Women and Children First (41 page)

Reg didn’t know where to find a police station. In England, he might have looked for a bobby on the beat but he couldn’t see any around so he asked a newspaper vendor.

‘West 54th and Eighth Avenue is the closest.’

‘Thank you.’

His heart was pounding as he walked down Eighth Avenue, trying to rehearse what he would say. Where should he start? What if they didn’t believe him? Could he go to jail over this? He had stolen the letters, and they thought he was responsible for Molly’s death while driving a stolen car.

He was so scared he thought his knees might give way as he walked up the steps and into the lobby of the station. He stuttered as he spoke to the policeman standing behind the desk. ‘My n-name is Reg Parton. I was in the c-car that crashed off the road in Long Island, Mr G-Grayling’s car, but I didn’t steal it. The papers are wrong…’

‘Hold on a second. Do you mean that car crash where two of Mr Grayling’s employees died?’

‘Yes, I’m one of them. Reg. I escaped.’

‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ He looked Reg up and down. ‘I guess I’ll find somebody to talk to you. Come with me.’

Reg was led into an interview room and as he waited, he fingered his St Christopher. It made him think about Florence, with her freckles and her ready smile. The more he learned about the wiles of women, the more he realised how unusual her openness and honesty were. She had no sides, no secrets, no artifice. But it was over four months since he’d seen her, and she would almost certainly have another beau by now. He’d virtually told her to find someone else.

There was a clock on the wall and the minutes ticked by slowly. Half past two. Three o’clock. At ten past three, the door opened and a very tall man walked in. He must have been about six feet six, a whole foot taller than Reg, with silver-grey hair, a reddish complexion and a bumpy nose that appeared to have been broken at least once.

‘Reg Parton?’ He held out his hand so Reg shook it. ‘Detective O’Halloran. Sorry to keep you waiting. You told the sergeant that you escaped from the car that went into the ocean off Long Island?’

‘That’s right, but it wasn’t me who stole it. I was hit over the head and bundled into it. Look!’ He turned his head and parted his hair with his fingers to show the gash.

‘That’s OK. Sit yourself down. We know it wasn’t you. We’ve got the man responsible. He walked into a police station and confessed.’

‘Mr Grayling did?’

The detective gave him an odd look. ‘No, Alphonse Labreche. The chef.’

‘It can’t be true!’ Reg was stunned.

‘Yes, it seems it was a classic crime of passion. He was in love with Molly, she was leading him down the garden path and he couldn’t take it any more. After he strangled her, you happened to walk in and he had to shut you up too. He’s broken up with guilt.’

‘Alphonse,’ Reg repeated, as if in a daze. How could he have lived in the same house as them and not realised Alphonse loved Molly? Now he thought about it, it should have been obvious. She’d been flirting with Alphonse the same way she flirted with him, but it seems he’d taken her seriously. He must have been seething inside as he watched her pursuing Reg during all those weeks. And then on the night of the storm, he snapped. Poor Molly, and poor Alphonse as well.

‘Are you OK? We should get somebody to look at that cut on your head.’

‘I’m fine. I’m just astonished. Alphonse wasn’t a bad person.’

‘You’d be surprised what being spurned can do to a guy. I’ve seen it over and over again, even when they are peaceable types beforehand. So you escaped from the automobile after it crashed in the water?’ Reg nodded. ‘What did you do then?’

‘I wasn’t sure but I thought Molly might be in there so I dived back down over and over again trying to find her. It was useless, though. I couldn’t find the wreckage any more because a current kept pulling me away.’

‘That stretch of water is nasty in a storm. It’s damn lucky you managed to save yourself never mind anybody else. Besides, we think she was already dead before she hit the water. Where did you come ashore?’

‘On a rocky beach somewhere. I slept in a beach hut, then the next morning I went back up the coast to look for Molly but couldn’t find her. So I asked a truck driver to give me a lift to New York.’

‘Why didn’t you go back to Mr Grayling’s?’ The detective was watching Reg closely, making him feel uncomfortable.

‘I was scared.’

‘What were you scared of? Did you think Mr Grayling may have had something to do with it?’

Reg chose his words carefully. ‘Molly had been trying to blackmail him about the young woman who was staying with us at the summerhouse. Her name is Venetia Hamilton.’

The detective gave a long, low whistle. It seemed there was a lot more to this case than he’d thought. ‘So what grounds were there for the blackmail?’

‘You know his wife died on the
Titanic
?’ The detective nodded. ‘Well, I think he might have killed her.’ Reg explained that she hadn’t been seen during the final day, that their suite door was locked and he saw Mr Grayling and Miss Hamilton escaping together. ‘Then I found this in the house.’ He handed over the key, and put the letters on the table.

‘Whoa! That’s some accusation you’re making. Mr Grayling told us that Miss Hamilton is a friend of his late daughter’s and he’s been looking after her while she gets over a broken engagement.’

Reg pursed his lips. ‘I believe you’ll find a different story in these letters.’

‘You reckon she’s more than a family friend?’

‘I know she is. I’ve seen them kissing.’

He picked up the letters thoughtfully. ‘I’ll have a look through these, and if I think there’s a case I’ll bring Mr Grayling down to the precinct for a little talk.’ He stood up. ‘Let me find somebody to come and look at your head, then I’ll get you some tea – that’s what you English like, isn’t it?’

The doctor put three metal stitches in Reg’s gash, and the pain was teeth-clenching. His blood soaked through the towel he’d been given to hold and made him feel queasy. The doctor handed him some Bayer’s aspirin powder dissolved in a glass of water, and he drank it gratefully.

When they’d finished O’Halloran came back in to chat. ‘Mr Grayling’s on his way back to Manhattan at the moment, so we’ll call him later. You’ve had quite a year, young Reg. Saved from the
Titanic
, then this happens. I guess you lost friends on board, did you?’

Reg nodded. ‘My best friend John.’

The detective nodded. ‘It leaves a big hole inside, don’t it? My best buddy was stabbed on duty last year. There’s not a day goes by when I don’t think about him and wish I could talk to him one last time.’ He patted Reg’s arm. ‘Hey, did you hear there’s an Irish woman in Kingsbridge who they say can talk to the spirits of people who died on the
Titanic
? They reckon she’s pretty good. What about trying that? You could see if she can contact your buddy. What was her name again? … Annie McGeown.’

‘Really? Annie? I knew her.’

‘Is that so? What’s she like? A bit of a loony?’

Reg hadn’t heard the phrase before but could guess what it meant. ‘No, not at all. She was a nice woman. Very kind.’

‘Well, if you want to get in touch with her, I hear you can make an appointment through Father Kelly at St John’s Church in Kingsbridge. Drop by the station and tell me how it goes!’

When it began to get dark outside, Detective O’Halloran telephoned Mr Grayling’s number and was told that he had just arrived home.

‘Can you request that he comes down to the Eighth Avenue precinct? Tell him to ask for Detective O’Halloran. Yes, right away, please.’

Reg imagined Mr Grayling’s expression when he got the message. It wouldn’t be well received, he was sure.

Reg had a lot of time to worry while the detective was interviewing Mr Grayling. He felt scared being in the same building. For a start, he would be furious with Reg for stealing the items from his secret drawer and then accusing him of murder. How easily the tables could be turned; any moment now, Reg might find himself arrested for theft. Even in the best-case scenario he would be out of a job, with no prospect of a reference from Mr Grayling to help him get a new one. He was back at square one, and didn’t think he could find the energy to raise himself up yet again.

I have to go back to England
, he thought.
The time has come to face my fears
. He tried to imagine how he would feel on a cruise liner in mid-ocean, and straight away he heard the rush of water in his ears and felt a burning sensation in his lungs. Maybe he’d be all right if he didn’t look out across the water. He could keep himself busy below deck and perhaps he’d be able to manage that way.

Would his mother take him in, or would he find himself homeless on arrival? At least he had friends in Southampton who would let him stay till he found his feet. It made sense to go back to his roots. And Florence … he tortured himself thinking how he would feel if he bumped into her with another man. It was entirely his own fault for letting her slip through his fingers.

The door opened and Detective O’Halloran came in, sat down and got straight to the point. ‘Mr Grayling is insisting that he took his wife to a lifeboat on the
Titanic
, and he thinks their door must have been locked by a steward. He says the stewards had keys for all the rooms in their section. Is that the case?’

Reg agreed that it was.

‘So he wouldn’t have left a body there all day in case the steward came in and found it, would he? There sure is evidence in those letters that he was romantically involved with Miss Hamilton and had been looking for a divorce that Mrs Grayling wasn’t going to give him. But without a body, there’s no suggestion of any crime.’

He could see Reg wasn’t happy with this conclusion.

‘Hey, I think you’re wrong about him. He seems like a decent kind of guy. He was all made up when he heard that you escaped from the crash, and he wants to have a word with you.’

‘No!’ Reg cried. ‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? I’ll be in the room. There’s nothing he can do. I think he really is looking out for you. You should hear what he has to say.’

Reg couldn’t stop shaking as he was led to the interview room where Mr Grayling sat waiting. He flinched as his boss stood to greet him.

‘Thank God you’re all right, Reg. I’m told you have a head wound. Has it been properly taken care of?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ Reg replied quietly.

Mr Grayling fixed his eyes on him. ‘I can understand why you have a low opinion of me, but I want you to know that I’ve only ever felt protective towards you. My wife thought very highly of you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘If you were of a mind to come back and work for me, I’d be happy to have you.’

Reg looked at the floor and shook his head.

‘Otherwise, I’d like to give you a reference and some severance pay to help you set yourself up in your next situation. Do you have any plans?’

‘I’m planning to go back to England, sir.’ Still he couldn’t meet Mr Grayling’s eyes.

‘In that case, I’ll buy a ticket for you. I believe the
Lusitania
sails in four days’ time. Would that suit, or do you want more time in New York to say your goodbyes?’

Reg didn’t want to accept anything from him. ‘I can work my own passage, sir.’

‘Nonsense!’ He appealed to Detective O’Halloran for support, but he just shrugged. ‘I’m going to leave a ticket in your name at the Cunard office. If you don’t want it, they will let you change it for another sailing, or cash it in. Please accept this as your rightful due, Reg.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Do you need somewhere to stay until then? You’re welcome to your old room…’

‘No, I have somewhere.’

‘In that case I suppose I’ll say goodbye – and good luck to you, Reg.’ Mr Grayling held out his hand.

Reg didn’t want to shake hands. He knew Mr Grayling was lying. If he had shown his wife to a lifeboat and she got back out again, someone would have mentioned it by now, either in the press or at the Inquiries. Such things had been scrutinised in detail. But he was a polite boy, there was a policeman present, and it seemed awkward not to shake. He took Mr Grayling’s hand and gripped it quickly then let go again as fast as he could.