Page 10 of Method of Revenge (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #2)

Chapter Ten

I t had been a clear, cold night, and as Jasper took a seat on a bench inside Trinity Square just before dawn, the pale face of the moon still hung on the horizon, surrounded by sharp stars. He’d barely slept, and not just because he’d had to set out well before sunrise to make his meeting with Bridget O’Mara. Dawn was the only time of day she could leave her busy tavern without anyone observing, and he didn’t want her to be caught.

No, he'd barely slept because of his visit with Leo the night before.

Jasper had left Rouget’s in a hansom cab, fully intending to return home. But as he’d sorted through the Carter case and plotted out his next moves, he’d redirected the cabbie. He needed to speak to Regina Morris, and as Leo had seen the woman in the hooded cloak at Striker’s, it made sense to bring her along with the hope she might recognize her. He’d also planned to scold her for questioning Andrew Carter. But when Leo let him into the kitchen, wearing her nightrobe, slippers, and hair wrappers, his bad mood had transformed into amusement.

At the kitchen table, conversation between them had been easy. He’d been transfixed by her fingers as they slid along the brim of his hat while she mused over the case. But he’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t have touched her to stop her from pushing past him. Hell, he’d practically been holding her hand. He’d been surprised at how small and delicate her wrist had been within his grasp. Leo hardly ever gave the impression of being fragile, but now and then, she let down her guard, and he could see it.

The chill of the pre-dawn air helped to drive out the disturbance he’d felt just under his skin since leaving her a handful of hours ago. He sat on the bench, his hands deep in his pockets to stave off total numbness. The gardens of the square had grown bleak and brittle over the winter, and from where Jasper sat, the equally austere Tower of London was a gray stamp against the coming dawn. The fortress, surrounded by tall walls and a dry ditch, had held scores of prisoners over the years, most of them accused of treason to the Crown. There was some irony that the meeting point with Bridget O’Mara took place within view of the notorious Tower Green, where those found guilty of treason were relieved of their heads.

Should anyone from within the East Rips ever learn the Jugger’s doyenne whispered their secrets to Scotland Yard, she could very well meet a similar end. It wasn’t as if she took the risk out of the goodness of her own heart. She’d only agreed to the deceit when her own life had hung in the balance.

A few years ago, she’d been taken into custody for killing her husband. Billy O’Mara, ex-convict and all-around rotten apple, had broken his neck after being pushed down a flight of steps at the tavern he owned. A tearful and shocked Bridget had confessed to giving him the shove. He’d been knocking her about, as he usually did, and she’d finally had enough. Detective Chief Inspector Coughlan didn’t have any reason not to book her and send her to what would be a quick and damning trial. But instead, he’d given her a second option. Keep her eyes and ears open to news of the East Rips and the Carter family and agree to assist the police on an occasional basis, and all charges would be dropped. Billy O’Mara’s death would be ruled accidental, and she would be free to return home to her young son.

Jasper didn’t like summoning her. He would have rather let her go about her life. However, she was an informant, and he needed to know what the chatter was among the East Rips regarding the poisoning of Gabriela Carter.

A woman, cloaked and hooded, appeared across the square. Jasper stood. With the sky still a bruised blue, and only a few streaks of orange to hint at the coming sun, he couldn’t make out her face, but it was certainly Bridget. She was tall for a woman, standing at nearly six feet, and was generously figured. She possessed a distinctive sway of her hips when she walked too, and now she cut through the lawn and toward his bench, direct and blunt as usual.

“I got five minutes,” she said upon greeting him. “My boy’s feverish, and some sailor is out back of my pub, half-pissed. What do the bobbies want with me this time?”

Bridget was as stern as any East End woman who owned an alehouse would need to be, but Jasper thought he knew why Chief Coughlan had softened toward her. Despite being a little older, around forty, she was striking in appearance. Perhaps her finest feature was her big, doe-like brown eyes, which constantly looked to be pleading for mercy. He imagined they could easily mesmerize any man with half a heart, especially when they shone with tears.

“Andrew Carter’s wife,” Jasper said, getting to the point, just as she preferred. “You’ve heard what happened?”

Bridget nodded. “’Course.”

“What have you been hearing?”

She drew the flannel wrap she wore closer around her and shrugged. “Nothin’ much. Everyone’s too scared of sayin’ the wrong thing, what with him actin’ half-mad.”

Jasper nodded, understanding. Drawing Andrew Carter’s attention at any time was unwise; while he was mourning his wife and hunting her killer, it would be downright stupid.

“But you’ve heard some talk?” he pressed, knowing she had. The Jugger was a popular place near the St. Katharine Docks and was busy all day and night, except for these early morning hours.

Bridget sighed, her breath clouding the air. “Aye, some. He thought some bloke, what drew him into a game of cards at that club, might’ve lured him from his table so’s that his wife could be offed.”

It was the theory Leo had posed to Andrew, and then Andrew to Jasper.

“And?” Jasper said.

“And the bloke lost two fingers to an East Rip bladesman before Carter was convinced he had naught to do with it.”

Jasper’s stomach dove. “Christ.”

Bridget snorted a laugh. “I say he’s lucky. He’s still breathin’, ain’t he?”

A pair of old men shuffled into the garden square, and a lamplighter was making his way along the street, climbing his ladder to extinguish the gas jets. Dawn slid up on the horizon.

“Has he questioned anyone else that you know of?” Jasper asked.

Bridget nodded, looking fatigued. “Her old beau.”

With a twinge of concern for the chemist, Jasper asked, “What happened to him?”

“I hear he’s still alive too.”

“Hopefully with all his appendages intact,” he muttered, furious with Andrew’s violent approach. How could he count on the veracity of the answers he received if they were given under duress? It was bloody and brutish, not to mention dishonorable.

Bridget shrugged, as if not caring one way or another if anyone lost a finger or two. She couldn’t afford to be concerned with anyone or anything if it didn’t have to do with her, her business, or her son.

“He’s been searchin’ for a woman, I hear,” she said. “Someone he used to step out with. Can’t find her though.”

“Regina Morris?”

She shrugged. “That could be the name, yeah.”

If Andrew couldn’t find her, Jasper wondered if she’d gone into hiding. If she had, then she was certainly guilty of something. And his trip to Wapping later that morning with Leo and Nivedita Brooks might not bear any fruit after all.

As the rising sun hit the peaks of the White Tower’s four turrets, Bridget cocked her head. “You remind me of someone, copper.”

Jasper never liked to hear that line. “Do I?”

“A woman I knew, went by the name of Vera.”

His spine went rigid, his muscles locking up tight as a heat flashed through him, followed by a surge of cold. Vera . He hadn’t heard that name spoken in a long time.

“Been dead nigh on twenty years,” Bridget continued, still studying his face. “But you’ve got the look of her, you do. I’ve been tryin’ to place it the last few times we met.”

“I don’t know anyone by that name,” he said, swallowing the bitter lie with practiced ease.

“Like I said, she’s dead. Killed, she was. Had herself a boy and a babe on the way when it happened.”

The cold, thin air turned thick and stifling. With a feeling of suffocation, Jasper stepped away from Bridget. He reached into his pocket for his watch, the urge to leave overwhelming.

“What does this have to do with Andrew Carter?” he asked brusquely.

Her doe eyes continued to peer at him inquisitively. “Nothin’, I suppose. Just thought you looked like her.”

He put away his watch. “All right, thank you for your time, Mrs. O’Mara.” He tipped the brim of his hat. “Enjoy the mutton.”

“Always do,” she replied. This time, she wasn’t the first to turn and walk away. Jasper was, and he felt her eyes between his shoulder blades as he left.

His stomach had yet to uncoil by the time he entered the East End for the second time that morning. Though it was only after ten o’clock, his eyes burned from fatigue. His back ached from traveling the roads to Trinity Square, back to Westminster, and then to Wapping. When they arrived, he alighted from the hired cab, relieved to stand and stretch.

Situated on the north bank of the Thames near the London Docks, the air there had a salty flavor. Wapping was primarily occupied by trades dedicated to seafarers who docked their ships in the harbor’s man-made pools, but other businesses and factories had set up in the area too, attracting laborers and tradesmen—among them, Henderson Carter, Wilkes, and Bloom’s waiters all had stronger motives and opportunities to have lashed out. Regina Morris too. However, it was his duty to consider all those who were known to Gabriela.

“Let him know we’re here, thank you, Miss…?” Jasper instructed.

She faltered, not understanding that he was asking for her name. But then, she jumped with the realization. “Geary, Inspector. Miss Geary.”

She bobbed her head and left the showroom through a door behind her desk. Jasper turned toward Leo and Miss Brooks. “When we are speaking with Mr. Henderson?—”

“Let you do the talking,” Leo recited as she rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know.”

Miss Brooks bit back a smile at Leo’s exasperation.

The secretary returned to show them into an office encumbered by what looked to be years of accumulated possessions: papers, trinkets, framed photographs and paintings, boxes of rolled wallpaper, shelves of ledgers, all arranged haphazardly. A haze of cigar smoke lingered near the wattle and daub ceiling. A large man with a ring of silver-speckled black hair, combed around a liver-spotted pate, waited for them in front of his desk, the top of which could not be seen beneath the detritus.

“Either tell me you’ve arrested the bastard who killed my daughter or get out.”

Disgruntled family members were no rare thing. By now, Jasper knew not to show his belly by bowing and scraping nor to be too high in the instep.

“No one has been placed under arrest yet, Mr. Henderson?—”

“Bloody incompetent fools!” he shouted before popping a lit cigar back into his mouth.

“However, the investigation is progressing,” Jasper went on, as if the man had not spoken. “May I introduce Miss Spencer and Miss Brooks. They were both at the dance hall at the time of your daughter’s death.”

The man frowned at Leo and Dita. “Why have you come?”

Leo parted her lips to answer, but Jasper beat her to it. “I’ve some questions for you and for one of your employees.”

Mr. Henderson removed the cigar. “You should be questioning that damnable Carter. All of this is his doing. I didn’t want my Gabriela to marry the bastard in the first place!” He gesticulated wildly toward Miss Geary in dismissal, who scuttled out of the office, closing the door behind her.

“You aren’t on good terms with your son-in-law?” Jasper presumed.

The man scoffed and returned to puffing on his cigar, giving no answer.

“Were you on good terms with Gabriela?” he tried next.

At this, Mr. Henderson seemed to deflate. After pausing, he answered, “We hadn’t spoken since the wedding.”

Jasper sensed he felt sadness for that, rather than anger.

“Can you think of any enemies Mr. Carter has, or those your daughter might have had? Anyone who may have wished her harm?”

The answer to this standard question was almost always no , which was less than helpful.

“Andrew Carter doesn’t go anywhere without forming a new enemy,” Henderson said with a huff of derision. “However, Gabriela was kindness itself. The girl was unfailingly sweet and caring. All I can think is that he took advantage of her natural disposition. Manipulated her into marrying him.”

Mr. Henderson’s hatred for Andrew sparked Jasper’s interest; it might have led him to attempt to be rid of his son-in-law entirely. All they had was Andrew’s word that the drink had been meant for Gabriela, compliments of Mr. Bloom . It was entirely possible the drink had been delivered to him , and Gabriela had taken it. Then, when she died as a result, Andrew realized he’d been the original target. His animosity toward the police would lead him to keep this information to himself and seek vengeance all on his own, outside the bounds of the law. It was, after all, how the East Rips and every other gang in the city operated.

But Mr. Henderson would have been risking much by arranging for a deadly drink to be delivered to his daughter’s table. Who was to say she wouldn’t sip it? There were other, more direct ways to be rid of someone. Besides, men usually did not select poison as their murder weapon of choice.

“I’d like to speak to a woman you employ here, Miss Regina Morris,” Jasper said. “It’s possible she was seen at Striker’s Wharf that evening, sitting with your daughter just before her death. Miss Spencer and Miss Brooks can verify her presence, if indeed it was her.”

The cigar smoke was clouding the room more rapidly, with no window through which to vent it. The haze reminded him of the gentlemen’s clubs Oliver brought him to, where upper-class men smoked, drank, boxed, and whored. Jasper partook in the first three without compunction, and the fourth only irregularly before he’d started seeing Constance, always with a bit of self-reproach afterward. It had been some time since he’d indulged at a club with Oliver. Though it wasn’t a thought he should be entertaining just now.

Mr. Henderson stubbed out his cigar. “Miss Morris was my son’s secretary. You say she was with Gabriela that night?”

“Was? You mean to say she is no longer employed here?” Leo asked, speaking up before Jasper could.

“She certainly isn’t,” Mr. Henderson answered. “She quit her position without so much as a say-so in person. Left a note on David’s desk! A note—after two years of employment here. My son was utterly staggered.”

“When was this?” Leo asked, again cutting off Jasper. He sent her a quelling look, which she pretended not to see.

“Last month.”

She’d disappeared last month ? Jasper frowned.

“Around the same time as your daughter’s wedding to Mr. Carter?” he asked.

“I suppose so, yes. Why?”

“Were you aware Miss Morris was courting Mr. Carter before he met Gabriela?” Leo asked, again not paying any mind to Jasper’s look of reprimand.

“Of course, I wasn’t bloody aware! I don’t keep tabs on my employees’ love lives. Do I look like a gossip column in the godforsaken newspapers?”

Jasper raised his hand, having had enough of the man’s blustering. “Mr. Henderson, you’re entitled to your grief, but I’ll ask you to hold your tongue against any more outbursts. We are here to help. Now, I’ll need Miss Morris’s home address.”

The manufacturer fumed as though wanting to command him to leave, but his temper lowered enough for him to decipher the reason for Jasper’s request.

“You think she has something to do with Gabriela’s death?”

“We’re following all leads and possibilities,” Jasper replied, giving the standard, vague reply to keep anyone from jumping to conclusions.

Mr. Henderson shouted for his secretary through the closed door, and a moment later, she rushed inside.

Leo turned to Jasper. “Show him the photograph.”

“What photograph is this?” Miss Brooks asked.

“I’d planned to show it to him, thank you,” Jasper grumbled, reaching into his coat pocket while Mr. Henderson ordered Regina Morris’s employment file to be brought forward.

As soon as the secretary left on her task, Jasper turned the death portrait outward for Mr. Henderson to view.

“Any idea why your daughter would have had this in her handbag?”

The man tucked his chin and grimaced. “Absolutely not. Who are those children?”

“Someone may have given it to her the night she was poisoned,” Leo answered. Jasper gritted his molars and gave up; the woman was unbiddable. “Possibly Miss Morris. She and Gabriela were friends, were they not?”

He tossed up a hand. “If she was friends with Miss Morris, it wasn’t brought to my attention. I say, if Carter gave my son’s secretary the old heave-ho, she would’ve had her nose out of joint about the marriage, wouldn’t she? And since you’re looking into her, you should also find Lawrence Wilkes. He and Gabriela were due to marry, but she threw the poor sod over when Carter started coming around. The man was furious.”

“I’ve already found and spoken to Mr. Wilkes,” Jasper replied as Miss Brooks came up beside him for a glimpse of the photograph. She gasped in dismay and quickly stepped away again. “I don’t believe he was involved. He also has an alibi for the night of Gabriela’s death.”

“Well, look into him again, Inspector. Wilkes hates this family. Tried to get my business shut down entirely.”

Jasper shook his head. “Mr. Wilkes was concerned about your business because of the complaints made against your wallpapers. It wasn’t about Gabriela’s rejection of him.”

Miss Brooks, who still appeared nauseated by the photograph of the two children, perked. “What sort of complaints?”

“The green pigments in the paper are toxic,” Leo explained. “They’ve made some people ill.”

“Utterly unfounded,” Henderson said. “Manufacturers have been using chemicals to brighten the color green for decades. If it was really as bad as they say, everyone would be ill and dying, wouldn’t they?”

Leo caught Miss Brooks’s eye. “Arsenic, specifically.”

Her friend raised a brow, understanding the link now.

“I’m telling you, Wilkes is your man. I don’t care what he claims; he never had a problem with the way this factory operated until after Gabriela threw him over.”

The photograph of the two unknown children on Mr. Henderson’s desk seemed to glow as an idea formed. Jasper asked, “Do you keep records of these complaints, Mr. Henderson?”

The man grumbled again. “My solicitor tells me I must, so I do. But you are wasting your time.”

Miss Geary returned with a piece of paper. “The address we have on file for Miss Morris, sir.” She handed it directly to Jasper. Her attention landed on the death photography, and her eyes widened with shock.

“Apologies, madam.” Jasper swiftly collected the photograph and pocketed it, along with the proffered address. “Mr. Henderson, I’d like all the complaints your business has received for the last five years.”

Mr. Henderson drilled him with a glare, then shot it toward his secretary. “Pull the complaints file.”

“The complaints?” Miss Geary asked, looking between her employer and Jasper.

“Yes! The company complaints, as I said. All the settlements and what have you. They’re on a shelf in here somewhere. If the Inspector would like them, he may have them, though little good they will do in finding my daughter’s killer.”

Miss Geary hurried to the wall of shelves as if her heels had been lit on fire. Jasper’s patience was quickly wearing thin with this man. It seemed to him that Gabriela may have had a good reason for not speaking to her father; then again, Jasper might have broiled with the same frustrated anger if he ever had a daughter who elected to marry into a crime family.

While Leo had stayed at Jasper’s side, Miss Brooks had turned to have a look around the small office. She’d come to a stop at one of the framed photographs on the wall. It was a panorama of what appeared to be employees gathered for a pose in front of the factory.

“Is Miss Morris in this photograph?” she asked. “Perhaps we can recognize her from it.”

Leo started for the framed photograph, as did Mr. Henderson while muttering under his breath. Looking greatly hassled, he peered at the picture, then tapped a spot on the glass.

“Right here.”

He dropped his hand, and Leo took a closer look. Her pointer finger rose to the glass. “ This woman is Regina Morris?”

“Yes, as I said,” he huffed before striding back to his desk.

Alarm brightened her hazel irises, and when she turned them onto Jasper, the small hairs along his forearms stood on end.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Come look,” she replied.

Approaching the panorama, Jasper saw the joined smudges of Henderson’s and Leo’s fingerprints resting at the feet of a woman in the front row. Her dark hair was pulled up into a stylish bun, and her lips were pursed into a straight line as she waited impatiently for the photographer to capture the panoramic image. Jasper’s pulse stuttered. His skin tightened. He knew this woman. She had lingered in his mind, haunting him for the last four weeks.

“Will someone bloody well tell me what is going on?” Mr. Henderson’s voice sounded far away under the rush of blood swirling through Jasper’s ears.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Henderson,” Jasper said. “But your son’s secretary didn’t just quit. She was killed.”

The Jane Doe he’d been investigating, found bludgeoned to death a month ago, now had a name: Miss Regina Morris.