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Chapter Thirty-Four
Charles was in his office, when Constable Mills arrived. He was smiling smugly. Charles had already heard the news, and had called for Lord Dunsmore, as well as his friend, Alistair Morton. He had a hunch that he was about to be blamed, and he wanted someone skilled in criminal defense in his corner.
“We’ve found your date book, sir,” the Constable said, placing it on his desk.
Charles stared at the familiar book, which had his name embossed on the leather of the cover. He recalled purchasing it, ordering his name placed there. He’d been proud of the purchase.
“At the scene of the Duke of Longmire’s murder,” Charles said bitterly, finishing the thought. It was just as he’d expected. “Just like I told you that you would. The murderer wants to frame me.” He was terrified, but he wasn’t about to show Constable Mills. He folded his hands in his lap, staring back at the constable.
“Don’t say anything more, Charles,” Alistair said, letting himself in. “They’re looking to close the investigation. However, London is in an uproar over the deaths of four gentlemen, and if the correct murderer is not caught, Constable Mills will be in a lot of trouble.”
“I see what’s going on here,” Constable Mills said. “I’ve got my eye on you, Mr. Conolly.”
“We can see that,” Alistair said coolly. “However, Mr. Conolly has an alibi for last night.”
“Does he?” Constable Mills raised an eyebrow, turning his gaze back toward Charles.
“I do,” Charles replied, glad that he had decided to go out drinking with the other barristers. He hadn’t gone, recently. Alistair and Arthur had persuaded him at the last minute.
“He was out all night with us,” Alistair said. “I can give you the names and contact information for all nine of us barristers who go out for a pint every week.”
The Constable’s eyes widened as he looked at Alistair in dismay. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Morton.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want you to just take my word for it,” Alistair said, clearly pleased.
Lord Dunsmore burst into the room. “Constable! I thought I’d find you here.”
“You summoned Dunsmore?” Constable Mills asked, disappointed. He looked in between Charles and Alistair, clearly unsure which of them was to blame for the private detective’s appearance.
“I did,” Charles admitted freely. “Although it sounds as though he didn’t receive my missive at his home.”
“I was at the crime scene,” Lord Dunsmore replied, looking at the constable curiously. “It was a hunch that I had that led me here, fortuitously. Are you planning on charging Mr. Conolly?”
“No,” Constable Mills replied. “I’ve got what I needed—that is, Mr. Conolly’s alibi. I’ll be on my way out.”
The three of them were silent, as they waited for the constable to leave. The door closed, and then both Alistair and Lord Dunsmore turned to Charles.
“I’m taking you to my estate in the country,” Lord Dunsmore said.
“You need an alibi at all times,” Alistair added.
“I’m not leaving London,” Charles replied, shaking his head. He would look guilty if he left town. Not to mention, if the murders stopped as soon as he was out of London, then he would look guilty as sin.
“It’s no longer safe for you here,” Lord Dunsmore stated.
“He’s right,” Alistair added.
“I promised Lady Arabella that I would remain nearby,” he said. “I cannot abandon her. Not at this time.” No one and nothing could get him to leave. Unless Arabella herself was going. Then, and only then would he go.
Alistair and Lord Dunsmore shared a look.
“I won’t run and hide,” Charles said. “I’ll just make myself very visible.”
“Very well. Then we will make you very visible,” Lord Dunsmore said. “Have you any invitations?”
“A few,” Charles replied.
“Then you’re going to all of them,” Alistair said. “Make sure that you are seen, and for long periods of time.”
