“So the Dubbses weren’t friends of yours,” I said. “You didn’t meet them at a party. They didn’t wear you down with requests to meet with Gloria. All of that was a lie.”
“It was the cover he gave me,” Fitz said. “The man. He made me memorize it. It’s the story I gave the police, the story I gave you when you visited me, and the story I gave Davies. Davies said no—that part was true. But I couldn’t leave it, or my parents would find out and I’d go to jail. So I followed Gloria around for a few days, you know, and I got her alone.”
“And what did she say?”
“She laughed at me.” Even in his extreme state, Fitz managed a flash of hurt outrage. “She told me to go to hell. She was in one of her wild moods. But she came to me two days later to ask how much money was in it, and I knew I had her.”
I pressed my hands to my forehead. “Oh, my God, Gloria,” I said softly. “You walked into a trap.”
“I didn’t think anyone would hurt her!” Fitz nearly shouted. “I swear, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”
“Wouldn’t you?” I said, and he drew back, silent. “So Ramona was telling the truth when she said the Dubbses didn’t want either of you there. When she said they wanted both of you to turn back and go home when they saw you at the train station. You were never invited along at all. They wanted Gloria alone.”
“I wanted to be there,” he protested. “In case she needed protection.”
“No, you wanted to be there because you saw a potential mark with money, just like Gloria did.” I leaned back in my chair. “This man—the one who came to you. Who was he?”
Fitz shook his head. “I don’t know. He didn’t give his name.”
“What did he look like?”
“Like a fellow—any fellow. Brownish hair, not too tall. Tony accent, but not too upper, if you know what I mean. His suit was decent, but I didn’t recognize it.” He leaned forward. “He knew everything about what I was . . . into, Ellie. Everything. I thought maybe he was from the Yard at first, but what would they want with Gloria?”
The man who had abducted Davies had been dark haired and nondescript. The man who had killed Ramona had looked the same. I felt suddenly overwhelmed by the number of nondescript men in England. “You’re saying you think he was higher up,” I said to Fitz.
“What else could it be?” he said.
I looked around the room. I was still chilled, and Pickwick still sat quiet, his ears pricked. Go away, I thought at whoever it was. Don’t show yourself.
“What is it?” Fitz was following my gaze around the room. “Do you think someone is listening?”
“Why Ramona?” I said to him. “If whoever it was got what they wanted, if you led them to Gloria and he killed her, then why kill Ramona after the fact?” I searched his face. “Tell me.”
“She saw something,” he said. “At least, I think she did. It was an accident. The séance was going nowhere, and Gloria had walked out, saying she needed air. Ramona needed a hit, so we went out into the trees.” He looked at my face, hardened his jaw. “She saw something—over my shoulder. I could tell. She got very quiet, said only that she wanted to go back into the house. I thought about it when we discovered Gloria had been killed, but there was so much chaos that I didn’t ask her about it, and of course I didn’t tell the police. I didn’t think about it again until she was killed. I swear to you I didn’t. But that’s why she was killed—it must be. And what if the man who did it doesn’t believe I know nothing?”
“Fitz, you have to go to the police. You have to. The Yard is working under all the wrong information. If they knew about the setup—”
He laughed. “And tell them exactly what I’ve been up to? What I was doing outside in the trees? Do you think I’m out of my mind? My father would disown me. I won’t do it.”
“You’d rather be killed?”
“I won’t be killed if you loan me the money to get out of London. Just for a little while, until all of this cools down.”
I opened my mouth to reply to him, to reason with him, and then I stopped.
Ramona stood behind Fitz’s shoulder, her face a white smear in the shadows of the kitchen. Her dark-rimmed eyes were fixed on him, and she did not look at me. I could see through the shadows that she wore the dressing gown she’d had on when she’d warned me away from the door of her flat.
I forced my gaze back to Fitz, who was still talking. My headache lit up as if someone had touched a match to it, a lick of pain that traveled up from the base of my skull. Go away, I tried to tell her through the fog, but from the corner of my eye I could still see her there, standing in the shadows, watching.
“God, it’s been horrible,” Fitz was saying to me. He was oblivious to the figure behind him in the corner. “I had to tell lies to the police, to you, to everyone. I’ve barely been able to hold it together, and sometimes I feel like I’m about to go mad. The only thing that makes me sleep is alcohol, and last night . . . last night I only had nightmares.”
I stared at him, and through the pain pounding my brain I could feel no pity. I’d always known that Fitzroy Todd was shallow and somehow hard, but I’d never really understood the extent of it. I’d never seen a spirit follow a living person before, though I’d dealt enough years with the dead to know it was possible. The dead I’d seen were tied to old emotions, to things left undone. I rubbed my forehead, which did nothing to ease the pain, and a sudden idea occurred to me. I took a gamble.
“Fitz,” I said, “what do the numbers 321B mean to you?”
He broke off his lament, confused. “I beg pardon?”
“The numbers 321B,” I repeated patiently. “Just think about it. Do they have any meaning to you?”
“Do you mean like a puzzle? I’m no good at these things, Ellie. What about my problem?”
“It could be an address,” I persisted.
He frowned. “Well, Octavia Murtry lives at Harriet Walk, number 321B.” His gaze hardened, suddenly curious. “Why do you ask?”
Octavia Murtry. My God. “I saw it written down somewhere.”