The Child Lives On
Chapter Fifteen
The child was staring me out of countenance. I've never known what to do with children. Even when I was a child, I didn't know. I did know, however, I was supposed to be making her uncomfortable.
It was late in the evening, in the sitting room of a large opulent mansion, ornately furnished, with more space than could possibly be necessary. The aroma of fragrant plants filled the room, a pleasant change from the acrid smell of blood in the study. The child sat opposite me in a well-padded chair - legs dangling, hands on lap, wearing a pretty pink dress adorned with lace. Auburn curls framed a little round face with chubby cheeks and bright green eyes. Sergeant Peterson sat off to the side taking notes. I carried a notepad and pencil as well, just for show.
I cleared my throat. "Miss…"
"Emily," she said.
"Miss Emily, you found the body?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"Did you scream and get hysterical?"
She glared at me. "Is that your usual line of inquiry?"
As a matter of fact, it was my usual line of inquiry. I like to keep my suspects off balance. "What did you do when you found the body?"
"I summoned help and had a look around."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why did you look around?"
"Curiosity. I have never seen a murder victim before."
"Murder? How do you know it was murder?"
"Maybe it was that huge bloodstain on the front of his shirt."
"Funny you should notice that, being hysterical and all."
"Monsieur, is this a serious investigation?"
"It is, Miss Emily. Believe me, it is." I was beginning to warm to the child. She would brook no nonsense. "Miss Emily," I continued, "what was your relationship with the victim?"
"Monsieur Cumberland was my benefactor."
"Benefactor?"
"I am an orphan."
"Are we importing orphans from France? Don't we have enough of our own?"
"How do you know I am from France?"
"You have an accent."
"I do not."
Not wishing to argue, I refocused. "About your benefactor. Are you in his will? Do you know?"
"In his will?" she said, somewhat perplexed. "I do not think so. If I do inherit anything, it will have been put in trust, which means I will never see it."
"Surely the executors…"
"There are mitigating circumstances I do not wish to discuss."
"Miss Emily, you have an impressive vocabulary for such a small child."
"Monsieur, do you always complement with the back of your hand?"
"Extraordinary. What do you say, Peterson?"
"I'd say she has you pegged, Inspector," said the sergeant.
"Who asked you?"
The sergeant was grinning.
This interview was getting out of hand. Again, I refocused. "Miss Emily," I said, "what did you observe when you, as you say, looked around?"
"Do you really want to know?" she asked.
"Of course."
"The ashtray was full of cigarette butts, two different brands."
"And what does that signify?"
"I do not know. I merely observed it."
"Go on."
"There were spent cartridges on the floor."
"Anything else?"
"A fire in the fireplace with bits of burnt paper scattered about. The window was open. Outside the window were footprints, big footprints. Do not worry, Inspector, I did not touch the windowsill. I went outside to inspect the footprints, being careful to not walk over them."
"I should have you on the force, Miss Emily. My men usually blunder through everything. Eh, Peterson?"
The sergeant rolled his eyes. I chuckled inwardly. Turnabout is fair play.
"From that window to the outer wall measures one hundred yards, through hedges," continued the child. "You will find footprints, broken branches and cloth fibers."
"You saw all that at night?"
"I have a torch."
"Weren't you afraid the murderer might still be about?"
"Why would he be?"
"I…"
"He obviously went over the wall."
"Are you sure?"
"Now that you mention it, the murderer might still be in the house, and the footprints, fibers and such red herrings."
"You are quite the clever girl."
She blushed and looked down at her hands. Complements were her Achilles' heel.
"Let's get down to brass tacks," I said. "Where were you this evening?"
"In this room, reading," she said.
"What were you reading?"
"The Hound of the Baskervilles."
"Did you figure it out?"
"Did I figure what out?"
"The solution."
"I have not finished."
"It's quite good. Don't worry, I won't spoil it for you."
"Thank you."
"Were you alone?"
"Yes. Blanche was already in bed."
"When did you go into the study?"
"After I heard gunshots."
"How did you know they were gunshots?"
"I was startled by several loud bangs, and did not know what they were until I saw Monsieur Cumberland lying on the floor."
"Did you go directly to the study?"
"Yes."
"Did you see anyone besides the victim?"
"No."
"No one at all?"
"No one."
"I see. Is there something you would like to add, Sergeant?"
"No, Inspector," said the sergeant.
"Miss Emily, is there anything else you wish to tell me?"
"No, Monsieur. That is all I know."
"Thank you for your time. On your way out, please ask the butler to step this way."
During the course of the investigation, I saw the child from time to time around the estate. I would have liked to speak with her again, but lacked opportunity. In my line of work, intelligent conversation is scarce. However, you can't just invite a little girl over for lunch. It just isn't done.
The case was ridiculously simple. The culprit (a partner in the victim's company) left fingerprints all over the desk, the windowsill and the revolver which was found in a ditch across the street. My participation in the matter was completely unnecessary. Where are all the clever criminals? Obviously not in Binghamton.