Geary scowled.
And she looked to the patrolman. “Show me where Monty was found.”
Finley led the way. He looked like the sort who didn’t like to walk much. Isobel thought he was more the watching type. From a bench.
They made quite the crowd as they stopped in front of a rubbish-strewn alley. “I’ll be watching you closely. Don’t touch anything without running it by me first,” Geary said.
Isobel gestured toward the alleyway. “Your men trampled anything of value, Inspector.”
“Not to the discerning eyes of a professional,” Geary said.
Liam gave a little cough, blowing out his mustache.
“What attracted you to the body?” Isobel asked Finley.
Geary chuckled at her question. “Never smelled a body, Mrs. Riot? It’ll curl your toes.”
Isobel ignored the comment. She was on the hunt and wasn’t about to be distracted by men offering advice.
“He was covered by the garbage here, ma’am,” Finley said. “I heard a catfight, so I stopped to watch. Only I seen the vermin swarming on the pile. Along with gulls. And a pair of feet poking out.”
Isobel glanced down the street towards The Den, then studied the boardwalk. Geary started to step inside the alleyway, but she held out an arm. “Please. Don’t.”
“I don’t have the patience for you to play at being some sort of dime novel detective.”
“Humor me. Then you can tell your friends at the station about how I made a fool of myself.”
Inspector Geary grumbled. Never mind that she and Riot had solved the murder of a man in a bathtub that Geary had proclaimed a suicide.
She blocked out the watching men to study the ground. Too many boots had passed. But there was a distinct scuff in the dirt.
“Did the dead wagon carry him out on a stretcher?” she asked.
“Of course they did,” Geary said with a snort.
Liam moved beside her, while Tim kept an eye on Geary.
“Are you a tracker, Mrs. Riot?” Liam asked.
“I’m learning. Are you?”
“Batten is.”
“What does he make of this?”
“I’m more curious what you make of it.”
“Monty was dragged into the alley. After death. And someone buried him under a pile of rubbish.” She shot to her feet, and searched the boardwalk until she found a faint stain on the boards. “He was shot here.”
“Yes,” Liam confirmed. She looked up, annoyed that the Pinkerton operative got there first. “Go on, Mrs. Riot. I don’t mind another pair of eyes.”
Her gaze fixed on a notch in a wood wall, low to the ground. “Did you find more than one bullet?”
Liam shook his head. “Sam went over it.”
“And my men,” Geary said.
“One shot,” she murmured, then eyed the men. “Inspector Geary, you’re about Monty’s height. Would you stand over here.”
He glowered.
“It’s not like being tall is an insult, your highness,” Tim grunted.
Geary shot him a glare, but moved into place.
“Does anyone have a pen or pencil?” She grimaced inwardly at the word pencil. She hadn’t forgotten about Dominic Noble, but the dead could wait; the living, especially her husband, could not.
Sam Batten produced one, and she stood on her tippy-toes to jab one end against Geary’s forehead.
“Oy, now!”
“For God’s sake, I’m harmless,” she bit out.
Geary stepped back into position, and she reproduced the angle of the shot that Sims had shown her, then turned Geary so his back aligned with the notch in the wood. Isobel craned her neck around to search the buildings. A window in a second story warehouse across the street caught her eye.
Without a word, Isobel took off in that direction. She didn’t care if the others followed. The warehouse door was hanging on a hinge. She stopped to fiddle with it for a second, then climbed a rickety staircase that was ripe with rot. She paused at a window with a cracked pane, then snatched up a loose board to mime the shot.
Footsteps filed in, the floorboards straining under the added weight. “Tim, could you make this shot?” she asked without looking around.
Tim stepped forward to eye the distance. “I reckon I could. Only about forty yards or so.”
Isobel looked at Liam, who had a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Could you make this shot?”
“A good many could.”
She nodded, satisfied. “I’d like you to note the distance, Inspector Geary.”
“Why?” he asked.
“You’ve arrested a myopic gunfighter who favors a revolver. Have you ever tried to aim a rifle while wearing spectacles?” Geary frowned at her. He likely didn’t know what myopic meant, so she clarified. “Riot is nearsighted. Even with his spectacles, everything is a blur at this distance. There’s a reason he carries a revolver.”
“Nothing says the shot was taken from here.”
“Except the path of the bullet through Monty’s skull.”
“Could you make this shot?” Geary asked.
“I could.”
“Maybe I should be arresting you.”
“Your accusations tread farther onto thin ice every second,” she said, while searching the floor for a casing. “Did your men search this warehouse?”
The Pinkertons shook their heads, while Geary puffed up his chest. “I think I’ve humored you enough.”
But she was already walking back across the warehouse to the stairwell. She stopped at a back window that looked out onto Mission Creek, then casually tossed her fake rifle out of the window, noting where it splashed in the creek. She picked her way down the stairwell, vaguely aware of a grunt behind her as someone nearly fell through a rotted plank.
Isobel stopped at the bank’s edge, and there she finally hesitated. There was nothing for it. “Did your men check the creek, Inspector?” she yelled, a note of hope in her voice.
Inspector Geary was busy cursing at nearly falling through another rotten plank.
“Mr. Taft?” she asked as the Pinkerton arrived.
“No, we questioned everyone at The Den.”
“Inspector?”
“Are you volunteering?” he shouted.
Isobel clenched her jaw and started unlacing her boots.
“You really going in that, girl?” Tim asked at her side. He was eyeing her with skepticism. “I’m sure we could bully Geary into having a police crew dredge the creek with hooks.”
“Riot has already spent three days in a cell with a brutish police force, and he’s missing his daughter’s thirteenth birthday today. I don’t want to wait for Geary’s leisure.”
Tim frowned, scuffing a boot against the ground. Sarah had woken up forlorn on her birthday. She’d refused to open her gifts, and asked Miss Lily to hold off on any cake until her father was released. It made Isobel want to brain Inspector Geary with his sergeant’s billy club.
“I’ll go, then,” Tim offered.
Isobel snorted. “And let you take all the glory?” Before she changed her mind, Isobel shrugged off spare clothing, and slipped down the garbage strewn bank into filthy water. She tried not to inhale, or use her nose, or think overly long on whether the water was muddy or a cesspit. Thankfully, it wasn’t deep, and her split riding skirt was lightweight enough that it didn’t bog her down.
She waded to the spot where her makeshift ‘rifle’ had landed. Her foot touched something sharp, and she regretted removing her boots as her stockings snagged on a bit of glass. Dying of an infection was the last thing she needed, but she couldn’t feel for a weapon with her boots on.
Isobel gingerly prodded the muddy creek floor until she felt what she was looking for. Taking a breath, she dipped beneath the sludge and pulled her prize from the mud, surfacing with a Winchester rifle in hand.
“I believe you’ll find this matches the bullet in Monty’s head,” she said.
Tim offered a hand, his eyes gli
nting with pride. “Wouldn’t want you hunting my tail, girl,” he said as he pulled her up the bank. She stumbled, nearly falling from the weight of muck clinging to her.
Sam Batten quickly looked away. Finley stood there and leered at her breasts. She had a sport’s bodice under her wet blouse, but apparently even the sight of a bodice got the man’s imagination going.
“Well done, Mrs. Riot,” Liam said, impressed. He took the rifle from her hand in exchange for her coat, then began to check it over. “Winchester 1873. Most common rifle there is. The serial numbers are scratched out.” He pulled the lever, and a casing popped out onto the ground. Liam shook out his plaid handkerchief to pick it up.
“How could you possibly know the shooter tossed his rifle in the creek?” Geary asked.
“It’s called deductive reasoning. Try it some time, Inspector, before you arrest an innocent man again. Now if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need a bath.”
23
Riddles and Warnings
Of course day four of Riot’s incarceration would fall on a Sunday, Isobel thought as she dressed for the day. As a rule, she disliked Sundays, equating them with church and leisure. Both of which she found tedious.
Sundays before she met Riot, at any rate. She glanced at the empty bed in the mirror as she battled with her hair. It was too long to leave down, and too short to put up. So it was a wild, wispy mess of curling blonde hair that made her look like some fae creature.
A knock sounded at the door, the knock telling her precisely who it was. “Come in, Sarah.”
She eyed Jin and Sarah in the mirror as they entered. Yesterday Sarah had wandered the house looking forlorn and tragic, but she looked better today. Jin was practically chipper as she ran across the room brandishing a newspaper.
“Did you see this article?” The girl thrust it up under Isobel’s nose.
“I could kiss Cameron,” Sarah said.
Isobel abandoned her hair for the paper, giving Sarah a sharp look in the mirror. “And Riot will shoot him.”
Jin snickered.
“You’ll want to kiss him too, after you read what he wrote.”
Sarah was looking more and more like a young woman every day. Why in the world did girls mature faster than boys? Should she have some sort of talk with the girl?
“Stare at the words, not Sarah,” Jin ordered, jabbing a finger at the small print.
Isobel dutifully read.
Police Arrest Detective On Whim
Atticus Riot, famed detective of Ravenwood Agency, was arrested on suspicion of the murder of Montgomery Johnson, a former agent and friend. The two men got in a row at The Den some weeks ago. Monty, a skilled pugilist, beat Mr. Riot near to death, then dumped him dying in an alleyway.
Mr. Riot was bed-bound for some weeks afterwards, while Monty went about his business, until the former agent was found dead and robbed near The Den. He was shot by a single bullet to the head.
Police detectives and Pinkerton agents arrested Mr. Riot as he was returning from a holiday with his family. Without weapon, motive, or proof, Inspector Geary of the SFPD handcuffed the detective and led him away in front of his family based solely on the fact that Monty had nearly beaten his former employer to death.
On the third of November, to further Atticus Riot’s recovery, the Riot family left San Francisco to convalesce in Willow Camp.
Not only were there multiple witnesses who saw and spoke with Mr. Riot and his family on November sixth, the day of the murder, the local Sheriff swears to the fact that Atticus Riot helped him apprehend a criminal gang operating in the woods.
It leaves the question of how a SFPD detective and Pinkertons could arrest an innocent man based on nothing more than a whim, without the merest effort of investigation. Given the recent attack on Ravenwood Agency, the question begs answering: Do Atticus Riot and his agency have a target on their back?
Sheriff Blake plans to head to the city straightaway to vouch for Atticus Riot and clear his name.
Sarah was right. Isobel could kiss Cameron Fry. Inspector Geary wouldn’t be happy with the article at all. But that’s what he got for having a shoddy work ethic. She handed the newspaper back. “What are you two doing today?”
“We’re headed—” Jin elbowed Sarah in the ribs. “Uhm. We’re walking. Around.”
Jin looked at the ceiling.
“Do not go to the 17th Street police station.” One look at Jin, and Isobel clarified. “Do not go across the street. Around the block, or in front of it, nor to the side buildings.”
Jin gave a little growl.
“But what if Atticus is released, and he comes out all alone?” Sarah asked. “That just wouldn’t be right.”
“It’s Sunday, Sarah. I doubt he’ll be released today.”
The girl deflated. “I guess I’ll go to church. Alone.”
“My mother will probably be at St. Francis,” Isobel said.
“I’m not catholic.”
Isobel bit back a comment. She might have her own strong feelings about religion but she wouldn’t belittle Sarah’s beliefs. “When Riot is released, he’ll help you find a church.”
Jin crossed her arms. “Coward.”
“What?”
“You are volunteering bahba so you do not have to take her.”
“He’ll be happy to spend time with Sarah. Would you rather go?”
“I will take Sarah to meet Tan Ling and Sammy.”
Isobel didn’t know how she felt about Jin building a friendship with the ex-hatchet man who worked with the men who had killed her parents, but… Well, there it was. “I thought Riot said you couldn’t go for a visit without him?”
“He said not to go alone.”
Isobel scrutinized the girl. Jin stared back, unblinking. “We can roam the city instead,” Jin finally suggested.
That was a worse idea. “Fine, you can go visit Tan Ling, but stick to the main streets. No alleyways.” Chinatown would be full of tourists today. It should be safe enough as long as the two didn’t go around announcing they were Din Gau’s children.
Jin started to pull Sarah away.
“Wait,” Isobel ordered.
“Yes?” Jin asked.
“You didn’t agree to my terms.”
“We will stay out of alleyways,” Jin said.
“And no stabbing people.”
Jin muttered under her breath. The eleven-year-old was entirely too quick with her blade. “Fine, we will let bad men take us instead.”
“You know what I mean,” Isobel said.
Jin stuck out her tongue.
“Where are you headed?” Sarah asked.
“A social call.”
The girls stared with nearly identical raised brows as Isobel pinned on a hat.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Jin crossed her arms. “You never make social calls.”
They had a point. Perhaps if she took the girls it would look more like a social call than an investigation. “Would you two like to come with me?”
Of course they would. Isobel finished dressing and turned to grab her satchel. Jin was squinting at a missive she’d picked up from a stack of books.
“Whose hands are tied?” the girl asked. “And how can they send a telegram if they are being held captive?”
Sarah moved over to read the missive. “I think it’s a figure of speech?”
Isobel snatched the missive from her daughters. “It’s a reply from an inspector.”
“Does this have to do with bahba?” Jin asked.
“No.” After interviewing Katherine Hayes, Isobel had wired Inspector Coleman with a cryptic question: Really?
His response: My hands are tied. It confirmed her suspicions. “It’s not polite to read other people’s telegrams,” she said, stuffing the missive in her satchel.
“You do it all the time,” Jin accused.
“At least I do so in secret.”
As Isobel ushered the two out of her room (which was still i
n complete disarray) Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are definitely a bad influence on us.”
“Think of me as a shining example of what not to do.”
Jin snorted.
Isobel left the girls in the kitchen while she sought out one of the lodgers at Ravenwood Manor. She found Annie Dupree in the greenhouse, sitting at her favorite dining spot. She read alone at a little garden table.
Isobel was never one for pleasantries. “Do you know Dominic Noble and Katherine Hayes?” Then she paused a moment, taking in Annie’s perfectly styled hair and prim tea gown. “And do you have a lady’s maid hidden in that room of yours?”
Annie lowered her newspaper. “Which question would you like answered first, Miss Amsel?”
“Good God, we live under the same roof. Call me Isobel.” She sat down without invitation and watched Annie take a dainty sip of tea. She tried not to think about Riot’s prior dealings with the auburn beauty. It was fortunate Isobel wasn’t the jealous type or Annie Dupree would be out of house and home.
“Would you like some tea?” Annie asked.
“No, and I’d like my second question answered first.”
“Is there a reason why you’re inquiring about a lady’s maid?”
“I’m thinking of rejoining society.”
Annie studied her a moment. “A dangerous undertaking.”
“Without a doubt.”
“A case?” Annie asked.
Annie Dupree was very perceptive. Along with being a prostitute, she was also their children’s teacher. And probably a spy for Riot’s half sister. Annie had her uses, though. The woman took Jin’s rages, insults, and shocking comments all in stride while keeping the girl engaged and curious. No small task.
“Why else would I wade into a sea of lace and shallow minds?” Isobel asked.
“Will it be so easy for you?”
“What do you mean?”
“You have a reputation. San Francisco might be forgiving, but society ladies are not.”
“I don’t plan on being recognized.”
“Aah.” Annie took another sip of tea. “I do my own hair. And I don’t know Katherine Hayes.”
Beyond the Pale Page 13
