Murder on Charles Street - Leighann Dobbs Page 0,62
note of Katherine’s few possessions. He didn’t comment on them. Nevertheless, there was something in the set of his shoulders and the way he didn’t meet her gaze that bespoke of his nervousness. Gorge rose in the back of Katherine’s throat—she was more and more certain that he was the murderer, afraid she had found him out. Had this truly been a wise decision? Desperate men performed unthinkable actions.
Wayland was waiting in the next room. If Katherine shouted, he would barge in without a second thought. And he was a captain, no doubt skilled in overpowering other men. Even with her ankle, she would be safe. From deeper in the house, Emma barked. Katherine missed her dog’s steadying presence.
She forged on nevertheless. “Mr. Gammon, how odd to see you here at this hour.”
He offered her a flighty smile that grazed his lips for only a moment. “I’m terribly sorry for the late hour. My day was filled with surgeries. I couldn’t come sooner.” At that, he lapsed into silence. He didn’t sit down.
“You seem nervous. Is something worrying you?”
He turned his hat in his hands, examining it from all angles.
Katherine leaned forward, raising her voice and pressing further. “Perhaps some of the notes your father kept?”
He shot her a nervous glance and took to pacing. Almost absently, he answered, “My father helped a lot of people. No doubt he kept many notes.”
That wasn’t the confession she’d hoped to hear. She raised her voice a smidge more, hoping that he, too, would speak louder for their audience. “Is that why you reacted so angrily when you found me in your father’s house? I have to wonder if there is something you didn’t want me to see.”
Mr. Gammon’s eyebrows knitted together, and he sank onto the loveseat, his shoulders slumping. He stared at the hat in his hands as if he had never seen one before. “My father…” His voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My father was a good man.”
The grief he showed was genuine. He certainly wasn’t acting like she would have expected a murderer to act, not if he had hoped to strip her of the evidence she had found. Not to mention, he didn’t act as cold or cruel toward her as he had when he found her in Dr. Gammon’s house. If he’d killed his father, wouldn’t he be more aggressive?
Perhaps it was all an act and she needed to prod him along. All men could be pushed to their breaking points, but she wasn’t often in the same room long enough to do it herself. “Your father was my friend. I know he had an important matter on his mind, and… I fear it might have hastened his death.”
Mr. Gammon shut his eyes. He swallowed audibly, even from halfway across the room.
Why wasn’t he demanding the evidence? But he kept his distance. Was he waiting for Harriet to return so he could overpower them at the same time? Perhaps he didn’t want Katherine’s screams to tip Harriet off, lest she come running in with a weapon.
But he didn’t look like a man about to resort to violent means in order to steal the evidence against him. He looked defeated. Perhaps he had killed his father by mistake and regretted it.
She lowered her voice to a more sympathetic tone, no longer keen on airing his misdeeds to everyone listening. “Sometimes our own selfish needs take precedence over those of a good man. Is that why you made certain I wouldn’t search his house?”
He shot her the briefest of glances, an ugly emotion twisting his face. “I could not bear it if my father’s reputation was to be sullied now. When I met you, I didn’t know of your intentions. Some gossiping neighbors prefer to drag anyone they can through the mud for their own entertainment.”
Was he referring to Mrs. Ramsey? She’d been curious, but certainly not as malicious as he made her out to be. Could he be referencing someone Katherine had never met? She frowned. “And that’s why you’ve come tonight—to make certain I don’t follow through and discover exactly why your father died?”
Mr. Gammon rubbed his temples. He didn’t answer. The gesture and laden silence was answer enough in itself.
Raising her voice again, Katherine said, “I think it might be best if you confessed.”
His head shot up like a startled alley cat’s. “Confess? To what?”
“Confess to your part in your father’s death. Tell me why you killed your father.”
He stood, his free