Page 15 of Murder in Blackfriars

“Only while Inspector Ferguson is away. You were brought to me, Mrs. Holloway, because you were seen fleeing the scene of a crime not an hour ago. I ordered constables to wait for youin Cheapside, but you have turned up here instead, I assume to report said crime.”

His chilly stare told me he knew all about Mr. Banks, his death, Daniel, my flight through the maze of warehouses, and perhaps Mr. Grimes. Also, that I had better not lie to him.

“I was seen?” I asked in a faint voice.

Scott inclined his head. “One of the constables who went to investigate recognized you as you ran off. Your constant interfering with police business has given you something of a disadvantage, as many of the men now know who you are.”

My indignation returned. Scott did like to behave as though I were beneath him, when in truth, my position in society and his were not much different.

“I have hardly committed a crime,” I said. “Mr. McAdam more or less pushed me away, probably so your constables did not lock me in handcuffs and haul me to the local nick. I fully intended to tell the police everything, including the fact that Mr. McAdam could not have killed the man. I was with him when we stumbled across the body.”

“That remains to be seen,” Scott informed me. “Why were you and McAdam wandering about the docks in Blackfriars?”

“Can I not speak to Inspector McGregor?” I asked. The inspector was bluff and growly, but he’d learned to believe my explanations.

“Inspector McGregor is even now at the scene of the crime.” Scott’s tone became icy. “I am taking statements of crucial witnesses, of which you are one. Please answer the question.”

My heart sank, but I let nothing of my uneasiness show in my expression. “Very well. What I am about to say is the truth, and I would appreciate it if you did not doubt me. We were, in fact, to meet Mr. Banks—the man who was murdered—at a nearby pub. When he didn’t turn up, we went searching for him.”

Scott regarded me for a full thirty seconds without moving before he lifted a pencil and started scribbling on a sheet of paper.

“Why did you look for him at Puddle Dock?” He didn’t look up as he posed the question.

Because Mr. Grimes had whistled a signal to Daniel, but I decided to keep mum about Mr. Grimes as long as I could. One didn’t peach on one’s friend, especially when he’d saved one’s life.

“We searched for Mr. Banks all over the area,” I said. “We were to meet him at a pub in Upper Thames Street, the Friar and Hound. We reached the pub about eleven—the clocks were striking the hour as we entered—which was the agreed-upon time. When Mr. Banks hadn’t arrived by quarter past, we went out looking for him in the streets nearby. Puddle Dock was only one of them.”

Scott continued writing. “How did you know this Mr. Banks?”

“I didn’t. Never met him.” Before Scott could give me one of his derisive stares, I hurried on. “Apparently, he is an itinerant builder, resident of Holland Street in Southwark. Mr. McAdam probably already has told Inspector McGregor all about him.”

Scott’s mouth flattened at my repeated mention of Inspector McGregor. “What was McAdam’s interest in an itinerant builder from Southwark?”

I wanted to say that it was Mr. McAdam’s business, but by Scott’s expression, he might decide a night in a lockup would loosen my tongue. He was that sort of policeman.

I bravely met his gaze. “I will tell you what little I know. Mr. Banks claimed he had information about Mr. McAdam’s parentage. Whether he truly did or was only swindling Mr. McAdam out of a few coins, I have no idea. I was to attend themeeting, at Mr. McAdam’s request, because he wanted my opinion on this very question. As Mr. Banks came to grief, very likely at the hands of a footpad, I never had the chance to decide whether he had genuine information or was trying to dupe Mr. McAdam.”

Scott flattered me by noting all this down without interrupting. While he was a brusque man who brooked no fools, he did at least take down witness statements without disparagement or mockery.

“How long were you with McAdam today?” was his next question. “Did you meet him at the pub, or beforehand, and at what time?”

“He came to me at my friend’s house in Clover Lane,” I answered dutifully. “This was not long before eleven. We walked from there to the pub, and as I said, waited for about a quarter hour before setting off to search. I’d say we came across Mr. Banks at half past.”

I watched Scott neatly note the times, setting them as headers to columns. UnderJust before 11he wroteMet McAdam at Clover Lane, then under11 o’clock, he wroteFriar and Hound Pub.UnderApprox Half Past 11he jotted the wordsFound Banks deceased.

“Did you see anyone else in the area?” Scott asked when he finished writing. “Anyone at all? Either running away, skulking about, or going about their own business?”

“No one,” I said. This was true, apart from Mr. Grimes. “There were men unloading a barge at one of the docks, but they weren’t moving among the warehouses. I heard no one running away, though it is a noisy area—trains were rattling by overhead—so I might not have noticed.”

Scott looked up from his notebook and gave me a beady-eyed stare. “Are you certain?”

“Yes,” I stated.

Scott knew I was lying about something, but I would hold firmly to my loyalty to Mr. Grimes as long as possible.

“Mrs. Holloway, if you sawanyone, or anything, even if it seems unimportant, you must tell me. If the detectives find no one else to pin it on, McAdam could go down for this murder. What you say could save him from the noose.”

I hid a wince. He didn’t have to put it so bluntly.