The Pale Rider
Part: 28
Rating: T
Summary: What do you do when a dead body washes up on the beach?
Beta: Captn Becky, Harper64
Notes: Canon up to May 1942. Anything else are lovely imaginations from the author's warped mind.
Disclaimer: All known characters are the creation of Anthony Horowitz and Dorothy Sayers. I make no money off this.
Scene 28
It was time, Charles knew it. What he really wanted was for Foyle to be the one doing the questioning, and eventual arrest. But the older and higher ranked detective couldn't with his injuries. Peter and Harriet had decided on staying down in Hastings for a bit longer, which means Mary would remain up at Talboys until she could return to London. At least nothing was stopping him from coming up on his next free day to visit her and the children.
Parker drummed his fingers on his desk and sighed. He had the evidence, yet he was hesitant at the same time. Maybe it was because of Foyle not being here.
Not seeing anything else to hinder him, he rose to his feet and left his office to the cars waiting in the car park. Maybe it was MI5 hovering around that was stopping him, although he had yet to see anyone. It wouldn't really surprise him if the governmental agency was watching his every move. Just as he reached the door leading to the outside he turned back around. He stopped the first constable he came across and requested that he and at least one other go and collect Hamilton to bring him in for questioning. Giving them the two addresses, hoping he'd be at least one, he walked back to his office, mind buzzing with questions he thought he needed to ask the man.
Some time later he received word that Hamilton was in one of the interview rooms waiting for his arrival. Normally, he'd just have the man arrested and be done with it, but this time was different. He suspected that Foyle would want to know Hamilton's reasons for actually killing his wife, and possibly Miss Woollenhouse also. He only hoped that Hamilton would talk, but in all likely hood he wouldn't. If that happened, at least he could report back at least something to the higher ranked detective. Then there was the detective up in Norfolk. Common courtesy required him to pass word along to what was left of the Hamilton family about what happened to Mrs. Hamilton. "Damn shame," he muttered as he shook his head. Their children lost both parents by what seemed like a senseless act of murder.
He turned the corner and went through another set of doors. The hall that spread out before him had sets of doors spaced together at equal intervals. Next to the two on his right was a constable standing guard.
"Mr. Parker," the uniformed officer nodded and reached out for the door handle.
"Is Mr. Hamilton present?"
"Yes, sir. We made sure he didn't have any weapons on him."
"Thank you," Charles nodded then indicated the door.
With a pull, the officer opened the heavy metal door. In the room beyond was a table and a couple of chairs. On one wall was a window where he could see another constable sitting guard. Hamilton was on the far side, and pacing the room. "Mr. Hamilton, have a seat." Parker indicated one of the chairs.
The man's eyes shifted around the room as if he were a caged animal. In a way he was, Parker mused. When he finally sat down, Parker took the other chair.
Leaning forward Charles interlaced his fingers and rested them on the table. "Do you know why I had you brought in?"
The caged animal look disappeared, revealing one of arrogance. "Yes," he raised an eyebrow, "but there's nothing you can charge me with."
"Maybe, then again maybe not."
Hamilton folded his arms. "What do you mean by that?"
"Well," Charles paused, "There were several men who witnessed your actions."
Hamilton snorted. "If I killed Miss Woollenhouse there was no one there to witness it. It was so easy," he gave Charles a feral smile.
Charles narrowed his eyes. "So you admit to murdering Miss Woollenhouse?"
The sentence brought Hamilton up short. "I did not say that." He pointed a finger towards Charles, "Don't put words in my mouth."
Charles gave him an ironic smile, "I never stated why you were brought here. You did that all by yourself." He drew his fingers across the wood table.
Hamilton frowned, then closed his eyes, realizing what he just did. "There's still no evidence."
"You're correct about that, there is no evidence with Miss Woollenhouse's murder, but," Charles leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers again, "there is evidence for something else."
Leslie gave him a wary look. Charles knew the man was now on the defensive, he only hoped that he wouldn't pick his words carefully. Yet, it did sadden him to an extent that the man before him felt no remorse for murdering his wife.
"Who?"
"Your wife."
Hamilton snorted. "There's no witnesses."
Charles shook his head. "That's where I beg to differ. There were several servants-"
Hamilton moved his hand in a dismissive motion. "Servants are nothing."
Charles leaned forward again. "Servants are subject to the King just like everyone else is. And since they witnessed your argument and then killing of Mrs. Hamilton…." He paused, "What made you so angry that you had to kill her?"
Hamilton let his shoulders drop. He looked down and closed his eyes. "Because she found out."
"What did she find out? Was it Miss Woollenhouse, or something more sinister?" He didn't want to state outright about the spying, but at the same time he wanted Hamilton to know that he knew all about it.
With his last words Hamilton's head shot up and his eyes were wide. "Both." He hesitated, "It looks like you caught me."
"Were you wanting to be found out, Leslie?"
"I'm not sure. I've lived this way all my life. At least it's now over with."
Charles nodded and stood to move towards the door. "One last thing. Detective Foyle caught a glimpse of you just as you were forcing the car he was in off the road. That means you will also be charged with attempted murder of a police officer."
And with that he left the interrogation room. It was sad that an entire family was destroyed by the actions of one man. Charles only hoped there would be other family members that would be able to raise his children. He didn't want them lost in the system, especially since they were at war.
When Parker made it back to his office he sat down in his chair and sighed. He always felt exhausted and relieved at this point in an investigation. After several minutes he picked up the telephone and called down to Hastings. "Sir, it's finished. Yes, he did." And with that he ended the call.
Straightening, he scooted up to the desk and started organizing the paperwork that would be filed by the end of the day. "One more down," he muttered.
When the door opened he raised his hand to protest about how his visitor should have knocked. Before him an older woman stood, smartly dressed with a walking stick. He folded his hands on the desk, mostly to cover the information on the Hamilton case. "And you are?"
She took a step forward. "You may call me Miss Pierce."
Only one group of men would give possible fictitious names, and that was MI5. "The government?" Charles asked.
"Maybe. I'm here for Mr. Hamilton."
Charles shook his head. "I'm sorry, but he's in gaol for murder."
Pierce raised an eyebrow. "Because of Miss Woollenhouse?"
"No. He killed his wife and there are witnesses to the fact."
"We will be taking him anyway."
Charles sat back in shock. "You can't just take him."
"I can and I will." She leaned heavily on her cane. "He's a spy Mr. Parker, and one that we've been after for a very long time. I will say you did our work for us in finding and arresting him, which we are very grateful."
"And you show that by taking him away?"
Pierce gave him a smile and turned and walked out of the office.
"Damn."
TBC...
