There were times—many of them, if Leo was being honest with herself—that she wished she did not have a perfect memory. A cutting remark, an embarrassing moment, a frightening event…these were all things regular people with regular memories could forget with the passage of time. The clarity of the memories would fade, turning them hazy at the edges, perhaps even lapsing entirely. While Leo never wished to suffer as her Aunt Flora did, she often envied other people their ability to forget.
However, there were other times when she was quite pleased her mind worked the way it did. Like yesterday, for example, when she’d recalled the gossip column and provided Jasper with a new suspect to question. He’d acted ungrateful for the tip, but that’s all it was—an act. His competitive spirit might have been quiet for the most part, but it was nevertheless consistent.
At around noon, she reached the Yard, wondering how the interview with Mr. Wilkes had unfolded and what Jasper had learned. However, she wasn’t at headquarters just to see the detective inspector. An unidentified corpse had arrived at the morgue overnight, taken in by the night attendant, Mr.Sampson. Despite the ungainliness of her last brief interaction with Constable Elias Murray, they did have an arrangement, so she’d catalogued the details regarding the John Doe for a description in theGazette. As soon as Claude had finished the postmortem—cleverly inviting Mr. Higgins to close with sutures to avoid any display of his own trembling hands—Leo had typed the report and the victim’s description, then started for the Yard.
Upon arrival there, the call of the detective department was like a siren’s song. If Jasper had returned from the Polytechnic, she could potentially needle him until he told her what Mr. Wilkes had conveyed in his interview. She turned away from the stairs leading toward theGazetteoffice, and went instead to the corridor leading to the C.I.D.
Much to her delight, Constable Wiley wasn’t at his desk, guarding the premises from hysterical and over-imaginative females. Leo passed the unmanned desk and walked straight into the department room, which was occupied by a handful of desks, at which sat a few conversing detective constables and sergeants. Eyes turned in her direction. Usually, no one approached or spoke to her, and they didn’t now, either. But she couldn’t help but notice the glimpses were harsher than normal…and they lingered longer than usual too. Leo kept her eyes forward as she passed Detective Sergeant Lewis’s desk. He wasn’t there, but she didn’t think he would have offered her any warmer of a welcome had he been.
After a perfunctory knock on Jasper’s closed door, she turned the knob and whisked inside.
“I have a postmortem report for you, but I also—” Leo came to an abrupt halt.
Constable Wiley pushed off from Jasper’s desk, where he’d been leaning casually, his arms crossed. Jasper wasn’t present, but three other men were. One was seated in the chair placedin front of the desk, and two more stood, flanking him at his shoulders like stone pillars.
“What are you doing in here?” Constable Wiley hissed as he came toward her.
“Had you been at your own desk, constable, you might have asked then,” she answered, her interest solely in the man who, upon her arrival, had unfolded himself from the chair.
Mr. Andrew Carter cocked his head as he took in the sight of her. Recognition lit his pale blue irises, but Constable Wiley snagged her arm and tried to hustle her toward the door.
“The lady can stay,” Mr. Carter said, the command a clear admonishment for the constable’s manhandling. “And you can leave.”
It wasn’t a suggestion. One of the two pillars next to Mr. Carter strode forward, and Constable Wiley all but tossed down her arm. He glared at her. “Inspector Reid’s late. If he doesn’t show up soon, the chief will hand him his own backside.”
He spared Mr. Carter an uncertain and subservient grin and left the office, though he kept the door open. Leo was slightly comforted by that as she laid the folder with the John Doe’s postmortem on the desk. The two men with Mr. Carter were large and muscled; she presumed they were his protective guards. Mr. Carter himself remained on his feet, his hawklike eyes fixed on her with an intensity she could only describe as dangerous.
“You were at Bloom’s club,” he stated. “You’re the one who said Gabriela was poisoned.”
She merely nodded. It wasn’t like her to be so easily ruffled, but this was a Carter. A higher-up of the East Rips gang. She’d crossed paths with him at Striker’s the other night, of course, but they hadn’t conversed. He’d been anguished by his wife’s death, utterly preoccupied. He hadn’t stared at Leo then as he was now…like he suspected her of something.
Mr. Carter’s eyes slid toward the folder she’d placed on Jasper’s desk. “Who are you?”
“I…” She licked her lips. He didn’t seem to know her name, and she was wary of giving it. Though she couldn’t articulate why. “I’m early for my appointment with Inspector Reid. He wished to go over my statement about your wife’s…death.”
Murder had been on the tip of her tongue, but she’d thought it might provoke him. Barely concealed malevolence lingered in his icy blue stare. The man was furious, as any husband whose wife had been murdered would be.
“I’m told you saw a woman in a hooded cloak running away from my table,” he said.
“I did, and I followed her,” she said, “but she disappeared into the fog on the wharf.”
Mr. Carter came a step closer, his intensity building. “What more can you remember about her?”
“Nothing.”
“Her face?”
“As I already said, nothing.” Belatedly, she realized she’d been terse. The arch of his brow indicated he wasn’t happy with her tone.
Still, Leo wasn’t practiced at backing down, even when she was intimidated. “I do, however, recall that you were not with your wife when she became afflicted. It was only after I returned from trying to follow the cloaked woman that you arrived at your wife’s side.”
He flattened his arched brow and considered her observation for several seconds. “That’s right,” he said finally. “I was called away from our table for a short while.”
“For what reason?” The question was out before she could think to withhold it. Incredulity flashed in his eyes. A perilous moment passed, her breathing quitting entirely. She expected one of his thugs to step forward in a threatening manner, as hadhappened with Constable Wiley. But slowly, Mr. Carter’s lips peeled back into a sharp grin.
“I didn’t realize you were a Scotland Yard detective.” He laughed, but he wasn’t trying to jest. He was pushing back, warning her against asking more questions.
Leo’s initial apprehension of him withered under the challenge. She didn’t like being bullied by anyone. Even a well-known criminal.
