In a Gilded Cage - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,48
some missionaries is hardly dangerous.”
“And were there any signs of breaking and entering?”
“Not at all.”
“Then I’d say it was another case of overactive imagination,” he said with a relieved smile. “No, don’t throw that spoon at me!”
“The police have ways of collecting fingerprints, don’t they?” I insisted. “We could check my door and windowsills and my desk to see if someone had been here.”
“And what good would that do, my sweet?” he asked. “Unless we have a criminal’s fingerprint on file to compare the prints, we’d be no nearer to telling you who had been here. And frankly I suspect that we’d find a good many fingerprints on your window ledges and doors—don’t look at me like that. I know you dust as well as anyone else, but it’s true. The mailman and the milkman and the window cleaners would all have put their hands on your door at some time. And your friends and neighbors and acquaintances.” He smiled. “To be frank, fingerprinting is not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s never been allowed as evidence in court, either. I can see that one day it will be a marvelous tool, but until we’ve built up files in the way we have with Bertillon measurements, we can take prints but we can’t easily compare them.”
“I see,” I said. “I suppose that means no.”
“If your door had been bashed down, your window broken, and your belongings scattered in disarray, I’d be happy to take fingerprints for you. But in this case I have to say that you’d be wasting police time and resources.”
“Hmmm,” was all I could think of saying.
Sixteen
I suppose I should have been content to leave everything to Daniel after that. But never having been of a patient disposition, I was itching to do something myself. I wouldn’t have been as willing to agree with Emily’s suspicion had not Mr. Poindexter claimed to have been out of town from Friday morning until Saturday evening, when I knew very well he was in the city on Saturday afternoon. It seemed that he had gone out of his way to establish this alibi for himself—although of course he might have spent Friday night with Fifi and not have wished to disclose that fact.
I paced around my house, trying to think through how a real detective would approach this matter. Obviously test for the poison, which I couldn’t do. Interview the attending physician, which Daniel was now doing. But if Anson Poindexter was away, then he would have relied on someone else to deliver the fatal dose. I could probably find out more by speaking to the Poindexters’ maid. Unfortunately, I didn’t think it would be as easy to get the servants alone in a large apartment building as it would have been in a private house, where I could simply slip around to the servants’ entrance. I’d just have to play it by ear and take my chances. I put on my black dress again, arranged a black lace shawl over my shoulders, and went uptown to the Dakota.
On the way there I decided that I should go first to Emily’s and let her know about my meeting with Daniel the night before. She might also want to come with me to Fanny’s place during her lunch hour, and two of us might be a distinct advantage. I glanced into the shop window, with its intriguing glass globes that glowed in the morning sunlight and its displays of various preparations. I wondered if one day I’d have money to spend on my appearance and if I’d ever be as concerned about my appearance as Fanny and her friends seemed to be. Maybe there was something to an existence of hardship like mine. At least I was seldom bored!
The bell jangled as I opened the door. I was surprised to see Ned at the counter.
“Miss Murphy, wasn’t it?” he said, giving me a friendly smile.
“Oh, hello, Ned,” I said. “I just stopped by to give Emily a message. Is she out making deliveries again?”
“No, ma’am. She’s off sick today. That’s why I’m finding myself manning the counter.”
“Off sick? What’s wrong with her?” My face must have registered alarm.
“I don’t know,” he said. “She just sent a message with a neighbor’s son to say that she wasn’t well and she wasn’t coming in. Mr. McPherson wasn’t pleased, I can tell you.” He glanced into the back room, where his employer could be seen with his back to us, opening one of