“Very well.”

  A steamboat chugged by, puffing out plumes of steam and smoke.

  “The search for Miss Thackeray’s killer is beginning to frustrate me,” said Philip. “One moment I suspect Walter Mitchell and the next… I’m just not sure at all.”

  “What did you make of Ellen Mitchell?”

  “I’m not convinced she was being entirely truthful with us. Her distraught reaction to the news of her husband’s affair didn’t seem very genuine to me.”

  “Nor me. Perhaps Mrs Mitchell murdered Miss Thackeray because she found out Miss Thackeray was having an affair with her husband.”

  “It’s certainly a potential motive, though she claimed not to have known about the affair until I told her.”

  “Do you believe her?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t see why she would lie.”

  “She might if she were the murderer.”

  “Very true. Although people often have other reasons for lying. There’s certainly something odd about Mr and Mrs Mitchell, but I can’t quite put my finger on it yet.”

  “Do you still think Miss Frankland-Russell might have carried out the murder?”

  “We can’t rule it out.”

  “I can’t imagine Miss Frankland-Russell having the strength to overpower and then strangle someone.”

  “Perhaps it’s easier to pounce on someone from behind in the dark. The murderer would have been at an advantage if he – or she – had taken Miss Thackeray by surprise.”

  “I just can’t imagine her doing it.”

  “Maybe she had someone else do it for her.”

  “Such as? I’m quite sure she doesn’t have the money to have paid someone.”

  “A boyfriend, perhaps? I really don’t know at this stage. What I do know is that I’m getting rather frustrated with it all.”

  Chapter 28

  Augusta’s telephone rang later that evening.

  “Augusta, it’s Philip.”

  She didn’t like the serious tone of his voice. “What’s happened?”

  “Can you get yourself over to Paddington Street Gardens in Marylebone? There’s been another murder.”

  Augusta closed her eyes and thought for a moment.

  Marylebone. Where Dorothy Cooper lives.

  “It’s not Mrs Cooper, is it?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Augusta flagged down a taxi in Russell Square and arrived at Paddington Street Gardens fifteen minutes later.

  “What’s goin’ on ’ere, then?” asked the cab driver, surveying the huddle of police officers. “A spot o’ trouble by the looks o’ things. You alright wi’ me droppin’ you off ’ere, miss? Don’t want a lady like yerself gettin’ caught up in no bother.”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you. My friend is a detective inspector.”

  “Is ’e now? Yer in safe ’ands, then.”

  Augusta removed her torch from her handbag and walked toward the dark little park as the cab pulled away. It was shortly after ten o’clock. Despite the lateness of the hour, a small crowd of onlookers had gathered beneath the light of the lamp posts beyond the park railings. Strong gusts of wind rattled the bare branches of the trees.

  Can Dorothy Cooper really be dead?

  Augusta had only spoken to her earlier that day. She felt tears pricking her eyes as she thought of the young woman sitting at the parlour table with her needlework.

  How could anyone have wished to harm her?

  She found a constable and asked for Detective Inspector Fisher. The young chap led her through a gate in the railings to where a group of dark figures stood with their torches.

  Philip’s silhouette was easily identified, given that he was the only officer with a walking stick. She could just about discern his features in the dark.

  “You got down here quickly, Augusta.”

  “This park is just like the two Bloomsbury squares,” she commented, glancing up at the dark trees around them.

  “No coincidence, is it?”

  “Do you think it was the same attacker?”

  “It’s too early to be sure, but there are certainly similarities. Early indications suggest that Mrs Cooper was also strangled.”

  “So close to her home, too.”

  “Yes. This little park backs on to Manchester Street.”

  “Where I visited her earlier today. I still can’t believe this has really happened!”

  “She was found just off the path, under that tree over there. I know it’s difficult to see in the dark but it’s where those torchlights are. The ambulance has just departed with her body and the post-mortem will be carried out tomorrow. We’ll have a little more to go on then.”

  “When did it happen?”

  “Shortly after nightfall. Dorothy had been visiting a friend nearby and had left to return home shortly before six. She took a shortcut through this park and we’ve already spoken to a few people who said they heard screams. She was found by passers-by shortly after the attack. A doctor was summoned but she died before he was able to do anything to save her.

  “Let’s hope we’ll be able to find more witnesses. There must be someone who saw the culprit running away from the park. There are plenty of houses around and the road is quite a busy one. I can’t begin to fathom how someone had the gall to commit an act like that in the early evening. It was obviously someone who felt very determined and sure of himself.”

  “Someone who had perhaps been following Mrs Cooper or knew that she would be walking this way?” suggested Augusta. “It’s unlikely to have been a random attack, isn’t it? The similarities to Miss Thackeray’s murder are too great.”

  “They are. This shouldn’t have happened. We should have arrested the murderer before he got to Mrs Cooper.”

  “There’s no chance that Mrs Cooper’s husband could have attacked her, is there?”

  “There’s certainly a chance. D Division are speaking to him at the moment. I’ll interview him myself as well, but I’m more inclined to think it was the same person who attacked Miss Thackeray.”

  “First Miss Thackeray and now Mrs Cooper,” mused Augusta. “Did someone want to silence them? It’s no accident that these murders have coincided with my search for Miss Frankland-Russell, is it?” Her stomach turned at the thought. “I feel responsible for their deaths.”

  “You’re not responsible, Augusta.”

  “But it’s too much of a coincidence that they should occur at this point in time. The connection between the two murders has to be Miss Frankland-Russell. I wish I hadn’t begun asking questions now.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself.”

  “It’s hard not to. It was only today that I last spoke to Mrs Cooper! Was someone watching us? Did she tell me something she shouldn’t have? All I got was the name of the school. Why would that be so significant? Dorothy didn’t want to tell me the name of the school, but I pushed her until I was able to work it out.”

  “The link could be Miss Frankland-Russell,” said Philip, “but none of this is your fault, Augusta. We don’t fully understand the motives for Miss Thackeray and Mrs Cooper’s deaths yet. Until we know that, it’s all speculation. Hopefully the killer has left us a clue this time. We may get a better idea of what happened when we return to the park in daylight, speak to more witnesses and find out the results of the post-mortem.”

  Augusta shivered. “It’s barbaric,” she said. “What if he doesn’t stop at two murders? Who’s next on his list?”

  “No one, hopefully. I sincerely hope that we’ll get him before anyone else can be harmed.” A police officer approached them. “Yes, Sergeant Stevens?” said Philip. “It is Stevens, isn’t it? It’s tricky to tell in the dark.”

  “Yes, sir. I just thought I’d let you know that we’ve received some interesting information from the neighbours. Several have reported that Mrs Cooper had a visitor this afternoon.”

  “Who was it?”

  “We don’t know yet. But we do know that he was riding a motorcycle with a sidecar.”

  Chapter 29

  “We don’t allow civilians to participate in interviews as a general rule,” said Inspector Shellbrook at Marylebone Lane police station the following morning.

  “Can you make an allowance on this occasion?” asked Philip. “Mrs Peel is a private detective and has been assisting me with the investigation into Elizabeth Thackeray’s murder.”

  Augusta watched Inspector Shellbrook’s thick moustache bristling as he gave this some thought. “As a rule,” he replied, “we don’t allow it.”

  Philip eventually managed to persuade the inspector from D Division to bend the rules and Augusta seated herself in the small interview room with a notebook. She was permitted to be there on the condition that she said nothing throughout the interview.

  It wasn’t long before Walter Mitchell was brought in. His clothes were creased and his boyish face suddenly looked older, with shadows beneath his eyes and rough stubble on his chin.

  “I don’t understand what I’m doing here,” he said as he sat himself down on one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. “I didn’t even know Dorothy Cooper.” Then his eyes fell on Augusta. “You!” he said, accusingly. “You were the woman who spoke to Elizabeth. I saw you at the school. Who are you? And what are you doing here?”

  Inspector Shellbrook rolled his eyes and looked pointedly at Philip, as if to suggest that Augusta’s presence was already proving to be a disruption.

  Philip explained why Augusta was there and followed up with his first question. “Why did you visit Dorothy Cooper yesterday afternoon?”

  “I wanted to find out what Elizabeth had spoken to her about.”

  Philip put on his reading glasses and consulted his papers. “Miss Thackeray visited Mrs Cooper five days ago. Why did you wait until yesterday to ask her?”

  “I suppose I’d only just thought of it. I felt so incredibly helpless, so I decided to carry out some investigations of my own. I’m no good at it, of course, but I felt the need to do something. I wouldn’t have had to if you lot had already caught the man!”

  “Did Mrs Cooper have anything useful to tell you?”

  “No, she didn’t. I don’t think she wanted me there.”

  “What did you ask her?”

  “I asked why Elizabeth had visited her. I mentioned that she had decided to do so after that lady over there—” He pointed at Augusta.

  “Mrs Peel.”

  “After Mrs Peel had spoken to her.”

  “Two young women have been murdered within the space of a week, Mr Mitchell,” commented Philip, “and we happen to know that you saw both of them shortly before their deaths.”

  “That’s just a coincidence, Inspector! I really don’t know how to convince you of that, but I’m just as horrified by all this as you are.”

  “And neither Mrs Cooper nor Miss Thackeray told you what their conversation that day was about?”

  “No! That’s why I wanted to speak to Mrs Cooper, but now she’s dead, too. I know what it looks like, but I had nothing to do with it!”

  “We suspect there must have been a secret between them that neither wished to divulge,” said Philip. “We believe both young women were targeted for a reason. Do you have any idea what the secret might have been?”

  Walter paused and ran a hand through his scruffy hair. Augusta sensed there was something he wanted to tell them but, just as she was starting to feel hopeful, he leaned forward on the table and fixed his gaze on Philip. “I’ve got nothing to say. I know nothing of any secrets.”

  “What time did you visit Mrs Cooper?” asked Inspector Shellbrook.

  “About four o’clock. I’m normally teaching at that time, but my students were at the National Gallery yesterday. We’re lucky to have so many excellent art galleries close by for them to visit. Anyway, it meant that I had time to visit Mrs Cooper.”

  “How long did you stay?”

  “Not long. Five or ten minutes.”

  “And then where did you go?”

  “I went for a drive to clear my head.”

  “Why?”

  “I felt frustrated because Mrs Cooper wouldn’t tell me why Elizabeth had visited her. I didn’t know what to do next.”

  “Did you return to Manchester Street later on?”

  “No. Why would I do that? Mrs Cooper had made it quite clear that she didn’t want to speak to me.”

  “What were her exact words to you?”

  He scratched at his scalp. “I can’t remember her exact words, but it was something along the lines of, ‘Elizabeth and I had a brief and private conversation that I have no wish to discuss with anyone else.’”

  “Did she mention the fire at her home?” asked Inspector Shellbrook.

  “No. I saw that there was some repair work going on, but she didn’t mention it.”

  “A conversation with her housekeeper revealed that the fire started when Mrs Cooper tried to burn some personal papers in the fireplace of an attic room.”

  Augusta listened closely to this. Although she had known about the fire, she wasn’t aware that Mrs Cooper had been burning personal papers. Augusta knew she had been forbidden to speak, but she couldn’t help herself. “The fire occurred shortly after I visited Mrs Cooper and asked her about Miss Thackeray,” she said. “Having just learned that she was burning personal papers, I’m beginning to wonder whether she did so in response to my visit.”

  “Very interesting!” exclaimed Walter. “Have you thought about arresting Mrs Peel here? She also visited Elizabeth and Mrs Cooper shortly before they were murdered. Surely she’s a suspect, too?”

  Augusta said nothing, aware that her words had caused a further interruption to the interview.

  “No woman could have inflicted such severe injuries on Mrs Cooper,” said Inspector Shellbrook. “And while I can’t speak for the murder of Miss Thackeray, because it didn’t take place under my jurisdiction, I suspect that the same is true in that case, too. Let’s not get distracted here. Not a word more from you, please, Mrs Peel.”

  “You’re wasting your time interviewing me when you could be out there looking for the man who did this,” said Walter. “This is the second time I’ve been forced to answer for myself! Can’t you just let me go home to my wife? The most important thing for me to do now is rescue my marriage. You do realise, don’t you, Detective Inspector Fisher, that you have caused a great deal of damage by revealing the affair to my wife?”

  “I do apologise, Mr Mitchell. We have to question people on a range of matters and sometimes that involves digging up unpleasant truths, I’m afraid. How is your wife?”

  “She wants to divorce me.”

  “Oh, I’m very sorry to hear it. I hope that’s not due to the news I had to share with her.”

  “No. It turns out she’d been considering it for a while. She knew about the affair, you see, but she never confronted me about it. Instead, she began plotting with a solicitor behind my back, and now she intends to petition for divorce. I’m trying to persuade her otherwise. Can’t you see that my life is difficult enough as it is without you dragging me in here and asking me even more questions?”

  Ellen Mitchell lied, thought Augusta. She knew about her husband’s affair with Elizabeth Thackeray all along. She watched Philip closely, wondering if he would impart this information to Walter.

  “I have no further questions for Mr Mitchell, Inspector Shellbrook,” Philip said impassively. “Do you?”

  “No. Nothing more from me at the moment.”

  “Thank you, Mr Mitchell,” said Philip. “You’re free to go.”

  Chapter 30

  Augusta and Philip made the short walk from Marylebone Lane to Stanhope Fashions on Oxford Street. The brisk wind from the previous day had dropped and the streets were bathed in weak, early-winter sunlight.

  “According to Mr Mitchell, his wife knew about the affair with Miss Thackeray before I told her,” said Philip. “We need to have a good explanation from her for why she felt the need to lie to me about that.”

  Augusta spotted the bespectacled shop girl, Barbara, as soon they stepped inside. She didn’t recognise the other girl, and there was no obvious sign of Miss Frankland-Russell or Mrs Mitchell.

  “Mrs Mitchell is at a meeting with her lawyer,” replied Barbara when Philip asked for her with a flash of his warrant card.

  “Do you happen to know who her lawyer is and where his office might be?”

  “No, but perhaps the details can be found in her office.” She led them into a small, tidy office at the back of the shop. A large appointments diary rested on the desk and Barbara opened it. “‘Mr Bewick, ten o’clock’,” she read out. “It doesn’t actually say where his office is.”

  “Thomas Bewick?” asked Philip.

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’ll make an educated guess that it’s him. Thank you, Barbara. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Is Lucy in today?” Augusta asked.

  Barbara shook her head. “She was supposed to be in, but she hasn’t turned up. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Mr Bewick?” Augusta said to Philip as they left the shop. “Can we be sure that it’s the Mr Bewick we know?”

  “There’s only one way to find out. His office is very near here, isn’t it? In Cavendish Square? There’s no harm in checking it out.”

  They turned into Holles Street and made their way up to the square.

  “I wonder where Miss Frankland-Russell has got to,” commented Augusta. “I hope she hasn’t run off again. Perhaps she didn’t believe me when I promised not to tell her parents where she was.”

  “Perhaps. Wasn’t she supposed to be writing them a letter?”

  “I encouraged her to do so. But whether she will or not, I really couldn’t say.”

  On their arrival, Thomas Bewick’s fashionable young secretary informed the pair that the lawyer was busy.

  “Yes, we thought he might be,” replied Philip. “Is he in a meeting with Ellen Mitchell?”

 

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