‘I did as you suggested, Miss Doughty, I told the police about the man who fell in the cellar and how the boys helped to hide the bones, and I accepted that there would be a fine for concealing a death and offered to pay it, but now they have arrested Isaac for murder!’
Frances guided him to a seat and poured a glass of water. ‘I am sorry to hear it. The police are sometimes a little eager to arrest the man nearest to the death, but they can have no evidence of wrongdoing. Dr Bond himself said at the inquest that a fall down a flight of stairs could have produced the injuries. If it is possible to show that the death could have been an accident, then I doubt that the matter will even come to court.’
‘Please, Miss Doughty,’ he begged, ‘go with me to Paddington Green and speak to Inspector Sharrock. He won’t let me help him question Isaac as he doesn’t trust me to interpret the signs truthfully. Happily, a former teacher at the school has offered to help. But I know he listens to you. You might make him see reason.’
‘I will come with you, and please do not give up hope. We may find that the Inspector is simply following a procedure that he is obliged to follow in order to clear your son’s name.’
They were just about to leave by cab when Mr Candy arrived unexpectedly with another request, and Sarah stayed behind to interview him and find out what he wanted.
‘I am afraid Isaac did himself no good when he confessed to the murder of Mr Eckley in a misguided attempt to save me,’ said Goodwin dejectedly. ‘Have you been engaged on that case?’
‘No, it is solely in the hands of the police.’
‘While I was at the station the Inspector asked me some more questions about it. I am very glad that you refused to work for Eckley in his attempts to blacken my character. I would have thought less of you had you done so, but there are others in Bayswater who are not so nice about how they earn their bread.’
‘I cannot say I am surprised.’
‘I was told that the detective employed by Eckley, thinking that his work might contain some clue as to the motive of the murderer, and probably hoping for a reward, has turned over his papers to the police. It seems he did rather well. Through means I do not pretend to understand, he was able to discover that it was I who placed Isaac with his foster parents when he was an infant. Really it seems impossible to have any secrets nowadays.’
Frances could not help smiling at this observation. ‘Were you able to help the police?’
‘I was obliged to inform them that I knew the identity of Isaac’s mother but not the father, and they pressed me most strongly on the point. But I would not reveal what I knew except to say that while there may be ladies and gentlemen in the high life, who guard their reputations so jealously that they will commit murder to keep their secrets, I do not think that can be the case here.’
As soon as they reached Paddington Green Dr Goodwin approached the desk sergeant and asked if he might see his son. The sergeant gave a sideways look at Frances but regarded the doctor with more sympathy. ‘He’s being questioned now sir, so you’ll have to wait. There’s a lady in with him who knows all the –’ he waved his hands in a rough approximation of sign language.
‘Could you at least send in a note to say that Dr Goodwin is here?’ asked Frances. ‘We will wait until the interview is over, but we would very much like to speak to the Inspector and hope that we might be permitted to take Mr Goodwin home after his ordeal.’
‘I don’t know about you taking him home,’ said the sergeant, gruffly, but he looked carefully at Dr Goodwin, who seemed to be about to break down. ‘I’ll get a note sent in to say you’re here. You have a sit down now, sir. Will you stay with him, Miss Doughty?’
‘Of course I will,’ replied Frances, seeing that she was valued as a nurse if not a detective.
It was a lengthy wait and Dr Goodwin, looking like a man haunted by memories, said very little except to reiterate that Isaac was the best of sons.
‘I am sure he has never forgotten that you rescued him from a life of destitution,’ said Frances.
Goodwin refused to be cheered by this observation. ‘My care is being used against him, now. The police have suggested that he is actuated by gratitude because his foster parents used him cruelly and turned him onto the street. It might prove necessary to tell them the truth.’
‘The truth? How hard a commodity that is to come by.’
‘We sometimes conceal it for the best of intentions, and then it comes back twisted by time and circumstance.’
Frances hesitated. ‘I know you have been asked this before, and please forgive me for asking again, but I feel you are about to be open with me at last. Is Isaac your natural son?’
‘No, he is not related to me by blood, but he is the son of a respectable person I cannot name. Soon after his birth I placed him with a good family who wanted a child, and he was well looked after, but when he was seven his foster parents died within a week or two of each other, the father in an accident and his wife after suffering a fit. There was no one to care for him. When I discovered his situation I adopted him. To anyone who asked I said that I had found him in the street, as I did not wish his actual parentage to become known.’
‘If there is no crime involved then I doubt the police would be interested,’ Frances reassured him. ‘I am of course naturally curious, but if it has no relevance to any wrongdoing I will not enquire further.’
‘I do not think revealing what I know would assist anyone.’ His face was hard and shadowed with despair, and Frances felt sure that the truth had once again slipped away from her.
The Inspector appeared, followed by Isaac Goodwin, who was being comforted by a lady teacher and escorted by a constable. Dr Goodwin immediately leaped up and ran to him. The constable looked worried and was about to intervene but Sharrock waved him back and permitted father and son to embrace and wipe away each other’s tears. There was a quick conversation in sign language, then Goodwin turned to the Inspector with an expression of horror.
‘You are charging him with murder? How can that be?’
‘No choice in the matter,’ said the Inspector, ‘and I’ve asked Dr Bond to have another look at the bones. Come into the office and I’ll explain.’
Goodwin signed what Frances was able to recognise was his grateful thanks to the lady teacher, who patted his arm sympathetically before he followed Sharrock to his office. Isaac, with a look of heartfelt appeal in his eyes, was taken to the cells. ‘Inspector, I wish to engage Miss Doughty to look into the matter and insist that she is present at our conversation,’ declared Goodwin. ‘One of us must have a clear mind to apply to the matter and I am afraid that today, under these terrible circumstances, it cannot be myself.’
‘As you wish,’ shrugged Sharrock. Once in his office he flung himself into his chair with an expression of extreme regret. ‘Young Mr Goodwin is a better class of person than we usually have in here, and if it wasn’t for all this business he’d be a credit to you.’
‘He is, and will always be, a credit to me. But why do you believe him to be guilty of a terrible crime? There must be a mistake! What motive could he have to kill this man? He knew nothing of the fellow’s threats against me.’
‘I’m afraid that isn’t the case. We have interviewed the schoolboys who have admitted that they hid the bones on your son’s behalf. It turned out that the victim was unwise enough to repeat his threats against you as he was leaving the school, and some of the boys were nearby. He made the mistake of assuming that as they were deaf they could not understand the conversation. In fact they could, as one of them can hear a little and they can all read speech by looking at the shape of the speaker’s mouth. I don’t know how they do it, I’ve tried but it’s beyond me.’
A memory arose and flitted across Goodwin’s features. ‘I remember now. I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I turned around no one was there. Sometimes …’ He held a hand to his head. ‘Sometimes it is hard to tell if the noise is from inside or out.’