Page 12 of The Murder of Thomas Cardwell
Ruth waved vaguely. “Please, sit, and we’ll endeavor to answer your questions.”
Swiftly assessing the younger Mr. Cardwell, Penelope judged him to be in his mid-twenties. He came in and chose to sit, rather gingerly, on a straight-backed chair a yard from the one Stokes had claimed and opposite where Jordan was seated.
Stokes caught Penelope’s eyes, and she accepted the unvoiced invitation to open the questioning. She fixed her gaze on Mrs. Cardwell. “Our first questions relate to the composition of your family. Is Mr. Cardwell, your husband, still with you?”
“No.” Mrs. Cardwell’s voice was hoarse, and she gripped a damp handkerchief in one tight fist. “My husband passed on more than ten years ago.” Her gaze drifted to Ruth, then diverted to Bobby. “It’s just the four of us who live here now. Me, Ruthie, Thomas, and Bobby.” Her voice hitched, then in fading tones, she added, “Just the three of us now…”
“I see.” Penelope allowed sympathy to color her tone. “Now, we understand that Thomas arrived at his office at his customary time of eight o’clock this morning.” She glanced at Ruth and at Bobby. “Was there anything—any hint, any comment—that gave you cause to think that something might be wrong?”
Ruth drew in a tight breath and replied, “Initially, it was just Thomas and me at the breakfast table. Mama takes breakfast upstairs. Bobby came down as Thomas was leaving.”
“And,” Stokes asked, pinning Ruth with his gray gaze, “did you feel Thomas was at all uneasy or tense?”
Ruth frowned. “No. He was…exactly as normal.” Her voice caught, and she swallowed, then she looked directly at Stokes. “There was nothing, nothing at all, that was out of the ordinary. Thomas was as he always was. We chatted about the usual things we spoke about most mornings. Then he left for his office at the usual time.”
Bobby cleared his throat and quietly added, “I passed him in the hall. All we said to each other was good morning.” He hurriedly added, “That wasn’t unusual.”
Penelope refocused on Ruth. “We understand that you brought several ledgers to Thomas’s office later, a little after eight-thirty.”
Ruth stared rather blankly at Penelope, then slowly nodded. “Yes. I…realized that Thomas had left them here, and I thought he might need them. He doesn’t often leave accounts here, at the house.”
“I see.” Penelope wondered why she didn’t quite believe that eminently straightforward explanation. She changed tack and, with a glance at Stokes, elected to reveal, “We now know that there was a man, a gentleman, judging by his attire, waiting for Thomas when he arrived at his office. Thomas recognized him and greeted him, then took him into the office. Do any of you have any idea who that man might be?”
Their expressions were answer enough. They had no notion. Bobby, in particular, looked totally confused.
Ruth faintly frowned. “Thomas didn’t mention any morning meeting.” She colored faintly and glanced at Penelope. “Over breakfast, he often went through which of his clients he wasexpecting to see or, more often, visit that day, but as far as I know, he intended to work in the office on the accounts for various firms today. There were no meetings that he mentioned.”
Stokes was nodding. “The description our witness gave of the interaction outside the office is consistent with Thomas not having expected the man to be waiting on the doorstep.” Stokes arched a brow at Bobby. “I take it this man wasn’t still in the office when you arrived?”
“No.” Bobby appeared utterly mystified. “There was only Thomas…”
“Was that man the one who killed Thomas?” Mrs. Cardwell’s hoarse voice reminded them she was there.
Stokes exchanged a glance with Penelope, then stated, “It’s possible, but at this point, we can’t be certain.”
Barnaby asked, “Did Thomas mention any client with whom he’d recently had a disagreement or difficulty?”
A pause ensued, then Mrs. Cardwell replied, “Thomas never discussed any details of his work with his clients. Indeed, I would be hard-pressed to name any.”
Penelope took note of the glance that, while their mother was speaking, passed between Ruth and Bobby. Penelope inwardly frowned but could think of no way to pry. Not at that time. “Perhaps,” she said, looking at Stokes, “if you three would read the letter Thomas sent yesterday to Mr. Draper’s employer, it might spark some connection.”
Stokes drew out the letter, smoothed the sheet, and handed it to Mrs. Cardwell. She took it with a shaking hand, read it, and frowned. “Nefarious activities? What on earth had he found?”
She held the letter out to Ruth, who took it, briefly glanced at it, then said, “I read it earlier, at the office.” She rose and crossed to hand the letter to Bobby.
He accepted it and read it while Ruth returned to her armchair.
On reaching the end of the short missive, Bobby, too, frowned. “I say. This sounds serious.” He looked up. “I mean, is this—finding out about these nefarious activities—what got Thomas killed?”
Barnaby responded, “It’s tempting to think so, especially considering the timing of the murder, but at this stage, we can’t be certain even of that. It’s possible that the reason behind Thomas’s death was something else entirely.”
“Until we know more, we can’t say,” Stokes stated.
“Speaking of knowing more,” Penelope said, “was there anyone—anyone at all—with whom Thomas was on poor terms? Anyone at all who might have wished him ill?”
The three Cardwells exchanged glances, but then, as one, shook their heads.
Mrs. Cardwell clutched her handkerchief tightly. “No one springs to mind.”
