Absence of Mercy

by S. M. Goodwin

  He noticed O’Malley hovering a few feet away and motioned him closer.

  “How g-goes the questioning?”

  “Nobody answered anywhere but the house on the end. The maid got the owner, a Mrs. Kemp, and she said nobody came to the house last night. I talked to a few of Solange’s girls, and they said none of them was with him.” O’Malley hesitated. “But there’s hardly any girls there right now.”

  “B-Because of the Sunday closure laws?”

  “Er, well, those don’t exactly matter here.” He chewed his lip and shrugged.

  Right, those laws wouldn’t be enforced at the better establishments. For all Jasper knew, the mayor himself might be lounging about in the brothel as they spoke.

  “I’d l-like to speak with the owner.”

  “The girls said Solange has been up in Boston and isn’t due back till tomorrow.”

  Is that why the body hadn’t been moved?

  “I w-want you to go back inside and t-talk to everyone. Find out who knew J-Janssen and the l-last time he was here, whom he s-saw, that sort of thing. D-Do you know some of these other officers w-well?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Ch-Ch-Choose one you trust to accompany you and be thorough. Can I t-trust you to d-do that, Mr. O’Malley?”

  The boy bristled with pride. “Yes, sir.”

  “Tell me what you know about the m-murders you mentioned b-before.”

  “Er, murders?”

  Jasper guessed this annoying habit of repeating everything he said was O’Malley’s way of gaining himself a little more time to consider a question. Or perhaps he was just stupid.

  Either way, one must work with the tools one is given, Jasper.

  Not only sound advice, but critical for his current position, where he knew nobody and nothing. Jasper forced himself to wait patiently.

  “Uh, yes?” O’Malley said after a long pause.

  “Is that a question, P-Patrolman?”

  O’Malley flushed to the roots of his sandy blond hair. “No, my lord. Er, that’d be Wilbur Sealy and Felix Dunbarton. Both those cases were in the Sixth, ’cause they were murdered inside the Points. They got the killer, but she hung herself before she could swing—a whore.” His downy cheeks reddened. “Beggin’ your pardon, my lord.”

  Where on earth had these men gotten the idea that aristocrats would be embarrassed by the mention of brothels and whores?

  “I d-don’t suppose you know who the d-detective was?”

  “Uh. Well, it happens I do, my lord. It was Hieronymus Law.”

  Jasper took a moment to absorb the rather remarkable name.

  “The thing is, my lord—”

  “Yes?” Jasper prodded.

  “Law ain’t on the force no more. Er, rumor is he got caught in some trouble over that case, and when McElhenny caught him, Law punched him in the face.”

  “McElhenny is his w-watch commander?”

  “Aye—his captain.”

  “D-Do you know the source of the disagr-gr-greement?” Jasper frowned; dammit but he was bloody tongue-tied today!

  O’Malley—his brow deeply furrowed—was too taken with his own thoughts to have noticed. “I heard Law was takin’ money to hide evidence and Captain found him out. I couldn’t say myself—’cept I know he’s a prickly bastard who keeps to himself—Law that is, not the cap’n,” he hastily amended.

  “Was this recently?”

  “Not long after the whore hung herself. My cousin is at the Sixth, and he said nobody’s seen Law since he was put in the Tombs.”

  The Tombs. Even in Britain people knew of the infamous New York jail that swallowed live men and spit out corpses. And now it seemed Jasper might have to visit the place if he wanted to speak to the improbably named Hieronymus Law.

  But a trip to the prison could come later, if necessary, after he’d read the police files.

  Before he did anything more on this case, he needed to visit the Eighth Precinct and pay his respects to Captain Davies, his new superior.

  CHAPTER 6

  “You must be Lord Lightner,” the officer manning the Eighth Precinct front desk stated, unknowingly increasing Jasper’s rank by an order of magnitude.

  “Inspector Lightner will s-suffice.”

  “I’m Sergeant Billings, the one who keeps things runnin’ round here,” he said, a slight smile on his grizzled face.

  So, here was the man loyal to the Metropolitan Police but working under a captain whose allegiance was not so clear. Jasper was impressed that he was still smiling.

  “Captain Davies is expecting you, Inspector. You can go on up to the top floor.”

  “Which office?”

  “Just follow the yellin’.”

  When Jasper reached the third-floor landing, he followed the sound of ranting, which led him to an enormous office at the southwest corner of the building. A short, stout man was pacing while shouting. His back was toward the corridor, so he missed Jasper’s entrance.

  The recipient of his anger, Detective Featherstone, met Jasper’s eyes briefly through the office window, his cheeks flaming.

  The ranter spun on his heel, spied Jasper, and snapped something at the detective, who shot to his feet and darted out of the room quicker than a sewer rat up a drain.

  “Cap’n wants to see you,” Featherstone said as he hurried past.

  “Thank you, Detective,” Jasper called after him. He glanced around the small anteroom for someplace to leave his hat and cane, but there was none.

  Captain Davies was standing with his fists on his hips, staring out the window, when Jasper entered his office.

  He turned and gave Jasper a look of thinly veiled dislike. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at the harbor to greet you when you arrived.”

  Davies did not sound sorry. In fact, he sounded extremely hostile. He also sounded like a Welshman, although his accent was faint.

  “Alderman D-Dell g-greeted me and was quite helpful.”

  Davies snorted and gestured to one of the chairs across from his desk before dropping into his own. “I’ll just bet he was. I wouldn’t hang your hopes on him being a trustworthy ally; the man is as slippery as an eel. So, Billings tells me that he decided to rope you into an investigation ten minutes after entering our fair city.”

  Jasper balanced his hat in his lap and propped his stick against the arm of his chair. “It was longer than t-ten minutes, sir—almost fifteen.”

  Davies ignored his attempt at humor and picked up a piece of paper lying on his desk. “This is an order from White Street assigning you here.” He crumpled it into a wad and then threw it on the floor. “The only reason you’re sitting here right now is because the mayor happens to agree about putting you under my supervision.” He lifted another piece of paper and crumpled that one too. “This might be the first and only time Tallmadge and Wood will ever agree on anything, my lord. As much as I’d like to tell them both to go to hell, I’m going to knuckle under, but I don’t have to like it. Do you get my meaning?”

  Jasper thought his meaning was perfectly clear. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let’s get one thing straight right now, my lord.”

  Jasper lifted his eyebrows.

  “I don’t want you here.”

  “I’ve d-deduced as much, Captain.”

  Rather than pacify Davies, his mild words appeared to provoke him. “I know you answer to your home secretary and get your pay directly from Albany.” He raked Jasper’s person with narrow, hate-filled eyes, his gaze lingering on his silver-handled walking stick. “Not that I expect you need the pitiful salary an honest working man earns.” His mouth twisted into an ugly sneer. “So that means I can’t fire you or send you packing.”

  It didn’t seem like a question so Jasper didn’t reply.

  “I’m not stupid—I’m fully aware you wouldn’t be sitting here in all your splendor, plaguing me, if there weren’t some powerful forces at work to get you here. Although whether you’ll stay here is another matter. Janssen was the g
overnor’s mouthpiece when it came to training a new, improved, scientific detective department. But now he’s gone. Seems like someone decided to kill off one of your most ardent supporters.” Davies’s smirk said he wouldn’t lose much sleep over the matter.

  “That is a trifle … c-concerning,” Jasper said.

  “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Luckily we’ve got you here to solve our problems.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The humor drained from the captain’s face. “While you are under my roof—which hopefully won’t be long—there’s one thing you’d better understand, my lord.”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “I am in charge here. Not the council, not the board of bloody aldermen, not Tallmadge and his bloody police commissioners, not your powerful friends in Albany, and definitely not you.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Davies’s scowl deepened. “You might be the son of a bloody duke in England, but over here we got rid of the monarchy, and nobody is interested in having it back. If you think you can go throwing your aristocratic weight around like your father does in Ceredigion—” Davies gave an ugly cackle at the look on Jasper’s face—no doubt shock—at the mention of the Duke of Kersey’s Welsh estate.

  Davies nodded although Jasper hadn’t said a word. “Yes, it’s a small world, isn’t it?—at least in Britain where men like your father own a big chunk of it. And that’s where I lived before I made my escape, my lord—bowing and scraping from the time I could walk and living under the thumb of the bloody Duke of Kersey.”

  Jasper could have told Davies that was something they had in common, but he doubted the angry Welshman would be sympathetic.

  “So, you listen to me, my—” Davies uttered an incomprehensible jumble of consonants that Jasper assumed was both Welsh and very insulting. “There is only one boss in this station house”—he jabbed himself in the chest with a thick finger—“and it’s me.” He was red-faced and shaking, a vein pulsing insistently in his temple. “Now, Featherstone tells me Janssen’s death is like two cases handled by the Sixth. It’s our custom here to transfer cases that might be part of another precinct’s investigation.”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll write up my p-preliminary notes and observations and t-turn—”

  “No.” The captain punctuated the word by slamming his open palm down on his desk, his jaw working from side to side as if he were gnawing a particularly tough chunk of gristle. “No,” he said again, shaking his head, a sly smile curving his lips. “If this is some new lunatic out killing, then the case is ours. If it’s the same lunatic who killed Sealy and Dunbarton? Well, then this case seems to have been tailor-made for you, my lord. It will be the perfect opportunity to demonstrate your superior English detecting abilities.”

  Davies was no fool; this case would make the person handling it profoundly unpopular within the entire force, not just the Sixth Precinct, which might very well have arrested an innocent woman and driven her to suicide.

  Yes, this was the perfect case to give to somebody you despised and hoped to get rid of. If Jasper failed this little test, he’d be on a boat back to England before you could say Jack Robinson. With his tail tucked between his legs.

  Then don’t fail, Jasper.

  He smiled at the furious man across from him. “I’m flattered by your t-trust in me, Captain. From what I know thus far—which is v-very little—there are s-s-several similarities between Janssen’s murder and the t-two other gentlemen you mentioned.”

  “Is that so, my lord?” David asked with poorly concealed mockery. “Why, you are a fast learner; here only a few hours and you’ve already determined that. I suppose that means you’ll have to pay a visit to my colleague in the Sixth—Captain McElhenny—as he had the pleasure of supervising those cases. You might want to have a care about how you broach the subject; I’m sure he won’t be happy with any imputations that he bungled things, arrested the wrong person, and drove her to suicide.” Davies gave an ugly laugh. “Don’t let anything he says offend you; I’m afraid he lacks my civility and polish.” He laced his fingers together and rested them on his rounded stomach, smiling like a man who’d consumed far too much at the dinner table but couldn’t resist one last bite. “You’ll want to be careful wandering around Five Points, my lord. It would be easy for a man like you to lose his way. I’d hate to have to tell your esteemed father you’d been hurt. Or worse.”

  Jasper wondered what Davies would say if he knew the duke would not only welcome such an eventuality but probably offer generous compensation to the person who brought it about.

  The captain’s smile grew larger—and more unpleasant—when Jasper failed to comment.

  “I’m sure neither our savage streets nor our pitiful criminals will pose much of a problem for a man with your formidable skills and illustrious background.”

  “That’s very k-kind of you to say, sir. And thank you for the opportunity to w-work on such an interesting—and challenging—case. Mr. Dell indicated you would have a list of c-candidates for me?”

  Even from several feet away, Jasper could see the other man’s pupils shrink to black specks. His expression—almost gleeful a moment earlier—was instantly truculent. “Alderman Dell has no right promising you a damned thing. I already have detectives who know what they’re about. I won’t have you bothering them or hindering their work. If you want somebody to tag along on your expensive bloody coattails, you can take one of the patrolmen. Hell, take two—and take the goddamned street sweeper while you’re at it. Take anyone you want—just not one of my detectives. Perhaps you might ask McElhenny to loan you one of his detectives, since the man probably—rightfully—believes this should be his case.” Davies sat back in his chair with a watchful, expectant air: he’d thrown down his gauntlet, and now it was Jasper’s turn.

  “Is there a d-desk I might use?”

  Davies looked almost comically disappointed by Jasper’s refusal to rise to the bait. He waved a hand dismissively. “Ask Billings; he manages such things.”

  Jasper stood.

  “Oh, and my lord?”

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “You’d better go and inform Janssen’s widow of his untimely demise.” He smirked. “Shouldn’t be terribly difficult for you—she’s your sort of people, after all.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Now get out,” Davies muttered, his attention back on his desk.

  Jasper shut the door behind him and smiled as he pulled on his gloves. He almost felt sorry for the man he’d just left. The captain had been hoping to humiliate or goad Jasper into quitting and leaving, but what the Welshman failed to understand was that the Duke of Kersey’s servants and tenants weren’t the only people he’d treated like serfs. Indeed, His Grace had saved the lion’s share of his malice for his own son.

  Surviving childhood with the duke had been very much like protecting a castle from invaders. Over the years Jasper had become an expert at repelling attacks, repairing breaches, and strengthening defenses while he awaited his father’s next offensive. Now, in his thirties, his castle walls were impregnable. Thanks to the duke, nothing—and nobody—could ever get close enough to hurt him.

  Davies had been insulting, combative, and rude—three behaviors Jasper abhorred. They were also three behaviors guaranteed to bring out his contrarianism. If Davies had wanted to be rid of him, he’d gone about it the wrong way.

  He had no intention of allowing Davies, or anyone else, to send him back to England with his “tail between his legs.”

  CHAPTER 7

  A man dressed in the clothing of an upper servant opened the door to the Janssen house, anxiety pouring off him in waves even though his expression was blander than gruel.

  “I’m Detective Inspector Lightner with the M-Metropolitan Police.” Jasper handed over one of his private calling cards. “I need to speak to Mrs. Janssen.”

  The servant’s eyes widened as he took in the name on the card. “This is about Mr. Ja
nssen?”

  Jasper must have shown his surprise, because the man waved him into the foyer, where he picked up a single sheet of paper, a “special edition” from one of the penny newspapers that seemed to litter the city—both literally and figuratively.

  MILLIONAIRE ALARD JANSSEN BRUTALLY MURDERED!

  New York City had industrious newspapermen; it was barely three hours since he’d been called to examine the body.

  “Butters, who is it?”

  Jasper glanced up to find a tiny woman descending the curving marble staircase. She looked as if she’d just stepped out of an eighteenth-century portrait depicting Puritans. Her plain white bonnet covered her hair entirely, and her high-necked, long-sleeved black crepe gown had a full skirt, but the crinoline beneath it was practical rather than fashionable. A capacious white apron ran from her neck to the hem of her gown. The only hint of color was her eyes, which were a startling blue.

  The yards of black crepe rustled like the surf as she came floating toward them, her glare directed at Jasper. “If you are from the newspapers, you’d better—”

  “Oh, no, madam, please—” Butters said in a tone of mortification, brandishing Jasper’s card. “This is the new English policeman—Lord Jasper Lightner.”

  She snatched the card from his hand and stared at it. When she looked up, her smile was unpleasant. “The duke’s son, come to the colonies to solve all our problems. If you’re here to share the ill tidings, you’re too late. I’m here to offer my assistance to Zuza, who has no idea of the frenzy this will create. I’m Mrs. Dunbarton.”

  Jasper frowned, not sure he’d heard her correctly. “You’re—”

  “You heard correctly; Felix Dunbarton was my husband.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she wasn’t finished.

  “Suzanne Janssen is a close friend of mine.” She thrust her small, bare hand toward him as if she were lobbing an explosive device. She squeezed his fingers hard enough to grind the bones together and then pumped his hand up and down.

  “A pleasure to m-m-meet you, ma’am.”

  Her eyes might be a celestial blue, but the expression in them was pragmatic. They raked over Jasper’s person with cool calculation. “My, my, my. I’d heard you were pretty, but the rumors didn’t do you justice, Lord Jasper.”