Waldenmere, 1921
Waldenmere was a glorious expanse of silver water twinkling in the September sunshine. I’d usually stop for a few moments to savour the view, but that day was different. That day, a shocking event had disturbed the placid market town of Walden.
“Why are you looking so happy?” a voice called.
Hurtling along the lake footpath, I hadn’t noticed Percy in a pair of waders, waist-high in the reedbeds.
“A man’s been found dead,” I replied.
“And that’s a cause for cheer? Iris Woodmore, I question your moral values sometimes.”
I smiled. As attractive as he was, I didn’t have time to flirt with Percy Baverstock of the Society for the Promotion of Nature Reserves. Not when there was a story to be had.
“A body was found by the bowling green in Walden Park.”
Percy pushed his floppy hair back over his forehead. “I believe it can be a slow-moving game.”
“Someone cut his throat.” I failed to hide my excitement.
He appeared more interested now. “I never knew it was such a competitive sport.”
“What are you doing in there?” I couldn’t help asking, knowing it was a mistake.
“I’ve found some fascinating aquatic vegetation. Come in and take a look.” His lively brown eyes regarded my attire. “I don’t normally like you in trousers. I prefer that green dress of yours. But they come in handy on occasions like this. Roll up your trouser legs and wade in. I’ll hold onto you.”
I knew better than to attempt this with someone as clumsy as Percy. “You’re incapable of keeping yourself upright. If I come in, we’ll topple over.”
He waved his fishing net in the air and wobbled precariously, proving my point. “I know a secluded sunny spot where we could dry ourselves.”
I hurried away. Percy was a temptation I knew better than to indulge.
“Does Elijah know where you’re going?” he called after me.
“Of course.” I lied.
Walden Park
“Miss Woodmore. What a surprise.” Superintendent Cobbe didn’t seem thrilled to see me. “No doubt, Mr Whittle is looking for a story to liven up the front page? He’s a bit quick off the mark.”
My boss, Elijah Whittle, editor of The Walden Herald, had an arrangement with Superintendent Cobbe. We’d refrain from publishing early details of an investigation in exchange for exclusive information as the case progressed.
“He wasn’t in the office when the news came in,” I admitted. I didn’t want to jeopardise Elijah’s relationship with the Superintendent.
“But you were bored and thought you’d come along and take a look?”
“I’ll keep out of the way,” I said, knowing I was already in the way.
“Go and talk to PC Gilbert. He’ll tell you what you can print. But don’t go anywhere near the clubhouse,” he warned.
My childhood friend, Ben Gilbert, was standing by the iron gates to the park, stopping people from entering. I thanked the Superintendent and dashed over to him.
Ben frowned when he saw me. “How did you get in?”
“There’s a gap in the hedge by the water fountain.”
“Sid,” he called over to PC Sid King and pointed. “There’s a gap in the hedge over there. Stop any more nosy parkers coming in.”
Sid grinned and nodded.
“What’s happened? They say a man had his throat cut.”
“The groundsman found him behind the clubhouse early this morning. The doctor thinks it occurred last night between eight o’clock and midnight.”
I peered over at the white-painted wooden clubhouse. It had a veranda at the front with a bench on either side of the double doors. Sitting on one of the benches was a tall woman with a small dog on her lap.
“Who’s that?”
“The dead man’s wife. Widow, I should say. Mrs Taplin. The groundsman recognised the corpse as Reginald Taplin, a greengrocer from Aldershot. He got word to his wife, and she came straight over.”
The woman appeared to be in a daze. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and the Yorkshire terrier on her lap jumped up to lick her face. “Get down, Billy.” She tried to push the dog away but seemed drained of all energy.
“Poor woman.” I could see shock and disbelief on her face.
Ben frowned. “We’d have preferred her not to have seen his body until we’d taken him to the mortuary.”
“What was her husband doing here last night?”
“She doesn’t know. Or if she suspects, she’s not saying. He closed his shop as normal, had dinner at home and then said he was going to the pub.”
“But he came here instead?”
“Looks like it.”
“Was there a bowls game?”
He shook his head. “Not at that time. It was starting to get dark by eight o’clock. There’d been a game that afternoon, but the groundsman said it had finished by six. He locked up the clubhouse shortly afterwards. It doesn’t appear anyone tried to get inside.”
I glanced across at Mrs Taplin. “So, Mr Taplin was meeting a person or persons unknown behind the clubhouse?”
“That’s the assumption,” Ben admitted. “But don’t print it. Superintendent Cobbe said you can report a man has died in tragic circumstances in the park and ask if anyone saw anything suspicious to contact the station house. Print that and nothing else until I say otherwise. A pathologist is coming to Walden to examine the body.”
The Walden Herald
“How did he die?” I pounced on Ben as soon as he entered the office.
“Get in here, the pair of you,” Elijah called.
The offices of The Walden Herald consisted of two rooms above Laffaye Printworks. My desk was in the main office while Elijah sat in an adjoining smaller room. He ruled his empire from his smoke-filled den. From his desk, he could keep an eye on the main office door, the large railway clock on the wall and me at work.
I grabbed the coffee pot, an extra cup for Ben, and braved the smog to perch on one of the rickety wooden chairs in front of Elijah’s desk.
Ben flipped open his notebook. “A single wound to the throat.”
“Have you found a weapon?” Elijah rummaged for his matches under the papers strewn over his desk.
“No. We’ve searched the park.”
“What sort of weapon are you looking for?” I opened the window a crack, risking Elijah’s wrath. He wasn’t fond of fresh air.
“A knife with a lacerated edge. Maybe a kitchen knife,” Ben replied.
“Any other marks on him? Had he been in a fight?” Elijah lit a cigarette and scribbled in spidery black ink on his jotter.
Ben shook his head. “The pathologist said he was a healthy forty-year-old man. Nothing to indicate any sign of a struggle. He was lying on the ground.”
“He died there?” Elijah asked.
“The doctor and pathologist think he was attacked where he fell. The blood splatter on the side of the clubhouse indicates the body hadn’t been moved.”
“Any witnesses?” I doubted anyone had seen what went on behind the clubhouse, but they might have noticed someone entering the park.
“Nothing. The park’s usually quiet at that time of the evening.”
“What are Superintendent Cobbe’s thoughts?” Elijah sat back and puffed meditatively.
“That Mr Taplin had arranged to meet someone at the clubhouse,” Ben replied. “And there was an altercation. It could have been premeditated or spur of the moment. It’s difficult to say.”
“Whoever it is, they’re unlikely to make themselves known. After all, the meeting was a secret one.” Elijah waved his cigarette in the air. “You say his wife didn’t know why her husband was there?”
Ben nodded. “Superintendent Cobbe would like you to publish an appeal. We want to know if Mr Taplin was seen meeting with anyone in Walden Park in the days or weeks before his death. If someone has information they think might be of interest, they should contact us at the station house.”
The Station House
“Any news?”
Ben opened the door, looking bleary-eyed. “You’re early.”
Given the lack of serious crime in the town, there was no police station in Walden, just a house shared by Ben and Sid.
“Thought you might have had a response to our appeal for information.” I hadn’t been able to resist calling in at the station house on my way to work.
“Nothing much, but there’s something that might interest you.” He turned to pick up his notebook from the telephone stand in the hall.
I strode into the house, catching a glimpse of Sid dashing up the stairs in white vest and underpants.
Ben grinned. “I didn’t say come in.”
“Sorry, Sid,” I called.
There was a grunt from upstairs.
“According to Miss Nightingale, there’s a school next to Walden Park that trains young girls and women to go into domestic service. A Mrs Dickinson runs it.”
Miss Millicent Nightingale was a teacher at Walden Elementary School. Through her pupils, she had an in-depth knowledge of the goings-on in Walden.
“When they finish elementary school, some of her female pupils go on to do training at Park View, Mrs Dickinson’s establishment.” Ben closed his notebook. “If they live in the centre of town, they have to walk through Walden Park to get to Park View.”
“Have you spoken to Mrs Dickinson?”
“Yes. And all her current pupils. They all walked through the park that evening but denied seeing anything or staying there after dark. It’s possible one of them could have arranged to meet Mr Taplin. If you ask around, you might be able to find out more than I could.”
Waldenmere
My habit of wearing trousers shocked some of the stuffier residents of Walden. I didn’t feel in the least self-conscious when I wore my comfortable slacks and ignored the muttered comments about unfeminine attire.
But dressed in a starched long grey frock borrowed from Lizzy, our housekeeper, I felt highly conspicuous. While the good folks of Walden might nod in approval, I was hot and uncomfortable in my prim attire.
With my bobbed hair pinned back and my face scrubbed of all cosmetics, I prayed I wouldn’t run into anyone I knew.
“Hey, slow down. Where are you off to now?”
I groaned. Percy. It would have to be Percy. I quickened my pace as I navigated the uneven lake path in my unfamiliar long skirt. But he wasn’t to be deterred and hurried after me.
“You look odd.” He caught my arm and scrutinised me. “I don’t like that frock. I know I said I preferred to see you in a dress rather than trousers, but I meant the green one with the, er, shorter hemline. Not this monstrosity.”
“I’m going to a school that trains young women to go into domestic service. I have to wear a plain long dress and apron.”
He snorted. “Elijah given you the sack? I’m not sure I rate your chances of finding employment in a respectable household. Maids are expected to be polite and do as they’re told, you know.”
“I’m on an assignment for the paper, if you must know.” This wasn’t true. Elijah had no idea what I was up to.
“An investigative reporter? Undercover and all that.” He grinned. “Show me your apron.”
“No.” I tried to hide my linen bag behind my back.
“Go on.” He moved closer and slid his hand around my waist, pulling me towards him. With his other hand, he attempted to delve into the bag behind my back.
I tried not to laugh. Percy at his most flirtatious was extremely distracting. “Get off me, you idiot.”
“Put it on. Just for a moment. It’s probably the only chance I’ll get to see you dressed like that.”
I wrestled free and marched away with as much dignity as I could muster.
Park View
With the help of Millicent Nightingale, I’d managed to enrol at Park View at short notice for two days of rudimentary lessons. On the first day, I’d be taught how to cook basic dishes. The following day, I’d be schooled in the art of waiting at table.
If I’d ever had any desire to enter into domestic service, it vanished after a day at Park View.
Mrs Dickinson was a tall, thin woman with a long nose and small eyes. She peered down at her unfortunate pupils over the wire frame of her spectacles.
My plain grey dress conformed to what the other pupils were wearing, but I still stood out. Most women entered domestic service at a young age, and the four girls currently enrolled at the school were all sixteen. I hoped they wouldn’t exclude me from their giggling chatter because I was in my twenties. However, as the day progressed, I found that under Mrs Dickinson’s tyrannical gaze there weren’t many opportunities to talk.
The cookery lesson was worse than I’d anticipated. The five of us stood around a large wooden kitchen table, and a plate of bloody calves’ livers was placed before each of us.
“One of my favourites today.” Cook beamed. “Liver and bacon.”
I fervently hoped the younger pupils wouldn’t look to me for guidance. I hadn’t a clue how to prepare this slimy offal. I needn’t have worried. It was immediately clear they were all more experienced in the kitchen than me, although none of them showed any aptitude for this particular task.
“Jane, you’re not slaughtering a herd of wildebeest. Eleanor, try to keep the food on the table. Rachel, you have to touch the meat you’re preparing, it won’t chop itself.” Cook rested her hands on her hips in exasperation. “Watch what Hannah and Iris are doing. At least two of you have some common sense.”
I exchanged amused glances with the girls. They were friendly enough, and after two hours of blood, sweat and a few tears from Rachel, we managed to produce a meal of sorts. But if cooking it wasn’t bad enough, we were expected to eat it.
Lunchtime gave me a chance to study each of the young women sitting around the kitchen table. We were left unsupervised as Cook had joined Mrs Dickinson in the dining room. I suspected they were enjoying something far more palatable for lunch than we were.
Jane tucked into her meal with the same enthusiasm she’d shown when preparing it. Eleanor exhibited the clumsiness she’d displayed all morning and failed to keep her food on the plate. Hannah continued her meticulous approach in picking out the bacon and ignoring the liver. Rachel simply stared at the contents of her plate with revulsion. I didn’t see a morsel pass her lips.
“You’ve been off your food for days,” Hannah said to Rachel. “Are you all right?”
“Just tired,” Rachel muttered.
I noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. “Being so close to where a murder took place must have been upsetting for you,” I ventured.
Jane perked up at this. “Most exciting thing that’s happened since we’ve been here.”
“It’s dreadful. That poor man.” Hannah tried to adopt a sympathetic expression but was obviously as enthralled as Jane.
“A policeman came and asked us if we ever go to the park at night.” Eleanor giggled.
“Do you?” I watched their faces.
“We go home that way. Sometimes we stay a while to watch them play bowls,” Hannah said. “But they’d finished playing when we went to the green that day.”
“Rachel reads books there.” Jane sounded mystified that someone would consider this an enjoyable activity.
“We’ve told her she doesn’t have to. We’re not in Miss Nightingale’s class anymore.” Eleanor knocked over her glass of water as she reached for Rachel’s plate. “Can I eat yours?”
“I miss school.” Rachel pushed her plate towards Eleanor, looking tearful. “I’d rather be back there than here.”
I kept an eye on Rachel for the rest of the afternoon, but there was no opportunity to talk. Something was upsetting her, and I decided to wait until we’d finished for the day and catch her up as she walked home.
But I was unfamiliar with the routine of Park View. Mrs Dickinson appeared at the kitchen door at six o’clock, bell in hand. Before the last ring, the four girls had disappeared.
“I need someone to help clear up.” Cook stood by the range with her back to me. She turned to find I was the only one left in the room. “You’ll have to do, I suppose.”
Before I could find an excuse, I was elbow deep in hot soapy water, scrubbing an endless stream of dirty crockery and cutlery. When I finally managed to escape from the sink, I found that Cook had lined up all the clean utensils on the kitchen table and was counting them.
“I keep an inventory of every piece of cutlery.” She consulted the pages of her blue notebook. “If I find an item is missing, I track down the culprit. Mrs Dickinson adds the cost of the item to their fees.”
Mrs Dickinson joined her at the table to examine the display. “What are we missing today? Don’t tell me. Teaspoons. It’s always teaspoons.”
“We seem to have gained an item.” Perplexed, Cook glanced from the table to her notebook.
Mrs Dickinson peered over her spectacles at the rows of cutlery on the table. “Are you sure?”
Cook counted again. “We’ve got too many chopping knives. We should have twelve. There’s thirteen.”
I stared at the row of knives. “Which one’s new?”
The withering glance from Cook answered my question. All the chopping knives were identical, a standard type that could be purchased from the Emporium in Walden.
Mrs Dickinson shrugged. “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth.”
The Walden Herald
“You did what? God help me. We report on investigations. We don’t undertake them ourselves. This isn’t Maud West’s Detective Agency.”
“I wasn’t trying to be a detective. It’s not as though I was in disguise,” I said, not entirely truthfully.
“Do you read that nonsense Maud West writes for Pearson’s Weekly? About dressing up as a maid in a stately home to catch a jewel thief.” Elijah ran nicotine-stained fingers through his thin grey hair.
“I’ve heard people talk about her,” I said vaguely, not willing to admit I devoured the stories Maud told about disguising herself as a man to infiltrate illicit drug dens in Soho.
Elijah lit a cigarette and waved it at me. “What were you doing at this Mrs Dickinson’s?”
“Gathering information on…” I floundered. “Inequality in the workplace.”
“I’m sure it will make a sensational front-page article.” He grunted.
I was saved from replying by a heavy tread on the stairs. Ben strode in and slumped into a chair by Elijah’s desk.
I fetched coffee and told him about the extra knife discovered in Mrs Dickinson’s kitchen.
“When I said talk to the girls at Park View, I didn’t mean for you to enrol there.” He exchanged an exasperated glance with Elijah. “Anyway, it turns out they have nothing to do with the case.”
“But where did the extra knife come from?”
He sighed and loosened the collar of his tunic. “I’ve no idea. But we’ve made an arrest.”
“Who?” Elijah picked up his pen.
“Mrs Taplin.”
I gaped at him. “The murdered man’s wife?”
“Blood was found on her clothes. She told us she was at home all evening, but a neighbour saw her returning to her house at about nine o’clock.”
“Has she confessed?” Elijah asked.
Ben shook his head. “She says her husband cut himself when he was in the shop, and she tended to him. That’s how she got blood on her clothes.”
“Why did she lie about being at home all evening?” Elijah scrawled on his jotter.
“She says the dog was whining, and she forgot that she’d taken him out for a short walk. She says she just went to the end of the road and back. Nowhere near the park.”
“That seems plausible.” I wasn’t convinced of Mrs Taplin’s guilt. She’d been genuinely upset when I saw her. Besides, I was galled by the fact that I’d spent all day chopping liver for no reason. “Why would she kill him?”
Ben leant back, his face grim. “When we searched the Taplins’ house and garden, we found some strange items in Mr Taplin’s shed.”
“What sort of items?” I asked.
“A pair of torn bloomers and a chemise. And a silver bracelet.”
“Who do they belong to?” Elijah frowned, pen hovering in mid-air.
“The bracelet belonged to a young woman who was sexually assaulted and murdered in a park in Aldershot last year. Her mother described a silver bracelet she would have been wearing, but it wasn’t found on her daughter’s body.”
I inhaled sharply.
“We showed her the bracelet we found in the shed, and she confirmed it was her daughter’s. Reginald Taplin also matched the description given to Aldershot police by another victim of an assault. Fortunately, this young woman managed to escape her attacker.”
“Bloody hell.” Elijah shook his head in disgust.
“But why would Mrs Taplin—?”
“We think she discovered what her husband had done. And decided to take matters into her own hands.”
Park View
It puzzled me that Mrs Taplin would kill her husband in such a manner. And I was still curious to know what was upsetting Rachel. That young woman was scared of something. Despite Ben’s warning to stay away, I decided to return for my second day of training at Park View.
Had I known the tedium that awaited me, I might have thought better of this decision. If preparing liver hadn’t been torturous enough, being schooled in the art of how to serve asparagus to a duchess had to be amongst the most pointless things I’ve ever done in my life.
By midday, I was preparing to escape and leave Mrs Dickinson’s school behind me forever. However, the lunch had been prepared by Cook and her chicken pie followed by rhubarb crumble was a vast improvement on the previous day’s fare.
Once our lunch had been served, Cook left the kitchen to have her meal with Mrs Dickinson in the dining room. When she was out of earshot, my fellow pupils and I vented our frustration at the senselessness of the morning’s lessons. Rachel was quiet as usual, but she managed a better meal than she had the previous day.
“Doesn’t old Dickie know there aren’t any duchesses living in Walden?” Hannah grumbled.
It was a fair point. These girls would most likely find jobs in the houses of doctors, solicitors, or vicars. Few of Mrs Dickinson’s pupils would enter the doors of a stately home.
After lunch, we trooped back into the dining room for more lessons on how to wait at table. A row of sparkling crystal glasses of all sizes and shapes were lined up along the surface. My mind wandered back to the mystery of Reginal Taplin as Mrs Dickinson droned on about the importance of knowing which glass should be used for aperitifs and which for cocktails.
“Miss Woodmore.” The snap of Mrs Dickinson’s voice brought me back to the room. “Gloves,” she said in exasperation.
I glanced around and saw everyone else was wearing white cotton gloves. “Sorry. I’ll get them.” I hurried to the parlour where we were allowed to keep our personal belongings. Each pupil was required to bring a linen bag containing an apron, gloves, and a starched white cap.
I dived into the first bag and realised it wasn’t mine when I discovered a garish magazine promising ‘stories that will chill your bones’. The lurid front cover depicted the dark shadow of a man leaning over a screaming woman. I suspected this bag belonged to Jane.
I quickly examined the other bags, noticing a dark mark on the fabric of one. Glancing into the hallway to make sure everyone else was still in the dining room, I opened the bag and poked around. Whatever had been inside had left a dull red-brown stain that had seeped through the linen. I closed the bag and hurried back to the dining room.
This time, when Mrs Dickinson rang the bell at six o’clock, I had my wits about me. I was on the heels of the others as they scurried out of the dining room and into the parlour. But I took my time putting on my jacket, watching to see who would go to the stained linen bag.
It was Rachel.
Walden Park
I watched the girls set off in high spirits. It was a warm September evening, and they all planned to paddle in Waldenmere. Except for Rachel. I hovered outside Park View, watching her trudge along the pavement, head bent low. She stopped by the gates of the park but didn’t go in. She seemed rooted to the spot.
I went over to her. “Rachel.”
Her shoulders jolted at the sound of my voice.
“Iris.” She took a shallow breath. “I was just…”
“You don’t look well.” I placed my hand on her arm. “Why don’t we go and sit on that bench over there?”
She pulled her arm away. “I’m fine. I must get home.”
“Are you scared to go into the park? We won’t go near the clubhouse, I promise.”
Panic creased her face. “No. Why would I be?”
I spoke softly. “I think something horrible happened to you there.”
Tears glistened, and her breath became ragged. “How did you know?”
“There’s blood on the bottom of your bag. And Cook says an extra chopping knife has appeared in the kitchen.”
Her mouth opened, but no words came out. Her chin dropped down to her chest.
“Let’s sit down.” This time she let me lead her over to the iron bench, and I felt the tremor that ran through her as we walked through the park gates.
“You were here that night, weren’t you?” We sat down, and she threw her fabric bag to the ground.
She nodded, her pale blue eyes glistening. “I wanted to read before I went home. I was sitting under that tree over there.” She pointed. “I didn’t mean to stay so late, but I wanted to finish my book. I got up when I realised how dark it was getting.”
“You started to walk home?” I prompted.
“I wish I hadn’t gone over there.” She twisted a crumpled handkerchief in her hands as she looked towards the clubhouse.
“You must have been terrified when Mr Taplin attacked you.”
“Bastard.” She spat the word out.
I nodded.
“He came out of nowhere.” Her eyes were blazing with anger. “His arm… it sort of looped around me. He lifted me off my feet and threw me against the wall of the clubhouse. There was a knife. I thought he was going to stab me.”
“What happened?” By her feverish expression, I guessed she desperately wanted to tell someone about her ordeal.
The words came tumbling out. “He pulled at my dress with one hand and held the knife in the other. The blade was jerking around. He was going to cut me. I managed to free both of my hands and pushed his arm as hard as I could. I wanted to get the knife away from me. And it, it…”
“The knife cut him?”
“It went across his throat.” Her shocked expression showed she was still amazed by what she’d done. “He looked surprised. Blood spurted out, and he crumpled. I just stood there. I wanted to shout for help, but when I tried, nothing came out.”
“What did you do?”
“The knife was lying on the ground. I picked it up and put it in my bag. I don’t know why.” She gave a hollow laugh. “Then I walked home. I didn’t even run. I just went home as if nothing had happened.”
“It wasn’t your fault.” This time when I took her hand, she didn’t pull away.
“I left the knife in my bag. I didn’t want to touch it again. I wanted it to disappear. When Cook brought out those plates of liver…” She trailed off, her pale face tinged with green. “After lunch, I got the knife from my bag and dropped it in the sink with the others.”
I stayed silent and let her speak, feeling queasy at the thought of washing up all those bloodied knives. What had that particular knife been used for since, I wondered? I vowed never to eat liver again.
“Every time I’m in the kitchen and pick up a knife, I think it’s the one,” Rachel said as if reading my mind. She sank her head into her hands. “I can’t wait to leave Park View. I never want to set foot in that place again.”
She was silent for a long time, then mumbled, “Do you think I should tell the police what happened? I’ve heard they found stuff in his house. He murdered a girl, didn’t he? Maybe they’ll let me off.”
In the last year, I’d learned enough about court cases to know it wasn’t that simple. Rachel had no idea what she was letting herself in for. The shock of being arrested, the unbearable tension of the courtroom and the trauma of a prison cell. I had no advice to give, but I had to tell her the truth.
“They’ve arrested someone for his murder.”
Her head shot up. “But… but I did it. He was dead. I know he was.”
A nanny with two small children walked by, and Rachel stopped talking until they were out of earshot.
“That’s it then, isn’t it? I’ll have to go to the police. I can’t let someone else take the blame.” She sounded defeated, as if conceding her life was over. “It’s bound to come out anyway. Someone saw me.”
My eyes widened. “Someone saw you? Someone saw you being attacked?”
She shook her head. “No. They were on the other side of the park. But they know I was here that night.”
“Who was it?”
“A lady who’d lost her dog. She begged me to help her find her Yorkshire terrier. She told me to look behind the clubhouse while she checked the bushes. I wouldn’t have gone over there otherwise. I was calling out the dog’s name, Billy, like she told me, when the man jumped out at me.”
I closed my eyes, picturing Mrs Taplin sitting on the veranda of the clubhouse. She’d been crying and had pushed away her dog, Billy, when it jumped up to lick away her tears. Fury rose in me, and my hands balled into fists. Mrs Taplin had been in the park the night before. Not to kill her husband but to lure another victim into his path.
“Don’t go to the police,” I said through gritted teeth.
She wiped her eyes with her grimy handkerchief and shook her head. “I can’t let an innocent man hang for what I did.”
“It’s not a man they’ve arrested. It’s a woman. And she’s not innocent.”
“A woman?”
“Mrs Taplin. The widow of the man who died.”
Her mouth dropped. “But why?”
“They searched the Taplins’ house and found blood on Mrs Taplin’s clothes. She told the police she hadn’t been out that evening, but a neighbour saw her returning home.”
“Where had she been?”
“Taking her Yorkshire terrier, Billy, for a walk.”
The End