Jasper tapped his pencil against the paper. “None of this information was in the constable’s report.”
“I don’t know why you’re surprised by that. As I’ve said, the constable dismissed both me and Dita as hysterical females. It wasn’t until his superior officer arrived and announced they were sending the case to the C.I.D. that the constable even bothered to write down my comments at all.”
L Division had likely realized the East Rips connection to their victim and wanted it off their hands.Lucky bastards.
“What else can you recall?”
Leo peeled the paper in the typewriter from the platen and extended it toward him. “I’ve typed it all for you.”
Of course she had. He took the paper; it was filled to the margins with details. “Perhaps you could summarize?”
She sighed as though annoyed, but he knew she was happy to do so. “Since I thought it might be a poisoning, I noted what was on the Carters’ table. There were three glasses. I kept an eye on them while the police were summoned, thinking they could be collected for testing. But the club became rather chaotic when the officers arrived, and unfortunately when I looked again, the table had been cleared.”
Likely by an unthinking waiter, Jasper guessed. Then again, it might have been intentional.
“Anything else?”
“I think the most important thing to note is that Mr. Carter wasn’t at the table when his wife fell ill. He didn’t reappear until after I returned from following the woman in the hooded cloak. At least three minutes had passed by then.”
“Did he happen to say where he’d been?” Jasper asked.
She shook her head. “And I didn’t ask.”
“I’m glad you didn’t. I don’t want you speaking to a Carter or anyone connected to the East Rips. They’re criminal scum.”
She pressed her lips against a reply that he could practically hear in his mind: that she would speak to whomever she pleased.
Jasper would have to question Andrew Carter himself. He ignored the reflexive cramp in his gut. Andrew wouldn’t recognize him; he was nearly certain of it. Jasper hadn’t been part of that East End world since the Inspector took him in sixteen years ago. Still, he’d rather have been assigned to any other death inquiry than one having to do with a Carter.
“There is also the matter of a photograph I found in Mrs. Carter’s handbag,” Leo added. “I’ve catalogued all her personal effects for the inquest report and sent the box over to your office. However, the photograph stood out as a bit…strange.”
Intrigued, he waited for her to explain.
“It was some death photography,” she said. “Of two young children.”
The topic of death photography reminded him of the case in January. One of Sir Nathaniel’s victims had been yet another Carter family member, this one William, the black sheep among Patrick Carter’s five sons. William had been employed at a funeral service, and one of his duties had been the staging of the recently deceased, positioned to look as though they were alive.These pictures were popular keepsakes, the last photographs captured of loved ones before burial.
“Could the children have been her own?” he asked.
“No, Uncle Claude confirmed she’d never borne a child.”
“Then, they’re probably a relative’s children.”
“But to carry it with her in her handbag?” Leo shook her head and grimaced. Her views on death photography matched his own: that it was a maudlin, morbid trend. “The edges of the photograph had been cut, removing the photographer’s stamp,” she added.
Most reputable photographers would foil stamp the corner of their work. Without the signature mark, there would be no way to track down the studio from which it had come.
“I’ll see what I can find out about it when I talk to the husband,” Jasper replied.
“Are you going to see Mr. Carter now?”
He was keen to put off the trip, if only by a few hours. “No, I’m going first to Bloom’s club. I need to interview him and his staff.”
“I’ll come with you,” Leo said, eagerly. He held up a hand.
“That isn’t necessary.”
“I know him somewhat. And Mr. Bloom doesn’t like you, if you recall.” She needn’t have reminded him. He hadn’t forgotten Eddie Bloom’s cold reception at Striker’s Wharf in January.
