Twenty
He rosefrom the desk and went to the chalkboard.
“It’s here, in yer list of names.” He picked up a piece of chalk, and began to connect each name to information we had learned as he explained.
“In that previous case of Amelia Harris’s murder, Gerald Ormsby never went to trial after the one witness, Mr. Walmsley, disappeared.
“Within a matter of weeks after the charges were dismissed, Gerald Ormsby was dead, in what was described in the new articles ye found as a riding accident.
“We learned that Simon Harris established a trust very near the same time that the trial was dismissed, before he died in that fire,” he continued.
“We also learned that substantial payments have been made from the trust in the care of Mr. Carney, as well as regular payments to the florist. And ‘coincidentally,’ a rose was left at the site of both murders?
“Also, according to details of that trust, Mr. Carney, the former manager of Harris Imports, has been receiving asubstantial annual stipend to manage the properties of the estate that include that warehouse site at St. Katherine’s Docks.
“In addition, from what I was able to learn from Mr. Brown, Carney has been dealing in certain ‘shipping’ operations.”
He finished by circling Carney’s name.
Coincidence? No coincidence.
Was it possible, I thought, that Gerald Ormsby’s accident was no accident at all?
I studied the information in my first list.
Gerald Ormsby died after his trial was dismissed. That was followed by that tragic fire at the warehouse where Simon Harris had died.
“How is that connected to the murders of Charlotte Mallory and Elizbeth Cameron?” Even as I asked the question, the possibility was there.
“Ye said it yerself, lass, the rose in each case—like a calling card.”
“What would be the motive?”
“The daughters of the two people directly involved in setting Gerald Ormsby free all those years ago.”
If that was true...“And you’re saying that Carney is responsible? But why now? What reason?”
“That is what I intend to find out. I’ll be at the docks when Carney arrives for the day, for the work he supposedly does at the warehouse next to the Harris Import site. And ye need to pay a visit to the florist to see wot ye can learn about that payment made to them each month.”
I knew precisely what he was doing, sending me off to question the florist. However, before I could protest...
“It’s important,” he explained. “It could tell us where the flowers are sent. That could tie Carney to the murders.”
He was right of course. “And it keeps me out of the way if there should be any trouble from Carney.”
There was that smile. “I wouldna want ye to hurt the man before I can question him further in the matter.”
We’d had the conversation before, in fact several times, about that overbearing Scot habit of attempting to protect me. It could be important to learn what information the florist had. I would concede that much.
“I know the florist shop quite well. They are not open until nine o’clock. I have time to return to Mayfair for a change of clothes before calling on them.”
He had already returned to the bedroom for clothes suitable for calling on a potential criminal, the coarse woolen trousers and jumper that he preferred to white dress shirts and a fine woolen suit.
I had learned that one could take the man out of the streets, but not the streets out of the man. And I had to admit that he cut quite a stirring figure with that dark beard and overlong dark hair under the cap he seized from the coat stand. Very much like a brigand or the smuggler he was going to see.
“I will see ye back here afterward,” he said with a nod and a rather brief kiss.
“You will be careful...” But he was already gone, the sound of his boots on the stairs fading as he reached the street.
