Convicted Innocent(33)

“Why are you thinking this, sir? Now, of all times?”

Tipple pursed his lips. “Because, Sergeant – wild though this conjecture may be – I can see no reason for any of what’s happened these last three days to have happened at all if a Harker spearheaded the scheme.”

He reached across his desk and brushed his finger along a small, framed portrait of his wife. After a moment, the inspector went on in a musing voice.

“If I can make two generalities about the Harkers, they are as follows. First, whenever the Harkers come under scrutiny by the law, they draw their people in and seal up their operations to give the police no additional fodder. Secondly, loyalty within the family is fierce, but the repercussions for betrayal are brutal.”

He mashed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

“We’ve gone over the case’s inconsistencies time and again. However, what is perhaps the greatest contradiction or quandary is Frank O’Malley’s murder. Given the man’s connections, he might have met his end for some reason wholly unrelated with our current investigation. And it is also conceivable that he betrayed Nicholas Harker or someone else in the family in some terrible way that merited a swift execution, heedless of timing. But this seems completely against a typical Harker’s public business scruples.

“Add to this my confidence in Dr. Hansworth’s abilities. The hand that killed Mr. O’Malley is the same that killed Milo Gervais and all those others.”

Tipple pursed his lips. “I begin to think, therefore, that perhaps I should look at the whole situation from the opposite direction. Turn it on its head, and all. If it is so unfathomable and unreasonable that our escapee killed the one who seemed to be his greatest ally, perhaps his hand wasn’t the one holding the knife at all.”

“...Which would also mean he didn’t kill Gervais or any of the others,” Simon said slowly.

Tipple nodded.

“Nicholas Harker signed a confession.”

“And those are always honest? Mr. Harker may be merely complicit…or even innocent altogether.”

For the barest instant, the sergeant thought he knew what sentiment had darkened the old man’s expression, but then dismissed the notion at once. There could be no possible reason for Tipple to feel guilty.

“This calls into question everything we’ve taken for granted about the manhunt thus far,” the old detective said. “While I find the traces of ceramic dust on Mr. O’Malley’s clothing an enticing lead, I fear it may be a red herring. Something planted to lead us astray from our true objective.”

“Where do we go from here then, sir?”

Simon sincerely hoped Tipple had thought that far ahead, for the sergeant hadn’t an idea where to turn in a case the inspector had just rent to shambles. Fortunately, the old man had.

“Perhaps we’ll find our man if we search out whomever it is who will benefit most greatly from the collapse of the Harkers’ empire; that is, discover the person or group who will step into the vacuum.

“However,” the inspector went on, standing, “we must carry on without alerting this magician that we are catching on to his tricks. So we go wherever the evidence – the ceramic dust – leads us. Given events, I can only think the perpetrator is moving his plans quickly toward a predetermined close.”

“You don’t think we can prevent whatever’s coming.”

Simon’s alarm must have been plain in his expression, because the inspector gave the sergeant a gentle squeeze on the arm as they both moved toward the door.