Page 14 of Pads, Purses, and Plum Pudding (A Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #2)

THE VICAR

Another part of London

He slammed his fist on the desk and glared at the men in front of him. He was alone now, allowing the anger to seep from him. Picking up the crystal tumbler, he threw back the last of the French brandy and hurtled the glass across the room.

The idiot Ferguson had been identified, and Bow Street magistrate was investigating. Dunn was gone, and he had to find someone competent to take his place. It was an inconvenience, not a huge setback, but it goaded him. He’d heard the rumors about the man’s wife, blaming . He ground his teeth. Wasn’t he always generous with the widows? He would have set the woman up with a tidy pension, not murder her. As he’d tried for Dunn’s widow, but she’d disappeared. There were limits to his violence. He drew the line at harming women and children. He wasn’t a brute, an unfeeling beast who swept everything from his path without thought.

He was thoughtful, calculating, precise in his decisions. Each plan drew him one step closer to his goal. Revenge would be his, no matter the years it took. So what if he became as wealthy as those titled devils in the process?

Bow Street was becoming a thorn in his side.

They were sniffing around one of his counterfeit businesses. He had interests everywhere, and it wouldn’t break him to shut down and find a new location. But the men who’d been followed would have to be disposed of. This time there would be no bodies found. More importantly, he needed to find out who had so easily infiltrated his operations. He couldn’t afford to have anything go wrong with his upcoming scheme.