“Named my boy after ’im, I did. Just ’ope there won’t be any more wars, in case I lose ’im. My biggest fear, that is, Miss. That there’ll be another war, when ’e’s enlistin’ age.”
Maisie nodded, fearfully.
“So what’s all this about, then? Y’know, what you couldn’t see when it was there all the time.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Maisie picked up the telephone to place a call to Scotland Yard as soon as she and Billy returned to the office.
“My old mum always used to say that the best place to ’ide a thing was in plain view. She’d say that when I gave up me wage packet of a Friday night. She’d take the money, stick it in a pot on the table, and then give me a couple o’ bob back for meself. P’raps Miss Waite is ’id-ing somewhere in plain view?”
Maisie held up her hand for silence as her call was answered.
“Inspector, I wonder if we might meet to discuss the Sedgewick-Fisher case? I have some information that might be of interest to you.”
Maisie heard an audible sigh.
“Is it regarding Mr. Fisher?”
“Well . . . no, no, not directly.”
“Miss Dobbs, we are convinced we have the right man.”
Maisie closed her eyes. She must tread carefully. “I’ve made some observations that may be useful to you.”
Another sigh, augmented by the sound of voices in the background. Would this telephone call to Stratton be fodder for mirth among the men of Scotland Yard’s Murder Squad? It was a risk she would have to take. She could not withhold evidence from them once she was convinced of its importance. If the police refused to listen, that was quite another matter.
“Look, Miss Dobbs, I am grateful for any and all information. Obviously in my position I can hardly say otherwise, and if your information concerns Fisher, I would be more than delighted to have it. But the point is that we find that investigating many so-called leads wastes valuable time when we already have the killer.”
“You’ve taken an innocent man into custody, and you should hear me out!”
“I say, Miss Dobbs, now just you wait a minute!”
“But Inspector, another perspective might—”
“All right, Miss Dobbs.” Stratton sounded exasperated, but Maisie knew she had appealed to his sense of duty. “Meet me at the caffy on the corner of Oxford Street and Tottenham Court Road in—let me see— half-an-hour. ”
“Thank you, Inspector Stratton. I know exactly where you mean— diagonally opposite Waite’s International Stores.”
“That’s it. See you in half-an-hour.”
“Until then.”
Maisie replaced the receiver and blew a gust of breath between lips rounded into an O.
“Bit frosty, was ’e, eh, Miss?”
“More than a bit. And I’ve got to be careful too. In providing Stratton with information, I risk undermining him or antagonizing him further. After all, if he chooses to listen, he’s the one who has to return to The Yard and retract the accusations against Magnus Fisher. I need to keep him as an ally.”
“What’s wrong wiv ’im, then?”
Maisie took the folded linen handkerchief from her case and walked to the table where the case map had already been unfurled and pinned ready for work. She motioned for Billy to join her.
“He’s let two things get in the way, I think: His personal history and his standing in the department. Of course, he has to be careful, because if I were to take a bet on it—”
“And we know you’re not the bettin’ type.” Billy smiled at her.
“No, but if I were, I’d wager that Caldwell is after the Detective Inspector’s job, and is making Stratton’s life a misery while he’s nipping at his heels. So Stratton has to be careful in terms of who he is seen taking information from.”
“What’s ’is personal history, then?”
Maisie leaned over the map, and unfolded the handkerchief. “Well, he’s a widower. His wife died in childbirth about five years ago, leaving him to bring up his son alone.”
Billy scrunched up his face, “Aw, blimey, Miss. Tha’s terrible. Wish you ’adn’t’ve told me that. Now I’m gonna think about it every time I see the man.” He leaned forward. “What’ve you got there?”
“Feathers. Tiny white feathers. The ones I collected during my investigation. I found one feather for each woman. Two were close to where the victims had been sitting just prior to meeting the murderer. In Rosamund Thorpe’s case, the feather was in the pocket of the dress she was wearing when she died.”
“Ugh.” Billy shuddered.
“They can’t hurt you. The women who gave them out in the war are the ones who did the harm.”
Billy watched as Maisie placed the feathers on the case map, using a smudge of paste to secure each one to the paper.
