Page 8 of Method of Revenge (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #2)

Chapter Eight

J asper waited to speak until his thundering heart slowed and the flash of his temper reduced to a simmer. He filled those seconds by removing his double-breasted coat and hat and sizing up Andrew Carter’s hired muscle on his way to his desk. Carter likely went nowhere without protection.

“Thank you for waiting,” Jasper said. He wouldn’t apologize or give excuses for being late. To a man like Andrew Carter, it would signal submission.

A carriage accident on the way back from Regent Street had snarled traffic. Though he’d arrived at the Yard only ten minutes late, it put him at a disadvantage. Then, walking into his office to find Andrew standing over Leo in an intimidating posture had pulled the rug out from under him. She shouldn’t have been there, alone with him. He’d wring Wiley’s neck for allowing it, and then he’d hunt Leo down at the morgue and wring hers for good measure.

“Not to worry, Inspector. The young lady kept me entertained,” he said as he moved back toward a chair. “I didn’t catch her name.”

“She’ll remain nameless.” He met Andrew’s cold, inspective stare. Jasper waited for a strike of recognition in the other man’s eyes. Some glimmer of recollection. None came, and he exhaled discreetly.

“That’s mysterious,” Andrew replied. “You should know, it only deepens my interest in her.”

Jasper clenched his jaw. If Andrew had seen that sodding article in the Illustrated Police News , he would have known her identity right off. The illustration of Leo had been well-done, and it had taken every ounce of Jasper’s willpower that morning not to go to the weekly’s offices first thing and demand to know who had drawn it. It would have been a shortsighted move. A visit from a Metropolitan Police detective would only indicate to the paper’s editors that the short article had worth, and a follow-up piece would soon be printed. So instead, he’d gone about his morning, stewing, though hopeful that one article would be the last of it. Whoever the artist was, they’d observed Leo, as had whoever wrote the article. The idea of some faceless man watching her, digging for information about her, made him want to hit something. Hard .

The weekly tabloid had been among the other papers Mrs. Zhao laid out in his study last night, but his instinct had been to keep it hidden from Leo. It would upset her, to be sure, though he didn’t think it likely she would remain oblivious much longer. Someone was bound to tell her about it.

“Lose your interest, Mr. Carter. She is an innocent bystander in this case, and we’ll speak no more of her,” Jasper said.

Andrew chuckled as he sat and crossed a leg over his knee. “Innocent? She has more bollocks than most of you bobbies put together. Asked me a few pointed questions.”

Jasper groaned quietly. Of course, she had.

“Well, now I will be asking you some pointed questions. I hope you’ll cooperate, as I’m leading the investigation into your wife’s murder.”

He dropped his ingenuine grin. “I’ll cooperate, Inspector. Not that I have any faith Scotland Yard will find the person who poisoned her, but I’ll give you ten minutes to ask your questions.”

“How generous of you,” Jasper replied. “Where were you when your wife fell ill at the table?”

Andrew rubbed his chin. “A meeting.”

No doubt some sort of criminal underworld dealing. “At Bloom’s?”

“In the casino there.”

Jasper hadn’t known the club had a casino. It was likely a back room, closed off to anyone who didn’t intend to wager seriously.

“What kind of meeting was this?”

If Bloom found out an East Rip had been doing business in his club, he’d have a problem with it.

“The friendly kind,” Andrew answered, purposefully vague.

Jasper hadn’t expected him to be as eager to help as Lawrence Wilkes had been. More than likely, he knew the husband was always the police’s first suspect. And since most murdered women were killed by their husbands, Jasper would not set aside the possibility that Andrew Carter was any different.

“How long did your meeting last?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t keep tabs on the clock.”

Leo’s statement had been detailed, and knowing her as he did, it had also been accurate. “You returned to your table approximately three minutes after your wife’s first signs of distress. Did you hear the commotion from inside in the casino?”

“I must have.”

Impatience crawled along Jasper’s limbs, but outwardly, he remained unflappable. “Who arranged for this meeting?”

Andrew sat forward, his elbows on the arms of the chair. “The mysterious lady you seek to protect asked the same question. Even suggested I was drawn away from my wife on purpose.”

Jasper masked his surprise at Leo’s shrewd theory. “Were you?”

“I don’t take your meaning.”

“Did the meeting go as planned? Was there something suspicious about it?”

If he’d been lured away from the table, the person who arranged for it might’ve had something to do with the poisoning. Andrew was intelligent enough to realize that.

“No comment,” he answered.

Jasper knew how the East Rips operated. They meted out their own justice. If Andrew hadn’t killed his wife, he would be actively hunting down the person he believed responsible. Sharing information with a Scotland Yard inspector would not happen.

“Had anyone been bothering Mrs. Carter lately?” he asked next. “Is there anyone you can think of who might have wished her harm?”

Andrew huffed a laugh. “If anyone had been bothering my wife, I’d have taken care of it, Inspector.”

“Is there anyone who’d wish to harm you through her? Any enemies of your own?”

The next laugh was the only genuine thing Andrew Carter had expressed since the interview began. “What do you think? Of course, I’ve got enemies.”

“Anyone specific come to mind?”

“If someone does, I’ll be sure to let you know,” he replied, not even trying to mask his sarcasm.

“Were you and your wife having any difficulties lately?”

Andrew scoffed. “I didn’t kill her. Whether you think me capable of it or not, I loved Gabriela. I’d just married her, for Christ’s sake.”

“Maybe you regretted that. Wanted out.”

“Divorce is permitted these days, Inspector. A man doesn’t have to resort to murder to get out of his marriage.”

That morning, Jasper had sent Lewis to Barnaby his attention was thoroughly ensnared by Miss Derring. Despite the suggestive glances being exchanged between them, Jasper doubted he would see Miss Derring on Oliver’s arm again after this evening; the viscount fell in love on a weekly basis. Sometimes nightly.

“What does that housekeeper of yours cook for you?” Constance asked as she spooned up her soup. “I do so look forward to meeting her and asking what your favorite foods are.”

The levity of his dinner companions’ conversation didn’t usually rub him the wrong way. Tonight, however, Jasper felt ill at ease in their company.

Shifting in his seat, he queried, “Why? Do you plan to cook them for me?”

He doubted Constance had ever cooked a meal from scratch in her life.

Across the table, Miss Derring’s eyes flashed and cut to Constance, whose expression instantly cooled.

He sighed. “Forgive me, that was rude.”

She made no reply, pretending instead that he hadn’t spoken.

The murmuring of the restaurant’s other guests and the soft strains of a violin grew louder as silence engulfed their table. Oliver raised a brow at him in lighthearted reproach.

“Our Inspector Reid, always so serious.”

He was correct; Jasper tended to be serious, not easygoing and affable like them. It didn’t win him many friends, or even acquaintances. He had yet to determine what someone like Constance saw in him. She was as beautiful and charming as she was lively and modern. Her job at The Times was a dramatic break from her expected role of an aristocratic lady. As was courting a police inspector. Jasper keenly felt the differences in their backgrounds, with his always on full display.

Oftentimes, when he and Constance went out together, she was able to distract him from whatever miserable case he was investigating at the Yard. With her cheery disposition and glib humor, she was adept at drawing people to her, Jasper among them. Spending time with her felt like a retreat from reality, and ordinarily, he enjoyed the escape. Lately, however, he’d started to feel torn between the world Constance lived in and the one he inhabited.

He’d learned to stop talking about his work, as she had made it clear that she did not enjoy hearing about the grittier side of London. And yet, it was what his life revolved around; he spent more time at Scotland Yard than he did in his own home.

Thinking of 23 Charles Street now, he suddenly longed for the comfort and solitude of his study—though he knew he very well might find Leo there again. He pictured her seated in the Inspector’s large chair, as she had been last night, her legs tucked up underneath her as she stared at her family’s case file on the desk. She’d taken it with her this time. Though, he was nearly certain she still hadn’t opened it.

“I’d wager Jasper’s far too practical for favorite dishes, Connie,” Oliver went on. “If he could, he’d exist on criminal cases alone. And whisky.”

Oliver toasted them before taking another sip. It was enough humor to move along the conversation, and Constance joined in, first telling her cousin not to call her Connie, and then discussing the gossip column she’d typed that day for The Times . Jasper followed the first few comments but soon lost interest as his mind turned toward Gabriela Carter’s murder.

He’d spent the afternoon going through the list of employees Bloom had sent to the Yard. He, Lewis, and Constable Warnock had divided up the names and called on the waiters, even the ones who had not been working the night of Gabriela’s poisoning.

None of them—seven in all—had been noticeably big or tall, with large hands ill-suited to serving gloves, as Andrew Carter had described. None had heard of a Regina Morris, and all had given explanations of where they’d been and the names of witnesses who’d confirm their alibis. It was looking more likely that the poisoner had stolen a bundle of black and white livery from either a storeroom at Bloom’s club or from another waiter on staff. However, all waiters could produce their liveries when asked to do so.

By the time Jasper had turned his mind to visiting Miss Morris at Henderson it would only draw attention to Leo and to the unsolved murders of her family again. But his surly mood, as Constance had called it, also stemmed from having found Leo with Andrew Carter in his office earlier that day. She shouldn’t have been anywhere near him, asking pointed questions. At least she’d had the foresight not to give him her name.

“I’m investigating a young woman’s murder,” Jasper clarified. “Forgive me if I’m not in the best humor.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Oliver said promptly, attempting to pierce the tension building between Jasper and Constance. “Now that your father is gone—God rest his soul—I don’t see why you must continue as if he is still here. He was the one who cared for Miss Spencer all these years, wasn’t he?”

Jasper suspected where the viscount was headed with his question and clenched his jaw, remaining silent.

“You are not family to her. I don’t see why you should feel any sort of responsibility toward her.” He finished his thought with a wave of his fingers.

The suggestion that Jasper should cast Leo off without thought or care slammed into him. He sat back in his chair. “I assure you I don’t feel responsible for her at all.”

It wasn’t responsibility that he felt toward Leo. Jasper wasn’t entirely sure what he felt, but he knew without question that it would never be indifference.

“Good. You shouldn’t,” Oliver replied. “Treat her as you would any witness to a crime and be done with her.” He raised a hand to signal the waiter. “Another bottle of wine.”

Jasper threw his napkin on the table, no longer able to sit still. “None for me. In fact, I think I’ll take my leave for the evening. You’re right—I’m not good company at the moment.”

It was rude to leave before dinner ended, but he didn’t think he could endure any more speculative conversation. Especially if it had to do with Leonora Spencer. He’d only lose his temper and say things he regretted later.

“You are leaving?” Constance’s mouth parted in obvious dismay. “We haven’t been served the main course yet.”

“You stay,” Jasper said as he stood. “Oliver will take you home, I’m sure.”

“Of course,” the viscount replied, though he, too, appeared taken aback by Jasper’s unceremonious departure.

Constance twisted away from him, refusing to meet his eyes as he bid them a good evening. He didn’t blame her. She had every right to be peeved. Yet, as he left Rouget’s, he found he didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty. All he felt was relief.