“You think he’s telling the truth?”
Lewis nodded, though he didn’t look pleased by it. “He’s honest. So’s the staff. No one knows a thing. But I might have found something with the catering service that was hired.”
Jasper perked up, hopeful.
“One of their servers disappeared during the ruckus, after Miss Spencer was taken,” Lewis explained. “A man by the name of Philip Green. He was hired on last week. I’ve got a constable checking on his address.”
It could be something, Jasper granted, but it also wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary for the server to have left out of fright. Plenty of the guests had done the same.
He briefed Lewis on the body found in Gavin Seabright’s lodgings and how Leo had identified him as one of the masked intruders.
“Gavin’s involved then,” the detective sergeant said. “And now, he’s missing. He’s got to be guilty of something.”
“We turn our focus to finding him tomorrow,” Jasper said, checking the time on his pocket watch. It was nearing six o’clock, and his eyes were burning. Last night’s commotion and lack of sleep were catching up with him.
He took down his coat and hat from the stand, along with his umbrella.
“Grab a pint, guv?” Lewis asked.
Jasper paused. The invitation was a first from his detective sergeant. Lewis had a family in St. Andrew, across the river: a wife and two young sons. Most nights, he was eager to get home to them.
Though he was dead on his feet, Jasper heard himself agreeing. They jogged across the street to the Rising Sun pub, where inside, a dozen or more officers were having a few beers after hours. The air was warm and sticky from the rain, and smoky from a peat fire in the hearth. Jasper bought a couple of pints for them and made his way to a pitted table by the window, where he and Lewis sipped their ale. Kept at cellar temperature, the cool ale built a layer of sweat on the glasses.
“You said Miss Spencer was at Gavin’s lodgings?” Lewis asked. His attempt to sound casual failed.
“I sent for her, yes,” Jasper said.
“She could’ve identified the man’s body at the morgue.”
Jasper lowered his mug back onto the ring of condensation on the table. His detective sergeant wasn’t wrong. She certainly could have, once he’d had the corpse transported there.
“Waiting might have set me back a few hours. I’m trying to move quickly on this case,” he replied. The excuse was paltry, even to his own ears.
“You don’t think you’re chasing trouble, bringing her in?”
He began to regret accepting Lewis’s invitation for a pint.
“I’m not bringing her in, exactly,” he answered, though sending her to question Esther Goodwin would be seen that way. “I’m being careful.”
Lewis sat back in his chair, his hand still wrapped around his glass. “I’m not against her. She’s useful.”
Jasper waited for his sergeant to tack on a warning. That Jasper was risking his job, or that Leo wasn’t trained as a detective, or some other valid reason to do as Coughlan had insisted—to cease associating with her.
But Lewis stayed quiet.
“I agree,” Jasper said warily after a moment. It was on the tip of his tongue to mention that she had gone to see Martha Seabright’s sister. But he didn’t want to press his luck.
Lewis sat forward, forearms resting on the table, and lowered his voice. “Coughlan’s asked some of the men to keep an eye out. Make sure Miss Spencer’s out of the picture. And if she isn’t, to report back to him.”
The deception shouldn’t have been surprising. Jasper had received plenty of warnings from the chief inspector over the last handful of months to keep Leo at arm’s length when it came to Scotland Yard investigations. But hearing this felt like a wallop to the gut.
“Which men?”
“That I know of? Wiley and Drake.” Lewis took a sip of his beer. “And me.”
Jasper stiffened in his seat. He was now glad he hadn’t confessed about sending Leo to interview Esther Goodwin. “I see.”
“I’m no rat, guv.” Lewis’s lip curled at the thought. “But we both know Wiley is and that Drake was born without a spine. So be careful. And maybe tell Miss Spencer to be too.”
