“I know this already.”
“Yes, but what you did not know was that it was a pistol that only one person in London owned.”
“Who?”
“Roger Loxley.”
My mouth went dry. I could not focus. I jumped up from my seat.
“You’re lying.”
“Doctor Watson, relax. Do not jump to conclusions just yet.”
“Did he do it?” I said, barely able to breathe. I felt dizzy with rage, ready to pounce.
“We aren’t one hundred percent sure of anything, but we were able to establish one thing for certain. The first bullet was shot by that gun.”
“By Roger?”
“No...”
Wicksy looked nervous.
“Then by whom?”
“According to the person with him, the first shot was fired by Richard Baker.”
“No!” I cried. They had to be lying. Richard would not do such a thing. He couldn’t have. My jumbled mind left me speechless, and then went blank. I felt myself stumble.
I took a seat on the couch, and was only vaguely aware of my surroundings or the voice of the detectives saying, “Are you all right, Doctor Watson?”
The thought of Richard doing something to hurt my mum felt like a bullet to my own chest. How could he? I felt the lump in my throat, and a waterfall of tears behind my eyes. But I didn’t let them fall because another emotion welled in me so great, I could think of nothing else. I clenched my fists as a fury boiled throughout my body. I wanted Richard to pay for what he’d done. I would make him pay.
“Now, Doctor Watson,” Wicksy was saying. “Please, you must understand, we’ve heard the whole story from Richard and Roger. We’ve been working on this case for longer than you think, and it is our true belief that Richard Baker and Roger Loxley had nothing to do with your mother’s murder.”
“I’m confused,” I said, taking a deep breath.
“I know it sounds strange, but the bullet that Richard shot was an honest accident. Someone drugged him. It’s the second bullet wound that killed her, and Barnes and I are confident the shooter of that bullet was not Richard. So you can be upset. But don’t you touch a hair on Richard Baker’s head. We need to conduct a full investigation to obtain the whole truth, and we are working on it diligently. If our theory...”
“What theory...”
“It’s confidential, Doctor Watson, but it exonerates Richard and Roger if it’s true. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“We’re going to leave now. I told you this because I didn’t believe you should be kept in the dark about it, but you cannot say a word. If you do, you may jeopardize our investigation and the murderer that we are so close to bringing down will walk free. A lot of things are going to reveal themselves soon, and we...” Wicksy looked at Barnes and then back at me again. “I...wanted you to be prepared.”
“I understand,” I said. I was in shock as I stood up and ushered the detectives from the drawing room and finally through the front door.
“We’ll be in touch soon,” Wicksy said.
I nodded.
When they were gone, I drew in a deep breath. I threw open the cabinet door to my book case and pulled out a bottle of Brandy. I poured myself a glass and downed it as quickly as possible. And then another. And then a third.
The fury inside me would not subside. Though I believed the detectives when they said Richard did not murder my mum and that the bullet was an honest accident, I was furious that he never told me—that he watched me grieve and never once said a word. I needed to see Richard now. Even though the detectives advised me against it, I needed to confront him about the situation. And about Claire.
I stood up, knowing that the alcohol would kick in soon, and seconds later I was out the door on my way to Mayfair.
49 The Ultimate Confession
Paul Watson’s Journal
August 16, 1927, continued.—Anger still consumed me as I rode on the train to Richard’s home. I hardly remembered the passengers on the train or the cars that zoomed by once I reached his street.
When I arrived at his townhome, I knocked so hard, my knuckles were red. It was Claire that opened the door. She had a wine glass in her hand, dark circles under her eyes, and a mink thrown over her shoulder.
“Where’s Richard?”
In a cold voice, Claire said, “What’s wrong Paul? You look upset...”
“Step out of the way.”
“No. What’s wrong with you?”
Claire stumbled, and I slipped past her so quickly that she only had time to cry out, “Hey!”
I found Richard in the drawing room with Oscar. Without a word, I attacked Richard with all my strength, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him to the ground.
“Paul! What in the world has gotten into you?” Oscar yelled.
I punched Richard’s face again and again, vaguely hearing Claire’s screams in the background. I’d completely lost all inhibition. I was totally consumed by anger and pain, and I confess, I did not care what happened to Richard in that moment.
Richard was only held down for a minute and then he was fighting me back. Blood stained the floors as Richard punched my jaw.
“Stop it, the both of you, this instant!” Oscar yelled again in his gravelly voice. He tried to pull us apart but stumbled backward when Richard pushed him away.
I managed to hit Richard in the eye, but then Richard pinned me to the ground, his hand pressed hard on my throat. I felt my breath escape me, and I made a gargle noise and grabbed onto Richard’s hands. I pushed them with all of my strength, freed his grip, and struggled to keep his hands away from my throat again.
“If you don’t stop, I’ll call the police,” Oscar warned as he caught his breath from his stumble, but if he meant what he said, he made no notion to contact them. No matter how much Oscar pleaded, I couldn’t stop. I was fighting for my mum, for Claire, for everything that I felt bottled inside of me. Blood trickled down both our faces as we unleashed years of pent up angst.
Feeling my grip slightly weaken, Richard caught me by the throat once more. Frustrated and panicked, Oscar screamed angrily.
“Stop. It. Now!”
I stopped resisting Richard. Richard looked at my bloody face, and he removed his hands.
“Bloody hell,” he said breathlessly and sat backward against one of the drawing room chairs. “Yah drunk bastard.”
I still lay on the floor, rubbing my neck. Seconds later, I sat partially upward, and leaned against the sofa.
Oscar sat in one of the chairs, and stared intently at both of us.
“Well,” he snapped. His face was a bright shade of red and his lower lip quivered. “Are you quite finished?”
Neither Richard nor I said a word, and Oscar drew in a deep breath. Claire shook in the doorway, tears streaming down her face. We were silent for several seconds.
Then I felt uncontrollable tears cascade down my eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Oscar asked.
He had never seen me cry except for the day my mum died.
“Why didn’t you tell me about my mother?” I asked, collecting my emotions and wiping the blood away from my face with my sleeve. “Why didn’t you tell me you were there, Richard? Are you that heartless? Are you that selfish? Why didn’t you tell me what you did?”
Richard said nothing. He only stared at me with an intense stare as he wiped blood from his cut eye.
“Huh?” I said, my anger returning. “Answer me you...”
“What’s he talking about?” Claire asked.
“Tell them!” I screamed. “Tell them what you’ve done!”
“Paul, please...it’s not what you think...”
“Tell them!” I screamed again with fury behind every word. “I want to hear you say it loudly in front of everyone you pretend to love so much. I want to hear you say it to me. You’ve lied to me to for seven years. You pretended to be my best mate, but you were nothing but a liar.�
�
“I...” Richard kept his eyes downcast for several seconds, and when he lifted them he looked first at Claire, then at his father. He did not dare look at me. I didn’t give him a chance to finish.
“The night my mother was murdered...it was Richard who shot the pistol that first wounded her.”
Claire gasped, and I heard the sound of glass shattering as she dropped her glass of claret and covered her mouth with her hands.
Oscar clutched his heart and said, barely above a whisper, “It’s not what you think Paul.”
“You knew about this?” I cried.
“I think you need to calm down. You’ve had a few drinks and are upset. But Richard did not hurt your mother intentionally.”
Richard spoke then.
“It was only an accident, I promise,” Richard said. “It’s a long story, but I did not intend to hurt your mother, Paul. I promise.”
“Your word means nothing...”
“I was drugged Paul. Someone drugged me, and I had only a vague idea I even shot the gun.”
Richard paced the floor.
“Look, I was devastated, and I have felt guilty since even though I knew I didn’t intend to hurt anyone.”
“You lied to me every day Richard. Our entire friendship is a fraud. And you’re a fraud. Can’t you see?”
I got close to his face again.
“I know what you did to Claire,” I said in a harsh whisper. “I know how you forced her onto you...”
“What is he talking about, Richard?”
Richard gave Claire a harsh stare with narrowed eyes, and I wished I hadn’t said anything about it.
“I swear I didn’t tell him anything.”
“I demand to know what is going on,” Oscar cried.
“Oh, you haven’t told your father that you abused your wife on numerous occasions...”
“Shut up,” Richard yelled.
“And even though you practice infidelity, you force her to lie in bed with you because you enjoy controlling her.”
“I said shut up, Paul, I mean it.”
“Richard, is this true?” Oscar asked with horror, but when he didn’t receive an answer turned to Claire. “Is it true?”
“Well, I’m tired of turning a blind eye to your behavior,” I argued. “It’s time people knew the truth about you.”
“You do realize I’m not stupid. I’m perfectly aware that my wife, who pledged her loyalty and love to me, was in love with you. Forgive me for being angry when I found out you made love to her.”
“You are a hypocrite, Richard. It makes me sick.”
“Maybe. But so is she. And that’s how we are.”
“Well if that’s how you are, then why does she always come crying to me?”
“Enough!” Oscar yelled. “All these accusations cannot be dealt with now.” Then he turned to Richard and in a fierce tone said, “We will deal with this issue, Richard. You can bet your life on it.”
I turned to Claire who still looked frightened.
“I’m done with all of you,” I said and then turned to Oscar. “Even you. How could you not tell me about what happened to my mother? You cared for her, and you didn’t have the decency to give me some clue of what happened that night!”
Oscar was speechless. He only looked down and held his head in his hands.
“Never speak to me again,” I yelled, wiping the trickling blood from my lip. “Never look at me. I never want to see any of your faces again.”
I stormed out of the drawing room and had my hand on the door knob to leave when Oscar’s stern voice said,
“You come back in here now, Paul Watson!”
I stomped back into the drawing room and snapped, “How dare you speak to me? You’re nothing to me. I looked up to you, Oscar. But now, I never want to see you again. Consider this my resignation from Maudsley.”
“Listen to me, Paul. There’s something you need to know. Your mother made me promise to never tell you, but...” Oscar looked at Richard, and then back at me. “But I will. I must. The truth is, I would never hurt you. Not in a million years. And I wouldn’t do that because...you’re my son, Paul.”
I couldn’t breathe. I started to feel dizzy and fell into the first open chair that I saw.
“What?!” I heard Richard cry. “What are you saying, Father?”
I clutched my heart, which had started to throb.
“You’re brothers, Richard. Wendy and I were in love, and I had no idea that Paul was my son until William died. Wendy made me promise never to tell a soul, but it is true.” Oscar turned to me. “Paul...I know you’re angry with Richard because he didn’t tell you what he did, but you have to understand, since your mother’s death, Aldous Loxley hired detectives to find her murderer. We’re this close to getting a true confession, and if Richard were to have said anything, it could have jeopardized the investigation.”
I was in shock. I couldn’t speak. I knew I needed air, fast.
I stood up, and without a word, started to leave.
“There’s more Paul,” Oscar said. “All the answers that you want you will soon have. Agatha Bates isn’t dead. She’s very much alive, and she knows the true story.”
I couldn’t hear another sound. I was too inebriated and bruised. My mind couldn’t comprehend the words. I needed to sleep.
50 A Grave Message
“I had tea with Edna Potter the other day,” Mrs. Wendell said as she took a sip of her tea and eyed Mrs. Glum suspiciously out of one eye.
“Is she well?” Petunia asked.
“Oh yes, quite. She and Edward are going to have a grandson.”
“That is fortunate for them.”
Mrs. Glum left the drawing room, and Mrs. Wendell leaned in toward Petunia.
“You said your maid came highly recommended by the Potters?”
“Yes, Phillip said she received a glowing reference letter when she left their house.”
Mrs. Wendell huffed.
“Edna seemed to suggest her husband gave the woman a good reference in order to rid of her quickly. After all, she was a good worker, but she simply could not stay in their home.”
“Why?” Petunia whispered as she looked toward the closed drawing room door.
“You and I both know there’s only one reason for a quick dismissal with a good reference.”
“An affair?”
“Precisely.”
“But do you know for sure?”
Mrs. Wendell shrugged.
A crease formed in Petunia’s brow.
“She is a good worker,” Petunia reasoned after several seconds.
“Speaking of servants, did you receive an invitation from the Loxley’s butler...for the party?”
“I did,” Petunia sighed. “And I don’t know if I’m going. If Phillip is back from his job in the countryside then perhaps. He always insists I go to those things since the Loxleys are his longtime clients.”
“When is he to return?”
“I believe any day now,” Petunia lied.
“Well, I plan on going. Aldous has invited me, and so I shall go. It’ll only be a matter of time before he goes back to America for good, and then his sons will only invite their miscreant friends to the Loxley parties.”
“I would prefer not to go,” Petunia said.
“Oh, but didn’t you hear? Roger Loxley is engaged.”
“He is?”
“Yes, to the American girl, Vivian.”
“Oh my,” Petunia said. “And to think, poor girl, she may be engaged to a murderer.”
“Well, that makes it all the more interesting gossip my dear, which is why I insist you should go. You never know what’s going to be revealed.”
A brisk knocking on Petunia’s front door interrupted the women.
“Do you think Beatrice has finally decided to join us?”
“Oh, I’m most certain it’s not Beatrice. She’s been so withdrawn lately.”
Mrs. Glum entered the drawing room.
&nb
sp; “Constable Wyatt and two policemen are here to see you, madam.”
Petunia shrugged as she exchanged a puzzled look with Mrs. Wendell.
“Send them in, Mrs. Glum.”
“Of course, madam,” Mrs. Glum answered, and she disappeared behind the doorway.
The Constable and the two policemen entered the room. Petunia could not fathom why they were here this time. She sincerely hoped Phillip did not drag her into further scandal.
“Good day, madam,” Constable Wyatt said. “I didn’t know you had company. I would prefer if I might speak with you in private.”
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Mrs. Wendell said, rising from her seat. “I was just leaving anyway. Petunia, I’ll see you at the Loxley party.”
As Mrs. Glum showed Mrs. Wendell out, the policemen stood with stern looks upon their faces. When Constable Wyatt was sure Mrs. Wendell and Mrs. Glum were not in earshot, he said, “I’m sorry to inform you, but, as it turns out, the employer that vouched for your husband’s whereabouts was blackmailed by your husband to do so.”
“What?”
“Yes, the head of the bank confessed a few days ago. This led us on a man hunt for your husband, and I’m sorry to say...we’ve had confirmation that your husband was killed.”
Petunia gasped. “Oh!” She cried, as tears ran down her face.
“I’m so very sorry, Mrs. Pennyworth.”
“How did it happen?” She sniffled, clutching her stomach.
“It was a hit and run.”
“Oh...”
“Though, a witness claims that it was intentional. We’re conducting a full investigation.”
“Oh dear,” Petunia said, wiping her eye with a napkin.
“Can you think of anyone who wanted your husband dead, Mrs. Pennyworth?”
Petunia couldn’t answer. She shook her head.
“Mrs. Pennyworth, this may be hard to hear, but our ongoing investigation of Agatha Bates and Louisa Stilwell’s deaths have led us to believe Phillip may have been involved, if not the sole suspect, in their murders.”
Petunia cried out again, and Constable Wyatt knelt down to console her.
“There, there, Mrs. Pennyworth,” Constable Wyatt said. “I should apologize to you.”
“Apologize?” Petunia said between tears.
Kolney Hatch: Buried Secrets (The Secret of Kolney Hatch Book 2) Page 17
