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Chapter Four
By the time Quinn returned to the station, Ness and the others had arrived with Polly’s body. She’d been taken to the dead room, where Dr. Lockwood would discover if they’d missed anything in their preliminary investigation. Unfortunately, it would also take a while for the photographer, Eben Solomon, to develop the pictures so Quinn could pore over them more thoroughly.
Rubbing his hand over his face, he went into his office and sent Constable Pond out to get him and his men something to eat. It would be a late night, and he was already starving.
He’d barely sat down when Mandrake Blackstone, the assistant police commissioner who was his direct superior, entered his office and took a seat. Drake was the second son of a marquess, but he took his position seriously and had done much good since he’d been appointed. He and Quinn had always gotten along famously, but he’d certainly want results when a crime like this had been committed.
“Tell me everything,” Drake demanded without preamble. He was a tall, handsome, dark-haired man who usually wore an easy smile, but he wasn’t smiling now. “They’re saying this could be the next Ripper.”
Quinn sighed. “There’s only one victim, and everything points to this being a crime of passion. I’m certain that Polly Keys got herself tangled up in something seedy, and she paid the price.”
He opened the file they’d begun constructing on his desk and handed over the provocative naked picture of the girl.
Drake’s eyes widened. “Damn. If the press gets ahold of this—”
“They won’t,” Quinn interrupted. “No one knows of this photo except for you, me, Ness, Ivers, and Skinner. They’ve all been instructed not to say a word about it.”
“Excellent.” Drake’s dark eyes flooded with relief. “We need to get this contained as soon as possible. Be certain that it’s reported as a prostitute who was probably murdered by one of her clients.”
Quinn winced a bit at that, but he knew Drake was probably right. “The girl was murdered at Mercy House. I hate for news of that to get out. Lady Allison has worked so hard to get these girls off the street.”
“Ah! I’d forgotten that Hawkesmere had requested you for that special assignment to go and retrieve his sister from Paris. Is she a friend of yours?”
What a loaded question. Even Quinn wasn’t certain of the answer. She certainly wasn’t considering him a friend of hers tonight. And unlike Drake, whose pedigree would have earned him a spot on the lady’s dance card at some sparkling ball last Season, someone like Quinn would never be allowed to even darken the door of one of the ton’s entertainments. His own pedigree had much to be desired.
“She’s a lovely young lady,” Quinn answered carefully. “A bit naïve, but her heart’s in the right place. I hate that she had to see such a thing, but I’m certain Hawkesmere will keep her away from the place as soon as he finds out.”
“Rightfully so,” Drake replied. “This neighborhood is nowhere for a lady.”
“You’re certainly correct,” Quinn answered briskly, ready to be done talking about Lady Allison for the night.
Drake seemed to read his mind because he stood, and Quinn realized he was dressed for the theater in black tails and a crisp white cravat. “My brother and I were headed out for the evening. Do you have everything well in hand?”
Before Quinn could answer, another elegant gentleman stepped into the room. Mortimer Blackstone, Drake’s older brother, was Viscount Danbury and would one day be the Marquess of Stonebridge. “Pardon. I couldn’t help but overhear. Is it true another killer is roaming the streets of our fair city?”
Quinn frowned, unsure what to say. Though Danbury was a powerful lord and a member of Parliament, he had no business asking such a question.
“You know we can’t tell you that, Danbury,” Drake said smoothly. “Wait out in the lobby. I’ll just be a moment more.”
Danbury smiled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Dreadfully sorry, Inspector. I’m afraid my curiosity got the best of me. I’m certain we can trust you to handle the matter effectively.”
“I’ll do my best,” Quinn replied, trying to keep the disdain out of his voice. Though he admired and respected Drake, he thought men like Danbury were worthless as tits on a bull.
Once his brother had left, Drake gave him an apologetic smile. “Keep me updated. You can send a runner to my house any time of night if you need me.”
“Of course. I’ll let you know if there’s a break in the case, but I’m really not expecting to make much headway tonight.”
On the heels of Drake’s departure, Pond returned with a sandwich and apple he’d gotten from the restaurant across the street. “There’s a swell insisting upon seeing you,” the constable said, obviously rattled. “I told him you were busy, but he’s very insistent.”
“Who is it?” Quinn asked with a sigh, wondering if he was ever going to be able to get back to actually doing his job tonight.
“Lord Hawkesmere, sir. He says it’s about his sister.”
Of course, it is. With a groan, Quinn pushed the sandwich that he’d just unwrapped away. He wasn’t certain he’d ever get to eat, either. “Send him in.”
Moments later, Lucien Strathmore came in, but a cold knot settled in the pit of Quinn’s stomach when he saw the man looked nearly sick with worry, not infuriated as he’d expected.
“Where is my sister? One of the footmen said you were in the hack that dropped her off earlier this afternoon,” Hawkesmere demanded without preface, his blue eyes troubled.
