‘I suppose the mud was washed off in the river as I saw none in the autopsy,’ I said. ‘But I don’t understand why the killer would dump her body out of the window?’

‘Simple. It was safer than carrying her through the corridor and risking running into someone. The window faces away from the church and towards the river. It would not be seen. Remember, this was between four and six a.m. There was no moon last night. It would have been quite dark. And raining. There are no buildings or roads with a nearby view of this place.’

I shook my head at the image. ‘Appalling.’

Holmes said. ‘It was as I feared. Poor Dillie underestimated whatever fury was unleashed here. She did not read the signs.’

‘Perhaps there were no signs, Holmes.’

‘She accepted rings from two suitors, Watson. Then asked a third young man to pawn them. Consider what she said or did to induce him to do this in the middle of the night?’

‘But … Buttons, then? The deacon was so eager to have you on the case,’ I continued.

‘Well, he was eager to find her. And he lied to us – twice.’ Holmes retrieved his boots from the hall and sat at Buttons’ desk to put them on.

‘But where is the fellow now?’ I asked. ‘And where is Hadley? I would have thought the police would be here by now.’

Holmes stiffened suddenly and looked up from his own boots. ‘The shoes.’ I followed his gaze to the armoire. ‘Watson! The shoes!’

‘What about them?’

‘There are three pairs there! Three pairs are all he owns. I noticed on our last visit: two there, and one pair on his feet. Wherever Buttons is, he is barefoot. I fear for the young man. If he is not the killer, he is perhaps dead as well.’ Holmes stood abruptly and continued to scan the room. ‘Why? And where would he go without shoes … in this pouring rain?’

Thunder cracked and a flash of lightning flooded the room for a brief moment.

My eyes closed and a flash to my childhood trauma came unbidden. A pair of ladies’ shoes, lined neatly up by the river, under a tree. Green, with ribbons. My mother’s shoes.

‘Swimming,’ I said.

Holmes stopped moving and stood perfectly still.

‘My God, Watson, sometimes you surprise me!’ He ran to the window and looked out. ‘Of course! Look!’

I joined him at the window. Through the sheets of silver rain, barely lit by the new moon, I looked across the field to the dark, rushing Cam. Silhouetted in front of it was a ghostly white shirt only dimly visible against the black of the glittering river, and seeming to float in the air was the figure of a man. He moved, and a halo of light, curly hair was caught in the glow of a streetlamp.

Deacon Buttons.

CHAPTER 37

The Sinner