Part 34 (1/2)
”Mr. Marr always kept his shop open until eleven on Sat.u.r.day.” Margaret looked at the teacup in her hands but didn't raise it to her lips. ”That night... when Mr. Marr was ready to close, he told James-”
”James?” Becker asked.
”The shop boy. He told James to help him put up the shutters. He told me to go out and pay a bill at the baker's and then buy oysters for a late supper.”
Margaret hesitated painfully.
”I always felt nervous being on the street that late, but Mr. Marr got angry over the slightest things, and I didn't dare refuse his orders without being dismissed. So in the dark I hurried to the oyster shop, but it was closed. Then I hurried to the baker's shop, and it was closed. I kept thinking how angry Mr. Marr was going to be. When I finally returned, I found the door locked. That proved to me how angry Mr. Marr was for me taking so long. But as much as I was afraid of him, I was more afraid of being robbed or worse on the dark street, so I knocked on the door. When that didn't bring him, I pounded. Soon I kicked it, shouting, 'Mr. Marr, let me in!'
”I put my ear against the door and heard footsteps. They stopped on the other side. Someone breathed.
” 'Mr. Marr, I'm scared out here!' I shouted. But the door didn't open. Instead the footsteps went away, and suddenly I had a feeling like a black cat had walked in front of me. It made me more afraid of what might be in the house than anybody on the street robbing me. I can't tell you how relieved I felt to see the lantern of a night watchman. He asked me what the trouble was, and then he pounded on the door, shouting Mr. Marr's name. The noise disturbed a neighbor, who crawled over the fence in back, saw the door was open, and went in to find...”
The pause lengthened.
”Drink your tea,” Emily encouraged her.
”The neighbor unlocked the front door. I never saw a man look more pale. By then a crowd was behind me. Everybody rushed in, taking me with them. I saw Mrs. Marr on the floor. Farther away, I saw James, the shop boy. Something wet dropped on me. I looked up and saw blood on the ceiling.” Margaret shuddered. ”Then the crowd pushed me past the entrance to the back of the counter, and that's where I saw Mr. Marr on the floor. Blood was on the shelves. The baby, I kept thinking. The Marrs had a three-month-old son. I prayed that he was all right, but then someone found the baby in a back room. The cradle was broken into pieces. The child's throat was...”
Margaret's hands shook, spilling tea.
Emily took the cup from her.
”That's something n.o.body's been able to understand,” Becker said, ”why the murderer killed the baby. Three adults would have been a threat to someone who tried to rob the shop. But a baby... from what I was told, the killer didn't steal anything.”
”That wasn't why he did it.”
”Excuse me?”
”He wasn't there to steal.”
”You sound as if you know.”
Margaret nodded.
”What did he want? Why did he kill everyone? You told the constable at the desk that this had something to do with the recent killings,” Ryan said.
Margaret nodded again, her face revealing her torment.
”Tell us, Margaret.”
”Not to a man.” Margaret turned toward Emily, her left cheek revealing her scar. ”Maybe I can tell a woman.”
”I believe I would understand,” Emily a.s.sured her.
”So ashamed.”
”If you finally talk about it, maybe you'll feel...”
”Better?” Margaret exhaled deeply, painfully. ”I'll never feel better.”
”We'll leave the two of you alone,” Becker said.
He and Ryan stepped from the room, closing the door.
Emily pulled a chair next to Margaret. She put her hands on each side of Margaret's wrinkled face. She kissed Margaret's troubled forehead.
”My father says there is no such thing as forgetting,” Emily said.
Margaret wiped at her eyes. ”Your father is right.”
”And yet my father writes compulsively about his memories, as if by putting them into words, he can dull them, no matter how sharply painful they are. Margaret, free yourself.”
Even tears couldn't hold back Margaret's words.
A HALF HOUR LATER, Emily kissed Margaret's brow again. Shaken by what she had heard, she walked to the door and opened it.
Ryan and Becker waited on the bench in the corridor. The building was now full of sounds as constables arrived, the terrors of the previous night showing on their faces.
Emily recalled something her father had written. The horrors that madden the grief that gnaws at the heart.
Ryan and Becker stood.
”Emily, your father escaped,” Ryan said.
”Escaped?”
”The news reached Scotland Yard while you were talking to Margaret. Your father jumped from Brookline's coach. Everyone's been ordered to search for him.”
After what Emily had learned from Margaret, this further revelation made her reach for the wall to steady herself.
”We need to find him,” Becker said. ”Do you have any idea where your father might have gone?”
Emily continued to feel off-balance.
”Last night, when he was being taken away, your father shouted, 'You know where I'll be. Where I listened to the music.' Do you know what he meant?” Ryan asked.
”No.”
”A concert hall perhaps.”
”Father never mentioned one.” Emily drew a breath, trying to clear her thoughts. ”Thank heaven he escaped.”
Where he listened to the music? Something stirred in a chamber of her memory, but although she did her best to bring it forward, it wouldn't come.
”Did Margaret tell you anything?”
”A great deal. Is there a church in the area?”
”She needs a church?”