by Tamara Allen
“In there?”
“Why not?” I caught the wary look. “I think your reputation will survive.”
“It’s not my reputation I’m worried for,” he said as we moved toward a lit doorway that promised food, drink, and cover from the deepening chill in the air.
“Never been in a pub brawl?”
“Not that I recall. I daresay you have.”
“One or two.” The rain had started in earnest and we were not the only ones heading for shelter. In an atmosphere thick with smoke and noise, we found an unoccupied corner and I smoothed out my case file to add some notes to it. Sully would’ve shaken his head at the scant progress I’d made. It was sobering to realize another murder would soon follow the first two, and I could not remember the facts that might give me a way to prevent it. I couldn’t exactly confide in the police, even with information to back up my story. Like as not, they’d assume I had something to do with the murders and haul me in.
Ezra pulled me from my thoughts and directed my attention to a familiar face across the room. It took me a minute to recognize the fellow in the black coat and hat. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been dressed to beat the band, and now he looked as somber as an undertaker.
“Sid. What’s he doing here?”
“He may live hereabouts.”
“Yeah? You don’t think he’s just—how did he put it? Trolling for roses amid the trash? What makes you think he lives around here?”
“It isn’t obvious?”
“Isn’t what obvious?”
Ezra lowered his voice, even though there was no chance Sid could hear us from twenty feet away. “That he isn’t—well, a gentleman.”
I had to laugh. “You’re such a snob. Just because a guy isn’t born into wealth and packed off to Cambridge as soon as he can walk—”
“It’s more than that,” Ezra said, discomfort in the eyes that dropped to avoid mine. “It’s the manner in which he makes his living.”
“Which is?”
His gaze returned to my face, searching. “You don’t know?”
I was ready to kick him under the table. “I figured he got by the same as the rest of you rich kids, family wealth keeping you in tea and crumpets.”
“The money that keeps Sidney in tea and crumpets, as you say, doesn’t come from his family, whomever they may be.”
Then it dawned on me. “Oh, okay. Rents himself out, does he?”
The barmaid showed up, a momentary distraction providing greasy fish, steaming potatoes, and beer. I inspected the food after she’d gone, deemed it clean enough to be consumed, and picked up the conversation where we’d left off, though I knew Ezra wasn’t finding it agreeable. He was not much for gossip, but I gently coerced the details from him. Jem and Sid had met many months ago during a rowdy party at a private residence that was frequented for the sort of trysting they couldn’t get away with in more public venues. Sid had possessed what Ezra called a rougher edge back then, but he was a quick learner. Jem had cleaned him up and taught him to pass in more polite society. So the vulgar side I’d seen of Sid wasn’t the act; the fine clothes and polished accent were.
“You don’t really like Sid, do you?”
Ezra looked even more uncomfortable with that question. “Sidney’s a decent enough sort. I don’t think he can be good for Jem. Jem’s changed since Cambridge, but he’s seemed even worse lately.”
“Yeah? How?”
Ezra poked at the fish with a fork as he mulled over the question. “He’s courted Clara for the longest while, without any promises exchanged, and he finds even less contentment in his work. He’s terribly restless. Easily distracted and more morose than he once was. He will not talk of what troubles him, not with his father or brothers, nor with me.” He sighed. “We wish to help him, but he won’t allow it.”
Huh. “Ez, do you love him?”
Blue eyes met mine with utter directness. “I do indeed, as a friend, which he long ago accepted must always be the case.”
I felt relieved to hear it. I hadn’t thought Ezra had those kind of feelings for Jem Montague or for anyone. Of course, feelings of friendship could run pretty deep—and the men of Ezra’s era seemed open to letting those feelings show.
I could certainly read what he was feeling now—pure alarm. Sid must be on his way over. “Just remember, you weren’t born knowing which spoon to use, any more than he was.”
His gaze narrowed. “I am not a snob, Morgan Nash.”
“My dear boys!” And Sidney was upon us, ensconcing himself in the seat next to mine and leaning over the arm to wrap his around my shoulders. “Darling Morgan, you haven’t run away yet. I’m so glad. And you look so deliciously rumpled. What have you been up to? Now don’t tell. I shall guess. Rescuing Ezra from the devouring female of the species. Have I got it right?” A wicked grin flashed Ezra’s way, and I was amused as hell to see Ezra go red in the face.
“Ezra would never kiss and tell. Nor would I,” I added before Sidney could ask.
The sparkle in Sid’s eyes remained unvanquished. “I’ve heard the wedding is off. Have the two of you been disowned? I cannot believe you came all the way up for beer and potatoes.”
“We’re just sightseeing.” Which was for the most part true, since I hadn’t learned a damned thing new about the case.
Sidney patted the shoulder of my faded coat, a knowing glint in his eye. “I quite understand. Slumming has become an amusement, you know, what with the intrigues about Whitechapel these days. But do be careful. Even in those clothes, manners will tell.”
“The reason that constable didn’t arrest us on the spot,” Ezra noted.
I could see how a Victorian way of thinking might be difficult to avoid when you were Victorian. “So you don’t believe a gentleman could have committed these murders?”
“It seems unlikely,” Ezra said.
“Insanity and good breeding don’t mix?”
Ezra’s smile was more of a good-natured grimace. “If you’re going to accuse me again of being a snob—”
I raised both hands. “I’m not. I promise. I really want to know what you think.”
“Well, I imagine he’s a fellow who’s had a difficult time of it and in consequence has become mentally—unsound.” Ezra hesitated, but when I nodded encouragement, he plunged on with more confidence. “I think as a lad, he was not trained nor perhaps even attended to, and any mischief he got into went unchecked. And surely his mother or sisters or some female influence was unduly harsh, or he would not have reason to be so unspeakably brutal in his attacks.”
I was impressed. “Not bad. Have you ever considered becoming a detective?”
He looked pleased. “You agree with my assessment?”
“I think your ideas are pretty solid. I agree he’s male and probably suffered abuse in childhood. I’d guess he’s late twenties, has been in trouble with the law before. He’s employed, since the murders, so far, have occurred on weekends, and since he’s out most of the night, I’d expect him to be single. In fact, I expect he’s never been in any long-term relationship with a woman, although he’s probably capable of disassociating to the point where he can seem normal.” I finished my beer and sat back, watching foam settle into the bottom of the glass. “I think he lives in the area and these women may even know who he is, but think him harmless. They trust him, right up to the point where it’s too late to stop him or call for help.”
Focused on my mental checklist, it took me a moment to notice both Ezra and Sid were way too quiet. Sidney’s fascination was predictable enough, offset by a sardonic smirk the moment our eyes met. Ezra was—well, enchanted was the first thought that came to mind. While I hadn’t done anything more than throw a quick and dirty profile together, he took it in like a revelation from above. If he kept this up, I was in danger of developing an ego bigger than the one Sully claimed I already had. “You think that’s good, wait’ll I catch the guy and get my name on the front page of the Times.”
“I should like to see your name in the Times.” Sidney traced light fingers along my lapel. “And the rest of you anywhere else you fancy.”
The guy didn’t let up. “You live around here, Sid?”
Sid’s gaze shifted slyly to Ezra. “None of us can escape our pasts, can we?”
Ezra looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry—”
“Quite all right, really.” Sid leaned across the table, looking Ezra right in the eye. “We’re all the same to your sort. What we trade for our beer and potatoes ain’t proper barter. I don’t suppose it matters that you and I have a lovely secret in common, eh?” He caught Ezra’s hand, and Ezra pulled away, frowning.
“I’m worried for Jem,” he said, then looked as if he wished he hadn’t.
As serious as I’d ever seen him, Sidney asked, “Just who was it left him to bleed?”
Ezra opened his mouth, then shut it and averted his gaze into his beer. I wanted to hear the answer to that. Instead, I took a shot at changing the subject. “Did you know Annie or Polly, Sid?”
His face lit up, a wicked delight in his eyes. “Is there a soul alive who hasn’t warranted your suspicion, Detective Nash?” He leaned too close. “Care to search me for a knife?”
I snorted. “No, thanks. I was just wondering what you might’ve heard, if anything. Did you know the women?”
“I’ve not dabbed it up with that lot, if that’s what you’re asking.” Sidney sat back. “My dear old mum, bless her, she went about with them. I was for better things. Better than fourpence and a pot of gin.”
“Your mother? Any chance I could meet her? It might be helpful.”
“Have Ezra chat her up.” He turned to Ezra. “You’ll find her in a warmer clime than you’d like.” With a laugh, he was out of his chair and putting on his hat. I noticed the small package tucked under his arm and wondered who it was meant for. Sid winked at me. “So sorry, chaps, but I must bid you adieu, as I’m unforgivably late for another engagement.” He waved a gloved hand before darting away into the crowd.
“There’s a mercy,” Ezra murmured and turned my case file around to give it a closer look. “How the devil did you deduce all of that?”
“It’s behavioral profiling. Nothing magical. Just how we delude ourselves into believing we’ve got a good shot of catching him,” I added, borrowing from one of Sully’s favorite rants. “The progression of violence in this case is textbook. He—”
“Textbook?”
“Common for serial killers.”
He stared at me and shook his head. “Serial killers,” he repeated as if it were beyond comprehension. “You don’t suspect Sid, of all creatures?”
“God, no. Someone like Sid, if he were driven to kill, he’d target a male victim, not a woman.”
“Someone like Sid?”
“Uh… yeah. A guy who fancies the blokes.” I grinned.
Ezra relaxed into a smile. “Then you don’t really consider Jem, either?”
“It’s unlikely.” Never mind that Jem seemed pretty damned ambivalent about which team he played for. “The thing is, Jack won’t necessarily fit a profile. There are always exceptions and at this point, the field’s wide open because we know so little. Some investigators even suspect jolly old Prince Eddy.”
Ezra’s eyes widened. “Surely not.”
I shrugged. “Could be a prince or some poor slob holed up in a dark corner of Whitechapel. Could be a constable or a doctor or even an angry midwife. Hell, it could be you.”
Fascination overtook his anxiety. “Me? Ah, but I don’t fit your pattern.”
“Guess I won’t have to handcuff you, then. What a pity.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You seem possessed of some dark corners, yourself.”
“It’s never crossed your mind?”
“Giving you free rein? I don’t think I would survive the experience.”
“Probably not.” He was fun to tease. I took back my file to expand on the profile I’d drawn up, until Ezra twisting about in his chair caught my attention. “What are you doing?”
Like a rookie agent ready to save the world his first day on the job, Ezra regarded me with earnest determination. “I’m looking for him.”
I swallowed a laugh. “Good. Let me know if you see him.”
I’d barely returned my attention to the file when a hand clamped around my wrist. “Morgan,” he whispered, nodding toward a dark-haired man drowning his sorrows at another table. “That poor fellow sitting alone. The one with the graveyard cough.”
I shivered at his choice of words, though it was probably just the reason the guy was drinking alone. “The one in the black coat and gloves?”
Ezra nodded. “He’s a match for the descriptions in the Times.”
“A whole lot of people match the witness descriptions….” But not a whole lot of people sat in a pub with a black bag on their laps, looking furtively around as if waiting for someone, a willing prostitute maybe, to wander past.
I gently extricated my wrist from Ezra’s grasp and tucked my file away into a pocket. “Stay calm. We’re just going to keep an eye on him for a few minutes, okay? Don’t stare at him,” I added as Ezra did just that. “He’ll know he’s under surveillance and that’s the last thing we want.”
Ezra obligingly stared at me, instead. “Shouldn’t we find a constable—”
“No police. Not yet. No need to cause a panic or get the guy lynched if he’s innocent. We’re just going to watch him for a bit, so relax. Eat your potato.”
“I couldn’t possibly.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “Do you suppose he’s armed?”
“I’ve got my gun. There’s nothing to worry about. I’ve done this a thousand times. The guy’s restless and he’s going to take off in a minute. When he does, we’ll tail him. If he tries anything, at least he’ll be away from the crowd. No one’ll get hurt.”
Ezra did not seem particularly reassured, and I couldn’t blame him. I’d turned this into his first stakeout, but he wasn’t a cocky young agent with a wealth of training behind him. He was here because he felt responsible for my safety. “Take a deep breath,” I whispered with a wicked grin. “Stick with me. I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Any faith Ezra may have had in that statement was gone a short hour later, when we found ourselves behind bars in a holding cell in the Bishopsgate police station.
Chapter 14
I was beginning to seriously doubt my ability to make any headway in this case. No one could have faulted my initial suspicion, or my decision to follow the suspect after he’d left the Ten Bells with a frowsy older woman at his side. Even Sully would have agreed I waited long enough—almost too long—in drawing my gun when the suspect stopped at the entrance of a shadowy side street to, I assumed, settle any monetary issues to keep his potential victim interested. With Ezra trailing nervously after me, I watched until the suspect grabbed the woman roughly by one arm and pulled her out of my line of sight. I’d felt a little unexpected anxiety myself as I ran through the rain to catch up with them. I heard the woman’s voice, raised and angry, and I grabbed the suspect and his little black bag just as he clamped a hand on the side of her neck.
That move sent his victim into the hysterics that had the cops surrounding us in a matter of moments. I’d barely had time to conceal my gun behind a flower pot before we were marched down to Bishopsgate. My own questions had all been answered along the way to the station, as the woman went on in indignant rage about my assault on her husband and the damage done to the assortment of medicine bottles in the black bag a constable had upended on the sidewalk. It was apparent from the smell that the medicine’s main ingredient was gin, but that didn’t dissuade my suspect from demanding reimbursement.
Three tired and harried policemen escorted us off the streets before we drew a crowd and, to my relief, stuck us in a cell by ourselves. Having come to my rescue once already, Ezra was altogether quiet from the moment the constables took charge of us until we were left alone in the cold
bare room.
It was far from the grimmest cell I’d ever spent a night in, but that hardly mattered. It was the first for Ezra, I felt sure. I wondered just how pissed he was. He had unbuttoned his coat and was leaning against the whitewashed wall. Eyes a dark unreadable blue in the dim light lifted to meet mine, and I felt compelled to apologize. “I guess chasing down criminals in a time when you have no authority isn’t the brightest idea. I just thought we had him, you know? I really thought we had him.”
I shifted on the thin pallet that covered the bench. “I’m sorry, Ez. I’ll be more careful in the future.” Leaning on my elbows, I pushed my fingers through my hair and sat with my head in my hands. “For God’s sake, yell at me, take a swing, do something.”