Page 59

Peter had to agree. The victim’s cravat was gone from his neck and shoved into his mouth, his throat slit open.

Blood stained the front of him. His hand, which he must have used to grab at the wound, was drenched with it, the sticky liquid smeared across his lap and on parts of the seat.

Whoever had done this must truly have hated his guts.

Which begged the question: who was he, and what did he do?

The answer to this might very well lead to his killer.

Peter searched his pockets as best as he could and did indeed find a calling card with a name. Stewart Warren, Number 7 Garnsford Street. There were also a couple of shillings and a folded piece of paper. A brief note with a message scrawled across it with uneven letters.

A coward’s death for the coward you are.

Peter frowned and refolded the piece of paper, then placed it and the calling card in his own pocket. He held the lantern high, allowed the light to fall across Mr. Warren’s pale face, then down, over the rest of his body while checking for anything else that could help solve this crime.

“Look there,” said Lewis. “On the floor in the corner.”

Peter dipped his hand to bring the light down near his feat.

Right enough, there was indeed something there.

A piece of gauzy fabric, so delicate he wondered what it had been used for.

He collected it and rubbed it between his fingers.

It felt like silk. Expensive. “Well done, Lewis. Let’s lock this up and send word to the morgue so the coroner knows to come here first thing.

In the meantime, I’m going to speak with the driver – see what else I can learn. ”

They headed indoors where Peter found the shaken driver slumped in a chair while Anderson scribbled away at his desk. Peter approached. “Good morning. I’m Chief Constable Kendrick.”

When the coachman merely stared at him through bleary eyes, Anderson said, “This is Mr. Dunken. He’s a seasoned hackney driver, sir. It’s his thirty-third year on the job.”

Peter considered the hunched over man who sat before him. “It’s my understanding you’ve had a traumatic night, Mr. Dunken. Perhaps you’d like a cup of coffee?”

Mr. Dunken nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”

Peter prepared a couple of cups and offered one to Mr. Dunken, then pulled up another chair and sat. “You were right to bring your carriage to us when you realized what had occurred in it. Unfortunately, given the nature of the crime, we’ll need to hold onto it for a few days.”

“A few days?” Mr. Dunken gaped at him. “That carriage is my livelihood, to say nothin’ for what my employer will say when he learns it’s been seized. He’ll have a bloomin’ fit.”

“What would the alternative have been? Toss the body, scrub it clean, and pretend nothing happened?” When Mr. Dunken dropped his gaze Peter realized the notion had crossed his mind.

Thankfully, he’d chosen to do the right thing.

“I’ll pen an official letter to your employer explaining the situation. ”

“That won’t stop him from sackin’ me,” Mr. Dunken complained.

“Perhaps not. However, I do have the liberty of providing you with the income you’d be denied under these circumstances.” Peter sipped his coffee and set his cup aside before adding, “I want to know every detail of what occurred.”

“I’ve already given a thorough account.” Mr. Dunken glanced at Anderson who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Nevertheless,” Peter said. “Who accompanied the victim?”

Mr. Dunken sighed and scrubbed the back of his neck.

Realizing he probably wouldn’t be leaving until he complied, he slumped in his chair and drank some coffee.

“T’was a woman. She hailed me first, then ordered me to stop when we came up alongside the man who was killed.

I saw no problem with it. People will sometimes make such requests when they spot an acquaintance.

They’ll choose to share the ride if they’re goin’ the same way. ”

“So it seemed like the two were familiar with one another?”

“I dunno. I couldn’t hear much of their conversation, besides which I wasn’t really payin’ attention. From what I could tell, he was deep in his cups and…” Mr. Dunken frowned and was quiet a moment before adding, “I think he refused her offer at first.”

Peter leaned forward, one forearm braced on his thigh. “What makes you say that?”

“He started movin’ away, but then she said somethin’ more. I’m thinkin’ she mentioned his cravat?” Mr. Dunken shook his head. “That can’t be right. Makes no bloody sense.”

And yet the cravat did seem to have played a role. Perhaps there was a connection? Peter filed the piece of information away for later. “So the man climbed in and you took off once more. Toward the initial destination provided by the woman, or somewhere else?”

Mr. Dunken blinked. “Um…The man told me to head for Number 7 Garnsford Street, so I did. But before we reached the place I was once again ordered to stop. The woman climbed out, paid me, and asked that I make sure her friend got home safe.”

Except the man was already dead, allowing the woman to disappear into the night before his body could be discovered. Not the worst sort of plan if one wished to commit such a crime, though this did suggest it had been done with purpose.

Peter took another sip of his coffee, his thoughts shifting to the gauzy material he’d found on the floor of the carriage’s cabin. “Did you see what the woman was wearing?”

“A long coat, if I’m not mistaken. It was dark and cold so I can’t recall the details. Honestly, it’s not the sort of thing I consider.”

Peter huffed a breath. Of course it wasn’t. “What about her face? Would you be able to describe her likeness so our artist can produce a sketch?”

“I can try,” Mr. Dunken said, “but like I told you, it was dark and whatever I saw was brief and from an elevated angle.”

“Nevertheless, I’ll have you speak with Mr. Lovitt since putting a face on her will aid in her capture.

” Peter stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about writing that letter to your employer and making sure you get paid for your time.

” He started turning away, only to pause on a thought.

“Where was the woman when she hailed you?”

“Corner of Garrick and the Strand,” Mr. Dunken supplied.

“Right.” Spotting Lewis, who’d since come indoors, Peter crossed to him and asked, “Have you sent word to Doctor Fellowes?”

“Yes. A messenger was dispatched five minutes ago.”

“Excellent work.” Peter sighed with relief.

If all went well, progress would be swift.

“We’ve only a few clues to go on. The driver can’t be counted on for an accurate description of the killer – a woman who seems to have lured the victim to his death.

However, we know she was picked up where Garrick meets the Strand. ”

“You want me to head over there and find out if anyone saw her before she got into the carriage?”

“Exactly. You can take Gordon with you. Let me know what you find.”

“Will do.” Lewis strode off, leaving Peter to make his way to his office.

It didn’t take long for him to prepare the paper he’d promised Mr. Dunken, or the money required to cover the income he’d be denied for a week. He checked his pocket watch once this task was completed. Just after six. The bakery up the street would have steaming hot buns at this hour.

Increasingly hungry, Peter collected his coat and prepared to head out when the door to his office swung open without any warning. He froze in the middle of closing a button, and stared at the spirited woman who stood before him, her cheeks flushed with color.

“Miss Hastings.” The chief magistrate’s daughter – the bane of Peter’s existence – smiled so brightly he struggled to breathe.

Foolish man. You’re old enough to be her father.

And yet, there was no escaping the way she made him feel, even though he often wanted to strangle her.

“It’s early. You never arrive before eight. ”

She straightened, adjusted the spectacles perched on her nose. “I received a missive.”

He didn’t like the gleam in her eyes. “What missive?”

“About the murder,” she whispered with an almost sinister kind of delight. “I ordered Lewis to tell me as soon as we had a new case and we finally do. Isn’t it exciting?”

Peter stared at her. While he would admit things had calmed down a lot around the office these past few months, he hadn’t minded too much since this meant crime was down. That was a good thing. Murders, on the other hand, were a terrible business.

“No. It is not the least bit exciting, Miss Hastings.” He watched as some indescribable emotion crossed her face.

Whatever it was, she shrugged it off and began removing her gloves. “Well, I am looking forward to helping you solve it. I’ve already spoken with Anderson who has promised to give me a copy of Mr. Dunken’s statement.”

She could not have arrived more than ten minutes ago yet she already had the pertinent facts.

And now she was setting her bonnet aside on his desk, allowing him a good look of her hair.

It was tied up as usual, into one of those coiffures that invariably made him wonder what she would look like with it unbound, hanging loosely over her shoulders.

He clenched his fists. “I’m off to the bakery.”

“Oh. Please bring back a muffin for me.”

She dropped into one of the chairs intended for guests and produced the notebook she always carried in her reticule. Peter gritted his teeth and turned for the door. “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she called after him as he left.

He muttered a curse and kept on walking. He was going to kill Lewis the next time they met.