Page 19 of Dead Beside the Thames
“And, apparently, with good reason! He seems to have gone out of his way to make himself the object of people’s hate.”
After a moment, Barnaby said, “Or of their fear.” He met her questioning gaze. “Insecure men—those who, due to some personality defect, are unable to make friends in the normal way—sometimes resort to instilling fear into others to make themselves feel powerful.”
Penelope studied him for a moment, then sat upright. “That’s it! That’s exactly what Sedbury was doing.” She met Barnaby’seyes, her own alive. “Not one person has mentioned a friend—not a single friend—and they most certainly would have if one had existed.”
Barnaby dipped his head. “I’ve heard of no one said to be or claiming to be Sedbury’s friend.” He thought, then concluded, “Your information means that, motive wise, we’re looking at a potentially open-ended list of suspects.”
She nodded. “There’s no telling who he made an enemy of or when or over what.” She paused, then added, “In the matter of suspects, the trick will be to winnow the list.”
“I’m not sure how much winnowing we’ll be able to do, not with Sedbury,” Barnaby observed. “Perhaps we should concentrate on getting some idea of who had the most urgent and compelling motive last Saturday night.”
After a moment of considering that, Penelope offered, “Approaching solving this murder in our customary way—through investigating and weighing suspects—simply isn’t going to work. As my sources observed, just because some had a reason to do away with Sedbury doesn’t mean they did. And obviously, a large number didn’t act on their motive. So motive alone is of little help, and realistically, the only viable way forward lies in the actual action surrounding the murder—we need to identify who had the necessary opportunity for that.”
Barnaby nodded. “And the ability. Don’t forget that. The ability to strangle Sedbury isn’t something many possess.”
“Indeed. But to assess all of that, we need to know exactly how and where Sedbury was strangled.” Penelope met Barnaby’s gaze. “We need to identify the murder site and search for witnesses to the killing.”
“Yes, that’s right. Apropos of finding the site, I checked with the lads, but as yet, they haven’t found any sighting of Sedbury after he left White’s.” Barnaby lightly grimaced. “I went past thedocks and spoke with Stokes. He and his men haven’t found anything helpful yet, either.”
Barnaby paused, then went on, “On a more positive note, the lads have found witnesses who can place Charlie on his way home on Jermyn Street, which is something of a feat given the short distance between his house and White’s.”
Penelope said, “That’s something, at least. Not that I ever thought Charlie was involved, but proving it might have been more difficult.”
“So, with Charlie more definitely out of the picture, we need to learn everything we can about the murder itself.” Lightly, Barnaby drummed his fingers on the chair’s arm. “The murder site, the weapon—was it Sedbury’s whip?—and most importantly, we need to find some witnesses who can shed light on who we need to investigate further.”
Penelope put a finger to the center of her glasses frame, the action one of habit rather than necessity; she’d recently got a new pair of spectacles, and they didn’t slide down her nose as the previous pair had. “In reality, investigating the murder itself—the actual killing—is our only sure way forward.”
Barnaby met her gaze, then smoothly rose and extended his hand to her. “I wish I could argue.” She gave him her hand, and he gripped it and helped her to her feet. “However,” he continued, setting her hand in the crook of his arm and turning toward the doorway, “I fear you’re one hundred percent correct.”
Two hours later, Charlie was comfortably ensconced in his favorite armchair in his parlor, a thick slice of fruitcake in one hand and a cup of tea brewed just as he liked it on the tablebeside him, when a single commanding rap fell on his front door.
He froze, wondering. He listened with mounting wariness as Garvey’s footsteps approached the front door. Garvey opened the door and spoke with someone, then Charlie heard the door close and breathed more easily.
He refocused on the slice of cake, but before he could take a bite, Garvey entered with a note on his silver salver.
Garvey presented the salver. “For you, sir. Delivered by a boy. He didn’t know anything about it—he was just the courier.”
“I see.” Charlie regarded the simple folded note with mixed feelings. After yesterday’s adventures with Stokes and Barnaby and Penelope, he had wondered what the future would bring.
The note looked like it might hold the answer, but did he want to know what it said?
After a prolonged moment of indecisiveness, he fortified himself with a large bite of cake, then set it aside on its plate and reached for the note.
He unfolded it and read, then stared at the sheet. “Bless me! Fancy that.”
Garvey was hovering. “Sir?”
Charlie didn’t keep many secrets from his longtime gentleman’s gentleman. “It’s a note from Lord Jonathon Hale, most politely and deferentially asking me for any assistance I might care to give regarding Sedbury’s whip collection.” Charlie regarded the note with a degree of fascination. “I hardly expected that. I only vaguely know Jonathon through a mutual friend.”
“Well, sir, you are one of the foremost authorities on whips, after all,” Garvey loyally stated. “Not surprising that Lord Jonathon might think to ask you about the viscount’s collection.”
“Yes, but”—Charlie flicked the note with a finger—“this suggests that Jonathon doesn’t realize that I was in any way a suspect in Sedbury’s murder.”
Garvey considered that, then offered, “Perhaps he does know and also knows you’ve been cleared of suspicion, so to his mind, you’re safe to ask.”
“Hmm.” Charlie wasn’t convinced, but… “Well.” He picked up his coffee cup and took a healthy swallow, then set the cup aside and rose. “I have to admit that I’m beyond eager to get a look at Sedbury’s collection.”
“Then clearly,” Garvey said, collecting the coffee cup and half-eaten cake, “this is your opportunity.”
