“Actually, I have no idea. But Solomon thinks if you did it, you did it for a reason that makes sense to you both, even if not to the law.”
“Is that what he said?”
“No. I just know Solomon.”
The long eyelashes, so similar to Solomon’s, swept down across David’s cheeks. But she had already glimpsed the loss.
“Are you really a bad man, David Grey?” she asked.
He nodded. “I have been. It never goes away.”
“I don’t believe you forgot him either,” Constance said. “He was still your brother, whom you wanted to be like again. Perhaps, when you imagined being someone else, you were just remembering him. Perhaps he was your antidote to badness, because you never wanted to be bad in the first place.”
A strangled, savage laugh broke from him. “An unexpectedly kind interpretation of mad and bad.”
And dangerous to know?
Chapter Three
Solomon, on hisway to Scotland Yard, stopped to buy the latest edition of a newspaper, but found no mention of the body outside the Crown and Anchor. Perhaps corpses at that particular establishment were so common that they did not constitute news. But at least it meant there was no general hue and cry out for David.
He suspected it also meant that David was wrong about the identity of the dead man—the murder of a rich merchant outside a dockside public house being most definitely newsworthy. But then, neither was David merely the happy-go-lucky sailor he had appeared on their first encounter. He had been damaged by his past—a past Solomon’s mind kept trying to veer away from—and confused by his returning memories.
Which all meant there was much to discover in a short space of time. Determined to go to Sutton May with Constance tomorrow, Solomon could not leave David or himself in quite so much ignorance while he did so. He might have time to visit the Crown and Anchor, though he knew from experience that would be an exercise in interpreting silences and blatant lies.
He might also learn more from the local police station, but he had no friends there and was reluctant to force himself on their notice when the man they had sought last night was hiding in Solomon’s house. An unofficial chat with the irritable but honorable Inspector Harris at Scotland Yard was his best start.
Unfortunately, neither Harris nor his amiable sergeant were available, being out upon inquiries and not expected back until the end of the day.
Another name sprang to mind. “What about Inspector Omand?”
He and Constance had met and indeed helped Omand to solve the murder of Frances Niall. An older, apparently plodding sort of a man, he had proved to be both insightful and decent. Unlike his underling, Constable Napier…
“Inspector Omand is in court, sir,” said the elderly constable on duty, clearly unused to visitors asking for acquaintances as though they were at a gentlemen’s club.
Solomon had some sympathy with that point of view. He toyed with the idea of inquiring of the man before him what he knew of the murder at the Crown and Anchor. Then the elderly constable’s eyes suddenly lightened.
“But here’s his constable who works with him on most cases. Here, Napier!”
Solomon felt his hackles rise even before Napier, the ambitious young constable who no doubt still despised him, turned and walked reluctantly back to the desk.
“This gentleman’s looking for Inspector Omand,” the older policeman said. “Perhaps you can help him? Constable Napier, sir. Napier, Mr.—”
“I know who he is,” Napier interrupted with as little respect as he had ever shown Omand, let alone Solomon. He flicked his gaze over Solomon and his lips spasmed with distaste. “What do you want?”
“It concerns a murder last night outside the Crown and Anchor,” Solomon replied, since there was no point in not asking.
Napier’s sneer was more pronounced now. “Come to confess, have you?”
“Not until I know who died, at least,” Solomon said pleasantly.
“I hear they’re looking for a black man. Where were you at eight o’clock last night?”
It was deliberately offensive, causing the desk policeman to say in shocked tones, “Here, lad, mind your manners!”
Solomon, not even surprised, said, “In my office at St. Catherine’s Dock with several of my senior employees. If you know nothing, please save us both valuable time by saying so.”
What Napier might have responded to that, Solomon never learned, for the elderly constable, clearly anxious to make up for Napier’s unforgivable rudeness, said suddenly, “The Crown and Anchor case? I heard it was a respectable gent in disguise, had cards in his pocket, by the name of…Chase. Had a few dealings on the wrong side of the law and a bit of dodgy trading, but there, shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” He eyed Napier’s scowl and smiled. “Herbert Chase. That’s your victim. Knife in the heart, no weapon found. Case will come to someone here, but it won’t be to young Napier.”
