Through the Window(8)

The moment he left, Daniel examined the washbasin, then looked at the floor below it. His eyes met mine and he nodded.

“No valise appears to have been taken,” Mr. Emory said, returning to us. “I believe she had a hat box and I don’t see that, but….” Again he left the rest of the sentence hanging.

“We can’t do any more tonight,” Daniel said. “I suggest you come down to police headquarters on Mulberry Street in the morning, on your way to work. Bring a photograph of your wife and give us a full description, plus the addresses of anywhere she might have gone.”

“I don’t know if I can face going in to work tomorrow,” Mr. Emory said. “How can I possibly concentrate on my tasks, when all the time I am imagining the worst about my wife? But I will come to police headquarters. That’s something positive I can do.”

Daniel started down the stairs. “By the way, Mr. Emory.” He turned back to the man. “I noticed what look like blood spots on your bedroom carpet. Are they recent?”

“Blood spots?” Mr. Emory paused, halfway down the stairs. “My wife cut herself peeling potatoes the other night. It bled quite badly. She went upstairs to put something on the cut. I suppose blood could have dripped onto the carpet then.”

“I see,” Daniel said. “And the washbasin in the bedroom. Do you and your wife both use that?” He continued down the stairs.

“No, as a matter of fact I shave and wash in the bathroom, but Francine prefers to perform her ablutions using the washstand in the bedroom, as our bathroom facilities are outside and therefore rather chilly. Why do you ask?’

“It’s of no great importance,” Daniel said. “Just trying to get a picture of your wife’s behavior.” He had reached the bottom of the stairs and started for the front door. “Well, I think that’s all I can do tonight. Try not to worry too much, Mr. Emory. These things usually sort themselves out in the end.”

“I do hope so, Captain Sullivan,” Mr. Emory said.

Daniel took my arm as we walked back down the street. “You are quite right,” he said. “Definitely traces of blood on the basin and on the floor. That’s why I invited Mr. Emory to come to headquarters in the morning. While he’s away my men can give the place a proper going-over.”





Four


Next morning I watched Mr. Emory set off down Patchin Place. Shortly after he had gone, Daniel arrived with two constables and I saw them enter the Emorys’ house. How they got in, I thought it better not to ask. They were there quite a while. My curiosity got the better of me and in spite of my mother-in-law’s warnings about the dire things that could happen to me, I dressed and went out into the street. It was a warm morning, dazzlingly bright and sunny as October can sometimes be. I knew better than to go into the Emorys’ house, but was loitering outside when I was met by Sid and Gus, coming up Patchin Place with laden baskets.

“Molly, you’re up. How wonderful,” Sid said. “And how well you look too. Are you going for a little walk? It’s a glorious day.”

“We could put our shopping inside and come with you,” Gus said. “We’ve just been to the market. Look at these apples and pears. Aren’t they just perfect at this time of year?” Then she added, “Is something wrong? You keep staring down the street.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m keeping an eye out for Daniel. He’s searching the Emorys’ house for clues. Mrs. Emory has gone missing.”

“I’m not surprised,” Sid said. “I’d have run away ages ago if I were she.”

“You didn’t happen to see her leaving, did you?” I asked. “It would have been two days ago now.”

Sid looked at Gus and then shook her head. “We haven’t seen her at all recently. Poor thing. If she’s found her freedom, I’m glad for her.”

I nodded, not daring to tell them my fears. At that moment one of the constables came out of the Emorys’ house, followed by Daniel.

“I think this is our cue to depart, Molly,” Gus said. “Come over and have coffee now that you are ambulatory again. And we must see that adorable baby of yours.”

I left them and went down the street to join Daniel.

“Did you find anything?” I asked.

He looked grim. “It certainly seems that foul play was involved,” he said. “Remember he said that Mrs. Emory cut herself and went upstairs to dress the wound?”

I nodded.

“Well, there was a first aid kit in the kitchen, above the sink. Bandages, ointment, the lot. So why would she go all the way upstairs? And one more thing—we found a bloody handkerchief stuffed down behind a dresser in the bedroom. A man’s handkerchief, behind his dresser. The only thing we didn’t find is any trace of a body. Their backyard is paved. Nowhere to bury one. So the question is, if he killed her, how did he dispose of the body?”