“But his identification?” I said.
“I inspected it when we questioned them, yes, and so did one of my men. I’m trained to look for false papers—I’ve seen dozens of them in my career, from the amateur to the professional. What the Dubbses showed us looked perfect to me. That means that, assuming what I inspected was fake, they had the very highest talent create their papers. One would have to be extremely well connected, and extremely deep in the pocket, to get work like that done.”
“Unless,” said James, “the papers were created by the government itself.”
“What do you mean?”
Inspector Merriken patted his pocket again and pulled out a thin stick of metal. He turned toward the Dubbses’ front door. “While I was investigating, Mr. Hawley here was doing some searching of his own. It seems he contacted the War Office, looking for the record of one Davey Dubbs, whose spirit Gloria was supposed to call on the night she was murdered. The War Office must have alerted someone. When Mr. Hawley turned up at the Yard this morning, asking to see me so that he could convince me to let him come on this operation, he was taken for questioning—in person—by my chief inspector. At the same time, I was told that my request for men to cover the roads in Kent this morning was delayed. It goes completely against protocol for my CI to interview a subject in my murder investigation without me while at the same time altering my plans. I’d like to know what the hell is going on.”
“He kept me for two hours,” James said. “I told him I had to leave, that I had to meet you because I was afraid Gloria’s killer would go after you, but still he detained me.”
Inspector Merriken regarded the Dubbses’ front door. “When I heard what inquiry Mr. Hawley had made that had him detained, I picked up the phone and called the War Office myself. And do you know what I was told? ‘Classified.’ Classified!” He glanced at my bewildered face, as if I should have known what outraged him so. “My own evidence, in my own murder investigation, classified. No, I don’t think that will do at all. I had no choice but to interrupt the interview, claiming I needed to question Mr. Hawley about new information I’d received.” He reached down and twitched his trouser legs in an immaculate fall before crouching before the door and inserting the black pick into the lock. “We had no choice but to leave the Yard without backup—it was either that or continue to delay. In the meantime, since the Dubbses apparently aren’t home and aren’t even real people, I have no problem entering their premises for another look.”
“You can pick locks?” I said.
James came next to my shoulder, his hands in his pockets, and watched alongside me. “Makes you feel safe as a citizen, doesn’t it?”
“Sod off,” said the inspector.
“You told him about George Sutter, didn’t you?” I said to James.
“Yes,” he replied. “It’s made him rather angry.”
“There is nothing I hate worse,” Merriken clarified as the lock mechanism clicked, “than people who meddle in my murder cases. Except possibly ghosts. Don’t ever talk to me about ghosts.”
He had the door open in less than a minute, and we followed him inside. The front hall was tidy, the sitting room opening from it snugly furnished, with lace-trimmed curtains on the windows and a rustic clock on the mantel. I hesitated, Pickwick at my heels, before following the two men into the house. This felt like a home. How did it fit with the nonexistent Dubbses?
James and Inspector Merriken had already moved to the back of the house, past the narrow staircase leading to the upstairs bedrooms, to the snug kitchen, which was tidy and featured a large kitchen table. “This is where the séance was supposed to happen,” the inspector said as he began opening cupboards and gently rifling through their contents. “Or so I was told, the night I interviewed them and they lied about nearly everything.”
“Fitz told me the Dubbses weren’t ready for a séance,” I said. “That they seemed clueless about how to even go about it. Ramona said the same thing.”
“Neither one of them told me that,” said the inspector, continuing his search.
“According to Ramona, the Dubbses didn’t want either of them there—either Fitz or Ramona. They were unhappy about it and wanted both of them to go home, as if they wanted Gloria alone.” I rubbed a finger over my forehead, trying to remember everything through the fog of pain. “Also, Fitz lied to you about how he convinced Gloria to come here and do the session. He’s been selling narcotics, to Ramona as well as others, and a man approached him and blackmailed him to get Gloria to show up, or else.”
Inspector Merriken glanced at me. “We knew about the drugs. One look at Ramona and it was obvious she’d been taking—and that night. As for Fitzroy Todd, he isn’t particularly bright, and he’s never been discreet. He’s not much of a master criminal. But his family is powerful, and none of our charges ever stick. He’s become one of those nuisances we all know about but we have to put up with. I suspected his story was full of holes. I just couldn’t figure out where they were.”
“I keep coming back to the fact that they wanted Gloria alone out here,” James said. “Do you think this couple, whoever they really are, is behind this?”