Page 22 of Cloaked in Deception (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #4)
Chapter Twelve
T raversing on foot from Bloomsbury Square to Scotland Yard in the full light of day wasn’t nearly as wretched as being taken from the benefit dinner by masked robbers and then dropped off in Battersea Park on a dark and stormy night.
But by the time Leo reached Scotland Yard, she was perilously close to tears of frustration.
Without a farthing in her handbag, she’d been made to walk a near half hour to Met headquarters.
The heat and humidity of the June sun had baked her as she’d trekked toward the Thames, and her short lady’s boots proved unserviceable as the blisters that had formed on her heels while chasing the cab to the Hayes residence earlier grew untenable.
Leo tried to distract herself from her painful feet by piecing together any plausible reason why the Hayes family would be involved with the murder of Martha Seabright.
Jasper had once mentioned that Constance’s family had a home on Bloomsbury Square.
As such, the caped and hooded woman had to have been either Constance Hayes’s mother—or Constance herself.
But why would either of them have been snooping inside Martha’s home?
Jasper had ended his courtship with Constance in May. At the time, Leo had felt slightly guilty for the delight it had brought her. Not so any longer.
The Hayes family was rich and powerful. What connection could they have with the widow of a police sergeant, dead nigh on fourteen years?
Hot, thirsty, and inordinately frustrated, Leo at long last crossed the threshold at Scotland Yard. She sighed at the cool shade of the lobby, closing her eyes in relief.
“Are you well, Miss Spencer?”
She collected herself and met Constable Woodhouse’s concerned stare. “Well enough, Constable, thank you. Is Inspector Reid in?”
“Far as I’m aware.”
Leo hesitated, looking in the direction of the CID. “And what of Detective Chief Inspector Coughlan?” It was half two in the afternoon. Too early for him to have gone home for the day.
The receiving desk constable chuckled, interpreting her caution. “He’s left for a meeting with the superintendent.” Constable Woodhouse winked, and Leo shot him a grateful smile before heading to the detective department.
There, however, her reception wasn’t nearly as hospitable. Constable Wiley was at his desk, a bored expression turning down the corners of his mouth. When he saw her, his sneer only increased.
“He’s busy interviewing someone important,” the constable said before Leo could even step foot into the room. “You’ll have to wait.”
Leo expected him to say more, perhaps call her LeoMorga , as he too often did. But he only slumped in his chair, his round cheek pressed into his fist as he leaned an elbow on the desktop. He fell back into his thoughts, ignoring her completely.
Before Chief Inspector Coughlan had turned serious in his threats to sack Jasper, Leo would have bypassed Wiley’s desk and proceeded to Jasper’s office, usually with the complaining constable on her heels.
However, such an action now would only reflect poorly on Jasper, so she gathered her patience and stood still.
“Who is Inspector Reid interviewing?” she inquired.
“Daughter of the woman who got shot at that dinner,” he answered, still sulking.
“Paula Blickson?” Leo asked, brightening.
“If that’s her name.”
She could take it no longer. “Constable, what is the matter with you today?”
He blinked and lifted his cheek from his knuckles. An imprint had been left behind. “With me? What are you on about?”
“You’re not yourself,” she replied. “Not that I’d like you to return to your unfriendly ways, but there is clearly something bothering you.”
He scowled at her, then returned to his slouch. “Mind your own business, LeoMorga. ”
She rolled her eyes. That was more like it.
Across the department floor, Jasper’s office door opened, and Leo stood at attention, ignoring the ache of her feet.
A man and woman emerged, the woman wearing mourning black, including a stylish hat dressed in dark purple flowers, with black lace billowing from the narrow brim.
The veil obscured most of her face, though she had shifted it aside to press a handkerchief to her nose, exposing her smooth, pale cheek, an artful curl of black hair, and a noticeable mole on her cheek, close to her bejeweled earlobe.
At her side, a tall man in a dark suit and bowler kept his arm around Paula’s shoulders, leading her toward the department exit.
Leo stood aside as they approached. The man guiding her maintained a stoic expression.
His sapphire eyes met Leo’s as they passed.
He gave a polite, detached nod, a greeting one might give a stranger passing by on the street.
He might not have known Leo, yet she knew him. It was Esther Goodwin’s son, Felix.
They turned into the narrow corridor and were gone.
“You can see the inspector now,” Constable Wiley said.
They were words Leo had never heard him say before. She eyed him curiously as she started for Jasper’s office. The detective inspector stood in the doorway, watching her with clear admonition for having come to the Yard.
The ache of her feet and the soreness of her calves dissipated with each step she took toward him. For a fraction of a second, his expression opened, revealing what else he was thinking of: last evening. Their thwarted kiss.
But then he blinked, and he was once again the irritable inspector from Scotland Yard.
“What is the matter with Constable Wiley?” she asked, trying to deflect whatever scolding he had in mind. “I’ve never seen him so morose.”
“He requested a secondment to Liverpool,” Jasper answered as they moved into his office. “It was denied.”
Leo felt sorry for it, though not for Wiley in particular. It would have been lovely to have someone else as desk constable. “Maybe you could put in a good word for him in the telegraph room. Or in some other department far from here.”
He stepped behind his desk to close a folder. “Leo?—”
“That was Paula Blickson?” she asked, cutting him off again. “And her cousin, Felix Goodwin.”
Jasper sighed. “Yes. She decided to come in.”
“How did she seem?”
He crossed his arms. “Upset. Leo, you know that it would be better if you did not come here any longer.”
She peeled the gloves from her hands, the cotton damp. “I know, and I’m sorry, but this was important. It couldn’t wait.”
His chest expanded as he dragged in a fortifying breath. “Close the door.” She did as he bade, shutting out the rest of the department.
“Tell me what has happened,” he ordered next.
On her walk from Bloomsbury Square, she’d tried to organize what she would say once she arrived at her destination. The only conclusion she’d reached, however, was that nothing would adequately protect her from Jasper’s wrath.
Leo held up her palms. “You might be angry with me, but hear me out.”
Tucking his chin, he practically growled, “What have you done?” with such vehemence, the small hairs on her arms stood on end.
She lowered her hands and clenched them into fists. “I believe Mrs. Stanley Hayes was at Martha Seabright’s home on Well Street. She was inside the house, alone, and she most certainly did not want to be seen there.”
Though his expressions were not often readable, this one of stunned confusion couldn’t be mistaken. Jasper’s arms dropped to his sides. “Mrs. Hayes?” But then, he cocked his head. “What the devil were you doing there?”
Leo turned away from his forbidding stare and headed for the corner of the small office, where shelves were filled with books, maps, and case files. “I think we are better served concentrating on Mrs. Hayes right now,” she said, adding, “to avoid becoming distracted.”
“Damn it, Leo.” He shoved his chair hard under the desk. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to talk to Esther Goodwin.”
The doubt and disbelief she’d felt when he’d asked her the day before reared back up again. “Then why did you?”
He lowered his head and, with his hands hitched on his hips, looked to be taking even breaths. “Fine. For now, we will discuss Mrs. Hayes. But eventually, you will tell me what in God’s name you were doing there.”
She could only hope his resolve would fade or that more pressing matters would crop up in the meantime.
“How can you be sure it was Mrs. Hayes?” he asked.
“At first, I wasn’t.” She explained how she’d followed the unknown woman, her face well covered by the hood on her cloak, from near Moorgate to Bloomsbury Square.
“I saw her enter a home, not as a guest, but as someone who resided there,” she said. “So, I went to the tradesman’s entrance and applied for a position that didn’t exist so that I might learn the name of the owners.”
He groaned and rubbed his face, massaging his eyes as he did.
“The home belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Hayes,” Leo concluded. “I can only reconcile that the hooded woman was either Mrs. Hayes or Constance.”
At Jasper’s pause and his contemplative brow, Leo began to suspect something. “Did you already know of their connection to Mrs. Seabright?”
The sash of his window had been lifted, letting in the myriad noises of Whitehall Place. Shod horses’ hooves on the cobbles, clattering wagon wheels, whistles, shouts of newsboys hawking papers. It all filled the office as Jasper slowly came out from behind his desk.
“Not of their personal connection, but Mr. and Mrs. Hayes were on the guest list for the benefit dinner. They were supposed to have attended. At the last minute, they canceled.”
“Just like Gavin Seabright,” Leo said.
It couldn’t be a coincidence. It was almost as if they all had known the robbery would take place and wished to avoid it.
“Are the Hayeses regular contributors to the orphanage?” Leo asked.
“Stanley was on the Board of Governors years back, when the orphanage first opened.” Jasper looked out the window, then shut the sash to lock out the noise.