“I will do my utmost, sir.”
“Back to Shaw, then. Were you able to learn anything from him?”
“He couldn’t speak, but he was able to write answers to a few questions before he passed.”
Day took the small notebook from his jacket pocket and opened it to the page Shaw had written on. He laid it on Sir Edward’s desk.
“Anything useful here?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Day said. “Most of what he wrote consisted of answers to specific questions we asked. That last bit at the bottom of the page was spontaneous, though.”
Sir Edward held the pad up close to his face and squinted at it. “I can’t make it out.”
“Neither could we. It seems to be a reference to ploughing something, but we don’t know what. He wrote it just as he died.”
“He certainly didn’t appear to be a farmer when I saw him.”
“He was a surgeon, sir.”
“It may have no bearing on his case at all, then. Just the delusional last thoughts of a man in great pain.”
“That’s possible, sir.”
“Still. Be nice to know what it says. Give me a moment.”
He opened his top desk drawer and rummaged inside before finding a small pair of reading glasses. He perched them on the end of his nose, and picked the notebook back up.
“I’ve had occasion to decipher the handwriting of Indian doctors,” he said. “Their penmanship was better than this, but perhaps I can bring a fresh pair of eyes to it.”
He didn’t look up as he spoke, but continued to gaze at the paper in front of him. There was a long moment of silence as the three policemen watched the commissioner. Finally Sir Edward pursed his lips and shook his head.
“I don’t think that’s a p. It looks like an f to me.”
He laid the pad on his desk, removed his glasses, and pointed at the paper.
“Look here.”
Day leaned in.
“If that’s an f,” Sir Edward said, “then this word isn’t ploughing. I think it says following. What do you think? See the w?”
“Yes.” Day looked up at the others. His face was flush with excitement. “It says following. That’s exactly it. And this second word has to be you. Following you.”
“Following who?” Blacker said.
“Was Shaw following you, Mr Day?”
“We were discussing his killer.”
“His killer was following him.”
“He doesn’t say here that anyone was following him. This says following you.”
“He also wrote that his killer was two women,” Blacker said. “He called them whores.”
Hammersmith stiffened and grabbed Day’s arm. “He was following me. Shaw was following me. This must be a confession.”
“What makes you say that?”
“His widow told me as much. Remember I told you that he had me poisoned?”
“That’s a large leap to make from two words scribbled on a page.”
“I know. But I think I’m right.”
“But why would he confess to following you?” Blacker said. “What good does it do him as he lies dying to tell you that?”
“If he was confessing his sins, why not confess all of them?” Day said. “Why this one?”
“Perhaps he ran out of time,” Hammersmith said, “and this was merely the first of many confessions. I do believe he had more wicked sins to talk about.”
“Wait a moment,” Sir Edward said. “Did you say that he poisoned you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Sir Edward said. “The man came to my office to complain about you. If I’d known…”
“Sir, Mrs Shaw was involved, and I wanted to think through the possible repercussions before bringing anything to you. I believe she was coerced into helping him and the scandal would be-”
“Mr Hammersmith, the health and safety of my officers is of great concern. You should have brought the matter to me.”
“I apologize.”
“Well, I imagine the murder of Mr Pringle rather occupied your thoughts. But in the future…”
“Yes, sir.”
“So you’re feeling quite all right?”
“I am now, sir.”
“Good. Well, then, back to the matter before us. If this man Shaw wasn’t confessing a sin, then do you think it possible he was delivering a warning?”
“A warning?”
“Yes. Think about it from the killer’s point of view. He’s been killing police and now the police are on his trail. Isn’t it possible he’s been following one of you? He might even be planning to make one of you his next victim.”
“It’s possible.”
“And if Shaw was following you, Mr Hammersmith, perhaps he saw the killer, also following you. Perhaps you’re the next target.”
“Following me? Why would the killer be following me? Mr Day or Mr Blacker here, they’re the ones investigating him.”
“Maybe you saw something.”
“Nothing I’m aware of.”
“It’s a thought. We still don’t know why Little or Pringle were killed. You’re as logical a target as any of us. You said Shaw’s wife is involved in this somehow?”
“Yes.”
“Let’s have a talk with her, then.”
“I’ll pay her a visit.”
“No, not you, Mr Hammersmith. It sounds to me like you’re already chin-deep in a situation there.”
“But, with all due respect, sir-”
“I’ve made my decision. Mr Hammersmith, I want you to keep your distance from the Shaw home. Help Mr Day as he pursues Pringle’s killer. You should find that a satisfactory outlet for your energies. Mr Blacker, you’ll visit the Shaw woman. Take someone with you. And Mr Hammersmith?”
“Sir?”
“You worry me. I’ve already told these men and now I’m telling you: I don’t want you doing anything alone, and I mean anything at all. You will stay with these other men at all times.”
“But I’m perfectly capable.”
“Of course you are. Indulge me. I am not prepared to lose any more of my men.”
72
He won’t return.”
“Hammersmith?”
“Aye, him.”
“Of course he’ll return. He likes the lady. Her own husband told us so.”
“He’s had her already.”
“Hasn’t. She’s a proper one. And anyhow, her husband’s only just dead. But once our Mr Hammersmith finds the body, he’ll be round here to call on her, I promise.”
They looked at each other and both burst out laughing at once. Then they lapsed into easy silence. The two women sat side by side under the willow tree on the same low wall that Constables Hammersmith and Pringle had occupied two nights before. The sun had moved behind a blanket of fog and did nothing to warm them. Liza leaned her head against Esme’s shoulder.
“He doesn’t have hair on his face,” she said. “There’s no beard to shave.”
“They all have beards,” Esme said. “This one keeps it down, is all.”
“Less work for us, I suppose.”
“He done the work for us. Partly.”
“Partly. Not all.”
“You really think he’ll come here?”
“If he doesn’t, we know where to find him.”
“Not done it to a police afore.”
“You done it to plenty a police, girl.”
Esme laughed. “Ain’t done the other thing, though. Ain’t killed one.”
“Don’t matter he’s police. What they done fer us, huh? They dint catch him.”
“They let the Ripper do what he done to Annie.”
“And the others.”
“Aye.”
“And you.”
“Aye.”
They were silent then, and the fog rolled over the wall and up the trunk of the willow behind them and swirled down. It was cool and damp, and Liza closed her eyes and felt it on her face.
“He’ll come,” she said. “Patience, love. He’ll come.”
73
Should I be worried about this woman poisoning me?” Blacker said.
“You’re not her type,” Hammersmith said.
“Excuse me?”
“A joke. I thought you liked those. Penelope Shaw was a victim of her husband’s cruelty and manipulation. She won’t cause any trouble for you.”