“I have seen a photograph of the young ladies that was very obviously taken at Wimbledon some time earlier. That photograph appears to be connected to what has happened.”
“Our daughter belonged to a ladies’ club at Wimbledon. She is… was quite athletic, and loved to participate with her friends.”
There were more tears now that Lady Strachan wiped with a handkerchief.
“I remember the photograph… four of them, Eleanor’s friends and the young men, including her fiancé. Oh, dear, I can only imagine how difficult this is for him, seeing that in the newspaper.”
I was afraid she was going to collapse entirely with this new wave of grief, but she surprised me as she straightened in her chair.
“We have had nothing from Chief Inspector Abberline,” she spoke with a much stronger voice than moments before. “Only what is shown in the newspaper along with… that photograph. Nothing, about what he has done to find who did this, no communication whatsoever.”
“My dear…” Sir William replied and crossed the office to take her hand.
She shook her head. “You were once with the Metropolitan Police, is that correct, Mr. Brodie?”
He nodded. “I was an inspector with the MP.”
“Why did you leave?” she then asked.
True to his character, Brodie did not hide the facts or gloss over them.
“I served under Mr. Abberline. We disagreed on several matters including a final case where I determined I would not work under his authority again.”
Lady Strachan nodded, obviously satisfied with his answer.
“I want to know who did this! And I want you and Lady Forsythe to continue. You have shared far more this morning, than…” She took a deep breath and continued.
“Mr. Abberline has shown his purpose. The man is most ambitious. However, I insist you proceed in this, and we must assist in any way that we can.”
When Sir William would have cautioned about making a hasty decision, she refused to hear it.
“Are you in agreement?” she asked Sir Avery.
“I am.” He left it at that.
“Very well,” Sir William agreed. “How may we assist you, Mr. Brodie, Lady Forsythe?”
* * *
We accompanied them back to their London residence. There they were met by tearful servants and we were introduced in turn.
Their residence was a townhouse at Portman Square, near St. James Park. They lived there in the winter months, the residence convenient to Sir Strachan’s position in parliament. In the summer months when the heat became unbearable, Lady Strachan and Eleanor retreated to their country home.
That is after their daughter’s competitions at Wimbledon. It seemed she was quite the athlete, something she shared with her fiancé, James Allendale.
He was there, pacing the floor of the front parlor. He had sent round no less than a dozen messages, and rang them up only to be told that Sir William and Lady Strachan were not there.
Obviously devastated, he barely made it through our introductions, before demanding what was being done to find whoever had murdered Eleanor Strachan.
This was the part I was not fond of, having experienced much the same myself— the shock, fear, anger. And the unknown.
Who was doing this? Why? And the terrifying possibility that there might very well be more deaths before the murderer was found.
Brodie had warned me quite early on, that not all crimes could be solved. The best we might do was… the best we might do, and perhaps bring some sense of closure for victims and their families.
I understood, however refused to accept that. It was a source of several conversations.
Brodie had called me idealistic while he was far more realistic. Be that as it may… I still refused to accept it.
