The Bellingham Bloodbath
Page 27
“Don’t touch a thing,” Lanchester piped up from behind us.
Amazingly, Colin held his tongue.
I stood beside him and gazed inside, finding myself staring at an inexplicable scene of carnage. It was just as Annabelle Connicle had said: The blood was everywhere. Great ropes of it were suspended from the ceiling like viscous stalactites, and swaths were splattered in huge arcing sweeps across the walls and assemblage of tools and yard implements hanging thereon. The floor also contained its own multitude of coagulated puddles, making it look as though a veritable battle had been fought and lost here. The most curious thing of all, however, was the simple fact that there was no body. How anyone could have walked away from such a scene was unthinkable.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” Sergeant Evans said as he approached.
“Are you sure it’s blood?” Colin asked.
The sergeant chuckled and shook his head. “You really are a pip, Pendragon.”
“May I?” Colin bothered to ask even as he stepped forward.
“If you must. But I’ll ask you not to touch anything. And you, Mr. Pruitt, may remain outside.”
“Of course,” I said as I took a step back. Colin caught my eye as he cleared the doorway, and I knew what he meant for me to do. I shifted sideways as though ducking from the sun’s intensity and stared out toward a copse of trees near the edge of the property where a great deal more bobbies were loitering about. “You’ve got quite a contingent of men down there,” I noted pointedly, and was pleased when Sergeant Evans and his two constables swung their gazes around, allowing Colin to quickly dab at one of the puddles. “Have they turned up anything ?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Evans said. “This shed is my concern. I don’t really give a shite what they’re doing over there.”
“Have they found something?” I pressed.
He turned back to me with a sharp look. “I didn’t say that.” His eyes shifted to Colin, who was now innocently glancing about. “That’s enough, Mr. Pendragon. Come out of there now. Nothing but a rash of blood, same as you can see from the doorway.”
Colin complied at once. “Is that the official consensus?” he asked, continuing to stare inside.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You see something else?”
“I’m sure I see exactly what you do, but what I perceive could very well be different.”
“Listen to him.” Evans wagged a finger at Colin and snorted at his two companions. “No wonder you pique poor Varcoe’s nerves. Who dragged you out here, anyway?”
“The mistress of the house.”
“Well, that may be,” he said as he beamed at his companions, “but she sent for us first.” They all nodded smugly.
“Sending for the Yard is a formality,” Colin responded blithely. “I’m here because she means to learn what’s happened.” He gave a rogue’s leer and began walking around the periphery of the shed as Evans and his men laughed, assuming, it would seem, that Colin had meant it as a joke. As Colin was about to make a second pass around the small building a familiar voice blasted out from the trees on our left.
“What in the devil’s tortured ass are they doing here?!”
Colin looked over, his smile drooping. “A pleasure to see you as well, Inspector.”
Inspector Varcoe stormed toward us, with four officers at his heels, his white hair askew and his face its usual shade of plum. Whatever foraging he had been up to seemed to have stirred him quite thoroughly. “You’re not needed here, Pendragon. Take your toady and go back to your hole.”
“How you flatter me,” Colin replied with a lopsided smile that lit his dimples.
“This is official Yard business.” Varcoe planted himself between Colin and the shed, his arms folded across his chest even as the color of his face deepened. “We most certainly do not need the assistance of amateurs trying to sully the good name of Scotland Yard.”
“Now, Emmett. I’ve only ever tried to be helpful whenever I’ve solved your cases for you.”
“You’re not funny, Pendragon,” he snapped back. “Just what the hell are you doing here, anyway?”
“Mrs. Connicle fetched us,” Colin answered with a note of relish. “Though I’m sure she meant no affront to you and your fine horde of merry men,” he added with a decided lack of subtlety. “But tell me: What has led you and your men to prowl about the trees?”
Varcoe gave a sly smile. “Seeing as how this is a Yard investigation, I’m afraid you’ll just have to piss off.”
Colin’s grin froze as his jaw tightened and his eyes diminished to slits. I seized his momentary silence to interject the obvious. “You will remember that we can get a magistrate to formally assign us to this case before day’s end.”
Emmett Varcoe fixed his eyes on me with a loathing I found absurd. He was well aware that Colin’s father wielded enormous power both in Parliament and Victoria’s court. Yet when his harsh smile slowly snaked into one more righteous, I knew exactly what he was going to say.
“Then you go right ahead. Go visit your lackey and get your scrap of paper. By the time you get back here, we’ll be long gone.” His smile widened. “You’re always welcome to our cast-offs,” he sneered.
“I could solve the riddles of the universe with what I’ve seen you and yours leave behind,” Colin snarled.
I feared we were on the verge of being forcibly removed when one of the inspector’s men suddenly came bounding out of the trees. “You’d better come, sir,” he called with noticeable agitation. “You’ll want to see this.”
Varcoe’s eyes narrowed, but before he turned away he set his glare on Sergeant Evans and said, “Get these two out of here. I’ll not have them around while we’re conducting an investigation. You had best remember that, Evans.” And with that pronouncement he bolted back to the woods with the man who had summoned him—quickly, frustratingly, disappearing from view.
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Copyright © 2014 by Gregory Harris
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-9269-8
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