Birds of a Feather

the documents in front of her, with the intention of studying carefully every detail of Joseph Waite’s background. She read for some time, jotted notes and words on a sheet of paper that she would later add to the case map. The thud of the outer door being closed brought her contemplative silence to an end, followed by the unmistakable “dot-and-carry-one” footfall of Billy Beale climbing the stairs. The door opened and immediately Maisie felt the energy in the room change as Billy entered. Clearly he had news to impart.

“Afternoon, Miss. Nice to see the days starting to get longer, innit? Not that you’d notice this afternoon.” Billy shook out his overcoat and hung it on the back of the door, while Maisie looked in dismay at the droplets of rainwater that now speckled the floor. “Didn’t it come down, all of a sudden? I thought it’d ’old off, what wiv it clearin’ up this mornin’.”

“Indeed, Billy. Um, could you get a cloth and wipe up the water on the floor?”

“Aw, sorry, Miss.” Billy took a rag from one of the drawers in his desk and slowly bent down to mop up the rainwater, favoring the aching knee.

Having completed the task, Billy took his notebook, Charlotte Waite’s address book, and a newspaper from the inside pocket of his overcoat, and sat down beside Maisie at the table by the window.

“Well, I don’t know about you, Miss, but I’ve ’ad a very interestin’ day.”

“I’m delighted to hear it.”

Billy placed the address book in front of Maisie, inclined his head toward it, and grinned.“Notice anything strange about this ’ere book?”

Maisie picked up the black leather-bound book, ran her fingers around the closed gilt-edged pages, and flicked open a page or two.

“Go on.”

“Well, I ain’t never ’ad an address book meself. I might scratch down somethin’ on the back of me Daily Sketch, but I’ve never gone in for addresses all written down in alphabetical order, like.”

Maisie nodded.

“But what I reckon is that people like you, what ’ave address books because they know enough people to ’ave to write down all the names and addresses and telephone numbers and all, don’t ’ave address books that look like this.” Billy reached for the book, flapped it back and forth, and then set it down on the table again for effect. “I bet if we looked through your address book, it’d be full of directions and notes and some telephone numbers, and some people would’ve moved so many times, you’ve ’ad to scribble out the address to put the new one in. Then no sooner’ve you done that, they’ve either moved again or gone and got themselves married and changed names, so you ’ave to move the ’ole thing.”

“You’ve got a point there, Billy.”

“Well, I looked at this book, and I thought to meself that she either don’t know many people or this ain’t ’er main address book.”

“Do you think she deliberately left a bogus address book to fool people who searched for her?” Maisie tested Billy.

“Nah, I don’t think she’s that sort. ’Specially if she ran off a bit quick. No, ’ere’s what I think ’appened: She ’ad a new book for a present or bought ’erself a new book because the old one’s got a bit tatty. So she starts to put in the names and—course, I’m speculatin’ ’ere, Miss—starts with the people she knows best now. They’re the ones it’s most important to ’ave in the book. But because it’s not the most thrillin’ job, she puts it off and still goes back to ’er old book, because she’s used to it, it’s like an old friend in itself.”

“Good thinking, Billy.”

“Anyway, this is all well and good, because the people who’re important now in ’er life are all ’ere—and by the way, I saw one of ’em today, I’ll tell you about that next—but the ones from a long time ago, what she probably ’asn’t seen for ages and only keeps the name in the book so she can send a card at Christmas, ain’t ’ere . . . and Charlotte Waite took ’er old book with ’er to wherever she went off to.”

“I am very impressed, Billy; you’ve put a lot of thought into this.” Maisie smiled.

Billy sat up straighter and reached for his notebook. “So, I was standin’ outside the ’ome of, let me see, ’ere we are—Lydia Fisher. Lives in Cheyne Mews—very nice, I’m sure. So, I was standin’ outside, taking a dekko at the premises, when up she comes in ’er car. Very posh, I must say. She was dressed to the nines, bright red lips, and that black stuff on ’er eyes, fur draped over ’er shoulder. Of course, I ’ad to say somethin’ to ’er, didn’t I?” Billy held out his upturned palms for effect. “Seein’ as she’d almost knocked me into the wall with ’er drivin’ and that she’d see me again when we do our official inquiry. So I told ’er my name, and that I worked for you, and that what I ’ad to say was in confidence.”

“And you had this conversation out in the street?”

“Well, the beginnin’ of it, yes. I said that we was workin’ for the Waite family, and she says, ‘Do come in.’ There was a maid who brought us tea in the upstairs drawin’ room. Mind you, the lady knocked back a couple of quick ones, poured ’em ’erself from one of them fancy crystal decanters on the sideboard. She’s only got a maid and a cook, is my guess. Probably no chauffeur because she seems to like ’avin’ the car to ’erself.” Billy cleared his throat and continued. “So I says that, it’s all confidential, that Charlotte Waite ’ad left ’er father’s ’ome, and that we’d been retained to look for ’er.”

“Good.”

“Well, she rolls ’er eyes, says, ‘Again!’ all snotty, like, then says, “That’s no surprise, she’s run so many times, they should put that woman in the Olympics!’ I knew what she meant, what wiv what we already know about Miss Waite. Then she says, ‘Well, not to worry, she’s finally run off to a convent, I expect,’ to which, Miss, I said, “Are you serious, Miss Fisher?’ She says, all airs and all, ‘Mrs. Fisher, if you please.’ Anyway, it turns out that in their last two luncheons, Miss Waite’d talked about the end of her engagement and ’ow she couldn’t find someone she really loved, so she might as well go off to live in a nunnery where she could at least be useful.”

“Did Fisher think she meant it?”

“The funny thing is, y’know, she said that at first she thought Charlotte was tryin’ to shock ’er. Then she said she realized that Charlotte might be serious, and that she’d been down to a place in Kent somewhere. ’Ow about