a request.
Mr. Lester opened the door and motioned them inside. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m afraid the death of your brother-in-law appears to be suspicious.”
Mr. Lester looked truly shocked. “You can’t be serious!”
“Unfortunately, I am. We’ve heard from the pathologist directly.”
“But how?”
Mr. Lester’s shock seemed to have dulled his manners, Ginger thought, as if he thought the whole interview might be conducted in the hall.
“Do you mind if we sit?” Basil asked.
“Oh, my apologies. Please follow me.”
Mr. Lester took them to the same room that Ginger had been in the day before, only this time she and Basil settled on a settee by the
fireplace. Ruby Doyle was already seated in one of the chairs, a book resting on her lap.
“Oh, hello,” she said as if in a daze.
“Please don’t get up,” Basil said. “We’ve only a few questions and then we’ll be on our way.”
“I see,” Mrs. Doyle said. “Has something happened?”
Alan Lester answered before Basil could get the words out. “They say Arnold’s death is suspicious.”
Mrs. Doyle stilled further, statue-like, until finally she blinked. “What does that mean?”
She and Mr. Lester looked to Basil for an answer.
“Mr. Doyle’s cause of death wasn’t due to accidental choking. The laboratory reports of the exact cause aren’t in, but the preliminary indicators suggest poisoning.”
Ruby Doyle became suddenly animated. “That’s preposterous! Who would do such a thing?”
Basil moved his hat off his lap and removed a notepad and pencil from the pocket of his overcoat. “That is what I intend to find out, madam.”
“What kind of poison was it?” Lester asked.
“That is yet to be determined,” Basil said. “The city laboratories are backed up, with workers taking time off over Christmas. I’m hoping for a concrete answer in the next couple of days. Now—”
Ginger carefully watched the siblings whose eyes were working at communicating even if their mouths were not. Ginger couldn’t help but feel the two of them were afraid, but of what? Becoming the next victims? Or being caught?
“Mrs. Doyle,” Basil began, “how long were you and Mr. Doyle married?”
“Nine years.”
“How did you meet?”
“At a party, here in London.”
“Did you visit your family here often?”
“No, actually. This is the first time.”
“What did Mr. Doyle do for work in New York?”
“Importing and exporting.”
Ginger glanced at Basil, then asked, “What kinds of goods did your husband import and export?”
Mrs. Doyle’s fingers played nervously with the ruffled collar of her blouse. “Many things. I suppose I don’t know exactly. Arnold kept his business ventures to himself.”
Many things? Like contraband Canadian whiskey and English rum? Prohibition in the United States was an experiment the whole world was watching. To many foreigners looking on and, Ginger knew, to many nationals as well, the latest amendment to the American constitution was a failure.
“Mr. Lester,” Basil said, keeping his eyes on his notes, “did you ever go to New York to visit your sister?”
“Er, no.”
“How well did you know Mr. Doyle?”
“Not well. He came here from Dublin before emigrating to America. He and Ruby had a short engagement, you could say.”
Ruby Doyle blushed. “I suppose I was swept off my feet. Arnold’s bold approach to life felt like a breath of fresh air at the time.” Her gaze dropped to her hands now cupped together on her lap. “I longed for adventure, you see.”
“Did you and Mr. Doyle get on, Mr. Lester?” Basil asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you like your brother-in-law?”
“Arnold Doyle was a bull in a china shop,” Mr. Lester said, “a force to be reckoned with. Did I like him? Not particularly. Not many people did.” He smiled wanly at his sister. “Sorry, Ruby.” Then he turned back to Basil. “I didn’t care for Arnold, but I certainly had no reason to kill him.”
“What do you do for employment, Mr. Lester?” Basil asked, surprising Alan Lester with the sudden change of subject.
“I work for the Home Office.”
“Doesn’t that require a certain amount of travel?”
“Yes. I don’t own a motorcar so I travel by train. I flew on an aeroplane once.” He chuckled dryly. “I don’t plan to do it again if I can help it.”
“If we were meant to fly, we’d be born with wings,” Mrs. Doyle said stiffly. “Arnold used to say that.” She revealed a handkerchief that had been twisted in one hand and dabbed at damp eyes.
“I’m not sure what you’re expecting to get from us, Chief Inspector,” Mr. Lester said. “But, please, out of respect for my sister, I ask that we bring this interview to a close.”
“What did you make of that?” Ginger asked quietly, once they were outside and away from Mr. Lester’s front door.
“Lester is certainly protective of his sister,” Basil said, “which is perfectly understandable.”
“His eyes gave him away,” Ginger added. “They darkened the moment he calculated that Ruby Doyle would naturally be your prime suspect.”
“Doyle was a brute verbally,” Basil said. “And did you notice the modesty of Mrs. Doyle’s dress? Unlike your evening gown or Felicia’s or Louisa’s, there wasn’t a bit of skin bare on her arms or back.”
Of course Ginger had noticed Ruby’s long-sleeved floral blouse, fastened snugly at the wrists. Under normal circumstances, Ginger wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Every lady had her style, but if Ruby Doyle was intent on hiding evidence that her husband beat her, then her choice of frock was perfect.
Ginger’s thoughts went to Sally, who, at the moment, was suspect number two. Her interference in the kitchen on the day of the murder and her strange behaviour since didn’t bode well. Ginger’s stomach clenched.
She hovered while Basil approached Constable Braxton on the pavement.
“Any word on Doyle’s background check?” Basil asked.
“Yes, sir. Apparently, Arnold Doyle had dealings with an American mob called The White Hand Gang. I’m not sure how that could be connected to the goings on here.”
Ginger and Basil glanced at each other. That was the very gang that had been reported in the news.
“What kind of dealings?” Basil said.
“The telegrams that have reached us from the police in New York stated that Mr. Doyle was on the outside of the gang. Got himself into a disagreement with Richard Lonergan, and came out on the losing side.”
“The same Richard Lonergan who was killed at a Brooklyn speakeasy?”
“Yes, sir.”
The crisp, damp mist prompted them to lengthen their strides to get to the vehicle. Basil said something to Constable Braxton then slid into the driver’s seat of his Austin and slammed the door against the rain. The window was too fogged up to see through and they madly wiped the windscreen clear with their gloves.
“Is that why he came to London?” Ginger asked now safely inside the vehicle, her umbrella shaken out and collapsed. “But why arrange to come to Hartigan House?” she added. “Why single me out when I never knew him from Adam?”
“Good question,” Basil said.
Ginger mused. “There must’ve been someone in attendance at the Christmas dinner who had something he needed, who could help him somehow.”
Basil caught her eye as he drove. “Didn’t he want to talk to you?”
“Yes. But it remains a mystery how he thought I might have been able to help. I don’t even know what his perceived problem was. He died before he could get to it.”
“My guess is money. A bloke like that wouldn’t think twice before swindling a wealthy lady.”
Ginger snorted. “He certainly didn’t know me well, if he thought that would work.”
Basil grinned. “Indeed.” The windscreen had fogged up again and he wiped it with his glove.
“I’m going to call at Mr. and Mrs. Davenport’s house. Would you like me to drop you off at home first? I know it’s been a long day already.”
“Actually,” Ginger said nonchalantly, “I’ve already been to see them.”
“You have?” Basil shifted gears as he sped along the main road. Ginger wondered how her husband managed in the soupy fog that had settled into the narrow streets while they had been inside Mr. Lester’s house.
“I felt it my duty to check on them,” Ginger explained. “After the shock. Especially Mrs. Davenport. She’s so frightfully frail.”<
br />
“You’ve a good heart, Lady Gold,” Basil said with a teasing smile. “And though I don’t doubt the altruistic nature of your visit, I’m betting you were slipping in a bit of sleuthing as well.”
“One can do both without marring one’s conscience.”
“Indeed,” Basil agreed. “And what did you learn?”
Ginger turned her face towards the window, regretting now that she’d brought the subject up. But no, she was determined not to keep things from Basil, especially if she wanted them to continue to successfully work together.
“I saw Sally leaving when I arrived. She didn’t see me.”
Basil glanced over with widened eyes. “Did you know that she was acquainted with them?”
“No, but Sally lived here for a while before she married my father. They met at a London club, I’m told. So, she could know people without me being aware of it.”
“One would be forgiven for not assuming so,” Basil said. “They didn’t act like they knew each other at the dinner.”
“And when I asked Mr. Davenport if he knew Sally, he lied.”
“He lied?”
“At least he meant to mislead me. I asked him if he’d had a visitor before I arrived and he looked me straight in the eye and said no.”
Basil rubbed his chin, now showing signs of a shadow. “How bewildering.”
A police vehicle was already sitting in front of the Davenports’ house, and Ginger assumed this was the instruction Basil had given to Constable Braxton. The young officer exited the motorcar when he saw them arrive.
“As far as I can tell,” Constable Braxton said, “they’re at home, sir.”
Once again, Ginger was grateful for her umbrella and managed to stay relatively dry as they walked to the front door. The butler answered the door after Basil rang the bell.
“I’m Chief Inspector Basil Reed. Please let Mr. and Mrs. Davenport know that I’d like to see them. This is police business and I’m here with Constable Braxton and my consultant, Lady Gold.”
Ginger always found it rather thrilling when Basil introduced her as Lady Gold, her former title and the alias she used as an investigator. It conveniently distanced her during formal interviews from being Basil’s wife, which made her feel like an interloper.
Six Merry Little Murders Page 6