Page 62 of Thief Taker

“Wanted a word about Wessex,” Elias said, glancing down the narrow alley towards a door that stood open in the yard beyond. “What’s going on here, then?”

“Murder!” the constable said, waving his short tipstaff. “Terrible business. Young folk today don’t know—”

“Thank you, Constable,” Groves cut in. “I’ll take a look at the body now. The coroner is still to arrive?”

“I sent a boy half an hour ago. They’ll be back soon, I expect.”

Groves gestured for Elias to follow. “Come on then, since you’re here. This ain’t a usual one.”

They followed the constable into the cramped yard, shadowy in the dull morning light. The door that stood open led into a small set of offices, a brass plate on the wall announcing the occupier: Mr. Jacob Hawker, Solicitor.

“He’s in there,” the constable said, stepping back to allow them to pass. “In the back.”

Elias followed Groves inside, through a small outer office used by the clerk, to the larger one that must have been Hawker’s.

His body lay near a large desk. He’d been a smallish man, close-cut grey hair, sober black suit as befitted his profession. Some distance away lay his powdered wig, presumably knocked off in the attack. The man had a narrow face, but his features were hard to distinguish beneath the gore and swelling.

He’d been beaten about the head, savagely.

“God’s teeth,” Elias said softly.

Groves crouched, to examine the wounds more closely. “A cudgel, perhaps?” Blood seeped through the front of Hawker’s shirt and Groves untied it, pushing the linen aside to reveal a round bruise with a deep gouge at the centre. “What do you think?”

“Heavy, but sharp—not a cudgel.” Elias leaned down, looking closer. “Metal knob of a cane, maybe?”

With a grumble about the condition of his knees, Groves pushed back to his feet. “Aye, maybe.”

“Bloody violent, though,” Elias said. “One blow like that would fell a man, but this poor sod’s been well and truly basted.”

“Hmm,” Groves said grimly, glancing about the office.

Papers were scattered across the man’s desk, and behind him sat an open strongbox. The key still dangled in the lock. “Robbery,” Elias said. “Or made to look like one.”

“A lot of violence for a robbery.” Groves considered the body. “And this fellow don’t look like he’d put up much of a fight. Still, I’ll ask the clerk to see what’s missing after the coroner gets here.” Then he eyed Elias and said, “Go on then. Let’s have it. Something brought you here this morning.”

“You did, as it happens. I’ve a question or two, although you probably don’t have time.”

“I don’t. But for you, I’ll make an exception.”

“Are you sure?” Elias glanced down at the body. “I could find you later at the Bear.”

“Well, he ain’t going anywhere. So have at it, lad.”

Elias smiled at the expression. Groves still called him lad, despite the years that had passed since they’d first crossed paths. “What do you know of a man named Salter?”

“Tobias Salter?”

“The very one.”

Groves thought for a moment. “Extremely rich, extremely ruthless. Runs a dozen of the lowest kinds of hells, as well as a gentleman’s club up west. Son of a blacksmith.”

“That much I already know,” Elias said. “You’ve had reason to pay him attention?”

“Only once. Last summer there was a man found dead in the alley behind his club. Salter insisted he’d fallen to his death in a drunken stupor. There were witnesses to confirm it.”

“Did you believe them?”

Groves shrugged. “Had no reason not to—the witnesses were gentlemen of quality.”