Chapter 8

Will stepped into Wesley Fletcher’s law office and asked to see the solicitor. The young clerk behind the desk greeted him with an interested smile that turned serious when Will explained that he was an inspector with the Metropolitan Police Force. The fellow rose from his desk and immediately announced his presence to Wesley Fletcher.

“Mr. Fletcher will see you,” he said, stepping back to allow Will to enter.

“Welcome, Inspector,” Wesley Fletcher said, getting to his feet.

“Mr. Fletcher.”

“How unusual to see you two days in a row. Especially after not seeing you for several months.” Fletcher pointed to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, have a seat.”

Will sat, and Fletcher returned to his place behind the desk.

“I have to admit,” Will said, gazing at the scattered papers atop Fletcher’s desk. “Your desk resembles mine. Which means you keep busy.”

Fletcher smiled. “It seems someone always has need of a lawyer.”

“Especially a good one.”

The smile on Wesley Fletcher’s face faded slightly and he sat back in his chair. “Perhaps we can get right to the point of your visit, Inspector. Is it possible that you’ve reopened the investigation into Lizzy’s murder?”

“As far as I’m concerned, the investigation was never closed. It was only stalled for a time.”

“Does this mean you have uncovered some new evidence?”

“It only means the investigation has regained momentum.”

Fletcher picked up a pencil from his desk and slowly turned it in his fingers. “What can I help you with, Inspector?”

“After the service yesterday, I couldn’t help but notice that you and your father didn’t seem to be on the friendliest of terms.”

Fletcher placed the pencil onto the desk. “I can’t see where that has anything to do with Elizabeth de Wolfe’s death, Inspector.”

“Perhaps it doesn’t,” Will answered. “I’ll know the answer to that when I hear your reason for arguing with your father.”

“If you’re as observant as you say, then you’ll have to admit that my father and I didn’t argue. We simply didn’t have anything to say to each other.”

“That’s not entirely true. Your father seemed to have something he wanted to say to you. You, however, didn’t seem to want to speak with him.”

“Very observant of you, Inspector.”

“Would you care to explain why you didn’t want to speak to your father?”

“Actually, no. I would not.”

“Then let me phrase my request differently. What didn’t you wish to discuss with your father?”

Fletcher rose from his desk and stood in front of a window. He kept his back to Will. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

“No, Mr. Fletcher. I am not.”

Fletcher turned. “Very well. But I consider this privileged information. You must swear not to make this information public.”

“Come now, Mr. Fletcher. You know I’m bound to expose anything I feel necessary in order to keep our citizens safe.”

Wesley Fletcher rubbed his jaw, then stepped toward his desk. “I say again that I am telling you this in confidence. You see, my father wants to have my brother committed.”

Will raised an eyebrow and cocked his head. “I guess I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Wesley Fletcher sighed. “Most people don’t. My father felt it best for his career to keep that piece of information out of the purview of his congregants. My brother bears our mother’s maiden surname. So no, you wouldn’t know.”

“What are his grounds?”

Fletcher coughed. “He...that is, my brother has the mind of a schoolboy, though he’s thirty-five years old. He’s harmless, truly he is. But my father is convinced he’s going to run away, and we both know he’d die out there. I have a one-room flat. Taking in another mouth to feed and paying someone to oversee his activities would be a strain I’m not prepared to accept. Particularly because I truly believe he is in the best place possible for him. He’s happy. Productive. My father wants me to draw up the necessary documents for commitment. I felt he was going to press me for an answer on Sunday, so I avoided speaking with him. That’s all it was.”

Will nodded. “No small matter, that. I can understand your quandary.” He rose to go, sensing he’d already pressed further than he had a right to. He shook Fletcher’s hand. “You’ll keep me posted if you feel you need any help with regard to your brother’s plight?”

“I will, Inspector. Thank you very much.”

Will turned to go, then stopped to ask one last question. “Do you mind telling me your brother’s name?”

Fletcher hesitated, then with a sigh spoke the name. “My brother is Ralphy Weston.”

Will paused for a heartbeat. He knew the name. Everyone knew the name. Buy why the good reverend felt the need to hide his paternity created a very interesting turn of events.

“I see your dilemma. He seems a good sort.”

“He is, Inspector. I can guarantee it.”

“Then I shall keep your secret. Oh, one other question, if you would be so kind. Do you go to Elizabeth de Wolfe’s grave often, Mr. Fletcher?”

He watched Fletcher slowly walk back to his desk. “Is following me part of your assignment?”

“I wasn’t following you. I intended to go to Lizzy’s grave and found you already there.”

“If you attended services regularly at St. Dunstan’s, you would know I visit Lizzy’s grave as often as I can,” he said when he was seated behind his desk. “I still miss her.”

“Then we have that in common.” Will studied Wesley Fletcher for a few moments before he spoke. “Did you take her rejection badly, Mr. Fletcher?”

Wesley Fletcher’s jaw dropped, then clamped shut. His reply came through closed teeth. “There was no rejection.” He rubbed a weary hand across his brow. “The morning Elizabeth died she accepted my proposal of marriage. It was…it was both the happiest and most wretched day of my life.”

“But of course, you couldn’t have known of her death that same day, could you?”

Fletcher gave Will a scathing look, as if he had just trampled on a prized bed of precious orchids.

“Time is relative when you’ve suddenly lost something as precious as Lizzy. For me it has been two long, horrid, ghastly, devastating years. Are there any other wounds you’d care to open, Inspector?”

“You mistake me, sir. I merely wished to be clear in my reporting. Now, since Lizzy’s death have you thought of anyone else who might be involved?”

“No, Inspector, I haven’t.”

Fletcher was brooding now, making it difficult to tell whether it was sorrow, anger, regret or wariness that hooded the man’s eyes.

“Well, then.” Will said, turning once again to the door. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Fletcher. I’m sure we’ll speak again.”

“I can’t imagine what more we might have to discuss, Inspector.”

“One never knows what questions might arise,” Will said, then left Fletcher’s law office. He pitied Fletcher’s next client. Will had left the man in a very dark mood.

The conversation he’d had with Fletcher continued to trouble him as he walked down the street. There was something about Fletcher that bothered him, and he didn’t know why it should, or what it might be—other than he was still the prime suspect in Lizzy’s death.

A picture of Fletcher kneeling over Lizzy’s grave filled his mind. Fletcher seemed to have been in love with Lizzy. But none of her family had known of an engagement. At least, none had mentioned it. Was it grief that compelled him to visit her grave? Or a guilty conscience?

Will was lost in thought as he walked onward. When he looked up, he was surprised at how near he was to Wattersfield Emporium. He crossed the street and walk into the shop, suddenly anxious to see Ginny. He found he missed her, and wanted to discuss his conversation with Fletcher with her. Perhaps he’d ask if she had a moment to walk with him. There was a pretty park just a few blocks up on Cornhill. They could go there to talk.

He opened the door to the emporium and the bell above the door announced his arrival. The shop had several customers milling about, and both of her sisters were busy seeing to them. Ginny was the only one who wasn’t otherwise engaged. Will found his way to where she was rearranging a display of lace parasols.

“Good morning, Miss Wattersfield.”

“Inspector.”

She smiled and his heart seemed to respond in a way that had become increasingly familiar of late.

 “You’re quite a distance from your office. Did you come to buy something for one of your cousins?”

Will shook his head.

“Ah. A lady friend, perhaps?”

He chuckled. Was she just being cheeky? Whatever it was, he was gratified at the absence of any worry or guardedness in her eyes.

“Not this morning. I’ve just been over to speak with Wesley Fletcher. I’m on my way back now and found myself near the emporium.”

The smile left her face. “Was your talk with Mr. Fletcher productive?”

“I’m not sure.” He looked around the shop and saw her sister Della finish a transaction and wrap a beaded handbag in brown paper and string. “Can you leave for an hour?”

She nodded, then walked to where her elder sister stood behind the counter. After a few words, Ginny went to the back room and came out wearing her cloak.

“Do you still think Wesley Fletcher is the most likely suspect responsible for your cousin’s death?” Ginny asked when they’d gone far enough from the main shopping area that the street was no longer as crowded.

Will looped Ginny’s arm through his and walked at a slow, yet steady pace. They passed the small park he’d originally planned to stop in, having decided upon a more important destination. He hoped she hadn’t realized where they were going. At least not yet.

“There’s much that indicates he had reason to be responsible, yet every instinct I rely on to help me solve a case tells me to keep looking.”

“Is that because you believe Wesley Fletcher truly loved Lizzy?”

Will looked down and caught Ginny looking up at him. “What makes you think that?”

“Because of what we saw yesterday. Because I think it’s possible that one of the reasons Wesley Fletcher hasn’t married yet is because he isn’t completely over losing Lizzy.”

“What else do you think?”

“Well, I think that the reason he attends services at St. Dunstan’s isn’t because he has a fondness for that particular church, or for his father who leads the services, but because it provides him an opportunity to visit Lizzy’s grave once a week.”

Will pulled Ginny to a halt. “Have I told you yet how I admire the way your mind works?”

“You do?”

Ginny smiled and Will’s heart shifted again. “Yes, I do.” Their gazes held, and Will felt an overwhelming urge to gather her in his arms. He wanted to keep her near him. He wanted to keep her safe, and wondered why he thought she might be in danger.

He lowered his focus to her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, yet knew that was impossible. Not now. Not here. Instead, he turned the last corner that brought the church into view.

“Would I be in error then to ask you why we’re going to St. Dunstan’s cemetery?”

Will laughed. “No, you would not. And the answer is, we’re going for two reasons. The first is to see if Wesley Fletcher felt the need to visit Lizzy after my conversation with him. The second is to see if Lizzy has anything more to say to you.”

This time it was Ginny who stopped their forward progress. “Then you believe that Lizzy speaks to me?”

Will placed his hand over Ginny’s where it rested on his arm and continued walking. They were almost at St. Dunstan’s and he didn’t want to waste any more time. “Don’t ask me to tell you that I believe someone who has died is able to speak to someone still alive. Every instinct I have as an investigator tells me it’s impossible.”

Ginny tried to pull away from him but Will held her arm in place. “But, don’t ask me to deny that I think Lizzy speaks to you either. I can’t. I believe you when you tell me she does.”

Ginny’s question came out softly… hesitantly. “If you don’t believe it’s possible for your cousin to speak to me from the grave, then why do you believe me?”

They were almost at the cemetery and Will continued. “For two reasons. The first one is that there are several incidents in the stories that have been passed down from my ancestors that no one can explain.”

Ginny lifted her gaze to study him.

“As I believe I mentioned,” Will continued, “I am named after one of my ancestors, the first William de Wolfe. He would be disappointed to know that his namesake scoffed at his ancestor’s legendary mystical abilities.”

“Are you saying there was something… unnatural in the powers that William de Wolfe possessed?”

“I’m simply saying there are many powers my ancestors possessed that are unexplainable.”

“I see,” Ginny said. Her soft voice was almost a whisper. She hesitated, then looked up. “You said there were two reasons you believed me.”

“Yes. The second reason is that I trust you. If you say you heard Lizzy speak to you, then I believe you did. I know you would never think to make up something this important.”

She stopped and turned to him. “Thank you, Will. You don’t know how much I appreciate the faith you have in me.”

Will returned the shy smile she wore with a smile he hoped told her how much he thought of her. She possessed so many endearing qualities it was impossible not to feel something for her. Although what he felt for her was something he had no words for. It was something he’d never felt before.

He gathered her close to him and together they entered the gate of St. Dunstan’s graveyard. Will stayed off the path that would keep them in the open in the hope that if Wesley Fletcher was there he wouldn’t see them.

When they got near Lizzy’s grave, they saw a man on the ground. Only it wasn’t Wesley Fletcher. It was Ralphy Weston.

On bended knees at Lizzy’s grave.