The Sign of Death Callie Hutton (color ebook reader .txt) 📖

that Harding’s drowning was not an accident.” William moved to the bedroom. Everything was in order. Bed neatly made, clothing all hung up. Shoes lined up against one wall. A brush, comb, and a flowered bowl with a pitcher set inside rested on a dresser across from the bed.

“I will start in here. Amy, why don’t you search the kitchen and drawing room?” It would be far better for him, rather than an unmarried woman, to go through Harding’s personal belongings.

“That sounds like a good plan. I’ll start in the kitchen.”

William methodically searched the room. He pulled open drawers, looked under the bed, scoured the wardrobe, and went through a cedar chest at the foot of the man’s bed.

No files.

He proceeded to the drawing room, where Amy had moved her search. “Nothing in the kitchen.”

William pulled out several books and flipped through them. Amy picked up sofa cushions and looked under chairs and behind drapes.

William put three books back on the shelf and took out two more. An envelope dropped to the floor from inside one of the books. He bent and picked up a letter addressed to Mr. James Harding from a Mr. Martin DuBois and began to read.

“Amy. I think I found something here.”

She walked over to him. “What it is?”

“Here.” He handed the letter to her.

Her eyes moved back and forth over the paper. When she finished, she folded it up and looked at him. “Your Mr. Harding had a partner.”

“So it appears.”

“That partner went to prison for embezzlement.”

“That’s what it says.”

“He is out of prison now.”

“Yes.”

“And he threatened Mr. Harding.”

“So it would seem.”

Amy tapped the envelope with her fingertip and grinned. “My lord, I believe we have our suspect.”

CHAPTER 8

“How much are you willing to tell them?” Amy asked as she stepped out of William’s carriage and straightened her skirts.

They had just arrived at the police station in answer to a summons from Detective Carson. The officer had sent around a note to William asking to speak with the two of them and requesting an acceptable time to call. Completely panicked at the idea of the police visiting his house with his mother present, William had offered to fetch Amy and bring her with him to the station.

“I will attempt to answer their questions as honestly as possible,” William replied.

Amy smirked. “A very nebulous response, my lord.”

William gave her a curt nod and opened the door to the station, stepping back so Amy could enter first. “Just so.”

They were quickly escorted to the room in which they had been interviewed during the investigation into St. Vincent’s murder.

The room was empty, and William found it difficult to sit, so he paced. The space was oppressive and confining. No windows, sickly-green-painted walls, one long table, four chairs, and nothing else. No doubt these rooms were kept stark as a reminder to those being questioned that this was a police station and the room was strictly for serious business.

The door swung open, and Detectives Carson and Marsh entered.

They were an unmatched duo. Marsh was close to six feet tall, slender, with enough lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes to indicate that the man had lived more than twoscore years. Carson was round and bald and barely reached Marsh’s shoulders.

“Thank you for answering our summons, my lord, my lady.” Detective Carson settled into one of the chairs, and William took the one next to Amy. The two detectives sat side by side across from them.

William still wasn’t sure why they had requested Amy’s presence, but he was certain they were about to find out.

Marsh flipped open his notepad and licked the end of his pencil. Detective Carson took the lead. “We have reason to believe Mr. Harding did not stumble into the river while drunk.”

Since that wasn’t a question, William and Amy remained quiet.

Carson cleared his throat. “Along those lines, we have opened an investigation.”

William nodded.

“Now here is the interesting part of our investigation.” Carson leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. “We visited Mr. Harding’s office yesterday.”

It soon became clear why the two of them had been summoned. He remained quiet. He who speaks first loses.

Carson attempted a befuddled look but didn’t quite pull it off. “We confiscated the man’s files, and do you know what was confusing about that?” The detective tapped his fingers on the table. Very much an annoyance. On purpose or just a habit?

William was not prepared to play games with the detective. They had crossed swords with the men before. “I have no idea why you were confused, Detective, but I have a feeling you will shortly enlighten me.”

Marsh grumbled as he continued to write.

Carson leaned forward again, an intimidating move, but William did not flinch. “What was questionable was that there were no files with your name on them.”

“Indeed?” William almost smiled; he already knew that, and he also knew his file was not in Harding’s flat either. There was no reason, of course, to pass that information along to the detectives. “Is there a question there, Detective? Because if there is, I missed it.”

“You know, Wethington, your title and connections will only protect you to a certain degree.” Carson slammed his hand down on the table. William, Amy, and Marsh all jumped. “We will not have the two of you interfering again in a police investigation!”

The man’s face was bright red, and he looked as though he might soon collapse. William did the man a favor and did not smile.

“You want a question, my lord? Well, here it is. Did you or did you not remove your file from Mr. Harding’s office?”

“No. I did not.” No lie there.

“Then why was there no file with your name on it? The reason you were requested to confirm the identity of Mr. Harding was because he was your man of business.” Carson’s voice rose. “He had your business card on his person when he was dragged from the river!”

“I will tell you what I know.” William glanced over at