Page 63 of Murder on Harley Street
“So, if the letter wasn’t intended for Dr. Iverson, it must have been intended for Miss Wainsmith. She’s the one who usually sorts through the mail, and the author of it would probably know that.”
“Or the author knew Mrs. Iverson was there that day and it was intended forher,” he said.
“We should check the appointment book for a list of patients who would have been in the waiting room at that time on the day it was received. Any one of them could have slipped it into the pile on the desk.” It would be a time-consuming task to then question each patient, but hopefully a name stood out.
I set off in the direction of the clinic and Harry fell into step beside me. “It may not be a patient,” he said. “The author could have handed it to the postman outside and asked him to include it with his delivery. They may never have entered the building.”
My pace slowed as I considered that. “If the anonymous author didn’t go inside, he or she wouldn’t know Miss Wainsmith wasn’t there that day. It may have been intended for her, after all.” I stopped when we reached the intersection with Harley Street. “You try to chase down the postman and ask him whether someone handed him the note while I’ll look at the appointment book. We’ll meet back at your office.” I checked the time on my watch. “Then we’d both better head back to the hotel for the final security meeting about Mr. Lombardi’s event.”
“Meet me at Roma Café after you’ve finished at the clinic,” Harry said. “I’ll need a bowl of Luigi’s pasta by then.”
A few minutes later, I re-entered Dr. Iverson’s clinic. Miss Wainsmith looked up from the desk with a smile. It slipped when she realized it was me and not a patient, before returning brighter and quite fake.
She peered past me. “You are alone, Miss Fox. No Mr. Armitage?”
I indicated the appointment book. “May I take a peek?”
She hesitated before inviting me around to her side of the desk. She slid the book toward me. “What are you looking for?”
“The names of patients waiting here on the day the anonymous letter arrived.” I flipped back to the relevant page and quickly scanned the names. None were familiar.Drat.
“You think one of them saw it?”
I thanked her and returned the book. I was about to leave but paused. Miss Wainsmith was pretty. If I were interested in women, would I desire her? Did Mrs. Iverson?
The consulting room door opened, and Sister Dearden emerged. Like Miss Wainsmith, she seemed surprised to see me so soon after my last visit. “Hello again, Miss Fox. Do you wish to make an appointment?”
“No. Why do you say that?”
“You’re here without Mr. Armitage.”
“Oh. I see. I needed to look at the appointment book while he does something else.”
I smiled at them both, studying each through a different lens than I had on previous occasions. Did they know about Mrs. Iverson’s preference for women? Had she flirted with either of them? Would either be offended if Mrs. Iverson took an unconventional interest in them?
Miss Wainsmith was the prettier and younger of the two, and the more naive. Mrs. Iverson called the receptionist silly and seemed to have little respect for her. Was that all a ruse to throw us off the scent that she actually liked her? Could they be lovers?
As for Sister Dearden, she may be a little frumpier and older, but there was a confidence and intelligence about her that the receptionist didn’t possess. As a nurse at a medical practice whose patients were mostly women, would she be worried they’d stop going if they thought she was sapphic after seeing Mrs. Iverson flirt with her?
Had either one killed Isabel Kempsey because she’d somehow found out and threatened to spread gossip about the doctor’s wife? Protecting reputations was a strong motive.
Yet both women liked working for Dr. Iverson. Their positions were secure and he paid well. By murdering a patient at the clinic, they risked it all by making him look guilty.
“Miss Fox?” Sister Dearden waved a hand in front of my face. “Are you all right?”
“I am.”
She smiled, relieved. “I was worried we’d have to give you a dose of Nerve Elixir.”
Miss Wainsmith opened the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a bottle. “You can use mine.”
I thanked them both and left the clinic without taking her up on the offer.
When I arrivedat the Roma Café, I didn’t enter immediately. I stood on the opposite side of the street and stared at the painted sign above the door. RomaCafé.
CaféRoyal.
I suddenly knew who the anonymous note was meant for.
