Page 7 of Murder on Harley Street
D.S. Forrester cleared his throat. “Found anything, Armitage?”
“Nothing of note.” Harry picked up a framed photograph from the corner of the desk. “Mrs. Iverson, I presume.” He turned it around to show us the couple standing side by side in the picture, neither smiling. Dr. Iverson was a middle-aged man, but his wife looked considerably younger. She was quite striking with strong features, and rather tall for a woman, unless Dr. Iverson was very short.
“Does she know her husband has been arrested on the suspicion of murdering one of his patients?” I asked.
“Not arrested,” D.S. Forrester said. “Merely taken in for further questioning. And yes, she has been informed. She lives close by. She was here all day on Friday, acting as the front desk receptionist. Apparently the usual girl was sent home first thing when she arrived to work sick.”
“We’ll question Mrs. Iverson ourselves,” Harry said. “And the nurse and regular receptionist. Could I trouble you for their addresses, Forrester?”
D.S. Forrester hesitated then reopened his notebook. He picked up a pencil from the desk and wrote. He tore off the page and handed it to me. “Please keep me informed of anything that may be relevant, Miss Fox.”
Miss Fox again, not Cleo? It would seem we were returning to formalities. It was probably more appropriate, given my relationship with Harry, and for the best. Following his lead, I said, “Thank you, Sergeant. You’re a good man. I knew you’d do the right thing and cooperate to ensure the right person is arrested.”
D.S. Forrester gave me a flat-lipped smile and nodded. He seemed a little sad, but I meant every word. He was a good man, and he would one day find a good woman who was right for him.
Harry didn’t seem to have noticed the second meaning in our exchange. He attempted to open the window, only to give up when it wouldn’t budge. “Locked,” he announced.
“With the key in Dr. Iverson’s possession,” D.S. Forrester added. “Hence why he is my main suspect. Are you finished here? I need to get back to the Yard and question him.”
Harry indicated I should walk ahead into the waiting room, where a constable stood near the door clutching a large leather wallet. Like the consulting suite, the waiting room was simply but expensively furnished. The chairs positioned against the wall were antiques that had been reupholstered with the same maroon velvet as the daybed. The desk and occasional tables were also fine-looking pieces that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a Regency-era drawing room. A separate filing cabinet behind the desk was more functional and modern.
Seeing it sparked another question. “May I see Mrs. Kempsey’s file?”
D.S. Forrester held out his hand to the constable who passed him the leather wallet, then pulled out some documents. “She was suffering from a nervous condition, but was otherwise healthy. She came twice a week for a session on the Electro Therapy Machine.”
Aunt Lilian had been originally diagnosed with a nervous condition by Dr. Iverson, before being treated with the Nerve Elixir tonic, so I didn’t have much confidence in his diagnoses. Others certainly did, however. He had a well-appointed practice on Harley Street, the location of all the prestigious London physicians.
I looked over the documents, noting Isabel Kempsey’s address and the name of her next of kin, before handing it back to D.S. Forrester who gave it to the constable.
Harry and I left the medical practice, bypassing another constable standing at the base of the steps. Something was bothering me about the length of time it took for death to occur, but before I could discuss it with Harry, he said something that proved he wasn’t thinking about the murder at all.
“So it’s back to D.S. Forrester now, not Monty.”
I regarded him from beneath my hat brim, but I didn’t need to be quite so sly about it. His gaze was fixed firmly on the pavement ahead. “I knew you were pretending not to notice.”
“I’m quite a good detective, even though you are the one who apparently solved all of the cases alone.”
I tilted my head up to regard him fully. “Are you jealous of Forrester’s personal regard for me or his professional one?”
“Neither.” His lips twitched with a mischievous smile. “But I am contemplating whether to kiss you here in full view of the constable so he can report it to his superior.”
“Don’t you dare. But when we’re somewhere private, I’ll kiss you so thoroughly that you’ll be left in no doubt that I’m very happy I chose you over him.”
He removed his hat and flapped it at his face. “You make me blush, Cleo.”
I laughed softly. “Seriously though, Harry, it doesn’t bother you?”
“Not at all. I got the girl.”
“I meant about him giving me all the credit for solving the cases.”
“You have solved them.”
“With your help.”
He placed his hat back on his head. “Don’t worry. I’m quite sure Forrester knows. He only made that comment because his masculine pride is a little bruised after you didn’t choose him. It was his way of scoring a point against me.”
“Why do men think everything is a competition?”
