Page 104 of Garden of Lies

“Why else would I be here? I could have taken the crates of drugs. You would never have known the identity of the thief.”

“Yet here you are, offering a partnership. I’m starting to believe that what Fulbrook said about you is true—you are a little mad. Something to do with having spent a year stranded on an island, they say.”

“I’ve heard those rumors about me, as well. Might be something to them. After all, how does one know if one is mad? But when it comes to arrogance, you take the prize, Cobb.”

“What are you talking about?”

Slater walked out of the shadows, moving a short way into the light. His hands were empty. Cobb breathed a sigh of relief.

Very casually Slater reached out to grip one of the hoist ropes that dangled from the loft.

“Some would claim that murdering a high-ranking gentleman like Fulbrook requires a breathtaking degree of arrogance,” he said.

Cobb smiled. “Killing Fulbrook was very easy.”

“Was it?”

“I waited for him outside his house in Mapstone Square. When he came down the front steps I followed him and cut his throat.”

“I see. Can I ask why you are telling me this now?”

“Because I am not looking for a business partner.”

Cobb raised the gun and prepared to pull the trigger.

But Slater was already tugging hard on the length of rope that dangled from the loft.

Cobb was focused on the kill. He never saw the heavy rope net fall out of the loft until it landed on top of him. The weight of it took him off balance and off his feet.

He yelled, reflexively pulling the trigger. The revolver roared but the shot went wild. Cobb struggled in the snare. He succeeded only in becoming more entangled in the web of thick rope.

The warehouse was suddenly filled with constables who appeared from the interiors of several crates and descended from the loft. One man in a suit and tie walked toward Cobb.

“Did you hear enough, Detective Inspector?” Slater asked.

“More than enough,” the detective said. He reached through the netting and collected the revolver. “Plenty of witnesses heard this man’s confession, as well. Mr. Cobb, I am placing you under arrest for the murder of Lord Fulbrook and the American named Hubbard. There will be other charges, as well. Someone’s got to answer for the deaths of Rosemont, Wyatt and Anne Clifton.”

There was a sudden disturbance in the doorway. A light appeared.

“What’s going on in here?” the cab driver shouted. “Tom. Tom, are you all right? Where are you, son?”

Slater went to where he had hidden Tom a few minutes earlier.

“You can come out from behind the crate, Tom,” he said. “You’re safe.”

Tom jumped to his feet. He took in the scene with an awed expression. Then he ran to his father.

“That man, the one that was going to pay us so much to haul the crate to the ship, I heard him say he cut someone’s throat,” Tom said.

The driver pulled Tom close against his side. “There, there, son, looks like the police have him in hand.”

Slater walked across the floor through the lantern light and stopped a short distance from Cobb.

“Bastard,” Cobb hissed.

“Welcome to London,” Slater said.

FIFTY-TWO