by C. J. Archer
"Where you from, Glass?"
"California, mostly. My mother was a Johnson."
Mr. Cody's gaze slid to Brockwell.
"He knows who the Johnsons are," Matt said, smiling.
"Interesting friendship you two got."
"We're not friends," both Matt and Brockwell said.
I managed to hold my smile in check—just.
Mr. Cody's gaze wandered around the arena, taking in Annie and the cluster of cast members with her, the riders, and the collection of Indians setting up their camp display. "So what's this about now? Be quick, Inspector, I've got a show to prepare."
"What can you tell us about May and Danny Draper?" the inspector asked.
Mr. Cody's gaze snapped to Brockwell. "You think they killed Emmett?"
"I'm trying to piece together a picture of a number of people, including the Drapers."
"So they're suspects."
The inspector waited for him to go on.
"Now look here, Inspector, I'm not a gossip. Not everyone in this cast is as clean as a preacher's daughter, but whatever they've done in the past is all forgiven here, as long as their misdemeanors stay in the past. I ain't going to rat on the Drapers—or anyone else."
"You wouldn't want to be harboring criminals, Mr. Cody. Would you?"
Buffalo Bill watched his riders again. "Good day, gentlemen, ma'am. Mind your step on the way out. You wouldn't want to get those nice boots dirty."
Brockwell huffed out a breath.
"You wouldn't be gossiping," I said quickly. "You'd be giving us helpful information to catch Emmett's murderer. You see, we think May has lied to us. We need to learn more about her before we confront her. We need to know what sort of people the Drapers are."
"You put forward a good case, Miss Steele, but the answer's still no. I'm not a snitch."
"Answer the question, Mr. Cody," Matt said, a steely edge to his tone. "If you don't, Brockwell will be forced to stop today's show and turn away your customers."
Mr. Cody rounded on him. Then he turned a hard glare onto Brockwell. "You wouldn't dare," he snarled.
"I can shut it down now," Brockwell said. "It would be better to do it well before it's scheduled to begin, to give you time to organize refunds."
Mr. Cody's lips worked and his moustache twitched, but no sound came out. He resumed watching the horses. After a moment, he said, "May Draper is a woman of many talents. Before she married, she worked for Madame Le Clare in Bellevue, Texas."
"Am I correct to assume that Madame Le Clare is not really French?" Brockwell asked.
Mr. Cody nodded. "She was a brothel madam. May met Danny there, so he knows what she was. They joined my troupe about a year after their marriage, when I spotted them working at a small time show. She shot a tin cup at thirty paces and Danny was a good trick rider. They're not the best at what they do, but I've found married couples work better than singles. Having his wife around makes the husband behave. Usually."
"Danny Draper doesn't behave?" Matt asked.
"He's a gambler. You know that."
"And he has a lot of debt," I added.
"True, Miss Steele. So much debt that I know May returned to her old profession sometimes to pay creditors who talked tough. I reckon Danny don't know the half of it, but he sure knows some. She's always getting him out of a bind. If it weren't for her, his creditors would have caught up with him by now."
"She told you all this?" I asked. It seemed unlikely that a woman would confess such intimate secrets about herself and her marriage to the man who employed her.
"She came to me for a loan once. I wouldn't give her anything but she told me what she'd need to do to get a particularly dangerous creditor off their backs. I felt sorry for her, so I gave her a hundred dollars. It must have helped, because she hasn't come asking for more, and they seemed happier for a time."
"For a time?" Brockwell prompted. "Did that change?"
"About two weeks ago, Danny seemed worried again, real intense when he played cards. He and May argued a lot about money too."
Their change of moods coincided with Emmett ending the partnership with Danny.
"Seems their creditors either followed them here to England or Danny accumulated new ones," Mr. Cody went on. "Knowing him, it could be both."
"Speaking of being followed here," Matt said, "what do you know about Emmett Cocker's troubles back in the States? I heard someone was out for revenge."
"Jack Krane? He caused Emmett some problems before we left, and it wouldn't surprise me if he came here to get his revenge. But I haven't seen him around."
"He might have sent someone to exact revenge on his behalf."
"That he could, Glass. In fact, that's probably why Emmett was murdered. It seems more likely than the Drapers doing it. Their pasts ain't the cleanest, but they're not murderers."
"Do you think May has returned to her old ways again to pay off Danny's debts?" Matt asked.
"I wouldn't want to suggest that about a woman," Mr. Cody said, still watching the horses.
"You're a gentleman," I told him. "Thank you for telling us this much. It's very helpful."
Mr. Cody merely grunted.
"What do you now about Emmett's girl, the blonde named Dotty?" Brockwell asked.
"I've seen her around, both here and back home," Mr. Cody said. "But I don't know her name. Now is that all? I'm a busy man."
"Of course, sir." Brockwell removed his hat and took a giant stride to stand in front of Mr. Cody. He cleared his throat. "Could you spare two tickets to your show, sir? I'd like to bring someone. She says she's already seen it but I think she'd like to go again. She told me how grand the performance was, how ingenious and—"
"Fine, fine." Mr. Cody whistled and a man with a clipboard talking to the Indians looked up. Mr. Cody pointed at Brockwell and held up two fingers. The man nodded.
We thanked Mr. Cody and collected Brockwell's tickets.
"You're bringing a friend to the show?" I asked him as we headed toward the Warwick Road exit. "That's wonderful."
"I have friends," he said, defensively.
"But this is a female friend. You've not mentioned her before."
Matt clapped Brockwell on the shoulder. "Good luck."
Brockwell scowled. "My private life is not a topic I wish to discuss with either of you."
"I'm relieved to hear it." Matt's smirk faded. "Look who finally showed up to work."
I followed his gaze to where May and Danny Draper made their way toward us. Danny carried a pack slung over his shoulder and May clutched a gun case.
"Good morning," May said through her smile. "This is a surprise."
"Something the matter, Inspector?" Danny asked.
"Not at all." Brockwell smiled back. "We had more questions for Mr. Cody and were just on our way."
"Oh. Good." Danny focused on the arena behind us. "What type of questions?"
"The kind I can't inform you of."
May took her husband's arm. "We should go. We're late."
"Wait one moment, if you please. I have some questions you're required to answer."
"Not now," she said. "Mr. Cody has no truck with tardiness. You understand."
"I do."
She smiled and began to walk off, taking Danny with her. Matt moved to block the way. "The detective inspector isn't asking, Mrs. Draper. If you don't want to speak to us here, you can come to Scotland Yard. It's your choice."
Danny swore under his breath. May huffed and released her husband. "Go on then," she snapped.
"Where were you the night of Emmett's murder?" Brockwell asked.
Danny clicked his tongue impatiently. "As we already told Mr. Glass—"
"I know what you told Mr. Glass and Miss Steele. I'd like the truth this time."
Danny swallowed. Husband and wife exchanged glances.
"Come on," Matt urged. "It's not hard. Did you see Emmett that night?"
"No!" May said. "I assure you, neither of us saw him after w
e left The Prince of Wales."
"So where did you go?"
The Drapers exchanged another glance. Danny gave a slight, barely perceptible shake of his head.
"We know you didn't go for a walk," Brockwell said. "Nor were you at your Childs Street lodgings. So where were you?"
"That ain't your business!" Danny spat. "Now move out of the way." He shoved Matt but Matt hardly moved. He continued to block the way.
Brockwell joined him. "Calm down, Mr. Draper."
"I am calm!"
"Danny," May warned.
"Stay out of this!" The veins in Danny's throat throbbed above his tight collar and his face flushed. He shifted his weight from foot to foot and glared at both men. I was reminded of a boxer sizing up his opponent.
Neither Matt nor Brockwell moved, despite Danny's growing agitation. I took a surreptitious step back, just in case his temper exploded.
"Tell us, Mr. Draper," Brockwell pressed. "Where were you that night? What were you and May doing? Something to get you out of debt? Something you hardly dare speak of?"
"Stop!" Danny screamed in the inspector's face. "Stop your damn questions!"
Matt put a hand on Brockwell's shoulder. "That's enough, Inspector."
Brockwell ignored him. There was a brightness to his eyes, a mad gleam as he focused on his prey. It was as if Matt and I weren't even there. "Either you tell us where you were that night or I will have to assume you killed Emmett Cocker."
"No!" May blurted out on a sob. Her fingers tightened around the gun case handle. "We didn't kill him. We were nowhere near The Prince of Wales at that time."
"Enough, May," Danny said, breathing heavily through his mouth. "Don't say anything."
"Why do you want her to stop, Mr. Draper?" Brockwell asked oh-so-innocently. "Is it because you're afraid she'll implicate herself in the murder?"
"She's not a murderer."
"Are you? Is she lying to protect you?"
Danny's hands curled into fists at his sides. "We're not murderers."
"You both lied to us about your whereabouts that night," Brockwell went on like a boulder hurtling down a hill. "You hated Emmett Cocker for ending the cheating arrangement you had with him, and May lied about knowing Dotty Campion. Did you kill her too, May?"
May gasped. She dropped the case and covered her mouth with both hands. The movement distracted me and meant I didn't see Danny swing his fist until it was too late.
Chapter 14
Danny struck Brockwell in the mouth, sending the inspector reeling. Matt caught and steadied him, but his hat fell into the dirt.
"Danny!" May snapped. "You dang fool!"
Danny shook out his hand, all blustery anger gone. He blinked innocently at his wife.
"Oh, Danny," she said on a sigh, grasping his hand in both of hers. "You've gone and hurt yourself, you silly boy."
He bowed his head and she kissed his forehead. It was rather touching, and for the first time, I hoped they weren't guilty of the murder. These two loved each other, in their own way, and it would break their hearts to be separated.
It also explained why one would cover up the other's murdering misdeeds with a bundle of lies.
Brockwell dabbed at his cut lip with his handkerchief. "Mr. Draper, you're under arrest for striking an officer of the law."
"Wait!" May cried. "Don't arrest him. Danny was only defending my honor. If we confess, will you let us go?"
"Depends what you confess to."
"Not murder," she said quickly. "We didn't kill Emmett."
"You don't have to do this, May," Danny said gently.
Two cast members dressed in cowhide chaps and big hats walked past, their spurs tinkling with each step. They continued to stare at us long after they'd passed by.
"I do have to," May said, lowering her voice. "But you've got to promise you won't tell anyone. Not even Cody."
"Agreed," Matt said. "Go on."
"The night Emmett died, I was…spending some time with one of the men Danny played cards with."
"You mean soliciting?" Brockwell asked.
Danny looked like he'd throw another punch.
"No," May said, taking hold of her husband's right arm. "It was just a little fun. No harm done. Danny knows all about it and he…looks the other way."
Danny wasn't looking the other way now. He looked like he wanted to strangle Brockwell for bringing the matter up.
"So you don't do it for money?" Brockwell asked.
"Of course not, Inspector. That would be illegal."
"May I ask the name of the man?"
"James Lester. He has rooms in a house on Glebe Place, Chelsea."
Brockwell wrote down the name and address in his notebook. "And where were you while your wife was…entertaining, Mr. Draper?"
"In the vicinity," Danny growled.
May clutched his arm. "Now do you understand why we didn't want to talk about it?" she asked. "It's not something a husband and wife like to admit."
Danny's jaw clenched, and I swore I heard his teeth grind.
"Is that all?" May asked.
"Not quite," Matt said. "Emmett Cocker's watch was found in Dorothy Campion's belongings. Did you put it there?"
She squared her shoulders. "No, I did not. Why would you suggest such a thing?"
"Because it was convenient that you suddenly remembered where Dotty lived after we interrogated you, and even more convenient that incriminating evidence was found in her room."
"Perhaps it was convenient because she killed Emmett. I'm not even sure I know what his watch looks like."
"It's a gold chronograph LeCoultre," I said.
"We didn't steal it," Danny spat. "Not on the night he died, not before, and not after. We didn't give it to that woman, and we didn't put it in her room. Got it?"
May lifted her chin. "Come on, Danny. We've answered everything we have to."
He picked up her gun case and together they marched off toward the arena.
"Are you all right, Inspector?" I asked. "That cut looks nasty."
"Don't mind me, Miss Steele. It's a hazard of the job."
Matt picked up Brockwell's hat and dusted it off. "Your interrogation technique leaves something to be desired, but it got results. I'm impressed."
"Spoken like a man," I said. "But yes, it did get results. Well done, Inspector. So what do we do now?"
"Now, I check up on James Lester of Chelsea." Brockwell patted his jacket pocket where he'd slipped the notepad. "You two should go home. I'll let you know the outcome."
I went to walk off, but Matt didn't follow. He stared at the looming arena behind us, a magnificent structure that in less than an hour would be home to the spectacular Wild West show presented by Buffalo Bill.
"Matt?" I asked.
He joined us and we walked out of the exhibition grounds through the Warwick Street gate. "They're still holding something back," he said.
"They'd be foolish to," Brockwell said.
"I know, but I can't shake the feeling."
"You Americans and your feelings." Brockwell chuckled only to wince as his lip pained him. "You wear your emotions on your sleeves."
"May certainly is emotional," I said. "But not nearly as emotional as Danny. Do take care of that lip, Inspector. Don't let it fester."
We parted ways, with Brockwell taking a hack to Chelsea, and Matt and I taking our carriage home. He was distracted on the drive, however, often peering through the rear window, and I couldn't engage him in discussion, no matter how many times I tried.
"What is it?" I finally asked.
"I think someone's following us."
I peered through the window too. Hansoms, growlers and omnibuses all vied for position on the road behind, but I couldn't discern a particular one that appeared to be following. When we turned into Park Street, none turned with us.
"There's no one there," I said, facing the front again.
"There was. I think."
"Willie thought someone followed
us from the New Somerville Club the other night, too."
He opened the door as the carriage rolled to a stop outside number sixteen. "If I were still a gambling man, I'd wager all my money on Whittaker."
I accepted his assistance down the step to the pavement. "He does seem a likely candidate. Is he spying for the club or Lord Coyle?"
"And does he know more about the murder of Emmett Cocker than he lets on?"
A message from Duke waited for us on the hall table along with the rest of the mail. It simply stated that Dotty Campion had not returned to her lodgings and that no one connected to the case had called there. He would continue to watch the building for the rest of the day.
Cyclops and Willie hadn't returned home, but Miss Glass waited for us in the sitting room. She handed me a small pile of invitations, tied with a dark blue ribbon.
"Thank you for collecting them," I said, untying the ribbon. My fingers warmed from the magic heat in the cards, but I was soon distracted by the luxurious silkiness of the cards themselves. "The quality is superb." I stroked the topmost card then offered it to Miss Glass to feel.
"It's no wonder he has such a good reputation," she said.
"You do recall that he's a paper magician, don't you?"
"Is he? No, India, you hadn't mentioned it. I'm the last to know these things around here."
"Feel it, Matt," I said, offering him an invitation.
He touched the card and nodded dutifully, but his mind was elsewhere. He excused himself and left the room.
Miss Glass and I sat on the sofa together and checked each invitation. I gave her hers, and set aside Duke, Cyclops, and Willie's. It was quite unnecessary for them to have invitations, but Mr. Hendry had insisted, and Miss Glass enjoyed receiving one.
"He's quite an unusual fellow," she said, reading over her invitation again. "Rather…how should I describe him?"
"Emotional?"
"Insistent."
"That doesn't sound like Mr. Hendry. What did he say to you?"
"He asked why you and Matthew hadn't come in person. He seemed quite put out that you'd sent me to collect these." She placed her invitation on the table beside the others and removed her spectacles. "He was almost rude about it."
"Perhaps he thought we didn't appreciate the magnificence of his work enough by sending someone else in our stead. He doesn't know how important you are to us." I patted her hand and she seemed to perk up a little at my compliment.