Page 16 of The Detective and the Baroness

The waitress, momentarily taken aback, smoothed her features into a neutral look. “I’ll ask him, but he is busy in the kitchen.”

“Tell him it is personal,” Drew said kindly. “And he can see us at his convenience, of course. There is no need for urgency.”

The waitress nodded, then quickly went to bring their pints of stout. A big Irishman came through the door as Mitchell took his first sip. He leaned down to listen as the waitress whispered in his ear, motioning toward their booth.

“He’s out of the kitchen,” Mitchell murmured, “And the waitress is filling him in on our request.”

“How does he look?” Drew asked. His seat was facing the opposite direction.

“He looks annoyed and is heading this way.”

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Hallahan’s voice was deep, and his words clipped, but they were not unfriendly. Mitchell didn’t hear much of an Irish accent, either. The man was easily three or four inches over six feet and broad of shoulder. He wore black trousers and a white shirt, and his sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, showing muscular forearms. Mitchell glanced at Drew.

Drew turned to the man. “I am Doctor Drew Hornsby, and this is Detective Sergeant Mitchell Simpson. I believe we have a father in common.”

That was candid and to the point, and Hallahan’s eyes widened briefly—the same blue eyes they possessed.

The tall man recovered swiftly enough. “So?”

The tone was not so friendly now.

“You know who we are talking about, don’t you?” Mitchell stated. He wasn’t a detective for nothing. He had seen the brief shadow cross Hallahan’s eyes at the mention of their ‘father.’

“I met him once, and I kicked his aristo arse out of my place. I’ll do the same to you two if you don’t get to the bloody point,” Hallahan growled in a low voice.

Drew moved over on the large bench seat. “Please, Mr. Hallahan, sit with us a moment. We have no notorious intent. We merely wish to speak with you.”

Hallahan grunted as he visually scanned the restaurant. “I only have your meals to cook; everyone else is served. I can talk to you until more customers come in. Fair play?”

“That is more than satisfactory,” Drew replied.

The chef stomped away, clearly agitated.

“We stirred up something there,” Mitchell said as he sipped the stout.

“It is obvious the late duke sought him out at some point, and it did not go well. Either that or he is generally an unpleasant sort. Many talented chefs are, or so I hear.”

“Possibly. We will soon discover if he is talented or not. Hallahan will surely kick us to the cobbles as soon as we eat and pay for the meals. What do we want from this bloke, anyway?” Mitchell asked, still keeping his voice low.

“We started this to see if any of our relations needed assistance. Observing this restaurant, I would say Hallahan is doing well enough. Look at the businessmen sitting at the table near the window and at the family in the booth opposite. Decidedly middle-class or above. This is not exactly a middle-class area. If he wants nothing to do with us, I say we move on to the next name on the list.”

Mitchell nodded. “You may have the right of it. We’ll see what he has to say.”

Ten minutes later, the waitress brought them two large platters heaped with food, along with a wicker basket filled with Irish soda bread and small dishes of whipped butter. Hallahan emerged from the kitchen, whispered something to a different waitress, and then stomped over to their table, sliding beside Drew.

“Go on. Speak. I’m a busy man.”

Mitchell sliced into the beefsteak. It was like cutting through butter. He speared a piece of the tender meat on his fork, twirled it through the creamy potatoes, and ate it. After he swallowed, he looked up at Hallahan. “That is delicious. The best beefsteak I have had in a long while.” He spoke the truth. The meat was far tastier than the one he had two days ago at a pub in Camden Town.

Hallahan grunted and nodded, obviously pleased. “What do you care about the late duke? Aye, I read about his death in the paper a few months back. Why seek me out? And how do you even know about me?”

Drew reached into his coat side pocket and pulled out the record of names. “You are on this list that the dowager duchess recently gave her son. In his investigations, the new duke, Damon Cranston, discovered a tangled web of a conspiracy. Beyond this list is a ledger with names spanning over three decades. I recently learned of my connection from my adopted father when the old duke passed. Mitchell found out shortly before that, when the new duke sought him out.”

Hallahan took the list offered and scanned it. “I don’t see the name Simpson here.”

“I recently took my adopted family’s name. I am on there as Mitchell Evercreech.”