Of Night and Dark Obscurity

“It’s better to be safe,” she agreed. “My grandmother and father have told me the same thing.”

But she had disobeyed them when she had visited Val that night.

“How is your Inspector?” Stella asked suddenly.

“He’s not mine,” she began. “He’s buying a house. It’s a beautiful house newly built in Westminster. I’ve seen it. Peter Davies is selling him the property.”

“La di da!” Stella said smiling. “Westminster.”

“I think he’s frustrated. The case is high profile and difficult. So much is at stake.”

“I saw the Punch article about you two,” Stella admitted.

“That was abominable. I was so angry. It was outrageous that they take something so serious and horrible and turn it into smut for sales.” Caroline fumed.

“It’s what they do. Pay them no mind.” Stella told her.

“I hope he finds the killer soon, Stella. It grieves me to think of Irene lying in her grave alone and her killer still free to roam the streets searching for new prey.”

???

Felix and Val took the cab to the address that Felix had followed Oliver to. It was a room not far from Val’s own lodgings. It was on the second floor in a rundown part of town.

“Jesus,” Val said as they came to their destination. “I would have thought the man would live better than this.”

“Maybe he’s frugal with his coin.”

“Maybe.”

Taking the stairs quickly, they were able to find his room at the end of a badly lit hall. Knocking twice on the door, it opened to reveal Oliver Morris. The middle-aged man was going bald with his hair turning salt and pepper. He had a neat mustache and was dressed in trousers and a shirt. He was shocked when he opened the door to reveal the detective and his sergeant.

“May we come in?” Val asked politely.

Oliver nodded and when they entered the room, Val was surprised, and then not at all by the surroundings. Bookcases lined one complete side of his sitting room and the small table was set for tea with a pot and one cup and saucer. His bed was made and covered with a fine linen bedspread and his clothes pressed and hung for the next day’s work.

“You choose an interesting part of London to live, Mr. Morris,” Val said.

“It’s merely a place to lay one’s head. It doesn’t need to be Marlborough House,” Oliver returned.

“Quite so.” Val agreed. “We wish to speak with you privately away from Mrs. Pratt. She seems a respectable sort of women.”

“She is,” Oliver agreed heatedly.

Felix looked quickly at Val who did not look back. “May we sit?”

“Please.”

Felix sat on the small blue sofa while Val took a seat at the tea table across from Oliver.

“My duty is to find a killer Mr. Morris. I don’t wish any harm to come to Mrs. Pratt, nor her establishment, nor yourself,” Val told the older man.

He nodded. “I understand Sir.”

“You perhaps are fond of Mrs. Pratt,” Val conceded.

“I am. She was having a hard time of it when her husband died. I heard of it and offered my services.”

“Then you are to be commended,” Val said. “I want to tell you about five women. You don’t know them. They’re strangers to you. But to me, they are very important. Effie Whitson, Bessie Turner, Aida Harris, Irene Derry and Prudence Finch.”