The Happy Family Facade

by Allison Osborne

  The tears in her eyes blurred her vision, and she blinked to clear them away. Joe secured his hand to hers and led her down the stairs. By the time they made it down, her tears were almost gone, and she could see once more.

  They burst into the kitchen, and Irene immediately looked around the pantry for a tin of coffee beans.

  “I’m never going to smell again,” Joe said. “My nose is ruined.”

  “You are fine,” Irene chided. “Here.”

  Joe turned to her and she stuck the can of coffee beans under his nose. He recoiled, then settled down, sniffing the coffee again. Irene took her own whiff, clearing her nostrils as best she could before setting the tin on the counter.

  “Now I smell coffee and perfume,” Joe said.

  “At least you can smell,” she said, plucking a handkerchief from a pile on the counter. She blew her nose and tossed the hanky in the bin.

  She grabbed their boots from under the counter and tossed Joe his pair.

  With their boots on and a quick touch-up to Irene’s dishevelled disguise, they left the house, hoping to quickly pass the Johnstons by without notice and head back to London.

  They pushed out the front door and ran right into Hughie and Chloe. Chloe took a step back, covering her nose, and Hughie gave a small cough before narrowing his eyes.

  “That’s Mother’s perfume,” Hughie snapped. “What happened?”

  Irene looked to Joe, and he stumbled over his words.

  “We had a small incident,” he began. “Accidentally knocked over Mrs. Johnston’s bottle. Not to worry, we can replace the bottle when we pick up the heaters.”

  “Where are you running off too, then?”

  “To get the heaters, of course,” Joe said. “And the perfume.”

  Irene caught Chloe’s gaze and widened her eyes, asking the young woman for help. Chloe caught on and tucked her arm through Hughie’s.

  “They seem awfully sorry about the perfume,” she cooed. “I’ll pop into the pantry and collect some biscuits, then head back to the garden. Why don’t you explain to your mother what happened and that these gentlemen will be back shortly with our new heaters?”

  She steered Hughie away from Irene and Joe, but the soldier kept watch on them as he walked away, suspicion obvious.

  As soon as they were out of her path, Irene continued to the car. Joe slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. He pushed the gas before the automobile had time to warm up and it grumbled and growled down the laneway.

  As he drove, Irene rolled her window down, and Joe followed suit.

  “What the hell did we just find, Irene?”

  She sighed and looked out the window, frigid wind stinging her face.

  “We found a father with a very sombre secret.”

  * * * * *

  Irene leaned on a table in the small meeting room at Scotland Yard. All the pictures she’d taken throughout the case were spread out on the table. The last batch finished drying, and a secretary brought the stack into the room, a concerned expression on her face. Irene took the photos and sifted through them, pleased with how they turned out.

  Now she and Joe simply waited for Eddy.

  Irene had taken her hat off and all the pins from her hair, opting to tie it back instead. Joe sat in one of the empty chairs, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped together, chin resting on his knuckles. He looked like he was in another world, the crime scene running through his mind. His breath quickened nervously, and his foot tapped the ground.

  “Joe,” Irene said, in an attempt to keep him from one of his episodes again. “Are you okay?”

  He looked up at her and shrugged. “I am, yes. But I am completely baffled as to what is going on here. Or why Mr. Johnston kept that body in his attic.”

  “I have a theory,” she stated. “When Eddy arrives, I shall lay it all out.”

  As if on cue, Eddy walked into the room. He recoiled and cussed.

  “What is that smell?” he gasped, covering his nose. “Perfume and something foul.”

  “It’s a decomposing body,” Irene said. “About four months old.”

  Eddy shut the door with a hard thump and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought this case wasn’t dangerous.”

  “It isn’t,” she said.

  “Then where did the body come from?”

  Irene gestured to all the photos on the table. “We’ve been busy.”

  “You both look like hell, and smell like it too.” Eddy poked through the pictures. “What is all of this? Is this someone’s house? What did you two do?”

  Irene sat beside Joe and Eddy across from them.

  “We were approached by a young woman,” Irene began. “To investigate the family she worked for. She said they forced her wear certain clothes, look a certain way, and that the head of the household, Mr. Albert Johnston, was acting very strange and unhinged.”

  “Wait,” Eddy interrupted. “Albert Johnston? The man who owns all the properties around London?”

  Irene nodded and continued with her story. “We went undercover, and during our investigation, we found her.”

  “Who?” Eddy asked.

  “Mr. Johnston’s daughter.”

  “Jesus Christ,” he exclaimed, habitually smoothing his hair. “So, we have a murder on our hands.”

  “Not necessarily.” Irene shook her head, looking down at the photos in thought.

  “Then what is it?”

  “I believe,” she started. “That approximately four months ago, Mr. Johnston’s daughter died. I do not know how, but it wasn’t from an external source. There was no damage to the body from my preliminary observation. An autopsy would reveal more, obviously, and determine if something happened to her internally.”

  Irene pushed the photos of the body toward Eddy. “We found evidence of his daughter tucked away in the house, in Mr. Johnston’s belongings. There was no other evidence of her in that house, Eddy. No pictures on the walls, nothing to indicate the Johnstons even had a daughter. Mrs. Johnston didn’t even have any pictures indicating she had a son.”

  “Did Mrs. Johnston kill her?”

  Irene waved her hands to stop him. “I don’t think a murder took place. I think their daughter died, and Mr. Johnston simply removed any evidence of her because he was so distraught and heartbroken, and he was keeping her in the attic. I don’t think he’s accepted that his daughter is dead.”

  “And Mrs. Johnston?”

  “I don’t believe she knows her husband’s secret,” Irene said. “She never wanted children in the first place but knew she had to give her husband some, especially in their wealthy world. When their daughter died, I think she simply tucked the death away as something to not worry about. She felt no emotional attachment to her.”

  Eddy ran a hand over his hair again. “But, their friends must’ve surely noticed his odd behaviour.”

  “They appear to have cut friends from their lives,” Irene said. “Mrs. Johnston still has some, but she never allows anyone to come to the house. This way, she preserves her extracurricular activities without the weight of a dead daughter following her around. It would be improper for her to continue to have fun after her daughter’s death, at least for some time. But because she felt nothing for her daughter, she simply buried the fact that she died and has carried on her care-free life.”

  Anger flashed beneath Irene's skin, and a tremble shook her hands. She clenched her fists and swallowed hard, attempting to maintain her composure for the sake of the investigation.

  “We searched the papers,” she added. “But they were removed from the archives. The only way we discovered any stories about them was in the computerized system. Mr. Johnston must’ve removed the stories when she died, but a few papers from the early thirties had already been put into the computer. He either tried and failed to remove them from the computer or didn’t realize they were in there in the first place.”

  Eddy stared at her for a second, then looked at all the photos
spread out before him. His gaze settled on the picture of Mr. Johnston’s daughter, and he shook his head.

  “And what of the young woman he hired?”

  “She is almost identical to his daughter,” Irene said. “He simply hired her in an attempt to get his daughter back, inserting her into his life as if his daughter didn’t die.”

  “Yet he still kept the body...”

  “Grief is a difficult thing,” Irene said. “I think we all know that.”

  Eddy stared at the photos for a long while before nodding and standing up.

  “We will have to treat this as a homicide,” he said finally. “And I will have to arrest everyone in the home, just until we get statements from them.”

  “Miss Flagner and Hughie Johnston are both innocent,” she said. “Miss Flagner hadn’t even been to the home at the time of death, and Hughie’s feet are too large to have made the tracks in the dusty attic.”

  Eddy nodded. “I’ll have one of my boys see what they can find on Mr. Johnston’s daughter. You two are welcome to come back to the house, but only if you promise to stay out of the way and not cause a scene.”

  “We never cause scenes,” Irene scoffed.

  “Of course you don’t,” Eddy said before raising a brow at Joe.

  “We will not cause a scene.” He assured the inspector.

  “Your constables will find a key in the drawer in Mr. Johnston’s bedside table,” Irene told Eddy. “It unlocks the door in his closet. That is where they will find the body.”

  Chapter VIII

  A Broken Family

  Joe sat in the passenger seat of the Vauxhall as Irene drove, following Lestrade’s Wolseley police car, and two other buses from Scotland Yard. The windows of their vehicle were still down, and Irene’s dark hair flew about. As they had waited for Lestrade to gather some constables, Joe watched her run a brush through her curls at least a hundred times, but her hair couldn’t be tamed from being pinned for days at a time. They both still wore their perfume infused clothes, but the smell seemed to be dissipating.

  Or he was just getting used to it.

  Irene pulled into the Johnston estate’s long laneway and parked behind Lestrade.

  The family was still on the lawn, and at the sight of the police cars, they rushed over. Lestrade climbed out of the Wolseley, buttoning his jacket, and approached them.

  If Mr. Johnston was worried about Lestrade finding anything, he didn’t show it.

  Irene and Joe exited their own car and followed behind Lestrade.

  “What is going on?” Mr. Johnston demanded before noticing Irene and Joe. “Did they take something? I knew I shouldn’t have let them into my home. What did they take?”

  Mrs. Johnston stared at them, narrowing her eyes at Irene. She let out a gasp.

  “You!” she said, one hand over her mouth and the other pointing at Irene. “You were at the tea house. Have you been in disguise?”

  “Disguise?” Mr. Johnston snapped, then noticed Irene as well. “You’ve been a woman this whole time? I demand to know what’s going on!”

  Joe touched Irene’s wrist and whispered in her ear. “I think this qualifies as making a scene. Let’s back up.”

  Lestrade stepped forward to the Johnstons, arms raised, trying to keep them calm.

  “I need you to listen to me,” He pulled out an envelope from his jacket pocket and held it out. “This is a search warrant for your entire property to locate the body of your daughter. We believe she is being kept in the attic of the house.”

  At Lestrade’s words, two constables rushed to the front door and entered the estate.

  Mr. Johnston paled and shook his head. Mrs. Johnston was a bit more vocal.

  “Our daughter?” Mrs. Johnston snapped. “Virginia is buried behind the house on the hill, with the rest of our family.”

  Irene stepped forward, and Joe tried to grab her to keep her out of the conversation but missed her wrist.

  “Virginia’s body is in your attic, Mrs. Johnston,” she said. “And has been since she died four months ago.”

  Mrs. Johnston shook her head, appearing utterly confused. “That’s not possible. We buried her behind the house...”

  She spun to her husband, fury on her face. “Oh, Albert. What the hell did you do?”

  Mr. Johnston just kept shaking his head and looked like he would be sick at any moment. Mrs. Johnston kept at him, berating and questioning him. Lestrade tried to get a word in, but Hughie came over to his father.

  “Dad, what’s going on?” he asked. “Why are they talking about Virginia?”

  A window from the second story of the house slid open, and a constable called out.

  “DI Lestrade! We found her!”

  Horror spread across Mr. Johnston’s face, and he took off toward the house. “No! Leave her alone! She likes to nap in the afternoon.”

  Lestrade pounced, grabbing Mr. Johnston and shoving him back toward the front fence. Mr. Johnston took a swing at Lestrade, but the inspector dodged his fists before catching the man’s arm. He spun Mr. Johnston around and slapped some handcuffs on him.

  “Sit,” Lestrade commanded. He motioned for the two remaining constables to cuff everyone, then he headed towards the house.

  Irene and Joe followed, hot on his heels. As soon as they were through the front door, a constable met them.

  “The rest of the house is clear, sir,” he said. “Though there is quite a mess in the kitchen. Looks like someone tried to either repair the cooker unsuccessfully or smuggle it from the kitchen by disassembling it.”

  “That was us,” Irene spoke quickly as if dismissing the explaining as unimportant. When Lestrade and the constable raised their eyebrows, she sighed and explained further. “That is how we got into the house. We pretended to be repairmen. The repair did not go as well as our investigation, I will tell you that right now.”

  The constable cleared his throat, then nodded to the stairs. “There’s also a smashed perfume bottle in the bedroom, and judging by the smell on these two, I can guess it was them as well.”

  Irene nodded in agreement and pushed past them, heading upstairs. Lestrade and Joe followed, but Joe hesitated on the bottom step. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see that gruesome scene again.

  He’d dealt with death before. The first case he solved with Irene was a murder and suicide, and their last mystery was a triple homicide. But seeing that young woman’s body, kept for all this time, made him feel genuinely unwell.

  Joe opted to go back outside and keep watch on the Johnstons.

  Mr. and Mrs. Johnston sat against the wall down by the laneway, cuffed. Hughie and Miss Flagner sat next to them. A constable paced back and forth, keeping an eye on the group. He gave Joe a nod as he approached.

  Mr. Johnston took a ragged breath then noticed Joe. “What are you doing with Virginia?”

  “Nothing right now, sir,” Joe said. “They’re investigating the scene and waiting on the coroner to come for the body.”

  “She can’t leave,” Mr. Johnston pleaded. “She’s sick. She needs to stay here.”

  “She’s not sick,” Mrs. Johnston snapped, angry tears in her eyes,. “She’s dead.”

  The coroner’s dark vehicle pulled into the laneway, and the constable offered him a wave. The large dark automobile parked and an older gentleman in a suit exited, his assistant stepping out from the other side.

  Mr. Johnston stood up awkwardly, his hands still cuffed behind him. “He’s going to take her away, isn’t he?”

  The constable gave him a gentle shove. “Sit.”

  The coroner and his assistant took a wheeled stretcher from the back of the vehicle and pushed it up the pavement toward the house. Mr. Johnston began to sob and writhe around against the wall, agony written across his features. “They can’t take her away, they simply can’t!”

  “Stop it,” Mrs. Johnston hissed. “This is unbecoming of a man of your stature.”

  “Who cares, Mother?” Hughie finally spoke from
his place at the end of the line-up. “We’ve spent the past six months holed up in the house because Ginnie was sick. You didn’t even tell anyone when she died.”

  “It would’ve been a huge story in the press, and your father’s sales would’ve plummeted,” Mrs. Johnston retorted, leaning forward to shout down to her son.

  “And how are they going to take it now?” Hughie pressed, tears streaming down his face. The boy had been silent until now, but Joe recognized the rage in him.

  The thought of a secret like this being kept from them angered Joe. He thought about his own sisters and how much he would grieve if one of them should...

  He let the thought trail off and cussed in his head for even thinking such a thing.

  Hughie sniffled as Mr. Johnston let out another sob.

  Joe turned away from the scene. Perhaps retrieving the body would’ve been a better choice. Facing that horror might have been better than watching a family fall apart in front of his eyes.

  Movement came from the front door, and Irene walked out of the house. The coroner followed, steering the stretcher as the assistant bumped it down the front steps. A sheet was pulled over the body, and it flapped in the wind, the assistant holding it down as best he could as he wheeled down the pavement.

  “No!” Mr. Johnston leapt up and started toward the body. The constable went to grab for him, but Mr. Johnston sidestepped.

  Joe caught him instead, grabbing the man’s waist, using all his strength to keep Mr. Johnston from running to the stretcher. Mr. Johnston folded in Joe’s arms and fell to the ground at Joe’s feet, sobbing.

  “That’s my daughter,” he cried. “Leave her alone. Don’t take my daughter from me!”

  “My god, Albert,” Mrs. Johnston gasped, staring at the stretcher. “You really brought her back into the house?”

  Hughie stood up and watched them put the stretcher into the vehicle. His mouth hung open, and he paled. “Dad. What did you do? Why didn’t you leave her buried?”

  Joe felt his heart break for the entire family, and he didn’t even know who to offer condolences to.

  A hand gently grabbed his arm. Irene came up beside him, giving him a small tug toward the laneway.