“Inspector.” Leighton extended his hand. “You’re here about Margot Miller, I expect. A shocking end, but not surprising.”
Tennant raised an eyebrow. “Will you explain that comment?”
“The woman was a menace. I had nothing to do with Margot’s death, so I needn’t hide my animus. I haven’t employed her in nearly two years, with good reason.”
“You have my attention, Mister Leighton.”
“She tried a spot of blackmail on me for . . . improper behavior, let us say, with my models.”
“What did you do?”
“I took a page out of the Duke of Wellington’s book. I told her to accuse and be damned. Never hired her again.”
“You had nothing to fear?”
Leighton smiled, white teeth gleaming between his dark beard and mustache. “The British public balks at a bohemian banker but accepts a free-spirited artist. And I have no outraged wife to begin divorce proceedings on the strength of Miller’s lies.”
“She was with child when she was murdered. Can you suggest a name for the father?”
“Alas, I cannot. Still, Margot knew her worth and wouldn’t sell herself cheaply. If I were you, I’d look for someone who could afford her.”
“One last question. Have you ever employed a model named Franny Riley?”
He shook his head.
Tennant retraced his steps to Kensington Road and thought,These artists live in each other’s pockets,but no one knows a thing.He signaled a cabbie and hoped Sergeant O’Malley had better luck with the passenger ships.
* * *
At noon, Julia’s omnibus stopped at Aldgate High Street and Blue Boar Lane. She looked up as the bells of nearby St. Katharine’s Church rang the hour. Then Julia glanced at the Blue Boar Inn’s window sign and read it regretfully. She started to walk away and thought,Why not?
Twenty minutes later, Annie cracked open her basement door.
Julia held up two steaming packets of fish and chips wrapped in newspaper sleeves. “I skipped breakfast, and the aroma from the Blue Boar was irresistible.”
The door swung open, and a delighted Annie smiled, the first joyful one Julia recalled. “A doctor paying a house call with a meal in her hands? ’Tis service above and beyond.” She stood back and let her in.
Julia had caught Annie in the middle of a project. The girl laid her scissors aside, reached for two plates and a pair of forks, and placed them on her tiny kitchen table. Then Annie peeled the newspaper away from her chips and breathed in.
“Ah . . . they have a lovely tang of vinegar on them. A grand meal they make of it at the Boar.”
Julia sliced through the coated fillet and popped a piece of cod into her mouth. “Grand, indeed.” She pointed her fork at the plate. “My American grandmother always said nothing inthe States matched English fish and chips. That was quite an admission, coming from her.”
They ate for a minute or two in silence. Then Annie said, “I haven’t thanked you properly.”
“For what?”
“For taking the time out of your day to, you know, to examine me in the police station. ’Twas kindness itself you were.”
Here was her opening.Would Annie take it?“It’s Inspector Tennant who most deserves your thanks. He persuaded the local inspector to call me in and drove to my house to fetch me.”
Annie looked down at her plate. “I’d help him if I could, but I’ve little to tell. I’ve not seen much of Margot these last months. God rest her soul.”
“You had a falling-out?”
Annie shook her head. “Nothing like that. But Margot said . . . I told her I’m happy as I am, trimming my hats and sitting for the ladies.”
“Did Margot get on well with the women artists?”
