Page 23 of Cloaked in Deception (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #4)

“That was when the Seabright children were there,” Leo said, a small quiver of excitement growing just under her skin. It was entirely plausible that Stanley Hayes had met Martha at that point in time. Had Mrs. Hayes as well?

Earlier, Leo had wondered if the woman wearing the cloak could have been the dark-haired lady Mrs. Beardsley had seen with Gavin. But when she posited this with Jasper, he shook his head right away.

“I’ve never met Constance’s mother, so she might have dark hair, but she is surely too old to match the landlady’s description.”

Leo found she could agree with Jasper on that point.

Unfortunately, she also found the stabbing sensation in her lower stomach at the mention of Constance’s name unsettling.

Jasper had courted her for several months, and while Leo had never truly liked Constance, she now understood it was due to jealousy more than anything else.

“Maybe something untoward happened between the Hayeses and Martha Seabright back then,” Leo mused. “Though, I can’t imagine why Mrs. Hayes would have snooped around Martha’s home. She didn’t leave with anything in her hands, though she could have put something into one of her pockets.”

Jasper scrubbed a palm down his face and turned a look onto Leo that she knew well. “You shouldn’t have gone anywhere near that house. What were you intending to do there?”

The key in her handbag felt even more criminal now.

She couldn’t bear to admit that she’d pilfered it from the dead woman’s possessions with plans to do the same thing Mrs. Hayes had been doing.

Without warning, shame doused her head to toe.

Sneaking about, breaking into homes wasn’t commendable in the least.

Leo eyed the office door, eager to leave. “I just wanted a look. Call it a hunch. Now, I should be getting back to the morgue.”

Jasper moved, blocking her direct path to the exit.

“I’m grateful for this lead, Leo. Truly, I am.

” He gritted his teeth, and she knew a but was on its way.

“But I am asking you to stay away from this investigation from this point forward. If any of the other masked assailants learn you’ve been sniffing around their tracks, they might regret letting you go and return for you. ”

The worry was oddly reminiscent of the one that had been dogging her for the last month or so, ever since Eddie Bloom, the owner of Striker’s Wharf nightclub and the head of a criminal racket on the Lambeth wharves, had warned her away from asking more questions about the murders of her family.

The killers hadn’t forgotten the little girl they’d failed to find that night.

If she started looking into the past too deeply, they might suspect she knew more than they were comfortable with.

The warning had chilled her interest in what her father had done to betray the East Rips criminal syndicate.

She’d stored her father’s account ledgers and the old letters her aunt had sent to Leo’s mother, detailing Flora’s concerns for the safety of her sister and her family, under her bed, alongside the thick file on the Spencer family murders that she’d been given by the Inspector.

Every time Leo entered her room or got into bed, she would think of them.

But at the idea of reaching for them and disturbing the detritus of the past, Eddie Bloom’s warning would sound in her ear.

Not only did Leo not want to draw the interest of the East Rips, she also didn’t want them looking any closer at the Scotland Yard detective inspector who had once been a runaway from the Carter family.

Leo nodded. “I understand.”

Jasper waited, a skeptical brow raised as if expecting her to tack on some dispute. When she didn’t, he seemed to be at a loss.

“All right. Good, then,” he said.

He still blocked her path to the door.

“Might I get by?” she asked. “There are several corpses at the morgue, and I’ve already been away too long.”

After the torturous walk from Bloomsbury Square, it seemed like days had passed since she’d left Connor rather than just a handful of hours.

Jasper stepped aside swiftly. “Right. Yes.”

She passed him, a smile she could not suppress tugging the corner of her mouth. He really was quite charming when he was ungainly. She opened the door, allowing in the hum of activity in the busy department.

“Leo?”

She turned back at his voice, predicting another warning to stay out of the investigation.

Instead, Jasper had his hands in his trouser pockets, something he only ever did if he felt discomposed.

After parting his lips once without making a sound, on the second try, he managed to say, “Will you have dinner with me?”

Heat reached like a tidal swell from her stomach to her throat, and then back down again. She prayed the flush stayed clear of her cheeks as she tried to maintain some degree of poise.

“Tonight?” she asked, her voice slightly rough.

“If you don’t already have plans.”

She pinned her lower lip with her teeth, biting back the giddy grin threatening to break forth. It felt altogether foreign and more than a little alarming.

Forcing some composure, she nodded. “I’ll be home by seven.”

A grin began to emerge on his mouth, and before her own involuntary smile could take shape, Leo swiftly turned to leave.

Somehow, the walk to the morgue didn’t pain her feet at all.

The fatigue and frustration weighing her down when she’d arrived at the Yard had dissipated completely, and taking its place was an exhilarating thrum that seemed to lift her from the pavements as she walked.

Jasper’s invitation to dinner had been like a cup of strong black tea to her system, waking her up and electrifying her brain.

It was nothing like how she felt when Constable Elias Murray had asked her to dine with him a few months ago.

Those invitations had made her squirm and perspire.

She’d accepted once, but even then, she’d had her reservations.

Did she like him well enough to encourage him?

And what would they discuss for the duration of dinner?

However, the idea of dinner with Jasper filled her with a trembling of anticipation, not doubt.

To calm her flittering pulse before entering the morgue, she turned her mind to practicalities, like what she should wear and where they might dine.

Leo had seen Jasper in a fine suit and tie when he’d been courting Constance.

The vision of him turning up at her front door on Duke Street in such clothing gave her stomach an unruly swoop as she neared the back door to the morgue’s office.

Instinct flared up Leo’s back and alerted her to a presence behind her. Too late. A hand wrapped around her arm and jerked her back. Something dull and hard pressed firmly into her back, just below her right shoulder blade.

“Don’t shout,” the male voice said, and at the pungent waft of neroli and bergamot shuttling up her nostrils, Leo knew exactly who had sneaked up on her.

“Mr. Seabright.”

The door to the morgue was close. Connor would be inside, waiting for her to return.

“How do you know that?” the man asked, his breathing choppy with panic.

“You ought to have a lighter hand with your cologne,” she replied. “And for someone who is a prime suspect in at least one murder, you are unadvisedly close to the Metropolitan Police headquarters.”

“I’m no murderer,” he said through what sounded like gritted teeth. He was strong, his grip severe, and he was tall; in her limited side vision, he stood a good head taller than she did.

“If that is true, then why are you thrusting the barrel of a revolver into my back?”

He emitted a soft growl of aggravation. Then, his grip on her arm loosened. With some bewilderment, Leo stepped away and turned to face him.

Gavin Seabright resembled his mother in many ways, from the grim slash of his thin lips to the bold, high forehead and hard, gray eyes.

But when he showed her his weapon—an empty glass beer bottle, the tapered neck of which had doubled as a revolver’s barrel—his maladroit hands revealed the truth: he wasn’t a killer.

Leo exhaled, and while not exactly comfortable, she was at least relieved.

“You have much to answer for, Mr. Seabright. There was a dead man found in your lodging room,” she said. “This man was part of the criminal party that robbed the benefit dinner and killed your mother. How did you know him?”

As if recognizing he no longer needed the bottle, he dropped it onto the gravel path.

“I didn’t know him from Adam.” He said it emphatically enough for her to believe him.

“The first time I’d ever seen him was at Mrs. Beardsley’s door before breakfast. Said he had bad news about my mum, that he needed to speak to me alone. ”

“You invited a stranger to your room?”

Gavin snorted. “What, and chum up an extra six pence to use Mrs. Beardsley’s private sitting room? No, thank you.”

Leo stepped closer to the exterior of the vestry, into the strip of cool shade cast by the roof’s eaves. From there, she saw the man much better. Smears of dirt on his clothing and face hinted that he’d slept outside overnight, perhaps in a park or cemetery.

“What did the man tell you?” she asked, then more eagerly, “His name, perhaps?”

“Said his name was Harry.”

“Did he give a surname?”

“No.” He checked over his shoulder, glancing toward the street. There was no one there, but it was clear he was worried about being followed. “Just said my mum had been killed. That he’d seen it and knew who’d done it.”

“Who?”

Again, he shook his head and shrugged. Leo reeled in a dash of annoyance. “How did he find you?” she tried next. “How did he know the victim was your mother?”

“He just said the man who killed my mum had asked him to keep an eye on my lodgings for a few weeks. When I asked why, he wouldn’t say. Just that he’d explain everything and that I could go to the police with what he said,” Gavin said. “But first, I had to help him.”

“Help him how?”