“The only way out is through the front door,” I said, “And I’m sure I would have noticed if—” I broke off as the thought struck me. “The laundry cart. They never send out their laundry usually, but there was a laundry cart on the street two days ago. And a big basket was carried out.”
“Interesting,” Daniel said. “Was it possible that the so-called laundryman was Mr. Emory in disguise?”
I thought for moment. “I suppose it is possible,” I said. “I didn’t pay too much attention, but I think he was tall and dark. With a big mustache.”
“Mustache. Perfect disguise. Put one on and people only remember the mustache. I think I need to talk to Mr. Emory. Maybe a night in the Tombs will make him want to confess. And Barker—” He addressed the waiting constable. “Go down to the morgue. I want a report on the bodies of any young women recovered in the past two days—especially from one of the rivers. Emory should have left a photograph of his wife at headquarters.” He turned to me. “I’m going to wait here and catch Mr. Emory by surprise as he comes home. Let’s hear what he’s got to say for himself. Good work, Molly. Very observant of you.”
It was one of the few times that he had complimented me on my detective skills, and I allowed myself a smug little smile as I walked back to the house. Aggie was changing Liam in the small bedroom that was now the nursery.
“Oh there you are, Mrs. Sullivan,” she said. “He’s been hollering for some time. Getting hungry more often, isn’t he?” She finished swaddling him and handed him to me. “Not surprising the way he’s growing. My, but he’s a big boy, isn’t he?”
I took him from Aggie, and his dark blue eyes stared up at me with such intensity that I was sure he could now focus on my face and recognize me. His lips quivered and without warning he let out a lusty bawl, his little fists fighting to free themselves from his blanket. I laughed, hoisted myself onto the bed and hastily unbuttoned my blouse.
“All right, young man. You’ve made your feelings very clear,” I said.
As I nursed him I kept watch on the street. Sure enough, the moment Liam had finished nursing and I was burping him over my shoulder, I espied the gaunt figure of Mr. Emory turning onto Patchin Place. As he reached his front door I saw him stop and look up in surprise. Daniel was walking toward him with a constable in tow. I saw them speak, then the constable took Mr. Emory’s arm. Mr. Emory didn’t attempt to struggle or to protest. He stared at Daniel and there was a look of utter bewilderment on his face. For a second he seemed to look up at my window, and although I knew I was not visible from the street below, it felt as if his eyes locked with mine before he was led away to a waiting police wagon.
I was feeling quite strange as I handed Liam back to Aggie and she went off to change his diaper. Something about Mr. Emory’s expression made me feel uneasy. I had come across murderers before. In my limited experience they had looked either cocky or defiant, or shown no emotion at all—their faces stony masks of arrogance. But bewilderment? Either that meant he was a very good actor, or…. I toyed with the words that formed in my head. It meant he hadn’t killed his wife after all.
Of course, we didn’t exactly know she was dead, as we’d found no body. But something strange had definitely happened. I sat on the edge of the bed and stared out of the window at the now-deserted street. A flock of pigeons fluttered down to the cobbles, their wings sounding like flapping paper. They were only there for a moment before a cat leaped out to scatter them again—a small moment proving that drama could happen on the peaceful backwaters like Patchin Place.
Then who might have killed her? I asked myself. The butcher boy and the laundry man had come to a door that had probably been the Emorys’, but they had only stayed for a moment. Surely not long enough to gain entrance to the house, kill Mrs. Emory, and dispose of her body. I was fairly sure nobody else had come to the house after Mr. Emory left for work early that morning. Not that I had observed him leaving for work…..
I made myself analyze the clues one by one. What had made me decide that Mr. Emory might have committed murder? The smear of blood on the washbasin. The drops of blood on the carpet. The strange deliveries to a house that never had them, especially the laundry cart and the basket being loaded onto it. Then there was the unlikely choice of mismatched clothing missing from the bedroom, the important clothes left behind. To these could be added Daniel’s discovery of the first aid kit above the kitchen sink and the blood-soaked handkerchief behind the dresser.