Ha'penny by Jo Walton Read Free Book Online

raised his eyebrows.
    The door opened again to reveal a woman in her mid-twenties, with neatly permed fair hair and an anxious expression. She wasn’t at all what Carmichael had expected; much younger and prettier. You wouldn’t expect a man to run around with a woman thirty years older than his wife. Still, there was no accounting for taste.
    “It’s my husband you’ll want,” she said, without hesitation. “I only drive to the station to meet him, and I’ve never been over the speed limit. You’ll have to talk to him, and he’s not here. I’m about to go and pick him up.”
    “Sit down, Mrs. Kinnerson,” Carmichael said. “My name is Inspector Carmichael, of Scotland Yard. I’m not here about the car.”
    She looked at him anxiously. “I have to go and pick my husband up from the station. I’ll be late.”
    “Sit down, please,” Carmichael said. “And might I sit down? And perhaps you could ask the maid to make some tea?”
    “There isn’t time,” she said.
    “I think you’ll find there is,” Carmichael said.
    She made a gesture, spreading her fingers. Carmichael found her hard to interpret; was that a shrug, a shudder, acquiescence, negation? She perched on the edge of the sofa, but did not summon the maid. Royston and Carmichael took the chairs. Royston took out his notebook and pencil.
    “You are Mrs. Kinnerson?” Carmichael asked.
    “Mrs. Matthew Kinnerson,” she replied, proudly.
    “And your Christian name?”
    “Rose,” she said, licking her lips nervously. “I don’t quite see—”
    “And you were expecting your husband, Matthew Kinnerson, home tonight?” Carmichael went on.
    “Yes, on the five-forty, and I need to be at the station to meet him or he’ll have to walk home and he won’t like that.” Her fingers played with the fringe on the arm of the sofa.
    “And where has he been?”
    “To work. He works at Solomon Kahn, the merchant bank.”
    He must be doing well there, too, to be able to afford to run both these houses. Though perhaps he had private means. “He works Saturdays?”
    She looked puzzled. “Yes. Well, not every Saturday, but quite often, yes. He’s working today.”
    “You weren’t expecting him to go to the house he owns in Hampstead tonight?”
    She looked up, startled. “No. What do you know about that?”
    Carmichael felt like a brute. “Mrs. Kinnerson, it seems your husband may have gone to Hampstead this morning, to see Miss Lauria Gilmore.”
    “No,” she said. “No, he was going to work. He wouldn’t have gone there. He’d have told me if he was going. Anyway, he wouldn’t have gone in the morning, he’d have gone after work.”
    “Did he spend the night there last night?” Carmichael asked.
    “No. Spend the night? I don’t know what you’re talking about. He was here last night and he left here on the eight-fifteen, I drove him to the station myself. I don’t suppose he’s ever spent a night in Hampstead in his life.”
    Royston and Carmichael exchanged glances. Royston shook his head pityingly at the depth of her denial. “Do you think we might ask for that tea, now?” Carmichael prompted.
    Mrs. Kinnerson’s eyes went to the clock on the wall, and realized that five-forty had come and gone, and with it the train. She shrugged again, and went to the door. “I don’t know what my husband will say,” she said. Then she stepped out into the hall. Royston shook his head. They could still hear her. “Hannah! Bring tea.”
    “But what about—” they heard the maid ask.
    “Never mind. I don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on. Mr. Kinnerson will just have to walk from the station, that’s all there is to it. Bring tea, the police gentlemen have asked for it.”
    She came back into the room and sat down more firmly. “Now, I’ve ordered tea for you, so could you please tell me what this is all about?”
    Carmichael took a deep breath. “There was an explosion this morning in 35 Bedford Drive, Hampstead. Miss