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Chapter Thirteen

J asper checked his watch. He’d been waiting underneath the small portico at the front entrance to the morgue for several minutes past the appointed hour. A steady pour of rain emptied over the arched roof, spraying inward whenever the wind gusted.

He’d woken up that morning to the sound of rain pinging off the window glass in his room, and though the day was now closing in on the noon hour, the blustery weather and low-lying mist still made things look and feel like early morning.

He could have waited inside after arranging with Claude for Oliver Hayes to view Niles Foster’s body.

However, he wasn’t in the mood to endure more of Leo’s icy reception.

As soon as Jasper had arrived, she’d turned into the back office and hadn’t reemerged.

He would have Oliver formally identify the body, and then Jasper would return to headquarters and the cramped desk where he and Lewis had spent the morning poring through Foster’s possessions.

The boxes had been delivered by PC Price and PC Drake the previous afternoon, and Jasper had taken aside Drake before he could dash off again.

“The time I saw you at Striker’s Wharf, you were with PC Lloyd,” Jasper reminded the constable. The two had been at the club with Miss Brooks and Leo in January; Drake had been there as Leo’s escort.

The constable nodded, nervously shifting his feet.

“Did you go there often with him?”

“No, sir,” the PC answered. “Not after that.”

“Why not?”

Drake had licked his lips, hesitating. Then checked around the department before lowering his voice. “I didn’t want any part of what he was doing. Who he was talking to.”

Nodding, Jasper thought he understood. “Bloom? Or someone else?”

“Not Bloom.” Looking acutely uncomfortable, he said, “Some tall bloke. A Swede.”

Olaf, the man who’d tossed Niles Foster from the casino. So, Lloyd was connected to the Spitalfields Angels too.

“How were Lloyd and this Swede associated?” he asked.

Drake swallowed hard, then with his voice lowered to a rasp, said, “The one time I went with John to the casino room, the Swede fronted him a few bob. He won it back and all, but I had the impression it was a regular thing between them.”

If Lloyd had been borrowing gambling money from the Angel, there was a high probability he might have become indebted to him.

“Is there anything else you know about Lloyd’s…activities?” Jasper asked. “Anything you’ve heard?”

Warnock had walked by then, eyeing Jasper and Constable Drake’s hushed conversation.

“No. Nothing,” Drake was quick to reply. Jasper took pity on him and then, with a jerk of his chin, dismissed him.

That evening, he and Lewis returned to Striker’s Wharf in the hope of finding Olaf.

They spent nearly three hours at the bar, and Jasper had even entered the casino room, receiving scathing glares from all present.

But no one matching the description of Barry Reubens’ hired muscle had been at the club.

“Bloom probably tipped him off not to come,” Lewis said as they were returning to the north bank of the Thames.

Jasper had known it was a possibility, but they’d needed to take the chance.

After a few moments of quiet in the cab, Lewis had said, “Do you remember the bombing in the cloakroom at Victoria Station last year?”

At Jasper’s nod, he’d continued, “An Angel was arrested. He had connections to Clan na Gael. And LaChance has mentioned more than once that they’re watching some Angels rumored to be assisting the IRB.”

“Are you suggesting the Angels might have been involved with Clan na Gael’s strike against the Yard?” Jasper asked.

The detective sergeant had shrugged. “It’s something to consider. We have a connection confirmed between Lloyd and a member of the Angels,” Lewis said. “If the Angels were helping the Irish, maybe they used Lloyd as a delivery boy.”

Jasper had considered the suggestion but ultimately shook his head. “The bomb Lloyd carried was a different make than the ones that detonated later that night,” he reminded Lewis. “I don’t see how Clan na Gael can be connected.”

And yet, for the rest of the evening, he’d tried to think of some proof that would verify Lewis’s theory.

Now, rain speckled Jasper’s right side as the wind blew in under the portico. With some relief, Oliver Hayes’s carriage came into sight and drew alongside the curb. Jasper opened the door to the morgue as Oliver approached, and they entered the lobby.

“Forgive the delay, Reid. I went past Gillman’s to arrange for the collection of the body for burial,” Oliver explained.

“That’s good of you.”

It seemed that, with no other family, the funeral arrangements had fallen to Oliver. The bell over the front door had signaled their presence, and now, the viewing room door opened. Claude gestured for them to enter.

“I’ve already confirmed it is Niles. Is this really necessary?” Oliver asked, again looking pallid.

“It’s police protocol,” Jasper explained. “It won’t take long.”

He and Oliver entered the small room, lit by weak daylight coming through a window of milk glass. Claude folded back the top of the sheet covering the body.

Oliver grimaced. “Yes, it is still Niles.” Then he asked, “So then, did he drown?”

Claude waited for Jasper to give a nod. The coroner then adjusted his spectacles, something he tended to do before delivering bad news. “He did not drown, my lord. He was stabbed—twice.”

The viscount swore softly and looked as though he might be ill. “He was murdered ?”

Jasper opened the door to the lobby and, with the brief task of the formal identification concluded, ushered his friend from the room.

Leo was waiting for them in the lobby, a paper in her hand. She appeared guarded and serious as she approached Oliver.

“The morgue requires a signature to release the deceased to the appointed funeral service,” she explained.

Oliver took the pen and jotted down his signature, but he was still reeling from the news Claude had shared.

“Are you investigating his murder, Reid? Tell me something is being done.”

“I’m already following some leads,” he assured the viscount. “And I have a few questions for you before you go.”

Leo took the signed paper and, with a curious glance between him and Oliver, left the lobby without a parting word. Once the postmortem room door closed softly behind her, Jasper spoke.

“You said your row with Foster was about money.” Oliver nodded, and Jasper continued, “It seems the amount he requested was the amount his landlady required for the yearly lease of his rooms.”

Oliver swore under his breath. “I didn’t know.”

“Did Niles let slip anything having to do with his gambling? Maybe a name like Olaf or Reubens? Or John Lloyd?”

The viscount took a moment to consider the names, turning his bowler around by the brim between his hands. “No, I’m sorry.”

Jasper shook his head. “It’s all right. What about the Spitalfields Angels?”

This grabbed Oliver’s interest. “The criminal syndicate? You think he was involved with them?”

Jasper wanted to be careful with what information he provided, even to Oliver. “I have reason to believe Foster had an altercation with a man associated with the Angels the week before his murder. It occurred at a gambling casino.”

Disappointment clouded Oliver’s face, and he shook his head. At the same time, a soft brushing sound against the postmortem room door turned Jasper’s ear.

“He really did know how to mess up, didn’t he?” Oliver said with a sigh. “No, he never mentioned anything to do with the Angels or any other criminal gang. But I keep thinking…”

Jasper pushed aside the notion that someone—namely, Leo—had been listening at the door and focused on Oliver. “Tell me.”

“Why my duck pond? I can see if Niles was inebriated and came stumbling onto my property only to fall into the water and drown, but now, knowing that he was killed—stabbed—well, that means whoever did it knew of my connection to him.”

It was the same conclusion Jasper had been pondering.

“The question is whether the killer is a mutual acquaintance or if Niles, before his death, told the killer of your connection,” Jasper said.

There was, of course, no easy way to determine the answer.

“If I can think of anything to help, I won’t hesitate to contact you.

” Oliver paused a moment longer, then said, “Niles was troublesome and a weight on my shoulders. But he didn’t deserve this.

Whatever you need for your investigation into his death, you have only to ask, Reid.

” Oliver clapped him on the shoulder, then left.

Jasper tucked his chin before pushing open the postmortem room door. The dreary weather had left the stained glass windows dull and muted, but the gasoliers were turned up to provide enough light for Claude to work by. However, the coroner was alone.

“Where is Leo?”

“I hope you will join my niece, Inspector. I don’t think she should go to that prison alone,” the old man said as he was making an incision along the back of a corpse’s skull. “You might want to look away.”

Jasper did, but not before Claude began to peel back the dead man’s scalp. With a sick twist of his stomach, Jasper started for the back office.

“What prison?” he asked as he entered, his thundering voice bouncing off the high ceiling.

Leo was buttoning her coat. “I’m visiting Mrs. Stewart at Holloway.”

A prickle of anger surprised him.

“You are not going to a prison,” he heard himself say. Instantly, he knew it had been stupidity to do so.

“I am free to try to visit her.” She finished with her buttons and pulled on a pair of gloves. “And I am more than capable of going alone .” Leo raised her voice just enough so that her uncle might hear.

“Women visitors aren’t permitted inside prisons,” Jasper said. She wasn’t family, and the warden was under no obligation to allow Mrs. Stewart a visitor at all.