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“That’s what it says.”
“He is out of prison now.”
“Yes.”
“And he threatened Mr. Harding.”
“So it would seem.”
Amy tapped the envelope with her fingertip and grinned. “My lord, I believe we have our suspect.”
CHAPTER 8
“How much are you willing to tell them?” Amy asked as she stepped out of William’s carriage and straightened her skirts.
They had just arrived at the police station in answer to a summons from Detective Carson. The officer had sent around a note to William asking to speak with the two of them and requesting an acceptable time to call. Completely panicked at the idea of the police visiting his house with his mother present, William had offered to fetch Amy and bring her with him to the station.
“I will attempt to answer their questions as honestly as possible,” William replied.
Amy smirked. “A very nebulous response, my lord.”
William gave her a curt nod and opened the door to the station, stepping back so Amy could enter first. “Just so.”
They were quickly escorted to the room in which they had been interviewed during the investigation into St. Vincent’s murder.
The room was empty, and William found it difficult to sit, so he paced. The space was oppressive and confining. No windows, sickly-green-painted walls, one long table, four chairs, and nothing else. No doubt these rooms were kept stark as a reminder to those being questioned that this was a police station and the room was strictly for serious business.
The door swung open, and Detectives Carson and Marsh entered.
They were an unmatched duo. Marsh was close to six feet tall, slender, with enough lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes to indicate that the man had lived more than twoscore years. Carson was round and bald and barely reached Marsh’s shoulders.
“Thank you for answering our summons, my lord, my lady.” Detective Carson settled into one of the chairs, and William took the one next to Amy. The two detectives sat side by side across from them.
William still wasn’t sure why they had requested Amy’s presence, but he was certain they were about to find out.
Marsh flipped open his notepad and licked the end of his pencil. Detective Carson took the lead. “We have reason to believe Mr. Harding did not stumble into the river while drunk.”
Since that wasn’t a question, William and Amy remained quiet.
Carson cleared his throat. “Along those lines, we have opened an investigation.”
William nodded.
“Now here is the interesting part of our investigation.” Carson leaned forward, his hands folded on the table. “We visited Mr. Harding’s office yesterday.”
It soon became clear why the two of them had been summoned. He remained quiet. He who speaks first loses.
Carson attempted a befuddled look but didn’t quite pull it off. “We confiscated the man’s files, and do you know what was confusing about that?” The detective tapped his fingers on the table. Very much an annoyance. On purpose or just a habit?
William was not prepared to play games with the detective. They had crossed swords with the men before. “I have no idea why you were confused, Detective, but I have a feeling you will shortly enlighten me.”
Marsh grumbled as he continued to write.
Carson leaned forward again, an intimidating move, but William did not flinch. “What was questionable was that there were no files with your name on them.”
“Indeed?” William almost smiled; he already knew that, and he also knew his file was not in Harding’s flat either. There was no reason, of course, to pass that information along to the detectives. “Is there a question there, Detective? Because if there is, I missed it.”
“You know, Wethington, your title and connections will only protect you to a certain degree.” Carson slammed his hand down on the table. William, Amy, and Marsh all
