Amy’s shoulders slumped. “Do you know where he went, or how long he will be?”
He reached in his breast pocket. “I have the information on where he is. He asked to have one of our footmen go to the police station and ask those two detectives to meet him at this residence.” He handed her a piece of paper with a direction written on it.
The police detectives?
She studied the paper for a minute. The location looked familiar. She sucked in a breath. It was Mrs. Johnson’s house.
* * *
William had spent a good part of Friday afternoon at Mr. Nelson-Graves’s office convincing the man to give him permission to visit the Chancery Court offices to view the trust for Mrs. Carol Whitney.
Since William did not want the barrister to become too suspicious about precisely what he was doing, it took some verbal maneuvering, but eventually Nelson-Graves agreed and gave written permission for William to access the trust papers.
It didn’t take long for William to read through the document and see that Mr. Patrick Whitney had replaced Mr. James Harding as the trustee set up for the benefit of Mrs. Carol Swain Whitney.
The week before Harding was found floating in the river.
There was apparently no difficulty in forging signatures. First Harding had done it to him in his business matters, and then Patrick had forged Harding’s name on the trust papers, turning over the trust to himself.
This morning he’d risen early, washed, dressed, and downed a bit of breakfast. After checking his pistol resting in the locked case in the lower drawer of his desk, he slid it into his right trouser pocket and left for Mrs. Johnson’s house.
He’d given Weston instructions to have one of the footmen deliver Mrs. Johnson’s address to Detectives Carson and Marsh and request that they meet him there.
With the information he’d gotten recently, it had all come together, and William was certain Patrick was the man who had killed Harding and Mrs. Johnson. His acting abilities and stage makeup had convinced William he was ill and then grieving. William was certain Whitney had switched the trust by forging Harding’s name to the document replacing the trustee, then killed Harding before he could learn of his perfidy.
William approached the house carefully. If he was correct in his assumptions, Patrick was the owner of the gun that had been used to shoot at him and Amy the night they broke into Harding’s house. He was also the person who had stolen the ledger from Amy to continue with Harding’s blackmailing scheme and had most likely taken William’s appointment book, which might have supplied an alibi.
He wanted to make this seem like a friendly visit and ensure that Whitney was unaware of his intentions before he pulled out his gun and tied the man up in preparation for the police to arrive.
He planned to offer a smug smile to the two detectives when he told them their concentration on him as the murderer had once again proved their incompetence.
William paced outside the house, hoping Marsh and Carson would catch up to him so he wouldn’t have to face Patrick alone. Eventually, afraid Patrick might see him and try to leave out the back way and disappear again, he climbed the steps to the front door.
It took a few minutes for Patrick to answer. He wasn’t wearing any stage makeup and looked quite fit and hardy. “Good morning, Patrick. I just came by to see how you were doing.” William edged his way into the house.
“Nice of you to stop by, Wethington, but as you can see, I am quite well.” Patrick did not look inviting and frowned as William stepped past him and headed to the drawing room.
William turned as Patrick followed him in. “You look as though you’ve recovered nicely from your illness. And the grief of Mrs. Johnson’s death.”
Patrick scowled. “Yes. I just told you. I am doing quite well.”
It might have been wiser to wait for the detectives to arrive, but since he had no way of knowing how long it would take, he didn’t want to give Patrick the chance to abscond.
“Have you seen your stepmother? She was concerned about you.”
Patrick snorted. “No. I haven’t seen her yet.”
William took a seat, looking as though he intended to make this a lengthy visit. Patrick sighed and sat across from him. After a few minutes of banal bantering, Patrick stood. “If you will excuse me, I need to retrieve something from my bedchamber.”
William also stood and took out his gun. “No. I don’t think so.”
“What’s this about, Wethington?” Patrick asked. “Is there a reason you are pointing a gun at me in my own home?”
“I know you killed Harding, Patrick. The police are on their way. I have evidence that you changed the trustee on your stepmother’s trust to your name the week before Harding died.”
Patrick shrugged. “So? He asked me if I would take over because it had become too burdensome for him.”
William needed to remember that the man was an actor. “I don’t believe you. Also, you told me your father left you a considerable amount of money as well as two businesses. I saw the will, Patrick. He left you one pound.”