The Edge of Dreams (Molly Murphy Mysteries, #14)

“We should know today, Miss Willis, and we’ll make sure someone passes on the information to you instantly. But I think I can assure you that you’re safe. If he hasn’t come after you by now, he’s probably not going to.”


“Well, that’s a relief.” Her hand went to her breast again. “But I still can’t see why he wanted to punish me. Like I said, I was always kind to him. Felt sorry for him, you know. And he’d understand that I had no choice but to testify to what I’d seen and heard. That judge was a very forceful man.”

“What was his name? Do you remember?’

“I’ll never forget it. He had this severe frown on his face and he said, ‘I am Judge Ellingham. We are here to see justice done.’”

Judge Ellingham, whose wife had died of arsenic poisoning. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place.





Twenty-eight

I thanked Miss Willis, reassured her to the best of my ability, then boarded the crowded trolley again. I couldn’t wait to get back to Terrence Daughtery. I hoped that he wouldn’t have chosen this as the moment to go out, and was glad when the rain picked up, making the going very unpleasant.

“Mrs. Murphy!” he exclaimed when he opened the door a crack and peered out. “What on earth brings you back here, and on such a wild day? I thought we’d concluded our conversation yesterday.”

“I have to ask you one question, Mr. Daughtery,” I said. “Were you at anytime a tutor to the Deveraux family?”

He looked astonished. “Why, yes. I tutored Edward Deveraux for several years, until…”

“Until he killed his father?”

He winced as if a spasm of pain had shot through his body. “No, I left the year before that. He had reached the age of eighteen, and frankly, he was such a bright boy that I told his father there was nothing more I could teach him. Edward really belonged in a university. But his father wouldn’t hear of it. Do you know what he said? He said it would be a waste of money, since, in his words, ‘Whoever would want to employ him?’”

Then wind swirled and spattered raindrops from the porch overhang, making him realize I was still standing outside. “Dear me. Most rude of me. Please, come in. I’ll make some coffee.”

I followed him inside, this time to a small, warm kitchen. He put on a kettle before he turned to me and said, “May I ask what interest you have in Edward Deveraux?”

“It’s possible that he has something to do with your mother’s death,” I said.

His mouth dropped open, then he frowned. “Are you suggesting … but that’s impossible. They took him away and locked him up. I wrote to him for a while. He wrote back … long, rambling letters about science experiments he was conducting. He didn’t seem particularly unhappy. It wasn’t one of those dreadful state institutions, you understand. They let him have access to books, and he was used to being shut away on his own. But there was always someone guarding his door. He can’t have escaped, surely? One would have heard if he’d escaped.”

“The police are finding out today whether he might have escaped,” I said.

The kettle boiled and Terrence poured boiling water over the coffee grounds. The enticing aroma filled the kitchen, making me realize how cold and miserable I had become.

When he had finished pouring, he put the kettle back on the hob and looked up at me. “You can’t possibly think that he killed my mother.”

“I’m afraid we have to consider the possibility.”

He closed his eyes tightly, as if not allowing pain to enter. “No! No, I won’t believe it. Edward and I were friends,” he said. “I was the only person he trusted. The only person he could talk to.”

“Did you give evidence at his trial?”

Another spasm of pain crossed his face. “I had to. I was called as a witness and they asked me lots of questions about his mental state. I knew it sounded very bad for Ed, but I had to tell the truth, didn’t I?”

“What sort of things did they ask you?” I asked, then nodded as he put a cup of coffee in front of me.

“Whether I had witnessed abnormal behavior. And of course I had to say yes, I had. He did experiments on insects and small animals. He seemed to delight in inflicting pain. He cut himself sometimes and would sit, watching the blood run.” He saw me give an involuntary shudder, then added, “Yes, Edward Deveraux was definitely not normal, but in spite of everything I was fond of him, and I thought he was of me. I can’t believe he would have killed my mother. I simply can’t believe it.”