A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [33]
"Mrs Rogers," he began, "I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news for you concerning your sister. She was killed in London on Wednesday night, by an automobile. She had no identification on her, and it took us some time to determine her identity and to find your address."
To my astonishment, she did not react at all, other than a slight tensing of the fingers on her knitting. As if reminded of what her hands held, she withdrew a needle from the ball, pulled loose some yarn, and began absently to knit.
"Thank you for telling me, Chief Inspector," she said calmly.
Lestrade shot a startled glance at me and leant forward slightly in his chair.
"Mrs Rogers, did you hear me?"
"Yes, of course I heard you. I may be falling prey to the infirmities of age, but hardness of hearing is not one of them. You said that my sister was hit by an automobile on Wednesday night. I knew she was dead. I did not know how she died. Thank you for telling me." She looked up then from her work, though the rhythm of the needles remained unchanged. "Will you arrange to have the body sent here for the funeral? I'm afraid I don't know how that should be done."
"Mrs Rogers—" Lestrade stopped. I reflected that it was probably quite rare for his face to be given the opportunity to form an expression of complete incredulity, if only for an instant. She faced him calmly. "Mrs Rogers, how did you know your sister was dead?"
"I knew. I woke up shortly after midnight, and I knew she was dead. I felt her go."
After a long moment, Lestrade snapped his mouth shut and sat back into his chair. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "Mrs Rogers, there is some indication that your sister's death may not have been an accident."
I had my head bent over the notebook, but I watched her hands and the muscles of her face as my pen scratched over the paper. Her fingers faltered for a moment, then resumed their odd, disembodied movements. She said nothing.
"There are certain indications that someone wanted something that was in your sister's possession, Mrs Rogers. Have you any idea what that might have been?"
The old lips twitched and again Dorothy Ruskin passed through the face.
"No, Chief Inspector, I have no idea. I have had little contact with my sister for many years now, and I would have no way of knowing what of her possessions would interest another person."
"I understand that she was here several days ago. Did she say anything to you that might have referred to it, comments about something of value, for example, or a trip to a bank vault?"
"No."
"Did she receive any letters or visitors while she was here?"
"There was a letter from London, a Colonel something. She was planning to meet with him in order to discuss her proposals for an archaeological project, after returning from a meeting with Mr and Mrs Sherlock Holmes in Sussex. Dorothy was—" She stopped suddenly and drew a sharp breath, then whirled to look at me, accusation and— was it fear?— on her old face. "Russell? That's the name that was on a telegram she had."
"Yes, Mrs Rogers," I said, watching her politely. "I am assisting Chief Inspector Lestrade. He also thought my presence might be of use to you, that you perhaps would like to know how your sister had spent her last day."
Her eyes held mine for a long moment, then turned to Lestrade, and finally went back to her hands, which then resumed their work. Her mouth twitched angrily.
"Spying on me, that's what you were doing. Sneaking in here pretending to be sympathetic and asking questions."
"Why should we want to spy on you?" I asked innocently. Her fingers paused, and she went on as if I had not spoken.
"I don't know what Dorothy was doing there in the Holy Land. She never told me, just went off and left me to care for Mama, never a thought for helping out. I am sorry she's dead, but I'm not surprised, and I can't say I'll miss her all that much." She came to the end of the row,