“Where in the bloody hell have you two been?!” Varcoe blasted before either of us had even fully entered the room.
“Betting the horses at Ascot.” Colin flashed a tight smile as he made his way to Mr. Guitnu. “A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Guitnu. I apologize that we have been remiss in keeping in touch with you. Be assured that your case is never far from our thoughts.”
“I know how busy you must be,” Mr. Guitnu responded without artifice. “This poor man has been muttering under his breath since I arrived.”
“You’re damn right I have.” Varcoe stalked over to us as we sat down across from Mr. Guitnu in our usual chairs. “You were supposed to have met me at the blasted morgue hours ago. I demand to know where you’ve been.”
“Did you learn anything at the morgue?” Colin sidestepped easily as he poured us tea and refreshed the cup in front of Mr. Guitnu.
The inspector’s face soured. “I am not about to discuss an ongoing investigation in front of a stranger.”
“Inspector Emmett Varcoe . . . Prakhasa Guitnu . . .” Colin took a quick sip of his tea. “I’m betting Mr. Ross found meat in the poor dogs’ innards. Something greasy like pork or lamb. And in six or seven weeks, when it no longer matters, Denton Ross will finally confirm that the meat was poisoned. Cyanide, I believe.”
“Pendragon!” Varcoe bellowed loudly enough to bring Mr. Guitnu to his feet.
“I should not be here.” Mr. Guitnu fluttered anxiously.
“You have every right to be here,” Colin consoled as he nevertheless jumped up and escorted Mr. Guitnu to the stairs. “You are a wage-paying client while the good inspector does nothing but take.” He chuckled. “Please know, Mr. Guitnu, that we have made significant progress in your case, and while I would like nothing more than to discuss it with you, as you can see, we are ensconced in a pressing matter for the Yard. Did you have the lock to your safe changed as I recommended?”
“Yes, yes . . .”
“And there have been no additional thefts of your valuables these past several days?”
Mr. Guitnu nodded eagerly. “There have not.” He tilted his head and studied Colin a moment. “Significant progress?” he repeated.
“Significant progress,” Colin restated with a Cheshire’s grin. “If I may beg your further indulgence for just another two days then we shall come around and set your matter to rest once and for all.”
“Of course.” Mr. Guitnu nodded fervently. “I thank you most kindly.” He headed down the stairs with an unmistakable lightness to his step.
“Now, Inspector.” Colin came back and resettled himself in his seat. “Am I right about the dogs or not?”
“Lamb,” Varcoe conceded with a grunt. “They had lamb in their bellies. And while it’ll be some time before we know what it might have been laced with, Mr. Ross is suggesting they were most certainly drugged, given how cleanly their throats were sliced. So how the hell did you know that? And what makes you say cyanide?” Varcoe grumbled.
“Tea, Emmett?” Colin held out a cup, which the inspector gruffly snatched, his brusqueness reminiscent of his usual self, before our détente. “It’s as you said,” Colin carried on smoothly. “Three wolfhounds. What’s the first thing any man would do who meant to harm them? He would drug them.” Colin slid his cup back onto the table and sauntered over to the fireplace. “And we happened to find a spot of grease near one of the bushes in the yard.”
“A spot of grease?” Varcoe frowned.
“From meat. Undoubtedly from the lamb your Mr. Ross found in the dogs’ stomachs. And there was the unmistakable residue of almonds about. Almost surely from the use of cyanide. But none of that matters. I presume you’ve been told that Edmond Connicle has died?”
“Well, of course I have,” Varcoe puffed, glaring at Colin. “And I know you were there when it happened, Pendragon. Buggering up the doctor’s efforts to save him.”
“What?” Colin turned on him with a grim expression. “He was trying to speak. I was attempting to comfort him.”
Varcoe looked at me and let out an amused snort. “You were trying to get some answers. I’d have done the same damn thing.” A scowl set upon his face. “So what did he say?”
Colin shook his head and stared into the fireplace. “I couldn’t make any of it out.”
Varcoe’s scowl deepened. “You better not be keeping anything from me—”
“Do I look like I’m doing that?” Colin turned on him, rage flaring in his eyes. “I’m just as frustrated by this blasted case as you are. None of it makes any sense.” He stomped over to the windows and glared down onto the street for a moment. “It seems to me we have all done little more than follow the crumbs that have been left for us, and I, for one, am done with it. You want to know what you can do? Set the full weight and breadth of the Yard onto the Connicles’ scullery maid, Alexa. Let’s see if maybe there is some rival group unhappy with the way she practices her faith.”
“Rival group?”
“The voodoo religion, Inspector. You’ve said yourself that it has permeated every aspect of these murders. Perhaps we’ve just not looked far enough afield yet.”
Varcoe’s brow caved in on itself as he studied Colin. “Are you saying that I might have been right about this voodoo piffle all along?”
Colin stared back at him from the windows but did not answer.
“And what will you and Pruitt be doing?” Varcoe asked warily, clearly loath to believe Colin’s concession.
“Ethan and I will stay home tonight.” Colin moved back over to the mantel and picked up a coin and began carelessly flipping it through his fingers. “I think I shall buff a few of my antique knives.”
“You will remember that we are partners on this case,” Varcoe warned.
“Nevertheless”—Colin flashed a roguish grin—“I’ll not have you gawking at me while I partake of my hobbies.”
“I mean to know everything you’re up to,” Varcoe growled, “and every thought that passes your mind!”
“You may find that a bit awkward at times.”
Varcoe’s face went as pink as a sunset as he stood up. “We are in this case together and if I get an inkling that you’re withholding something from me I shall bring the full weight and breadth of the Yard down on your arse. I’ll not be trifled with.”
“ ’Til tomorrow then,” Colin said as he slapped the coin back onto the mantel.
The inspector did not look entirely placated, but he said nothing further before he took his leave, barreling down the steps like a battalion on the move.
“When did he get so suspicious of me?” Colin muttered as soon as the door slammed shut. “Is he getting smarter or am I getting predictable?”
“Perhaps a bit of both.” I chuckled.
Colin scowled. “Well, I shan’t be predictable tonight and neither will you. We have quarry to hunt. The Connicle case has taken a turn and I shall not be played a moment longer. Let us have dinner and don our garb for the evening. For tonight we shall change the rules of this ugly game.”
CHAPTER 32
My back was aching as I shuffled toward the next table, the one our young scout Paul had nodded toward the moment I’d entered this, our third, tavern stop of the evening. The cuff of my pants were dragging on the floor, occasionally sliding under my well-worn shoes, ensuring that I moved at nothing more than the ponderous pace of a beggar. And so I was. Garbed in a set of worn, ill-fitting, dirty clothing forever resigned to the cellar by Mrs. Behmoth but kept for just such occasions, I was limping from table to table with the street’s detritus smudged on my face, seeking whatever handouts I could get. Thus far I had already received what added up to seven shillings for my evening’s work. Perhaps there was hope for humanity after all.
Colin, who had arrived some fifteen minutes before me, was slouched in a corner by himself, his head hanging low under a drooping hat, a bottle of whiskey nearly empty in front of him. Paul had gotten booted from the pub shortly after my arrival for runn
ing a con with a deck of cards in a back booth. That he was also underage seemed irrelevant to the owner. Paul’s sin had been distracting the patrons from ordering more liquor. Which was why I was quickly making my way to the table of the man Paul had pointed out. I knew it was only a matter of time before I too was tossed to the street.
“Ya seem like a fine gentleman,” I muttered to the swarthy man, getting my first good look at him. “Could ya spare a bloke a bit a change?”
He glanced up at me with coal-black eyes, his broad face pocked and weathered, though I determined his age to be about the same as mine. He had a scruffy, misshapen beard, and as his lips parted in more of a leer than a smile they exposed yellowed teeth and a few vacant spaces. “Piss off, ya filthy shite.”
“Prussian?” I asked, eager to engage him in any way I could, given that he clearly wasn’t about to show me a slip of kindness.
He took a sip of his ale and stared at me over the rim of his tankard, revealing a deep-set malevolence bristling behind his eyes that made me falter slightly. “Makes no matter now, do it? ’Cause I’ll sooner cut yer throat as give ya a squat farthin’.” He slipped a large butcher’s blade halfway out of a coat pocket and gave a mirthless snicker that came out low and cruel.
I shuffled back a step, anxious to move out of range should he decide to lash out with the knife, but not before catching sight of the coppery residue on the dark silver blade. Given the vibrancy of the color, I could see it had been recently used and that he’d not bothered to wipe it clean. It proved he wanted me, and anyone else he showed it to, to know it. “Sorry,” I mumbled, continuing to back away until there was a table between us. With my heart hammering in my chest I endeavored to commence my charade of entreaty, keeping watch on the man as he returned to his stein, having secreted the blade back into his coat. Men like him were thick down here. They placed little value on life amongst those who responded far more rapidly to fear than kindness. For down here a life well lived meant little more than beating the odds.
Having collected a smattering more of pence, I finally made it back to where Colin was seated in the corner. His hat was pulled so low he looked as likely to be asleep as not and was listing ever so slightly to one side, his shoulders hunched and his chin appearing to be headed for the tabletop. “It didn’t look like your charms had much of an impact on him,” he said in a low, husky voice.
“He’s foul. Flashed a butcher’s knife at me with a residue of fresh blood still on the blade.”
“Blood?” Colin made a motion of waving me off as I shook my handful of change at him. “Are you sure?”
“Are you really asking me that?”
He abruptly lurched to his feet and stared over my shoulder. “He’s moving. Don’t lose him. I’ll head out the back and come around.” I started to turn away when I felt Colin seize my arm. “Be careful, Ethan,” he hissed under his breath. “I’ll not have you hurt.”
“The same to you,” I said as he pulled away. I glanced back just as the man disappeared out the front door, the tails of his black coat snapping with a finality that sent my heart leaping up to my throat. Without hesitating I straightened up and hiked my pants so I could move properly, rushing to the front of the tavern and earning myself several stern glances from the more generous of the patrons. I slapped my bounty of change onto the end of the bar and stepped out into the night.
The streets were a frenzy of activity. Night had brought out the nocturnal creatures, those who counted on the darkness to earn a living. Prostitutes meandered about in pairs or trios until it became necessary to go their separate ways. Swindlers hovered in the mouths of alleys, beckoning one and all to take their chances in a game of dice or trying to guess under which of three shells a half crown had been concealed. Most catered to the throngs of factory men and dockworkers looking for any reason to delay returning home to their disgruntled wives and copious children forever reminding them of how woefully inadequate they were. Their night’s revelries would be conducted through a haze of alcohol and opium, sometimes one or the other, very often both. Life appears better through their shroud, though the morning’s light is ever the harsher for it. Even still I can remember that.
The noise and laughter added to the bedlam of humanity lunging past, making my heart race faster as I frantically scanned the crowds, cursing myself when I could not find the Prussian man. I spotted Colin at the mouth of the alley several doors down to my left staring straight at me. In spite of the distance between us, I was certain he could see that I had already failed. He tilted his head toward the street and shifted his eyes sideways, and as I followed his gaze I caught sight of the man, his long, black coat flapping about him like the broken wings of a crow as he barreled up the far side of the street with his shoulders hunched and his head down.
I hurried across the road and fell in some distance behind him, determined to neither lose him nor be noticed should he glance back over his shoulder. But he never did. He seemed intent to move with focused ease and dexterity, winding through the throngs with the practiced ease of a sea creature who had swum these waters a thousand times before.
I attempted to settle into a rhythm behind him, mimicking his pace, but it was nearly impossible, as he frequently shot out into the street and continued down the other side where Colin was keeping pace, before just as abruptly blasting back over to where I held steady. Each of his diagonal forays forced me to slow my step as he nimbly traversed the horses, carts, and carriages clogging the thoroughfare. Twice, when he suddenly burst out from behind an idled carriage, I’d had to turn on the person trying to press past me and beg for a handout to keep him from seeing my face. Had Colin and I not both been working to keep him within our sights he would have been impossible to follow. And I was certain that was what he intended.
He cut around another corner, and when I realized we were back in Fairclough Street I understood that he had doubled back in a great, circuitous arc. My spirits soared as I realized that he was not only a shrewd man, but also that he was very much up to something. I wanted to signal Colin, to let him know that he had been right, but he was nowhere near me, and then, in the draw of a single breath, the Prussian man was gone.
My stomach dropped and my heart seized so that in spite of the cacophony going on around me I was no longer registering a sound. It was as though my ears had suddenly ceased to process the slightest noise, leaving me to frantically search the surrounding masses of people even as my eyes felt like they were moving through a glaze of aspic. You’ve lost him, my brain screeched, not once, but twice. I spun around even as I continued to move forward, searching for Colin to see if he would again prove my salvation, and that’s when a flicker of movement caught the periphery of my left eye. Black, quick like a scurrying mouse, the bottom flap of the man’s jacket.
An alley had just slid past me and it was the light from the moon that had caught the tiny movement of the Prussian making his way down it. I immediately turned back and threw myself behind a group of garbage barrels at the mouth of the alley. My breath came rapidly as I struggled to rein in my fluttering heart and at some point my hearing also returned, as I found myself concentrated on the steady clicking of the man’s shoes echoing down the alleyway. I had no idea where Colin was, but I told myself it didn’t matter; I had found the man again and I was not going to lose him.
I crept farther down the alley with the stealth of a cat, keeping on my toes to stop my boots from making any sound. The man glanced back over his shoulder once, but I knew the darkness of my clothing would offer me what protection the alley’s shadows could not. As it was, I could hardly see the Prussian and had to remain vigilantly attuned to the sound of his footfalls, grateful for the echoing confines of the space. Yet, as I struggled to remain silently on my toes, I knew those echoes would just as likely undo me.
The man’s pace slowed and then halted, and as I too came to a stop I was suddenly gripped by the realization that he might have recognized me from the pub and led me here on purpos
e. That perhaps I hadn’t been nearly as artful a tail as I had thought. If I’d been good at it once, that had been twenty years past and many pounds lighter. And then I heard a voice; “. . . time . . .” it said. It was a man, but not with the accent of my quarry.
I knelt down on the cobbles and quickly untied my boots, carefully sliding them off my feet. The stones were cold and damp as I started to move forward in my stockings, but the effect was perfect. I only hoped I would not stumble upon anything predatory or sharp.
“. . . money”—it was the Prussian man this time—“and I vill never be late.” I heard him give a low, lecherous cackle, but the other man did not join in.
As my eyes tried to adjust to the great slashes of shadows and refracted moonlight in the depths of the alley, I saw another man step out from the far side of what I’d thought was the alley’s end but could now see was an intersecting passage. The second man was much taller than the Prussian, looking at least my height. He was wearing a thick, black cloak that swept nearly to the ground, leaving little to be gleaned about his body beyond its stature. He wore a black hat with an oversized brim, not unlike the one Colin had been hiding beneath in the tavern, and for an instant I wondered if Colin was pulling off some sort of elaborate charade. But though Colin’s shoulders were as broad as this man’s, he could claim nothing of his height.
The Prussian moved forward with an unmistakable cockiness and I imagined an oily smirk on his face as he did so. It was evident he was pleased with himself, just as I could tell by the stiff bearing of the tall man that he was the person in charge. “Our friend died in hospital this afternoon,” he said in a menacing tone.
“Tol’ ya.” The other man chuckled.
“It was no thanks to you,” came the muffled reply, and as I stole forward to try to get a better look I saw that the taller man had a black scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face as if hiding from the cold in spite of the night’s mildness.
“I put ’im dere.”
“If he hadn’t succumbed I would’ve put you there!” the tall man growled. “Did you take care of the last package tonight?”
The Connicle Curse Page 20
