by Laura Landon
“Did you speak with Mr. Baker?” Brian asked as he followed Will into his office.
“Yes, but he told me exactly what he’d said when we interviewed him immediately following Lizzy’s death. And everything he’d said then still checks out. He was at a dinner party to celebrate his mother’s sixtieth birthday. He was there the entire evening and didn’t leave until late. Then he escorted his mother and sisters home and retired for the evening.” Will sat down behind his desk and pulled out more files he’d made around the time of Lizzy’s murder.
“And even if he did go out after he’d taken his mother home, Lizzy was already dead by that time.”
“So who does that leave you with?”
Will raked his fingers through his hair. “No one, except Fletcher, and my gut tells me he’s not the killer. And Ralphy Weston. But I just don’t see it being him.”
Brian stepped close to the desk and held out another folder.
“What’s this?” Will said, taking the papers.
“It’s a new case the commissioner wants you to look into.”
Will placed the folder on the center of his desk, knowing he’d have to look into it soon. He felt the mounting pressure of unsolved cases and briefly wondered how his men were holding up, they were spread so thin. He wasn’t the only one who found twenty-four hours in a day to be not nearly enough to satisfy the demands on his time. And now this new case appeared. His commanding officer wouldn’t let him ignore a current case to spend his time looking into a murder that was nearly two years old.
But right now he needed some air.
The walk to the emporium took no time at all. He needed to let Ginny know he’d interviewed Ralphy, and that it hadn’t gone particularly well. But within moments he discovered she wasn’t at the shop.
Will nodded to Della and Lucy, then left the emporium to find Ginny.
The day was dreary and overcast. Heavy gray clouds hung low in the sky and looked as if they could open up at any moment to allow a drenching rain to saturate anyone caught in the open. Will hoped the rain would hold off until he could get Ginny to shelter.
He entered St. Dunstan’s Graveyard and saw her the minute he turned down the path that led to Lizzy’s grave. She knelt on the thick grass and sat with her hands folded in her lap.
“She won’t speak to me,” Ginny said when he came up behind her. It was as if she knew he was there, even though he hadn’t spoken to her, hadn’t alerted her to his presence.
“That’s all right, Ginny. Perhaps she has nothing more to say.”
“But we haven’t found her killer. And if she doesn’t provide us with more clues, we may never find him.”
Will hunched down beside Ginny and reached for her hands. When they were in his grasp, he twined her fingers in his. “We’ll find him,” he assured her. “It may take us a little longer, but we’ll find him.”
“I keep hearing the desperation in her voice. The frantic pleading.”
“I know, sweetheart. I know.”
“Then why doesn’t she tell us more?”
“She will. We only have to be patient. But for now, we’d best find shelter. The sky looks as though it’s going to open up and soak us through.”
Will rose to his feet and took Ginny’s hand in his. They’d barely taken two steps before Ginny pulled out of his grasp and spun to face Lizzy’s grave.
“Find him! Now! Before he kills again!”
Will pulled back as if he’d been struck by a boulder. He heard her. He heard the voice!
“Where?” Ginny cried out. “Where should we look?”
“Hurry!”
“Where?” Ginny asked.
But there was no answer.
Will stared as Ginny dropped to her knees at Lizzy’s grave. She released a sob, then slowly lifted her gaze to look at him.
Will knew his eyes were open wide and filled with disbelief. He knew he looked as though he’d seen a ghost. But he hadn’t. He’d only heard one.
Deep furrows crossed Ginny’s forehead. “What’s wrong, Will?” she said, rising to her feet. Her hands clasped his arms. “Are you all right?”
He couldn’t answer. He didn’t have enough control of his faculties to form the words or utter a sound.
Her eyes opened in recognition. “Did you hear her?”
He wanted to tell her that he had, but the words wouldn’t come.
“Did you?”
Slowly, with jerky movements, he nodded. He’d heard the voice. It wasn’t exactly as he remembered Lizzy’s voice, but it was a voice, and it had answered the question Ginny posed.
“You heard it,” she cried out. “You heard it,” she sobbed in relief.
“Yes, I heard it.”
“You heard it,” she repeated. Tears streaked down her cheeks and Will gathered her to him to comfort her.
“Yes, I heard it.” Will said, lowering his gaze to look at her. “I heard it. You’re not alone any longer.”
“Oh, Will.”
She nestled closer to him and he rested his chin on the top of her head.
“I thought I was going insane. That was the only explanation I had for the voice I heard.”
“You’re not going insane,” he reassured her. “If you are, I’m going insane along with you.”
He felt her laugh, then she lifted her head and looked at him. “What are we going to do now?”
“We’re going to find shelter before the rain starts. Come on.”
Will took Ginny’s hand and led her from the graveyard. When they reached a shop that served tea and pastries, he escorted her inside. They sat at a table near the window as the first raindrops fell.
When a waiter had brought them tea and some small pastries, Will leaned forward with his forearms on the table. “I interviewed Ralphy.”
“You—”
“Yes. Both he and Wesley know something, but they seem to be protecting each other.”
“Then what can you do?”
“I’m going to interview them together. At the station.”
“Will, you can’t! Ralphy will be out of his mind with fear. It’s too…too cruel.” She grabbed Will’s hand that rested on the table. “Let me be there. For Ralphy. He needs someone!”
Will studied her stricken face. It was too soon to tell her. “He won’t be alone. He’ll have Wesley.”
“Oh Will, how can that possibly help? They don’t even seem to be friends! Please let me be there!”
He hated the accusing look in her eyes, the way she gripped his hand as she pressed him to change his mind. But it was the disappointment in her eyes that made the decision for him. “They don’t have to be friends, Ginny. They’re brothers.”
. . .
Will left the pastry shop and turned east toward the station. It felt wrong to leave Ginny at the shop, but she’d insisted. She had purchased a bundle of baked goods to take to the rectory. Reverend Fletcher hadn’t been able to come to dinner Sunday, and she’d given some vague explanation that she wanted to surprise him. He suspected what she really wanted to do was to lay eyes on Ralphy, to make certain he was all right.
There would be no danger of her finding him, as Will’s constables would already have rounded up the brothers. They’d be ready for interrogation by the time he reached the station. It was a short walk and he used the brief moments to organize his questions.
“Did they bring the brothers in?” Will asked when he walked past Brian Randolph’s desk.
Will entered his office and placed his hat on the hall tree in the corner behind his desk, then sat in his chair and pulled out several pieces of paper and started writing.
“Yes, I believe so.” Randolph followed Will into the room. “But you need to see this.”
“I heard the voice.”
Will watched the expression on Brian’s face turn to open shock and disbelief as he leaned against the desk.
“You heard it? What did the voice say?”
“It told us to find her killer before he kille
d again.”
Randolph’s face drained of color. “Then you really need to see this, sir.”
“Just leave it on my desk. I’ll read it after I question the—”
“It can’t wait, sir. You asked me for unsolved murders on September 16th of any year prior to Lizzy’s death in 1855. Here they are.”
He thrust the papers into Will’s hand.
There were multiple reports, one from each year going back easily ten years prior to Lizzy’s death. Will scanned the documents, impatient to get on with his questioning of Wesley Fletcher and Ralphy Weston.
Until a line from one of the newspaper clippings leaped from the page and froze his heart.
Chapter 11
Will dropped the papers and raked his fingers through his hair. How the hell had this gone unnoticed? How could seven females have been murdered in September at two-year intervals and no one noticed?
How could he not have noticed?
Will thumbed through the stack of newspaper clippings Reynolds had attached to the file.
Brian Randolph leaned back in his chair and locked his hands over his chest. “Those are murders that took place in September, seventeen, nineteen, and twenty-one years ago.”
Will scanned the articles. He shook his head. “These didn’t take place in London.”
“No, they took place in a small village about two hours north of London. They only received notoriety because the village was so small and no one could remember a murder ever having been committed there, let alone three in six years.”
“Why should these be of interest to us?”
“Read one of the articles and you’ll see,” Brian said, remaining seated while Will read.
On Saturday last, the entire village of Petersfield filled the small local church to say their final goodbye to twenty-year-old Milly Angela Winslow. Those in attendance said there wasn’t room for one more mourner to crowd into the church.
According to the local magistrate, Miss Winslow was reported missing by her parents on 15 September, when she didn’t return home after attending a local fair with her sisters. After an extensive search by a large group of local residents, Miss Winslow’s strangled body was discovered in a wooded area east of Petersfield.
Milly Winslow’s mother and father, as well as three sisters and four brothers stood at the grave while the Reverend Josiah Fletcher read the 23rd Psalm. Then each family member as well as relatives and friends placed handfuls of dirt atop Miss Winslow’s coffin.
A light lunch was served in the—
Will stopped reading as his eyes darted up to the earlier paragraph. ‘while the Reverend Josiah Fletcher read’…
“Bloody hell!” Will grabbed the next article and the next. Reverend Fletcher had performed each of the funeral services.
“You’re a genius!” Will told his secretary. He slid his chair back and bolted to his feet. He opened his top drawer and grabbed a gun from his desk, then stormed across the room.
“Do you want someone to go with you?” Reynolds asked. “I can send for Thompson and Wallace. They returned a little while ago.”
Will knew Randolph was worried for his safety, but Will was so angry, Josiah Fletcher was the only one in danger.
Will shook his head. “I’ll be fine.”
“What shall I do about the brothers, sir?” Randolph called.
“Let them be on their way!”
Before Reynolds could say more, Will bounded past him and out into the late afternoon sunshine.
He couldn’t believe he had never considered Reverend Fletcher. He’d interrogated the reverend’s sons, but not once had he considered Reverend Fletcher might be the murderer.
Will’s legs ate the distance to St. Dunstan’s church as if the hounds of hell were nipping at his heels. Ginny was there. Walking right into the devil’s lair!
. . .
It was getting late when Ginny returned to St. Dunstan’s. She told herself she needed to stay away from Lizzy’s grave, that she didn’t need to find out any more information. And she knew that Will wouldn’t appreciate her interference. But she couldn’t stay away. She would stop by quickly, then go on to the rectory with her bundle of baked goods.
She knew they were close to finding out who had killed Lizzy. Ginny just hoped it wasn’t Wesley Fletcher. She didn’t know how Reverend Fletcher would take knowing that his son was a murderer.
She entered the gate that led to the cemetery and made her way to her mother’s grave. She placed the flowers she’d purchased from a street vendor on her mother’s grave, then continued on to Lizzy’s grave and placed flowers there, as well.
“We’re going to find the person who killed you, Lizzy. Will won’t rest until he’s brought your killer to justice.”
Of course there wasn’t an answer. Ginny hadn’t expected there to be one. She knelt at Lizzy’s grave for a moment, then rose. She’d been gone from the shop long enough. She felt guilty for the time she’d been absent and promised herself that starting tomorrow, she’d be more of a help to her sisters.
She took a final look at Lizzy’s grave, then turned to leave.
“Is that you, Ginny?” a voice said from behind her.
Ginny turned. A smile lit her face. “Hello, Reverend Fletcher.”
The reverend returned her smile and walked toward her.
He was so very handsome—tall and broad-shouldered—and held himself in a dignified manner. She’d never understood why he hadn’t remarried after his first wife died. Perhaps he’d loved her so much that no one could take her place.
Ginny’s smile broadened. It wasn’t that no female had tried to snatch him for her husband. There was always a crowd of widows and single women vying for his attention after each Sunday morning service. And the reverend never lacked a Sunday dinner invitation.
“I haven’t helped but notice that you’re a frequent visitor to Elizabeth de Wolfe’s grave. I didn’t realize you were close friends.”
“Not close, but we were acquaintances.”
“Her death was such a tragedy,” he said when he reached her.
“Yes.”
“Do you think the inspector will ever discover who was responsible for Elizabeth’s death?”
“I have no doubt he will,” Ginny answered with confidence. “In fact, I believe he is quite close to discovering the murderer as we speak.”
Reverend Fletcher raised his eyebrows. “Do you?”
“Yes. The last time we spoke, he was quite hopeful that he was close to finding his cousin’s killer. Oh! I nearly forgot! These are for you.”
Reverend Fletcher took the bundle but offered not a word of thanks. Instead he plied his question.
“Was he? Close to an answer, you say?” Reverend Fletcher said, although his expression didn’t match the excitement in his voice.
Ginny blanched. Reverend Fletcher must know that his son was one of the prime suspects. He could hardly be excited to know that the inspector had found more proof to indict him. She shouldn’t have told him what she had. And she mustn’t tell him his sons were with the constabulary at this very moment being interviewed. It would be too painful for him to hear.
Ginny felt the need to leave. She didn’t want to talk about Lizzy’s murder with the father of the prime suspect in Lizzy’s death. Besides, it was getting dark and she wanted to get home before the sun was completely gone. “If you’ll excuse me, Reverend Fletcher, I really must be going.”
“Yes,” he answered. “It’s getting late. But I can’t allow you to walk home alone. It wouldn’t be safe. I’ll accompany you.”
Ginny smiled at his thoughtfulness. “That’s not necessary, Reverend. I’ll be fine.”
“Nonsense, Virginia. It would be my pleasure. Besides, I have a letter that needs posting, and the posting office is right on the way.”
“If you’re sure,” Ginny said.
“Of course. Of course. Give me your arm.”
When Reverend Fletcher extended his arm for her to take, s
he hesitated. For some reason she didn’t feel comfortable holding on to him. She didn’t feel safe.
She chided herself for feeling so foolish. This was Reverend Fletcher. The entire St. Dunstan’s congregation adored him. He was beloved by everyone who attended his services every Sunday.
Ginny mentally called herself every sort of fool then placed her hand on his arm and walked with him through the gate of the cemetery.
“I hope you don’t mind taking a different way home, Virginia. I always find going through the side entrance to the churchyard much more relaxing. I don’t know whether it’s the trees, or the small stream that runs nearby, or simply the quietness of the area, but I always enjoy going this way.”
Ginny didn’t find the way they took peaceful in the least. In fact, she was becoming more wary with each step they took. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been this way before,” she said. “I wasn’t even aware that there was a path behind the churchyard.”
“Yes, it’s seldom used, which makes it ideal. There are times when I prefer to be by myself, and this path provides me the isolation I desire.”
Ginny looked around. They were surrounded by a dense wooded area. What little sunlight there was in the sky was hidden by the thick grove of trees. An uneasy sense of concern settled over her and she looked around to find the nearest opening that would lead them to a clearing. But she couldn’t find one.
“Do we have much farther to go?” she asked the reverend.
A smile lifted the corners of Reverend Fletcher’s mouth. But the smile she saw didn’t calm her. The look on his face seemed sinister. And Ginny realized she was afraid.
“No, we’re almost there.”
Ginny tried to walk faster, but Reverend Fletcher wouldn’t allow her to increase her pace. She tried to lift her hand from his arm but he wouldn’t allow her to separate herself from him. She tried to escape his grasp, but he threw away the baked goods and grabbed her upper arms. With an angry push he pressed her back against a tree.
