“I found it fascinating that one of the clues was a chip in the maul believed to be the murder weapon,” Annabelle added. The long-handled axe used to split wood had been traced to the accused, recognizable because of the chip. “Sometimes convictions come down to small details.”
“Wasn’t there some blood on the man’s clothes as well?”
“Yes, according to the laundress who washed his clothing.” She was impressed that Thomas remembered the fact.
“Do you think they arrested the right man?” he asked.
“I have a few doubts based on what I read. Do you?”
“The authorities certainly painted a convincing picture. However, they had to convict someone to calm the public.”
Annabelle dearly wanted to continue the discussion. There were so few times she was able to speak about her interest in such cases with others. Caroline could be counted on to listen as long as Annabelle didn’t go into too much depth, but her mother refused to talk about it at all. Nor were murder weapons and similar topics well received at balls or other events.
“Let us see what Constable McConnelly will tell us.” Thomas opened the door, and she entered the building, trying her best to absorb and remember all she saw.
Yet the warmth of Thomas at her side was a distraction that made it difficult. Though she had yet to see his dimples today, he still managed to stir her senses in small ways. The subtle scent of bergamot made her want to lean closer. The way his hair fell across his forehead when he removed his hat tempted her to brush it back. The strength of his arm under her gloved hand reminded her of his physical strength.
But now was not the time to dwell on such things. Surely meeting the man who’d found the murder victim would keep her mind on the task at hand.
~*~
Thomas paused on the threshold, wishing they weren’t venturing inside. The urge to protect Annabelle from whatever grisly details they were about to discover was surprising. After all, she obviously enjoyed learning about such things. His protective instincts rarely gave him pause. Not since he’d embraced his role as a rogue. He had no one and nothing to protect.
But the woman at his side threatened who he believed himself to be.
Shrugging off the unsettling realization, he studied the dimly lit office where several desks stood, each with stacks of papers on its dull surface. The area was smaller than he’d expected, though he supposed the officers who worked out of this office spent most of their time patrolling the river. From what little he knew, they had nearly fifty men and mostly used rowing galleys to patrol for criminal activity.
As Annabelle had said, the results of their efforts were impressive.
“We’re here to meet with Sean McConnelly,” he told the uniformed man who approached them.
The man pointed them toward a desk at the rear of the room and continued on his way out the door.
McConnelly lifted his head from a document he was reviewing as they neared and stood. “Can I help you?” He frowned as he took in Annabelle’s mourning attire.
“Thomas Raybourne.” Thomas held out his hand. “This is my associate, Mrs. Johnson.”
“Oh, yes.” McConnelly dipped his head toward Annabelle. “You had questions about the recent murder victim.” He gestured toward a table and chairs in a corner of the room. “Why don’t we have a seat over there.”
Thomas and Annabelle led the way and sat in the simple wooden chairs as the man joined them.
“What is your interest in the case?” McConnelly asked. He looked to be a man over forty years, which suggested he was experienced. He had light brown hair and brown eyes that held alertness, giving the impression few details missed his perusal.
The less they told the man the better as far as Thomas was concerned, but he also guessed the officer would be more likely to speak with them if they offered an explanation for their visit.
“The victim was an acquaintance of mine,” Thomas said. “We had planned to meet the following day and when he failed to appear, I became concerned.”
“My condolences.” McConnelly paused as if waiting for Thomas to explain Annabelle’s presence, but Thomas said nothing further. “I found the body on my patrol along the river’s edge just before midnight.”
“In the water?” Annabelle asked.
“No, along the bank, which was puzzling as it didn’t appear the body had washed ashore. Normally, anyone murdered near the river is tossed in with the hope of not being found.”
“The report in the broadsheet said his throat was slit.” Thomas wanted this to be over as quickly as possible. Hearing details of how someone he knew had been murdered was more unnerving than he’d anticipated.
McConnelly glanced warily at Annabelle as if uncertain how plainly to speak. “Yes. The victim had no valuables on his person, which suggests robbery was the motivation. Though why the criminal felt the need to kill him remains unclear. There was no sign of a struggle.”
“The article also mentioned something about unusual objects being found on the body.”
McConnelly shook his head. “The blasted reporters shouldn’t mention details like those.” He sighed. “A red button was found in his pocket. We can only guess the man picked it up before he was killed for some reason as the button didn’t match his attire.”
Thomas felt Annabelle stiffen beside him. “Was there also an acorn in his pocket?” she asked.
McConnelly’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?”
Annabelle looked toward Thomas, but since he couldn’t see her expression, he could only guess what she was thinking.
“Mrs. Johnson is acquainted with a particular book, A Murder Most Unusual. Have you by chance heard of it?”
“Can’t say that I have. I don’t have much time to read, and when I do, I don’t read about murder. I see enough of that each day.”
“Understandable. The reason I ask is because the first murder described in the book has those same items in the victim’s pocket. His throat was also slit.”
“Are you suggesting that whoever wrote the book murdered this man?”
Annabelle gave a tiny gasp at the man’s question. “We most certainly are not.”
“Not at all.” Thomas placed enough disdain in his tone to redirect McConnelly’s attention to him. He didn’t want Annabelle to draw suspicion. “Based on the few details we know, we have to wonder if whoever murdered Smead also read the book and is copying it for some reason. Whether that is helpful to you remains to be seen.”
“Why would a murderer bother to copy a crime from a book?” McConnelly asked.
“We don’t know. But we brought the book with the particular scene marked for your review.” Annabelle withdrew the book from her reticule and passed it to the officer.
Thomas hadn’t wanted to give him the book as doing so seemed like an invitation to draw attention to the author—Annabelle. If the police decided to investigate her, it would be impossible to keep her identity a secret. He’d warned her of the risk when they’d planned this outing, but she insisted finding the murderer was more important than hiding her name.
“Can you tell us anything more about where the body was found or what was near it?” Thomas asked.
“We aren’t releasing any further details until an arrest is made.” He glanced at the book. “Does an additional murder follow the one in the book?”
“Two, actually,” Thomas answered with reluctance. He didn’t care to think of what that suggested—that they were far from done with the danger.
“How are the victims connected in the book?”
“They’re not,” Annabelle said. “They aren’t acquainted but happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, so to speak.”
“This is highly unusual.” McConnelly opened the book where Annabelle had placed a piece of paper to mark the scene and skimmed the page. “I’m going to need to speak with the author.”
“Artemis Press represents the author and will be happy to cooperate if needed.” Thom
as offered a card to the man.
“How soon can you arrange a meeting?” McConnelly asked.
“Why don’t you provide a list of questions, and I’ll arrange for the author to answer them?” As the officer started to protest, Thomas held up a finger to stop him. “While we intend to provide assistance where possible, the author’s identity is protected by the publishing contract. I’m sure you understand.”
McConnelly leaned forward, his gaze holding on Thomas. “And I’m sure you understand that we’re investigating a murder. You can’t expect me to ignore the very clue you just handed me.” He lifted the book to make his point.
“If the author committed a crime, why would he insist Artemis Press contact you and make you aware of the similarities between the book and the murder?” Thomas managed to keep his tone even when he wanted to rush Annabelle away before any harm befell her. “If you’re willing to provide additional information so we can confirm whether the murder truly matches the one described in the story or if you have questions for the author, let me know.”
“I’ll be in contact. Soon.”
“Thank you for your time.” Thomas took Annabelle’s elbow and rose with the hope she would do so as well. He didn’t think the officer would welcome further inquiries and hoped Annabelle didn’t press him. He didn’t want to rouse the man’s suspicions and bring the investigation to their doorstep more than they already had.
“We hope you catch the person who did this.” Annabelle’s tone suggested an urgency to Thomas’s ears.
“We will.” The confidence in McConnelly’s demeanor was somewhat reassuring.
Thomas said nothing as they departed and walked toward the waiting hackney.
“Well?” he asked after he and Annabelle were seated inside. “What did you think?”
“Not only did we confirm the presence of the red button but the acorn as well based on the officer’s reaction. This is all highly disturbing.”
“Agreed.” Thomas shook his head as the conveyance started forward. “But I still can’t determine a valid reason for the murderer to copy the book. The murders aren’t particularly unusual or frightening.”
“I’m not certain if I should be insulted or relieved.”
“I only mean they’re similar to what happens in other murder mysteries.” He didn’t want to worry her or allow her to feel guiltier than she already did. Though they hadn’t learned anything significant during the interview, he was thoroughly unsettled by the suggestion of any tie between Annabelle and the murderer. With what little they knew thus far, he was at a loss as to what to do next.
When the hackney returned to the stand near Aberland House, he assisted Annabelle to alight. “I’ll walk you back.”
“No need.”
“There is every need.” The tight sensation in his chest insisted on it. He paid the driver then turned to Annabelle. “Which way?”
She took his offered arm, and they walked along the well-kept street then turned the corner, continuing until they reached an alley.
“It’s just ahead.” She paused as though expecting him to say goodbye.
“I’ll accompany you.” He had no desire to allow her out of his sight until she returned to the safety of her sister’s home.
“Very well.” She pointed toward the wrought-iron gate that led to the garden.
He opened the gate only to stop before she could enter.
As if she read his mind, she lifted her hands to raise the veil, allowing him to drink in the sight of her.
“I don’t like this, Annabelle,” he whispered, though he knew they were alone.
“Nor do I.” A hint of worry darkened her eyes, adding to his own.
“You must take care on the unlikely chance that someone is watching us.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No. But let us assume they are and act accordingly. Don’t come to the publishing office again. If we need to speak, we can do so at a ball.” He brushed a finger along her cheek. “No unnecessary risks.”
“Will you promise to take care as well?”
He smiled. “Does that mean you’re worried about me?”
She smiled in return, causing his chest to tighten. “I’m merely worried about the future of my next book.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” he asked with a chuckle. “It’s always about the books.”
“Thomas?” Her quiet voice had him shifting closer.
“Yes?”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Her words had the strangest effect on him, making his heart hammer even as desire thickened his breath. “I feel the same about you.”
She lifted her chin, her gaze on his mouth. He didn’t need a written invitation when a gesture would do. He kissed her, allowing his need and worry to direct his movement. He reached for her waist to pull her closer.
Perhaps the passion filling him was due to the damned veil that had kept her hidden during their outing. Or perhaps it was the same passion that rushed through him each time he was with her and sometimes when he wasn’t. This woman had gotten under his skin. He didn’t understand why or the odd need to be chivalrous when he was with her.
But for the moment, he set all that aside and simply enjoyed the kiss. Her mouth was warm beneath his. He teased the seam of her lips with his tongue, pleased when she opened for him. His body hardened when she responded in equal measure, making him wish they weren’t standing at her sister’s garden gate, but in some hidden place where he could show her just how much he wanted her.
When her arms wrapped around his shoulders, his knees nearly buckled. Whether his worry for her compounded his desire, he didn’t know. But he couldn’t resist running his hands along her body, imagining what she looked like beneath all the layers that separated them.
“Annabelle,” he muttered, uncertain of what to say. How could he express how he felt when he was with her? As if he were a different man—the man she wanted him to be—when they were together.
This time she kissed him with an enthusiasm that lit his senses. His desire for her took flight and all else fell away for a long moment.
Then she pulled back to look into his eyes. “I must go.”
He nodded but didn’t let her go, unwilling to release her when he wasn’t certain when they’d meet again.
Her gentle smile settled him, and he relaxed his hold. “We will talk again soon.”
He watched to make certain she reached the door then left, deciding a walk would do him good. Followed by a cold bath.
Chapter Seven
The woman was impossible, Thomas decided as he read the latest message Annabelle had sent to the publishing office. Three had arrived in the four days that had passed since their meeting with McConnelly, all with ideas on how they might further investigate the murder. He had yet to reply to any of them. How could he when the answer would be no?
No, we’re not calling on McConnelly again.
No, we’re not going to visit the place where the body was found.
No, we’re not interviewing people we encounter near the location where the body was found.
Didn’t she realize these ideas would place her in further danger?
Given how long it had taken him to regain some peace of mind after their heated kiss, he’d decided a little distance from her was in order, though he couldn’t say it had helped. The majority of his waking thoughts were centered around Annabelle in one fashion or another.
Rather than attend the Masterson Ball the previous evening where he knew she’d be, he’d gone to his club and filled the night with drinking and cards. But his usual pursuits had brought little joy. Perhaps the time had come to put such things behind him and think of the future.
Could he truly find a way to make a success of the publishing house? No doubt his father would stir in his grave if he knew Thomas was even considering it. In truth, he wouldn’t be if it weren’t for Annabelle. Whether it had been the excitement of reading her book th
at lit his interest in the business or that she seemed to think he was capable of more, he didn’t know. But for the first time in a long while, he was considering what the years ahead might bring.
What he wanted them to bring.
Perhaps he wasn’t the failure he—or his father—believed. The earl had made no secret of his dislike of Thomas, but it wasn’t until the day of his mother’s funeral that Thomas had at last learned why.
His parents’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one, though according to his mother, it had begun as a love match. The idea of the two of them on speaking terms, let alone in love, nearly made Thomas laugh. By the time his mother had died from apoplexy when Thomas had been at university, a distinct chill could be felt if his parents were in the same room together.
After her funeral, the earl had hurled the truth at Thomas. “You are not my son. You’re nothing more than one of her careless mistakes.”
Those words had been equal parts freeing and terrifying. It explained so much yet changed little. The memory of the moment still chilled him to the bone, causing a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. The earl was the only father Thomas had known and despite the news, Thomas still longed for his approval.
The question was did his brothers know? He had yet to find the courage to ask, fearful he’d lose them if they learned the truth. Yet the question held him in a vice-like grip. Would they turn away if they knew? Losing their affection and support was more than he was willing to risk. Yet he hated having the uncertainty standing between them.
He re-read Annabelle’s words written in her neat script. Based on the continuing frequency of the messages, he needed to respond in some manner or risk a visit from her, something he wanted to avoid. Her coming to the office could easily ruin her reputation as well as test the bounds of his restraint. He was determined to protect her, whether she wanted to be protected or not. Perhaps he should attend the Warenborough ball that evening. She’d mentioned in her last message she’d be there.
A Rogue No More (The Rogue Chronicles Book 3) Page 8