The murders weren’t crimes of passion. There were no signs of struggle, no evidence of a sexual nature to indicate the boys had been violated either before or after death. There was nothing.
Robert narrowed his eyes and stared harder at the surrounding area, willing some evidence to appear and point to their killer. What madness was afoot in the stews of London? Not madness, he suspected, but foul play. This case had the sense of executions more than murders of circumstance.
He sighed. Whatever the solution was, they’d best find it and quick. They couldn’t keep the murders from the public for much longer. He was surprised that no one had put two and two together so far, but the sad fact was the murder of boys like these was merely a passing footnote in the brutal history of these streets.
God! It was at times like this that he longed to be at home, at his wife’s side with Christian on his knee, the baby’s laughter bringing a smile to Christy’s face and peace to Robert’s world.
But it was not to be. None other than Sir Robert Peel of the Home Office was breathing down their necks to solve this case before he found himself before the Parliament answering uncomfortable questions. This was the sort of thing that led to unrest and riots and gave the government a bad taste in its mouth. The memory of the riots surrounding Queen Caroline’s death just a few years prior were still fresh in the memories of many in the government. Sir Robert Peel had been appointed to avoid more of the same. It wasn’t concern for the young lives cut short that motivated them, but the fear of political careers cut short.
Robert whipped his hat off his head and thumped it against his thigh in frustration. His growing dissatisfaction and jaded opinions about his superiors wasn’t going to help solve this case, or his career.
“Stumped again, eh, sir?” Thom asked. “Tsk. We gots our work cut out for us, sir, we have.” He crouched down and tipped his head to the side, observing the body. “This one’s laid out different than the last two. You notice that?”
“I had not,” Robert said, shaking his head in disgust at himself. “I should have. Good eye, Thom.”
He walked over and crouched down beside Thom, observing the body as Thom was. His assistant should rightly be the chief constable on the case. He had the most experience and was an excellent policeman, skilled in detecting the sort of information many less experienced men missed. But Thom was uneducated and ill spoken. He’d grown up on the wrong side of the law, and the law never let him forget it. He was still considered by many of Robert’s compatriots as nothing more than a lackey and informant. Robert had pegged him as more immediately and enlisted his aid as his assistant. Robert had initially taken a great deal of gruff from some of the other constables about it, but he’d silenced them with his exemplary case completion rate and meteoric rise in the department. He knew he had Thom to thank for that, and he made sure to compensate Thom appropriately.
Unfortunately, their partnership had garnered unwelcome attention lately, and some of the other constables had been complaining to his superiors about it. Several had tried to lure Thom away with higher compensation or other bribes. So far Thom had remained loyal.
“See? He’s got one hand behind his back. Awkward like.” Thom demonstrated, twisting his arm behind him.
“Perhaps he fell that way,” Robert suggested, tilting his head as he imagined the boy falling down, his throat slit, losing control of this body and his limbs.
“Nah,” Thom disagreed. “Yer fall like that, yer arms are out to yer side, just swinging in the breeze like, right?” He demonstrated again. He walked over and gently lifted the boy’s head. “Head’s not smashed in, neither. He fell like that, smash his head, wouldn’t he?”
“The others didn’t smash their heads, either,” Robert pointed out. “I don’t think any of them fell. I think they were placed.”
“Placed, that’s the right word,” Thom agreed. “Like they passed out drunk and they friends set ’em up so’s they wouldn’t puke themselves, right?”
“Yes, exactly,” Robert mused. “But this boy is on his back. Not sitting up in a doorway. I had noticed there was no doorway.”
“Well, there is,” Thom said, pointing. “Right over there. Almost as if they couldn’t get to it. Maybe interrupted by something, or someone? Dumped the body sooner than they liked, maybe?”
“Maybe,” Robert said. “But what is the significance of the arm behind his back?”
“I think he was rolled over,” Thom said. “Like he was on his stomach first. Come ’ere.” He gingerly pressed on the boy’s chin, turning his face. “Look at his cheek. That’s, what’d you call it, post-mortem. No bruising. Just scraping dead skin.”
Robert looked. “Right again, Thom. Perhaps I should just go home to Christy and let you solve this one.” He smiled ruefully and Thom chuckled.
“Now, they wouldn’t be letting me do that, would they?” he asked. “I get to do a sight more investigating with you than I ever would with them. And when you’re on the mark you gets the job done right, you do.” He patted Robert’s shoulder. “New married. That messes up a man’s thinkin’, don’t it?”
“Why did they roll him over?” Robert wondered. “Here, help me.”
As gently as they could, he and Thom rolled the boy’s body over. Robert caught and examined the hand that had been under the boy. It was dirty, of course, but also blood-stained. The cuffs of his thin jacket were stiff with dried blood.
“Did they slit his wrist as well?” he asked incredulously. He pulled on the stiff material, getting it out of the way so he could see the damage that had caused the bleeding.
“No, sir,” Thom said. “They tied him up.” A quick check showed the other wrist was in the same condition, rubbed raw by rope burns.
“None of the others were tied up,” Robert said grimly. “Either our murderer is running out of willing victims, or these boys are getting wise to his tricks.”
“Either way,” Thoms said, standing and dusting off his hands, “I don’t think this is the last of ’em.”
Robert very much feared Thom was right. Knowing the circumstances of the boy’s death didn’t get them any closer to the murderer. Perhaps it was time to ask an old friend for help.
“Robert! Come in.” Daniel stood up behind his desk as Robert crossed the room and then shook his extended hand.
“Daniel. How are you?”
“Fine, fine,” Daniel said. Robert’s suspicions were raised immediately. One fine was usually above board. Two meant something fishy was going on. He sighed.
“Did I just miss her?” he asked in resignation as he sat down in the chair Daniel indicated with a wave of his hand.
Daniel hesitated as he sat. Just for a moment. Most people would have missed it. His face gave nothing away. “Who?” he asked.
“Christy,” Robert said. “I don’t know why you all feel as if you need to conceal her visits from me. I know she comes here, and I don’t mind. Really, I don’t.”
“Well, we did just return from Africa,” Daniel said. Robert’s head jerked up at that news and Daniel closed his mouth, cutting off his next remark. “You did know we were in Africa, correct?”
“I forgot.” Robert could feel his cheeks warming with embarrassment at the lie.
As if he could forget that Simon Gantry had been taken prisoner and held captive in Africa. Hardly a day had gone by that he hadn’t caught Christy crying about him. And the truth was that even though Gantry had been his rival for Christy’s affections—and still was—Robert had worried about him every day as well. But he had honestly forgotten that they’d only just returned the day before and that Daniel might not be up to helping him at present.
“Good God, Daniel, I’m so sorry. What an imbecile I am.” He stood up. “You must be exhausted from your journey. I’ve no right to impose right now. You must excuse me.”
“Sit down. Now you really are being an imbecile.” Daniel shook his head. “Honestly. I was about to say it was only that Christy wanted to stop by and we
lcome us home and check on our well-being. She was not here for nefarious purposes.” Which meant, of course, that she was there for nefarious purposes.
“Is Gantry here?” Robert asked as he took his seat again, trying to keep his voice neutral, yet concerned for Gantry’s welfare. Which he was, naturally. He didn’t wish the man ill. Not necessarily. Certainly not kidnapped by Barbary pirates and sold into slavery ill. A nasty cold, perhaps. A setback on the exchange would be nice. Perhaps a bit of balding. That sort of thing.
Daniel began to drum his fingers on his desk. “No. He went directly to his apartments.”
“So he survived the ordeal in good shape then?” Robert asked, more relieved than he liked to admit. Because yes, damn it, he had wished the man ill many, many times over the last year. Guilt had weighed heavy on him while Gantry had been a captive.
“As good a shape as you’d expect,” Daniel said. “Good enough to go home and spurn my offer of hospitality.”
“I dare say he’ll show up for breakfast,” Robert said wryly. “He usually does.”
“Perhaps,” was all Daniel said. “If you aren’t here to welcome us home, why did you come?”
“I came to ask a favor, but honestly, it’s too soon,” Robert said. “I can handle this on my own.”
“Does it have anything to do with this difficult case Christy mentioned?” Daniel asked, not looking at Robert as he fiddled with a small tray of pen nibs on his desk.
“What did she tell you?” Robert was surprised she’d mentioned it.
“Just that you’d been working long hours because you were on a difficult case,” Daniel said with a shrug. “That’s all I know.” He drummed his fingers on his desk again. “I wouldn’t mind helping,” he offered nonchalantly.
“Helping with what?” Harry asked as he came into the room. “Evening, Manderley.”
Robert stood. “Good evening, Ashbury,” he said. Most people would be surprised how well he got along with Christy’s ex-husband. The truth was, Harry and Christy really only lived as man and wife for less than twenty-four hours. For ten years of their marriage they’d lived on separate continents. It would be foolish to be jealous of him. And since his predilections had led him into Daniel’s arms, even more so. Harry Ashbury had never been a serious contender for Christy’s affections and they all knew it. Not like Simon Gantry.
“What was it that Daniel was offering to help you with?” Harry asked.
“Nothing,” Daniel said quickly before Robert could answer. “Nothing at all.”
“Well, it was something,” Harry said, amusement in his voice. “I clearly heard you offer to help. You don’t do that often. I can think of three things you’d make that offer for: Christy and the baby, something to do with haberdashery, or someone needs killing. So, which is it? Since Christy was just here and didn’t mention anything, I wouldn’t try to use that one.”
“Well, no one needs killing,” Robert assured him. “As a matter of fact, I’m trying to stop another murder, not cause one.”
“Not haberdashery then,” Harry said. “This sounds equally intriguing. Go on.” Just then Daniel got up and Robert watched him limp around his desk.
“What happened to you?” he asked, frowning.
“I was shot,” Daniel said with a sigh. “Thank you for noticing.”
“How did you get shot?” Robert was shocked.
“Well, they were pirates, Robert,” Daniel explained. “They tend to do that sort of thing when you try to steal their property.”
“I…I hadn’t thought about that,” Robert admitted sheepishly. “I just assumed you’d negotiate with them for Gantry’s release.”
At his comment, Harry laughed. “Daniel does not negotiate,” he said, still chuckling. “He lets violence dictate his terms.”
“It wasn’t I who blew up the compound,” Daniel said. He sounded a bit put out to Robert. “That was Simon.”
“I daresay he was a tad upset with his captors over his less than stellar accommodations,” Harry said. His words alarmed Robert. What had happened to Simon in captivity? “And I can’t help but think he’s working for Sir Barnabas again. That’s the sort of thing I’d expect from an agent. Menard won’t be a problem along the Barbary Coast anymore.”
“Gantry works for Sir Barnabas James?” Robert asked, confused. He’d had no idea Gantry was a spy. Was there nothing the man couldn’t do? Handsome, suave, well-dressed, lethal? And irritating. Excessively irritating.
“No. Or yes. Who knows? Neither one of them tells me anything,” Daniel said with irritation as he gingerly lowered himself into a chair. “Now tell me what you need my help with.”
“I’m not sure I like that look in your eye,” Harry said. “Please try to remember you are injured.” Daniel pretended he didn’t hear him.
“It’s this damn case,” Robert said, letting his frustration show as he slumped in his chair. “It has me at a standstill. A brick wall, if you will. Ten boys murdered in the last three weeks. Pickpockets, street urchins, youngest about thirteen oldest eighteen at least.”
“My God,” Harry said, shocked. “We’ve heard nothing.”
“We’ve been out of the country,” Daniel reminded him.
“No, you’d have heard nothing anyway,” Robert told him. “Boys like that are a dime a dozen. No one pays attention. But pretty soon someone is going to put two and two together and the press will come sniffing around and we’ll have a full-blown panic on our hands.”
“Superiors breathing down your neck, are they?” Daniel said with a wry chuckle. “All right. Let’s go through the facts. Tell me how, where, when.”
“Throats slit, and their bodies moved and left propped up in doorways in back alleys all over the east end. We haven’t found the murder sites yet. But the dates and locations of the body drops seem random. The victims were left sitting in such a way that it’s only the stench that gave them away eventually. No defensive marks at all. Until today. Today’s was different.”
“How?” Harry was leaning forward in his chair, as interested as Daniel.
“He wasn’t in a doorway, for one. Just dumped in the alley as if the killer was in a hurry. Thom Longfellow thinks they were interrupted or surprised and so dropped the body.”
“Still working with Mr. Longfellow?” Daniel asked, nodding absentmindedly. “Good, good. Good man. What else?”
“His wrists were abraded, from a rope we believe. He was tied up before he died. None of the others were. Not a mark on them except for the killing blow. But this boy clearly struggled and was subdued prior to his murder.”
Daniel’s eyes met his. “That’s not good.”
“No,” Robert agreed. “That’s not good at all.”
“I don’t think I’m the man you should be asking for help,” Daniel said, surprising Robert and, from the look on his face, Harry. “Come on. Let’s go see Sir Barnabas.”
Chapter 5
“I’ve already been to see Simon,” Sir Barnabas said without looking up from the papers on his desk. “Don’t ring a peal over my head about it. He’s fine.” He looked up and blinked twice, and Robert got the impression it was an uncharacteristic reveal of surprise.
“Constable Manderley,” Sir Barnabas said politely. His gaze cut to his secretary standing nervously behind them. “What a surprise.”
Even Robert, who didn’t know Sir Barnabas well, could tell the innocuous remark was meant as a severe set down for the secretary rather than any sort of greeting for him.
“I’m sorry, sir,” his secretary said, his voice smoothly modulated. He’d been trained well. Robert would have been shaking in his boots over that look. “He wasn’t on the list, and since he was accompanying Mr. Steinberg, I assumed he was permitted.”
“Never assume,” Sir Barnabas said, smiling at Robert. Because of the smile it took a moment for his words to register. Robert stiffened his spine.
“I do beg your pardon,” he said, proud of his cool but polite tone. “If I am interruptin
g I will make an appointment and come back another time.”
“Don’t be rude, Barnabas,” Daniel snapped. “I daresay it is not overly dramatic to say someone’s life depends on it. The constable needs to have a word with you, please.”
Sir Barnabas assessed Robert for a moment, then he relaxed back in his chair with a sigh and threw his pen down on his desk. “Fine. Let’s get this over with. I won’t get a moment’s peace if I don’t. What happened to you?” He turned his razor-sharp gaze on Daniel and barked out the question like it was an order.
“I got shot. If you’ve been to see Simon, then I assume you already know this and chose not to come see about my welfare.” He held up his hand and stopped Sir Barnabas’s denial before he could say a word. “Don’t bother to deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Sir Barnabas said. “People love to regale one with their tales of woe when it comes to physical injuries. I thought I was being polite by asking. You have now rendered the niceties of polite discourse unnecessary. My thanks. What do you want?” he asked Robert, turning his predator’s eyes upon him with the speed and accuracy of a hungry hawk.
“Me? Oh, yes. Well, I am working on a case, you see,” Robert said, trying to gather his thoughts. He’d heard that Sir Barnabas James could scramble a man’s wits with a look and hadn’t believed it until this moment, but then he’d never been the recipient of one of his infamous looks before. He’d avoided these particular hallowed halls at the Home Office. “Boys. Murdered boys, that is. In the East End.”
“Working a case? As a constable? How unusual,” Sir Barnabas said sarcastically. “Let me put all the nation’s business here aside while I listen to the fascinating details of your case.” With each word Robert’s temper flared hotter.
Mission to Love Page 3
