Page 101 of Evil at the Essex House
“We talked about it,” Myrtle admitted, almost reluctantly. “About killing the girl and getting rid of the body. About having Flossie Schlomsky disappear, never to be found again. Even about just leaving, and leaving her alive.”
Sarah gave a little sob, and Myrtle flicked a glance at her before she continued, “But we had nothing to show for the past year. For everything we’d done. All the risks we’d taken. We’d lived well, sure, but we’d have to stop once the gravy train ended. I couldn’t stay in the flat anymore, and Ruth and Sid couldn’t keep the cottage. We’d have to go somewhere else and start over, and there was no money. So we figured we would get one more big score before we were done.”
“The ransom.”
Myrtle nodded. “It was only fair. If we’d known things weren’t going to last longer, we would have saved more, but since we didn’t…” She shrugged.
There was silence. I couldn’t think of anything to say, frankly, and I think we must all be in the same boat. The sense of entitlement was staggering. The lack of remorse was disturbing. The acts of evil had been appalling, to say the least. Flossie’s parents were huddled against the wall, pale and shocked. It looked as if all the fight had gone out of Hiram Schlomsky during the recounting of the plot to drain his fortune, or as much of it as they could get their hands on before they were caught. I would have expected him to curse and bellow and throw about him with his cane, but he just stood silently, clutching the cane in one hand and his wife’s hand in the other. She was equally pale and speechless, her eyes dark with pain and her cheeks wet.
“You’re awful people,” I said to the group of prisoners on the floor. “I can’t believe you did that. You deserve everything that’s coming to you, and more.”
Ruth avoided my eyes, and Sid just gave me a stony stare. Myrtle, however, smirked. “I fooled you, though. Didn’t I?”
“Only because it never would have occurred to me that someone could do something so evil. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Pish,” Myrtle said. “Nature favors the strong. Survival of the fittest.”
“Not anymore,” Tom informed her. “You’re all under arrest for kidnapping, for extortion, for murder…”
Christopher tugged on my hand. “Let’s go. Tom can handle this.”
I nodded, and let him pull me towards the kitchen door and the outside.
We were still standingin the street outside three minutes later, when Tom and Ian Finchley came out herding the prisoners. Tom and Finch must have requested his help with the arrestees, because when they came out of the house, Wolfgang had a hand on the back of Ruth’s neck and was pushing her along in front of him. Finch came first with a tight grip on Sid’s arm, and Tom brought up the rear with Myrtle.
All three of them were stuffed into the back of the Tender, and handcuffs were fastened to hooks in the floor on both women’s parts, and then Tom turned to us. “The parents went upstairs for a moment. You’ll get them back to London when they come out?”
Christopher and I both nodded. The Hackney we had taken from the Savoy to Thornton Heath earlier was still here, and would suffice to get us all back to Town, even if we’d also have Christopher with us now.
“Come and see me at the Yard in the morning for statements. I’ll be busy with this lot until then.”
We promised that we would, and then Finch got behind the wheel of the Tender, and Tom climbed into the passenger seat, and the motor turned over, and…
“Give my love to Lord St George,” Myrtle said cheekily from the backseat, and for a moment it was as if I was looking at Flossie again, the Flossie I’d thought I knew before all this happened: the American manhunter with the teeth, the boy-crazy heiress looking to trade her fortune for a British title… and then it all crashed down when Sarah Schlomsky’s voice rose in a howl of grief from the upper floor of the cottage, and Christopher’s hand squeezed mine, and the Tender pulled away down the street.
“Ready to go back to Town?” the Hackney driver asked, calmly as you please, as if he had missed everything that had gone on inside the house while he’d been sitting here, and as if Scotland Yard hadn’t just driven away with three prisoners.
“Just as soon as the others come back out,” Christopher told him, and the driver nodded. The three of us stood in silence and waited for Sarah Schlomsky’s lament for her daughter to die away and for life to resume.