. . .

THE DISPATCH INQUIRY
Chapter Seventeen

Rajesh was back to his usual flashy self by drinks in the drawing room, although Amy noticed the way his eyes met Stuart's when he took a drink from him. It was a tiny thing, unnoticeable without looking.

Trying to distract herself from what Dave's telegram revealed, Amy volunteered for the game of bridge Penny organized and tried to engage Leonard in a conversation about his work and his patents between plays. But she rarely played bridge and made a mistake in her distraction, upsetting her partner Bernadette.

"No more science talk!" Penny declared. "It's too distracting. And it bores me."

After that, Amy looked across the table to her partner. "Bernadette, where else are you planning on traveling here in England?"

"I am hopeful for a few days in London after leaving here."

"I live in London," Amy volunteered, "I could show you around. Take you to the Tower and all the sights."

"Oh, yes!" Penny said. "Leonard and I are going down, too. I would love to tag along. I have a dark wig I can wear."

"Thank you. But if I have meetings, I will not have time to sightsee," Bernadette demurred.

Looking down at her cards, Amy said, "That's too bad. You mentioned how eager you were to see England; it's such a shame you'll be spending all your time in meetings."

"I am hopeful I will be able to return in the future, perhaps for longer."

Just then, dinner was announced.

"Shoot!" Penny threw down her cards. "We didn't even get in a full rubber! Well, we knew we'd have to pick it back up after dinner, anyway."

Dinner proceeded without incident, and somehow reminisces of childhood became the topic of conversation. Amy only shared her love of reading, how she'd defy her mother to stay up late and read by the light of a single candle.

Just as pudding was finishing, Kripke, who had remained surly and uncommunicative throughout the meal, stood. "I have an announcement."

Any lightness from the previous conversation evaporated. Not for the first time, Amy was struck by how easily everyone seemed to forget there had been a murder until Kripke slapped them with the knowledge again. Once he was certain everyone was looking at him, Kripke explained, "I have asked the Superintendent to join us for tea here tomorrow. I will be making an arrest, and it would make my job easier if you would just be assembled in the drawing room. It shouldn't take long. No fuss, please. That is," he turned his body toward the head of the table, "if that's alright with you, Cooper."

Sheldon swallowed. He did not address the obvious insult. "Indeed. Whatever you think is best. I'm sure we're all eager to put this business behind us." Then he, too, stood. "Perhaps we should go into the drawing room. If that's alright with you, Kripke."

The Inspector only offered another of his wolfish smiles, and everyone filed across the hall. But the pallor had been cast, and everyone either sat silently with a drink or meandered around the room, casting about for something to occupy their thoughts. There was none of the jovial entertainments and camaraderie of the previous nights. Even the planned game of bridge was forgotten. Sheldon was the first to make excuses and leave for his room, and everyone else, after another few awkward minutes, followed after.

After several days of fine autumn weather, it was raining, quite heavily, the next morning. The day was dark and dreary and there seemed to be no promise of a letup. Amy had to turn on the desk lamp to attempt a crossword puzzle but nothing worked out as she hoped.

The rain was especially vexing as Amy felt anxious energy everywhere she went and not just in herself. The dining room was empty when she went down to breakfast earlier, and when Leonard entered shortly after her he barely exchanged five words in his rush to eat. Not that Amy knew what to say, either, other than her comment on the weather. Every other guest or staff member she passed walked briskly, quickly meeting her eye and nodding but not engaging in conversation. She suspected they wondered if she already knew what was going to happen at tea time, and she did not blame them for their discomfort.

What no one knew was that her anxious energy came from waiting for the letter from Dave. She considered telling Stuart about it, stressing the importance of having it brought to her as soon as it arrived, but she decided against it. Although Kripke may not consider him a suspect, she could not help but do so. She felt compassion for his predicament with Rajesh, but that same predicament gave them both a motive for murder, especially if Ramona had been trying to blackmail one of them. No, it was best not to alert anyone of the importance of this dispatch so that the letter would not be subverted.

A walk outdoors would have been an outlet for her frustrations but pacing around her bedroom while listening to the wind lash against the windows was not. Finally, she sat down at her desk and tried again to concentrate on a crossword puzzle. But simple clues about flora and fauna and well-known tidbits of history did nothing to distract her. She could not get the murder or what Kripke was planning for teatime out of her mind.

She set aside the puzzle for the newspaper and took up a clean sheet of graph paper. On every other line, a letter in each square, she wrote the name of each member of the house party: Cooper, Nowitzki, Hofstadter, and so on. Then she wrote clues: swastika, dagger, and others, some that Kripke had considered and some that he had not. Finally, she wrote places: Cambridge, Oxford, Berlin, Paris, Warsaw. There were a pair of scissors in the desk drawer and she used those to cut each small strip apart.

Looking down at the strips of paper, Amy considered them, not as clues to a murder, but as crossword clues. One thing that had struck her over and over again, even before Penny mentioned it that day in her suite, was that everything and everyone here seemed to be connected to at least one something or someone else. There were no true strangers - except maybe herself, although Sheldon was familiar with her work - and so, most likely, there were no true coincidences.

She arranged a few strips at a time, overlapping and rearranging as necessary. She was not doing it match up letters, although it was easy to overlap vowels; rather, she matched up ideas. One strip fit with another if she considered one connection but not if she considered it differently. Which wasn't a failure; even in her themed crosswords, there were filler words. Mere bridges necessary to link a relationship but not part of the overall theme.

Her pulse slowed and her respiration deepened. Her concentration focused. Amy tested one theory and then another. But something was missing. Would it be what Dave would provide in his letter? Leaning back, away from her work, Amy rubbed her eyes and let them relax and wander around the room, from the rivulets of rain on the window to the soft chairs by the fireplace, and then back to the stack of The Medford Gazettes left on the corner of the desk. The most recent issue she had found remained on top.

A pause and Amy saw it. She looked back down at her strips of paper, tore one away, and rearranged the rest. She stood and studied her pseudo-puzzle, not of words but of ideas. She analyzed for errors, misconceptions that could mislead her. And there were one or two assumptions, but they were theories that she felt confident Dave's letter would confirm for her. Because she already knew. Everything fit neatly into a box. And she knew what was inside.

Looking down at the solution, Amy grinned.

Before she could gloat, though, there was a knock at the door, startling her. "Just a moment!" she cried, opening a desk drawer and sweeping the little scraps of paper into it.

It was Stuart. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss, but I wanted to confirm you still wanted your lunch brought up to you. Most of the other guests have asked for lunch in their room today."

So they weren't just unsociable with her. That was a small relief. "Yes, please."

"Very well." Stuart started to walk away, but Amy called him back. "Yes?"

"Is Lord Cooper eating in his room, as well?" The butler nodded. "I think I'll join him there."

She did not give the baffled man time to reply. Instead, she slipped past him, walked to Sheldon's room, knocked on his door, and waited for him to call.

"Oh! Miss Fowler. I thought you were Mr. Bloom with my lunch." Sheldon sat in the same chair he had the morning they breakfasted together. He made no move to get up, although he set down the copy of Amazing Stories he had been reading.

"I know. I'm sorry to intrude, but I thought perhaps we could eat together? I have some things to ask you."

While she had been speaking, she heard someone come up behind her. Sheldon looked over her shoulder and nodded. "Yes, of course. Mr. Bloom, if you please."

As Amy settled into the other club chair, she felt a little guilty of taking advantage of the butler. Was he smarting over the lapse in protocol? Or was it just Sheldon who minded such things?

Waiting until the door was shut behind her, Amy said, "So Inspector Kripke intends to arrest someone at tea." Sheldon grimaced at the topic, but she saw no reason not to state things plainly. "Why the face? He announced his plan last night."

"I know." Sheldon sighed. "The murder was horrific and now one of my guests shall be arrested for it. It's all very . . . distressing. And I hate having my business printed for everyone to read."

Amy frowned and said sharply, "I understand you do not appreciate my dispatches, but I am just doing my job."

His face turned toward her, his eyebrows raised. "I did not mean to insult your work, Miss Fowler. I understand you are doing what must be done. I thought it was clear I'd rather have you do it than a noisy stranger. Or worse, an incompetent one. But I'd rather you had scientific matters to cover instead; your reports on such are always a delight to me."

"Well . . . thank you." Amy cleared her throat. She had not come to upset him, merely to clarify a few things. "I'm sorry I snapped. I think we're all a bit on edge."

Before he could reply, there was a knock at the door and Stuart returned with a trolly covered with a lunch tray. Amy and Sheldon sat in silence as he arranged a few items and lifted the lid of a soup tureen. It smelled lovely, and the idea of a warm soap on such a miserable day was comforting.

After the soup was ladled, the tea was poured, napkins were arranged, and they were alone again, Sheldon said, "I spoke privately to Mr. Bloom this morning."

"Oh?" Amy asked, trying to betray nothing as she lifted her teacup. She knew that the two men, master and servant, no doubt spoke privately every day. But this conversation merited mention.

"I informed him that if he wished to move his bedroom permanently to the same room in which he painted and committed buggery, I had no objections."

"Phhhllpp!" Amy grabbed a napkin and tried to blot up the spilled droplets of tea from her jumper.

"Odd. Mr. Bloom had a very similar physical reaction to my statement. I thought he would be pleased."

"Yes. Yes, well, I think it's the way you phrased it."

"Is it not an accurate description of what you inferred to me -"

"Yes, but . . . never mind. I am glad you have come to an arrangement. Will you speak to Dr. Koothrappali as well?"

"No. I'm sure Mr. Bloom will inform him. We shall not speak of it again."

It was such a stuffy, aristocratic thing to say that Amy smiled softly. She picked up her spoon and spent a few minutes enjoying the meal. Sheldon, too, did not seem in a rush to chat. Unlike Leonard and the other guests she'd seen today, Sheldon exuded calm, his movements as sure and precise as usual. It had been a series of mostly pleasant encounters this week, sitting or walking so companionably beside him, having either stimulating conversation or agreeable silence. So many men, in Amy's experience, rushed to fill the room with the sound of their own voices.

But she was going to have to ask her questions eventually. "Tell me about the poacher last year," she said, tearing off a piece of bread.

"The poacher?" Sheldon looked up and then dabbed at his lips with the napkin. "I don't know what you could wish to know." He paused. "Surely Kripke doesn't think he's related to the murder, does he? The man is locked up."

"I don't think Kripke thinks much of anything," Amy grumbled. Then she explained, "I found some old copies of The Medford Gazette. They were in the billiards room, to start fires, but I read them. The last issue was about the poacher, about Kripke's arrest." She paused and took a drink of tea. "His motive was political, too, it seems."

"Oh. Yes, I see your connection." Sheldon frowned. "If it had been a local lad, killing for food for his family, I would have insisted on a slap on the wrist. But if you've read the article, you saw he somehow had it in his head that I'm a Communist just because my mother was American."

"Because of President Roosevelt's policies, wasn't it? And the young man was supposedly a Nazi sympathizer because of it? I have to confess, I read his confession twice and I couldn't follow the rationale."

"That's because it wasn't rational at all. It's why I pushed to have him put away as mentally incompetent, not jailed. Although," Sheldon looked down, "I'm not sure that was the right choice, either."

"It's difficult not knowing the answer to everything," Amy said softly.

Grunting, Sheldon said, "It is not a habit of mine, I assure you."

With a small smile, Amy replied, "But Kripke was very proud. I suppose he should be, finding a criminal and all that."

"It is his job," Sheldon said. "He merely executed an assigned task correctly. By finding a dirty, smelly man using bloodhounds. Not a miracle."

"Do you think it's a miracle he has determined the killer in this case?" Amy asked.

"No, because I don't believe in miracles. I'm not my mother. However, I confess I am at a loss. I just don't understand one of my guests doing this. Look at me! Confessing two things I don't know in the span of a minute. This is a horrible day."

Amy sat her teacup down and leaned closer. "Lord Cooper, if I may, I think I need to tell you something before this afternoon."

The serious tone in her voice caught his attention. "You know who the Inspector is going to arrest?"

"I think so. Inspector Kripke hasn't exactly been circumspect with his opinion. However, I have no idea how he's going to prove it. He hasn't told me. I know he does additional investigating at the police station - phone calls and such - but I am not privy to what he discovers there. So it's possible he was misleading me. But still, yes, I think I know who he will arrest this afternoon."

Sheldon didn't move a muscle, his gaze was so intent on her. Amy took a deep breath. "It's you, Lord Cooper."

"What? How preposterous!" Shock, anger, fear: they all played out in rapid succession across Sheldon's face. "I have very high personal hygiene standards. I wouldn't last a second in prison!" Then fury. "This is all Kripke's doing, I'm sure of it! I should not have trusted him!" Then suspicion. "Wait just a minute. Is this some sort of ruse you cooked up, to try to trick me into confessing?" Amy opened her mouth, but before she could answer, Sheldon's face changed again. "Oh dear. I know we were playing that charade that I was Schroedering's cat, but I tell you the honest truth, Miss Fowler. I did not kill Dr. Nowitzki. Please tell me you believe me."

"I can't." She looked down at her skirt and then back up. The plea was not unexpected. She knew before she came it might be said. But that did not make it easier. "Please understand. I can't believe you or not believe you. I only thought you should know. I want - I can't - it wouldn't be proper - not yet. I'm waiting on . . . something."

"To prove my innocence?"

Amy swallowed. "Honestly, I think it could . . . I wish - That is, I don't know."

"Then why tell me, if you think I am guilty?"

"Because I thought you should know. To prepare yourself. And - and because I need a favor. Your help."

"It's a fine time to change your principles, Miss Fowler." It was harsh, but not unreasonable.

"I know. But I'm asking you to have faith in me."

Sheldon reached for his tea and took a long drink. And then another. "I do. So ask me. Anything."

"I think I know who killed Dr. Nowitzki."

Sheldon tilted his head slightly. "So you disagree with the Inspector. Otherwise, why would you need my help? I suppose that's something in my favor. Although, this too could be a test. But if I were guilty, I would be stupid to deny you; it would only confirm your suspicions."

There was no need to reply. Amy liked to think that Sheldon knew enough about her to know that she had already considered all the possibilities he was now considering aloud. Sheldon continued, "Is it that why Kripke won't listen to you? Because you disagree? If he thinks I'm guilty, I don't see how I can convince him to give your theory any thought."

Amy shook her head. "I haven't told him yet. I want to be sure. I'm still waiting on some . . . evidence."

"Evidence?" Sheldon asked. "From where?"

"I have my sources." Never had Amy felt her head and her heart at such odds. Indeed, she would have argued, until this moment, that the heart was merely a metaphor for the emotions controlled by the brain. "I just hope it shows up on time," she added. "But I need to plan regardless."

"Plan?"

Realizing their conversation has turned into a series of more incredulous questions from Sheldon, Amy apologized. "I'm sorry I can't tell you everything, that I'm being vague. But I need your faith in me for just a little while longer."

"You have it. You always have, you know."

Amy felt a rush of heat to her cheeks but tried to ignore it. "I need to convince the Superintendent to listen to me. Before Kripke makes his arrest. I have things to say. And I need a drawer. Or a cabinet. Somewhere to store the evidence until I reveal it."

"Drawer? Reveal it? Like a chemical explosion?"

With a sad smile, Amy said, "Not exactly. Like Hercule Poirot at the end of a mystery. He assembles everyone and he reveals the truth."

"You'll have to tell everyone's secrets, won't you? Isn't that how that works?"

"Everyone has a motive, remember?"

Sheldon frowned. "And that thing we're not speaking about any further . . . that, too?"

"I'm still trying to figure out a way to avoid it, but I don't see how. I wish it had no bearing . . . but, well, their movements do," Amy replied, mirroring his discreet phrasing.

"All along, I thought I was the cat in the box. But maybe it was you. Like one of your crosswords, all those little boxes. You don't know how frustrating it is. I wish I could have figured you out. And now I'm worried there won't be enough time." Amy ducked her head, Sheldon's words hitting her with more force than his previous outrage. She heard him sigh deeply, perhaps even sadly. "Yes, of course, anything you need. I'll tell Mr. Bloom to meet you downstairs in the drawing room to arrange it."

"Thank you. And I also need two more things . . ." As he listened, Sheldon raised first one eyebrow and then both. Before replying, he paused briefly but then acquiesced without asking what she planned to do with them. He got up to give one to her and promised the second would be delivered to the drawing room. Amy wrapped her palm around what he gave her, feeling the weight of fate in her hands.

With simple thanks and a murmured excuse, Amy stood and made her way to the door. Her bowl was not yet empty, but she was too full of emotions to eat more.

"Just a moment, Miss Fowler." Amy turned back. Sheldon stood in front of his chair. "I don't know if it's helpful, but their movements . . . They often play chess together. I know it's irregular, but if Koothrappali is my only guest and I have something else to do, I don't object to Mr. Bloom being gracious and helping him pass the time. Provided his tasks for the day are completed, of course."

"Of course." Amy smiled. "Thank you. It is helpful."

Sheldon took a small step forward. "Amy, if you aren't successful - and I suppose, possibly even if you are - this may be the last time we speak privately?"

Her heart flopped. They did not need to address why. "I suppose it is."

He crossed the room, standing near to her. Amy watched him closely, her breath quickening as he approached. There is so much she had left unsaid, so much she had hidden away. Sheldon was correct; there was not enough time.

Her unoccupied hand was lifted, and she looked down as Sheldon cradled it in his palm. She watched as he raised it and pushed the sleeve of her jumper up. His palm smoothed along the exposed skin of her forearm, sending frissons up her shoulder. Then, he tipped forward and Amy's eyes met his above her wrist. Her breath came in shallow pants. Without looking away from her face, he settled a small, tender, warm kiss on her arm, on the flesh where it first covered her veins, protecting them and hiding them from the world. A kiss so light it shattered her pulse and so soft her breath caught on its edges. Just as gently, he lowered her hand and stepped away without a word.

Amy turned and opened the door, fleeing to her room before the first tear fell. She reached up to catch it but it spilled onto her forearm instead, washing away the kiss where she had never been kissed before.

Later, after drying her tears and meeting Stuart to help him arrange the drawing room, Amy took a long, hot bath. In the water, doubts plagued her. What seemed so clear during her crossword puzzle exercise earlier had been blurred by her tears. The promised letter from Dave had yet to arrive, and, against her better judgment, she told Stuart how urgent it was and instructed him to bring it to her immediately. Without it, she had a theory - a very sound one, she thought - but little else. Clues to secrets, yes, but not enough. Without the letter, she knew she would be scoffed at, perhaps not even listened to, and Lord Cooper would be led away.

Of course, the contents of the yet-to-arrive letter were unknown. Inspector Kripke could be correct. Lord Cooper could be guilty of murder. Everything hinged on Dave's letter.

Clean and dry, Amy stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her choices. She pulled on the new jumper Penny had given her. It was more snug than what Amy usually wore but it fit. The cream color went with the brown skirt from her traveling suit, and she studied the effect in the mirror. Was it professional enough? Serious enough? Confident enough?

A knock at the door startled her, but it was Stuart, holding out an envelope.

"Miss -"

"Thank you." She did not let him finish as she grabbed the letter from him and shut the door in his face. An apology could be given later. For now, her heart pounded as she ripped into the envelope. Dave's scrawl was terrible and she squinted as though that would clear it up. Nevertheless, she read the words quickly, hungry and eager and frightened. Once and then twice to be certain she understood.

Amy cried out, pressing the pages against her chest and leaning her head against the panel of the door, as her emotions spun and settled into place, secrets and clues crossing and uncrossing into the grid in her mind.

To be continued . . .

American president Franklin D. Roosevelt's New Deal policies were loudly criticized by so-called Old Right conservatives of the 1930s, who believed he was creating too large of a government with too much spending, something that some saw as the hallmarks of Communism. Although this criticism was much more common in the United States than in Britain, it did exist there as well.

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