Page 86 of Hawk & Sparrow

“Shh!” Mrs. Bickerton glared at her husband before taking him firmly by the elbow. “We’ll leave you alone with her, Vesper. Maybe she’ll open up to you. Maximilian, if you’d like to join us in—”

“No.” It was the first thing Ada had said since they’d walked into the room. She didn’t look up, and her expression remained blank as she stared out the window, but her voice was firm. “Mr. Kite can stay.”

Mr. and Mrs. Bickerton exchanged an uncertain look before Mrs. Bickerton nodded. To Vesper, she said: “We’ll just be down the hall.”

Maximilian and Vesper waited until Ada’s parents had left the room before sitting down beside her.

“Thank you both for coming,” Ada said softly. “I appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Vesper took the girl’s hand in hers. She squeezed gently, and something seemed to shake loose in Ada. A single tear rolled down her cheek and she hung her head. She looked at Maximilian.

“Please excuse me, Mr. Kite.”

“There’s nothing to excuse.” Maximilian withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it. Ada dabbed at the eye that was bruised, then winced.

“Ada,” Vesper said gently. “What happened?”

Ada looked between Maximilian and Vesper, then swallowed. “I told you I thought I could find someone to decipher the contents of the journal you found in Charles Belver’s office,” she said. “So I went to visit a family friend.”

Maximilian’s eyes widened in alarm, but Vesper met his gaze.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I told her about the investigation. She’s helping.”

“Our family friend lives in Rockbriar,” Ada continued, “so I headed down there yesterday afternoon, but he wasn’t in his office, so I doubled back to head home. My coachman offered to take me, but I told him I preferred to walk. The weather was nice.” She shook her head. “I was so foolish. About halfway home, I realized something was wrong. There were lots of people in the streets, more than usual. I tried to pick up my pace but someone attacked me. I suppose they saw a well-dressed woman alone and thought I had money. I don’t remember much, but”—she lightly touched the side of her head, then flinched—“I was hit from behind. I don’t remember much after that,” said Ada. “When I came to, some kind young man was standing over me. He got me inside a local shop his family owned, then went to find help. I didn’t get home until a few hours ago.”

A new discomfort settled in the pit of Vesper’s stomach as Ada’s words sank in. By the time the rioting throughout the city had gotten bad, she’d been safe inside Kite Manor, but Ada had gotten hurt, because she’d been out trying to do something to help her investigation.

She got hurt because of you, an internal voice accused. It’s your fault.

“Ada.” For the first time, Maximilian spoke up. “I know you were hit from behind, but do you remember anything about your attacker? Did they take anything from you?”

Ada nodded, and for the first time met Vesper’s gaze directly.

“The journal,” she whispered. “It’s gone.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

SUNDAY, 20TH OF NOVEMBER—11:25 A.M.

It was nearly noon by the time Vesper and Maximilian left the Bickertons’ house.

Vesper chewed on her bottom lip as they walked side by side toward a small park a few blocks up the road, and tried to focus on the new details of the investigation. They’d learned so much in the last twenty-four hours, and now she felt as though the five-thousand-piece puzzle she’d originally thought she was working on was actually ten thousand. She remembered the bruising on Ada’s face and was overcome with guilt. She felt terribly that Ada had been attacked, but if she was honest, she also grieved the loss of the journal. In the wake of Belver’s death, it was the only tangible thing she’d had to possibly give Chief Stettner. Now that was gone too.

Maximilian cleared his throat, interrupting her thoughts.

“I’ve got an idea,” he said. “Let’s lay out what we’ve done so far, what we’ve learned.”

Vesper ticked a finger. “First suspect: Bess Duxley. She was one of Francis’s ex-lovers, and she had a plausible means, opportunity, and motive to want Mr. Gladwell dead.”

“But you don’t think it was her?”

Vesper shook her head. “There’s a possibility that she killed him in a crime of passion, but the truth is, I think Bess wanted her and Francis to end up together,” she said. “It certainly would have been better for her reputation.”

“Which takes us to our second and more likely suspect: Charles Belver. He stood to lose or gain a great deal because of the Gladwell Machine. We know that he was struggling financially, so he was desperate. He also had Gladwell’s prototype in his office.”

“It could still be him,” said Vesper. “Right now, we have lots of circumstantial evidence, but without a confession or physical evidence, we have nothing that definitively links him to Mr. Gladwell’s murder.”

“Suspect number three.” This time, Maximilian held up three fingers. “The Thally Rousers. We know at least one of them was at the exhibition, and that the police saw them around the maze shortly after Francis was murdered. Francis’s brother seemed to think there was a connection there—he actually saw Francis with them, and blunt force to the head is certainly a brutal enough way for a gang to take someone out.”