He steepled his fingers.Miss Carmichael made a good point when she suggested he take a look at the first victim.Whoever the murderer was, their desire to kill had begun with her.
21
After consuming a hearty breakfast the following morning, Adrian took his carriage to Fairchild House, arriving there within ten minutes.He rapped sharply on the oak door.
It creaked open to reveal a stern-faced butler.“May I help you, sir?”
Adrian handed him his calling card and waited for him to note the name before saying, “I wish to speak with Mr.and Mrs.Fairchild on a matter of some urgency.”
The butler opened the door wider so Adrian could enter.“Wait here while I see if they are at home.”
Adrian crossed the threshold, his boots echoing on the cracked marble floor, and gazed at the portraits lining the walls.The Fairchilds looked like a proud family.Private, he’d learned this morning when he’d reviewed their file in preparation for the visit.
This won’t be easy.
Dismissing the negative thought, he straightened his spine at the sound of the butler returning.
“Please have a seat in the parlor.Mr.Fairchild will join you shortly.”
Adrian thanked him and entered the room immediately to the left of the foyer, coming to an abrupt halt on account of the bleakness he found there.Black crepe still dampened the light attempting to find its way through the windows, casting a shadow over the space.Nearly a year had passed since Miss Fairchild’s death, yet the family showed no sign of moving on.
How could they?
His heart ached on account of their loss, which mirrored his own.Unlike them, however, he could not sit and wallow in misery, entombed in dreary despair.He had to move and he had to act.He had to seek justice.That was his process.Killing the bastard who’d cut his beloved sister’s life short would help.
“Mr.Croft?”
Adrian turned in response to the gruff use of his name and met Mr.Fairchild’s hard gaze.His wife, who’d apparently chosen to accompany him, clutched his arm.A frown puckered her brow.
“Your visit is most unexpected,” Mr.Fairchild said stiffly.
“Why have you come?”Mrs.Fairchild asked.“You’re not a friend or an acquaintance.”
Adrian inclined his head.Had he been his father, he’d not have allowed the insult to slide.
Mr.Fairchild patted his wife’s hand.“It’s all right, my dear.I’m sure Mr.Croft has his reasons.”
“I understand this will be difficult,” Adrian said, wishing he were anywhere else and didn’t have to do this.“As you may know, my sister was recently murdered.”
“Our condolences for your loss,” Mr.Fairchild murmured.
“Thank you.You have mine as well.”Adrian took a deep breath and expelled it.“Given the nature of Evelyn’s wounds, it’s likely she was attacked by the same man who killed your daughter.”
“I’ll not be discussing Gwendolyn with a man of your reputation,” Mrs.Fairchild said.
Aware of what these poor people had been through, Adrian chose to ignore the comment.“Any information you can provide will be helpful in bringing the killer to justice.”
“We already spoke with the constable,” Mr.Fairchild informed him.
“I understand, but—”
“There’s nothing more to say,” Mrs.Fairchild cried.She turned away, hiding her face and the tears she shed against her husband’s shoulder.
“You may not think so,” Adrian said, doing his best to infuse his voice with endless amounts of goodwill.“However, there might be a detail you failed to disclose – something you simply forgot in your moment of grief.If you could outline your daughter’s final days it could offer valuable insight.”
“As I’ve already said,” Mr.Fairchild told him sternly, “we spoke with the constable.”
“And where has that led you?”When Mr.Fairchild glared at him while trying to soothe his weeping wife, Adrian said, “The constable has failed in his duty toward you.I aim to succeed where he did not.”
