Page 25 of Murder on Harley Street
“You’d be surprised at how many female private detectives there are in London,” I said as I sat. “Despite popular belief to the contrary, we make up a good proportion.”
“But are they involved in important cases? Or are they merely hired to trap wayward husbands?”
The mention of wayward husbands threw a blanket over us, smothering the friendly greeting so that the air once again thickened. “You are quite right,” I said, keeping my tone light in an effort to diffuse the tension. “I’ve been fortunate to work on some very interesting investigations. Others may not be so lucky.”
“I would very much like to hear about them some time.”
Dr. Iverson cleared his throat. “I want to assure you, Armitage, I intend to continue with your services. The police may have released me, but my name is not yet in the clear.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. “I believe I’ve made progress.”
“Oh?”
The housekeeper entered carrying a tray of tea things. Mrs. Iverson dismissed her and poured the tea into cups, which she handed out.
Harry waited until the housekeeper closed the door behind her before speaking again. “I’m afraid we have to ask some delicate questions, but we would very much like you to stay, Mrs. Iverson.”
“I understand. I must be considered a suspect in the murder of Isabel Kempsey, since she was having an affair with my husband.”
Dr. Iverson’s face flushed. “I only told my wife this morning, so she isnota suspect.”
“They only have your word for that, and since you omitted to tell Mr. Armitage about the affair in the first place, he quite rightly must doubt everything you say now.”
Dr. Iverson mumbled an apology to Harry.
“It would have been helpful if I knew,” Harry said.
“My husband hoped it wouldn’t come out,” Mrs. Iverson said. “But these things always do in the end, don’t they, Miss Fox?”
I was caught off guard, but managed to cover my surprise at being addressed by nodding. “How long had it been going on?”
“Since June,” Dr. Iverson said. “It has been over for a few weeks.”
“They ended it when Mr. Kempsey found out.” Mrs. Iverson turned to her husband. “It’s important to be honest with Miss Fox and Mr. Armitage. They are here to help you, and they cannot do that unless you speak truthfully.”
“You are right, my dear. You always are.” He regarded Harry. “As my wife said, the affair ended because Kempsey found out. I’m not sure how. I think he guessed and confronted Isabel. We thought it best to stop our liaisons at that point. We didn’t want to ruin her marriage. She didn’t love her husband, but she didn’t want to leave him, and I had no intention of leaving my wife.”
So, Mr. Kempseyhadknown before her death, despite what his sister-in-law, Miss Rowbottom, claimed. That placed him very much near the top of our suspect list.
I watched Mrs. Iverson, but she showed neither surprise nor annoyance at her husband’s admission. They’d said he’d only just informed her, so I expected more shock and hurt on her part. Although I was quite sure our arrival had interrupted a tense discussion, that tension seemed to have already dissolved, at least as far as the affair was concerned. Had they been discussing it at all, or something else?
“If the affair was over, why did Isabel Kempsey continue to see you professionally?” Harry asked.
“I’m an excellent doctor.” Dr. Iverson said it with conviction, not a hint of doubt in his voice. He truly believed it. Clearly, he didn’t know why my aunt was no longer his patient. Since he hadn’t asked about her, I presumed he didn’t know we were related.
Even though I was listening to Dr. Iverson, I watched his wife’s reaction. As one of our main suspects, she might give something away with a look or movement. But she simply calmly sipped her tea.
“Some of your letters to Isabel Kempsey were found in her things,” Harry went on.
Dr. Iverson’s face blanched.
Mrs. Iverson set down her teacup in the saucer with a clatter. She shot her husband a steely glare. “Itoldyou. Never write anything down unless you don’t care who sees it.”
Dr. Iverson rubbed a trembling hand over his jaw. Perhaps this was what they were discussing when we arrived. Mrs. Iverson wasn’t angry with her husband about the affair; she was angry because evidence of it existed.
She turned to Harry. “Can you acquire the letters? We’ll double your fee.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, noncommittal.
