Page 10 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)
C HAPTER 10
D ID ALL INTERROGATIONS TURN A room into an icebox? Lydia shivered despite the open window allowing in the summer heat. She accepted the curved-back seat Detective Lawson offered, but she refused to rest her elbows atop the chair’s arms. Neither he nor Officer—no, Detective—Hall would be such tyrants as to tie her into place, but they might if they discerned how much she desired to flee. Is this what her characters felt? If so, she’d not done their torment justice.
Detective Lawson motioned for Marcus to claim the seat next to her, then he made himself comfortable in the one across the table from her. Leaning back in his chair with one ankle crossed over his knee, he appeared relaxed and nonchalant. Detective Hall, on the other hand, stood in the corner behind his colleague and cast a thundering cloud over the room. She tried not to squirm under the intensity of his scrutiny, but it was hard not to with how it felt he could see straight past the lies she’d yet to form.
Lies she debated whether or not to follow through with.
Marcus had insisted once the police knew Dupin’s identity, so would the newspapers. Her and her family’s safety would be at risk, but was deception really the best course of action?
All it took was one peek at Detective Hall to know what his answer would be.
But he wasn’t a woman. He had no idea what the ramifications of admitting she was Dupin would be. She had a pseudonym for a reason. Being a romance writer had its own societal risks, but nothing worse than a turned-up nose or denial of entry to some pretentious ladies’ club she hadn’t really wanted admittance to anyway. Murder mysteries, on the other hand, especially when surrounded by scandal and accompanied by a manhunt—that posed a very real danger. Marcus’s description of Mr. Clemens’s soulless delight in the carnage only added to the certainty that it would be a fatal mistake to reveal herself.
“Mr. O’Dell tells us that you and Dupin have a close relationship.” Detective Lawson folded his hands over his stomach, looking for all the world that this was merely a casual conversation. “Is that true?”
In the chair next to her, Marcus disguised his head shake with a chin rub.
It would be so easy to go along with him—to deny any connection and allow him to step in as her hero. But lies worked like a deck of cards. You might be able to build a house out of them for a little while, but at some point, the whole construction would collapse.
But if she were careful, she needn’t fabricate anything. All she had to do was convince them Dupin was incapable of committing those crimes without divulging the full truth of her identity.
“That is true, and I can personally assure you he is innocent of murder.”
There. She’d been honest.
Detective Lawson tilted his head, an underlying skepticism revealed in the action. “May I ask how you can be so certain? These murders were committed at night. A time you should have been abed.”
The ball might account for late-night knowledge, but not the lecture. And Detective Hall would question her if she revealed she’d been with Dupin at the station. How could she truthfully account for Dupin’s whereabouts without revealing herself? She tapped a finger against her leg until a moment of brilliance struck her.
“As I rarely sleep before three in the morning, I would know if Dupin was not in bed when he should be.”
There. Let them refute that.
She smiled until she noticed Detective Hall stiffen in the corner, his eyes wide.
Marcus sank back in his chair and covered his face. “I can’t believe you just said that.”
His mumbled words reached her but didn’t make sense. What was wrong with what she’d said? If she was awake and able to verify Dupin’s whereabouts, that should clear him of suspicion.
Detective Lawson leaned forward. “Are you insinuating that you share a room with the man and that is how you can account for his whereabouts?”
Heat blazed into her face. That’s what they thought she meant?
But of course they did.
She should have known better than to say the first thing that came to mind. Her first ideas always needed tossed and completely rewritten.
How could she explain that she knew exactly where Dupin was at every moment of every day without revealing herself or impugning her reputation? Yes, she shared a bed with Dupin, but it wasn’t as scandalous as it sounded.
“I assure you as an unwed woman living in her father’s home that I have never shared a room with a man.”
“Then the question stands, how can you know for certain that he wasn’t involved?”
“You’ll just have to trust me that I can.”
Detective Hall’s shrewd and calculating stare warned that he wouldn’t allow her answer to stand. “Are you protecting your father? He’s the only other man I can imagine whose whereabouts you could track at night.”
Oh dear. Implicating Papa was the last thing she wanted to do. “No. My father would never, ever break the law.”
“He knows specific details of the crimes. Details that made it into Dupin’s books but not into public record.”
Her stomach churned. Papa had helped with her research, albeit without his knowledge. “Anyone with access to the justice system might be able to obtain those particulars. I’ll vow on a Bible that my father is not Dupin.”
“Are you saying that Dupin has access to the justice system? What kind of access?”
Evasive answers were more difficult to devise than she’d assumed they’d be. She picked at one of the many splinters on the table’s edge. “He knows people and is an impeccable researcher.”
Detective Lawson redirected his poorly veiled interrogation. “Are you romantically involved with Dupin?”
Lydia couldn’t help the laugh that escaped at the absurdity of the question. Romantically involved with herself? Oh yes, she could see that now. Walking through Burnet Woods at sunset, holding her own hand as she admired her reflection in the water’s edge. Hugging herself was possible, but kissing might prove interesting. Although she did buy herself chocolates and flowers on occasion to help spur romantic ideas for her stories. So maybe that counted.
“I don’t see what’s so funny about that question.” Detective Hall straightened and leveled a glare at her that must make the worst of criminals shake in their boots. She certainly was.
“My sincere apologies for appearing to not take the question seriously. However, how I feel about Dupin is irrelevant to the truth of his innocence.”
He stepped to the table. “Then give us his name and address. If he is innocent, he has nothing to fear.”
“Nothing to fear?” Was he really so naive? Even now, the panic clawed at her throat. “What about those picketers outside? Or the downfall of his and his family’s reputation when the newspapers discover who he is? Or the manhunt underway? I assure you, there is plenty to fear.”
His demeanor suddenly softened. “Do you fear what Dupin might do to you if you reveal him?”
His sudden consideration and compassion took her aback. It was sweet and heroic but completely unnecessary. “I do not fear Dupin. I only fear for him and his family. I’ll do anything to protect them.”
“Then tell us who his family is, and we’ll guard them.”
“My father is a coroner. I see the limitations of your resources. You do not have the necessary manpower to do that. Besides, the only way to protect them from scandal is for no one to know who they are in the first place. Dupin is innocent, I tell you. Turn your investigation elsewhere.”
“It doesn’t work that way, Miss Pelton.” Detective Lawson sighed. “He’s our best lead, and we must pursue it to the end. Now, you can either choose to reveal his identity, or we can inform Mr. Clemens of the Cincinnati Commercial that you are connected to Dupin and allow the public to extract the information from you. Who do you think Dupin would want you to protect more? Him or yourself?”
The cad!
Marcus shot to his feet. “That is an unfair and manipulative choice to require of her. No gentleman would place such a burden upon a woman.”
Detective Hall scrutinized Marcus, and the harder his stare grew, the tighter Lydia’s throat squeezed. If he’d noticed Marcus’s signals or the intimate conversation they’d held in the foyer, it was more than likely Marcus had just made himself the primary suspect.
“Marcus is not Dupin.” That was one truth she wouldn’t shy away from. He didn’t deserve the consequences of a false accusation.
“No one said he was.” Detective Lawson tented his fingers. “But your defense of him is intriguing.” The corner of his mouth twitched in suppressed satisfaction, probably because he thought they’d outwitted her.
Well, they both were wrong. “I can see the accusation in Detective Hall’s face just because Marcus came to my defense.”
“Other clues suggest his defense is more than gentlemanly concern.” Detective Hall crossed his arms.
“It’s true that I care a great deal about Lydia.” Marcus regarded her with eyes that confirmed he desired more than an editor-author relationship. “And if it will protect her, I will gladly claim Dupin’s identity.”
“No, Marcus.” She stood and gripped his arm. “You are not Dupin. You cannot lie to protect me.”
“A hero is always willing to make sacrifices for the woman he admires.”
The stolen quote from her last romance novel and his affectionate smile should have made her swoon into his arms and reward him with a kiss. At least that was how her heroine had responded. But not her. Not when it meant the loss of so much. Marcus needed a good shake by the collar and to be told he was being an idiot. Not only would the declaration ruin his reputation and career, but it would continue to waste the police’s time.
Or worse, he’d be convicted of something he hadn’t done.
She had to make him see reason. “This is a worthless sacrifice. Think of your job. Your reputation. Your family.”
“I think I get to determine what is worth the sacrifice and what is not, and you are worth every sacrifice.”
“I am sure Miss Pelton will enjoy adding your overtures to her next novel, Mr. Monroe, but we are not searching for heroes.” Detective Lawson rose from his chair. “However, you do fit the build of a man capable of committing murder. If you are claiming to be Dupin, then I’d like to see proof. Samples of your writing alongside the drafts that Dupin submitted for editing would suffice. We need to examine one of his manuscripts for another purpose anyway. I assume you have those filed somewhere on the premises?”
Marcus peeked at her, doing a poor job of hiding his distress.
They both knew the bluff would soon be found out and Detectives Hall and Lawson would return to pressuring her.
“It may take me some time.” Marcus gave her a meaningful stare that indicated she should use his absence to come up with a better story for Dupin’s identity. “The last book released three months ago, and edits were even farther back.”
“We have as long as you need. Hall, wait with Miss Pelton while I accompany Mr. Monroe.” The subtle glance at her and then back to Detective Hall clearly communicated his assignment—get her to talk.
“Yes, sir.”
The door clicked behind their exit, and Detective Hall took the seat Lawson had abandoned.
Resigned, she sat back down, expecting him to dive directly into questioning her, threatening her, or trying to trick her into revealing information she didn’t want to disclose.
He said nothing.
The silence lingered.
And lingered.
And lingered.
Lydia tried to think of a plausible story, but she couldn’t while sitting under his unnervingly silent observation. Had this silence occurred even two weeks ago, it wouldn’t have bothered her, for her mind was never quiet anyway. The voices of characters, story ideas, or snippets of research she’d uncovered would have filled the spaces quite comfortably. But since the newspapers had declared the manhunt for her, the only work her imagination did was on how the world would react if they discovered Dupin’s identity.
Maybe if she led Detective Hall to discuss other things, she might be able to relax enough to create a believable story. “Congratulations on the promotion to detective.”
“It isn’t official yet.”
“Still, I’m sure it is well deserved. From what I’ve seen, you have a sharp mind. An admirable and necessary quality in a detective.”
“I’m not sure my mind is as sharp as I thought. I cannot make you out, Miss Pelton. I want to believe that you are the woman of good character you claim to be, but all I see before me is a goat thief protecting a man who may very well be responsible for the death of four men. And you want me to believe that dime novels do not corrupt a person?”
The question may have been rhetorical, but she needed to answer. “I’ve made many mistakes in my life, but you cannot presume to know me just because you’ve only seen me at my worst. Just like you cannot presume to know Dupin only by his novels.”
“Dupin’s continual hiding behind a pseudonym, even when it comes at the cost of lives, declares him to be a selfish brute and a coward.”
She clenched her fists beneath the table and hoped the rest of her body would not betray her personal offense. She might be a coward, but she wasn’t selfish. She had tried to come forward with proof of her innocence. It just wasn’t good enough for the stubborn men who didn’t have the good sense to start hunting someone else. “Dupin is not selfish. He values justice and truth. Those stories give the victims the justice denied them. He might be a coward for not coming forward, but there is more to his reasoning behind it than you know.”
“I’d know if you told me.”
“I’ve already told you. If he comes forward, his life and the lives of those around him will be ruined.”
“And what about the lives of those dead men? Their lives and the lives of those around them have been forever altered in ways that cannot be repaired. Why should Dupin be exempt? Would not his own version of justice demand that he suffer for the injustices he’s committed?”
“Their deaths were not his fault! He just wrote the stories. He didn’t kill them.”
“Those men were exonerated of their crimes. Even if they shouldn’t have been, it isn’t up to Dupin to decide their futures. He could have written any fictional story he wanted. Instead, he chose to rewrite the narratives of real cases, using details so distinct that no one would question who Billy Poe pursued. Their fictional deaths served as an exact guide for the very real deaths of those men. The exact guide , Miss Pelton.”
The endings of her Billy Poe novels flashed through her mind, and she shuddered. The villains’ deaths had always mirrored those of the crimes they’d committed. She’d never been graphic, only alluding to the deaths they received, but had it really been enough for someone to use? The nausea from earlier returned.
“Dupin is not a hero, nor is he a man worth protecting. Even if he didn’t physically commit murder, he corrupted a reader to do the deed he wasn’t willing to do himself. Dupin is as responsible for their murders as he’d be if he’d slain them himself.”
With each statement, the bile built in her throat.
No. Murder happened because of sinful choices, not literature. She was not responsible for their deaths. She hadn’t killed them.
Except in fiction.
Did that make her complicit, at least in part?
Lydia wrapped her arms around her stomach as she rocked to abate the nauseating cramp.
But Detective Hall didn’t stop talking. “Tell me. Are you still willing to risk your reputation for that man? Is protecting his identity worth what it will cost you?”
Acid burned in her throat, making her voice croak. “It doesn’t matter what I say. The end will be the same for me.”
Detective Hall rose from his seat and rounded the table to crouch beside her. His voice gentled. “We can keep your name out of the newspapers if you tell us Dupin’s identity. You will not suffer the same as he. I promise you. We can protect you.”
She shook her head and did the only thing she could do. “You don’t understand. I am E. A. Dupin.”
He didn’t believe her. She could see it in the frustrated tension in his face. Feel it in the puff of his breath as he determined his next tactic.
Finally, he stood and shook his head. “I do not understand why you would sacrifice your family for this man. You cannot be Dupin.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Detective Lawson dropped two stacks of manuscripts on the table. “I am afraid she is. Apparently Miss Pelton has a murderous streak.”