Althea Mallory, as she insisted I call her, explained that she had left her private coach and hired a driver who brought her to the office on the Strand, so to avoid any questions about her visit with me.
How very sad, I thought, that she was forced to take such steps so not to be discovered, or questioned by anyone. Her husband perhaps?
I thanked her for agreeing to meet with me as I poured tea and placed several of Mrs. Ryan’s biscuits on a plate. I set them on the small table I had recently added to give the office a less…sparseappearance. After all, Brodie and I did spend a great deal of time here.
“My husband has spoken regarding Mr. Brodie’s efforts in two of his cases in the past,” she began the conversation. “I was not aware that he had taken on an associate until our meeting the other day.”
“It was in the matter of the disappearance of my sister,” I then explained. “I have never been one to stand aside when there is something that I might be able to do. I am often reminded,” I thought of Brodie, “that it might very well be a flaw.”
“Perhaps,” Mrs. Mallory replied. “However, it seems a flaw that very likely saved your sister’s life.”
I had not revealed all the details of that sordid affair. I deliberately left out the part where I had shot the woman at the center of the conspiracy. I was aware that sort of thing could be somewhat off-putting.
“I did appreciate your sharing that with me,” she told me. “This morning when I received your telephone call, it helped me to understand what I had to do. I was hesitant at first. Everything the last few days has been so very… difficult.”
I wanted to ask what finally changed her mind about meeting with me, but I realized that she needed to tell me, to say it in a way I did understand all too well.
“You said something when you came to our residence. That if the situations were reversed, your sister would do the same for you.”
As different as we were, as difficult as that might be for some to believe, I was convinced that Linnie would do the same for me as I had done.
“The thought that brought me here was that if my situation was reversed with my daughter, I would want her to do everything to find who did this to me.” She reached inside her handbag then.
“I have no way of knowing if these will be helpful.” She took out the two envelopes that were mentioned in that letter found with her daughter’s body.
“Charlotte was put off by the first one. You will note the date when you open the envelope. We both thought it nothing more than someone attempting to make money off the information. It was written right after…” her voice broke softly. “It was right after the engagement was announced.”
“And no doubt written about in the newspapers,” I suggested.
Mrs. Mallory nodded. “She chose to ignore it. I thought she had thrown it away until the second letter arrived all these months later. She came to me about it. That is when I discovered that she kept the first letter.
“This second letter made her angry with the things that were written, and she decided to respond to it, even though I attempted to persuade her to ignore it as she had the first one.”
At a glance at the two envelopes, it did seem that the person who had sent them—C. Walmsley in Guildford, was the same person whose name was on the envelope Charlotte Mallory intended to post late in the afternoon the day she was murdered.
“Will these be helpful?” Mrs. Mallory asked, her voice stronger with hope.
“Everything we can learn is helpful,” I replied, knowing that she needed something to hold onto amidst such terrible loss.
“Does this name mean anything to you? Might your daughter have known this person?”
She shook her head. “She had no idea who the person is or the reason they would write to her with the things that are in those letters. You will see how disturbing they are when you read them.”
She was thoughtful again. “When this is over, I would like the letter returned that was found… with her. It is the last thing that she wrote.”
I promised that I would see that it was returned to her.
She drank the tea I had provided as she stared at the chalkboard.
“The name of the person who sent those letters is on the board,” she commented.
“I find that notes about every aspect of a case helps me organize my thoughts,” I replied.
“You wrote them?”
I nodded. “Mr. Brodie’s writing leaves a great deal to be improved.”
There was a faint smile. “He is fortunate to have such an accomplished assistant.”
