The derision was still there in his voice with a hint of curiosity.
I had given a great deal of thought to what I might tell him, from what little we knew about the murder.
The entire purpose of my visit was an attempt to learn anything that might help us, as I had explained to him. I didn’t give a fig about his ambitions. However, I was not willing to share the information Mr. Brimley had discovered.
He was a friend, and I was not willing to reveal him as a source for information in our inquiries. It was impossible to know as yet what that blue woolen fiber meant, if anything. That left one thing that I was willing to share.
“It seems that there was something possibly left behind by the murderer,” I caught the sudden interest even as Burke sat back casually in his desk chair.
“What would that be?”
“A flower was found at the scene of the murder.” I watched for any indication that he already knew about it. I saw only vague amusement.
“A flower?”
“A red rose,” I replied.
He stared at me from across the desk. “That is the information you have?”
“From what I was able to learn she didn’t have it with her when she entered the print shop. It was found on her afterward.”
“And you believe it could be important.”
He obviously didn’t think that it was important. I was beginning to question how Theodolphus Burke had reached the place in his career that he had.
“It was placed across her body in a particular manner,” I explained. “Almost as if…”
“As if what, Lady Forsythe?” He rose from behind his desk with notepad in hand. “You cannot be certain that she didn’t purchase the flower after she left the print shop. Now if that is all, I have a deadline to meet, which you might understand.”
The man really was full of himself. I rose from the chair across from him. It was obvious that our meeting was at an end. I paused at the door, then left him with a parting thought.
“It was after dark and there was no flower seller in the area,” I informed him what I already knew from my conversation with Mr. Adams at the print shop.
I left him with a parting thought, though certain he would dismiss it.
“It’s almost as if the murderer was leaving a message.”
With that I closed the door behind me rather forcefully.
Condescending, arrogant man! I thought as I took the stairs instead of the lift back to the ground floor.
“Good day, miss,” the clerk called out.
I thanked him, then left the building.
As irritating as Theodolphus Burke was, I had given him information that could be useful. It was not my responsibility if he chose to ignore what I had told him. As for myself, I had learned two things that could be important.
The man and woman who found Charlotte Mallory’s body had refused to speak with him—something I could most definitely understand.
Yet, they might be willing to speak with Brodie and me, in order to find the person who had committed the murder. Their names had been on the copy of the police report that Brodie made.
The second piece of information was regarding the man who had perhaps been on the street at the time—the lamplighter, whose route that night included the street in front of the print shop.
I found a driver and returned to the office on the Strand. Brodie had returned as well, and he was not alone.
“The housekeeper gave me your message, Mr. Brodie,” the man dressed in casual work clothes seated across from him was saying. “Came as soon as I could find a driver, and thanks to ye for the coin to cover it.”
Brodie nodded, looking up as I crossed the office and removed my coat.
