“Not even when they’re a known member of the East Rips?” Lewis asked. Bloom didn’t so much as glance toward the detective sergeant. Apparently, he didn’t consider Lewis to be worth it.
“I don’t have any barney with the East Rips, or with any other party, so long as they keep their business off my territory,” hetold Jasper instead. “I made that clear to Mr. Carter last night when he put questions to me and my staff.”
It wasn’t unexpected that Andrew Carter had already interrogated Bloom. In fact, he’d probably done a better job of it than the constables from L Division.
Jasper looked around the club. His eyes went directly to the table across the dance floor where he’d seen Leo and Miss Brooks in January with PC Drake and PC Lloyd. He wondered if that had been their table last night as well. The dance floor had a high polish to it, evidence that it had been swept and cleaned. Wherever Mrs. Carter had fallen and died, that area of the floor had been tidied. He cut his attention back to Bloom when the bartender returned, ushering in a nervous-looking young man.
“Harry, Scotland Yard has sent their finest to inquire about the poor lady from last night,” Bloom said, his sarcasm thick. “Answer whatever questions they have.”
The waiter, Harry, nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“You served the Carters’ table last night?” Jasper asked. The waiter nodded again, his complexion pallid. He was either shaken up by the death or scared of Bloom. Probably both.
“What did she drink?” he asked next.
“A glass of wine, sir. Spanish claret.”
“And her husband, what about him?”
Harry blinked but knew the information right off. “Whisky sour.”
“You have a good memory,” Jasper said.
The waiter huffed a shaky laugh. “Have to get the orders right, sir. Besides, it was a Carter. You pay attention when it’s a Carter.”
Bloom cleared his throat, and the waiter ducked his head.
“So then, just the two drinks?” Lewis asked.
Roy Lewis was a few years older than Jasper and had joined the force as a recruit shortly after he had. If he’d taken issue with Jasper’s promotion to detective inspector while he remained a detective sergeant, he’d never let on about it. Still, Jasper was careful not to rub him the wrong way and didn’t mind him cutting in with questions. Saying less and listening more was often more effective than dominating the conversation anyhow.
“That’s right,” Harry replied. “Although, there was a glass on the table when I took the Carters’ orders. I’d cleared the table after the people before them left, so I didn’t know what it was doing there. Figured someone set it down without thinking. I offered to take it away, but Mr. Carter told me to leave it.”
“Could another waiter have delivered it to them before you got there?” Lewis asked.
“Not if he wanted to keep his job,” Bloom answered. “One waiter to a table. My guests want to know who to signal for another drink. That table was Harry’s and his alone.”
Jasper changed tack. “You keep an eye on your assigned tables, I presume?” When the waiter nodded, he continued, “Who else did you see with the Carters last night?”
Jasper already knew from Leo that Andrew Carter had stepped away for a short while, and a woman in a dark, hooded cloak had joined Mrs. Carter. He wanted to check the veracity of Harry’s answers. The young man proved to be reliable, explaining that the husband had left for a spell, and that shortly afterward, a woman in a cloak with the hood pulled up took the seat next to Mrs. Carter.
“Did you approach the table to take the woman’s order?”
He grimaced. “No, I was serving another table, and before I had the chance, Mrs. Carter was…well, she was sick on the floor.”
Lewis was rapidly jotting down the statement, his forehead creased in disappointment. So far, they hadn’t learned much more than what Leo had provided in her statement.
“Did you see the woman in the cloak after that?” Lewis asked.
Harry shook his head.
“Who cleared the glasses from the table?” Jasper asked. “I know it wasn’t the constables who arrived at the scene, as none of the glasses were taken in for testing. But we believe Mrs. Carter consumed a drink laced with arsenic. Their disappearance during all the commotion is suspicious.”
Harry blushed guiltily, and Bloom held up his palms. “Honest mistake, Inspector. The lad was only trying to do his job.”
“I’m sure he was,” Jasper replied, thinking it likely the waiter had rushed to follow Bloom’s orders. The club owner was no innocent, and according to Leo’s typed witness statement, which he’d read on the carriage ride across the river, she’d announced to Bloom that it looked like Mrs. Carter had been poisoned. Traces of arsenic found in a glass served at Striker’s Wharf would be bad for business. The man’s ability to think only of shielding himself from police scrutiny, even as a young woman lay dead on the floor of his club, was inexcusable.
“I’m going to need to speak to all your staff, Mr. Bloom. Even the ones not present last night. Names and addresses, if you will,” Jasper said. Harry might have been the Carters’ waiter, but that didn’t mean someone else hadn’t interfered.
