The Other Side of Midnight by St. James Simone

Author:St. James, Simone
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2015-04-06T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

I telephoned my daily woman—to say she was shocked to hear from me would be an understatement—and explained, omitting the supernatural elements, what had happened to Mr. Bagwell and his dog. She agreed to come by and check on Pickwick, let him out in the garden, and walk him if he needed it. I wanted to warn her that the dog was dejected, but it seemed a strange thing to discuss. She’d see for herself soon enough.

I found some tinned meat and put it down for him. He glanced at it from his spot under the kitchen table, then put his head on the floor again. “I’m going out,” I told him, running my hand over his head. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back, but you won’t be alone. You should eat something.” He made no reply.

I put on my coat and hat and was just tying the belt at the waist of my coat when someone knocked at my front door.

I thought it might be Mrs. Campbell or one of my other neighbors, come to check on the dog. But I opened the door to an unfamiliar man, tall and dark, his overcoat hanging ominously from his broad shoulders. He removed his hat and I saw a handsome face, its features serious and intelligent. “Miss Winter,” he said. “I’ve found you at last.”

I stared at him as the cool September breeze snaked past me through the doorway and a child on a bicycle pedaled by on the street behind him.

The man reached into his breast pocket and handed me a card. “I’m Inspector Merriken, from Scotland Yard. May we speak?”

I took the card in fingers gone numb. “I’m on my way out to meet someone.”

His gaze traveled over me, missing nothing. “Anyone I know?”

“No,” I lied.

“That’s a shame,” he said. “Still, I’m certain you can take a few minutes.”

“I can’t.” I looked past him, but his large frame with its wide shoulders and long dark coat blocked the door. “I have somewhere to be.”

“In London?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Perfect,” the inspector said smoothly. “I happen to have a motorcar here. We can talk at the Yard, and then I’ll drop you wherever you like.”

At the Yard? Panic squeezed me. I rubbed my throat, as if massaging the air through it. I’d never been to Scotland Yard before—I’d never had any reason to. What did it mean that he wanted to take me there now?

Inspector Merriken read my face like a book. “Don’t worry,” he said, his voice as smooth as cold water over river stones. “I’m not in the habit of eating women alive at the Yard, only questioning them. Especially women who pop up all over my murder investigations, then avoid me.”

I stared up at him, my hand still on my throat. “I’m not going to get rid of you, am I?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, no, you’re not. Persistence is a virtue of mine. Shall we go?”

He didn’t speak to me on the drive to the Yard, and I didn’t speak, either.

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