Page 41 of Word of the Wicked (Murder in Moonlight #5)

I t was late by the time they reached Solomon’s house, but Jenks still appeared as soon as they entered. More interestingly, so did David, though from the top of the stairs.

“All quiet, Jenks?” Solomon said quietly.

“Apart from one visit from Inspector Omand, which went very well. I’m sure Mr. David will explain all.”

“Thanks, Jenks. Don’t wait up any longer.”

Constance thought Solomon would rush to his brother to be sure he was not badly affected by the police scare, and certainly he wasted no time, but he took Constance’s hand before striding to the stairs and hurrying up. That inclusion warmed her, erasing a concern she hadn’t even acknowledged.

For his part, David looked more alive than she had ever seen him. The fear had vanished from his face, and he looked even more like Solomon, his eyes blazing with excitement.

“I know where he is,” he blurted as soon they reached him.

Solomon led the way into the sitting room. “Drayman? Did Omand’s men find him?”

David grimaced. “And lost him again.” He dropped in the nearest chair, then, remembering his manners, sprang back up again and waited for Constance to sit first.

She did, as though she hadn’t noticed his lapse. “Then how do you know where he is now?”

“Because I know Drayman,” David said at once. “It was a trick he played in Sicily—ran from his enemies to his mistress’s house, then bolted as soon as they approached, and when they’d torn the place apart looking for him and given up for pastures new, he simply went back there.”

“And she let him stay?” Constance asked.

“I doubt he gave her any choice. He’s not a pleasant man.”

“People rarely look in the same place twice,” Solomon said thoughtfully, perching on the arm of Constance’s chair. “So where did the police find him in London?”

David fished a scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Solomon. “I wrote down everything he told me, because I don’t know the place at all. Apparently, it’s a brothel and a rookery full of thieves and cutthroats and fugitives.”

“Then it’s also full of traps for the unwary and the police,” Constance said grimly. “I hope they got out safely.” She peered over Solomon’s arm to read what David had noted down.

“Do you know it?” Solomon asked.

“I know of it,” Constance said. “Dangerous for strangers, but the girls have some protection there at least. It doesn’t stop their clients being scum of the earth.

” She looked up at Solomon. “You can’t go in there.

Not without an army of policeman who know how to get out again alive. I mean it, Solomon.”

He was still gazing at the paper without blinking. “We don’t need to go in. We need him to come out.” He looked at David. “He saw you at the Crown and Anchor. He must know you gave his name to the police and that’s why they’re looking for him. You are the one who could hang him.”

“So he’ll kill me first,” David said, equally casual. “I can bring him to me, but I’ll need more of a reason than reminiscing over the good old days. We never liked each other.”

“We need him to bring more than himself, though,” Solomon said. “He needs to bring proof that he murdered Chase.”

“Oh, he’ll bring that along to murder me,” David said cheerfully.

“It’s not enough,” Solomon objected. “It could be a different knife, or it could be a common blade similar to hundreds of others that might match the victim’s wound. Did Chase have nothing on him that Drayman would have stolen?”

“His watch,” Constance said. “You said he wore a big watch.”

“Why would he wear something so valuable to the Crown and Anchor?” Solomon demanded. “Especially when he was incognito as an ordinary sailor.”

“He had two,” David said. “Both engraved with his name. His gold one that he kept safe, and a slightly battered brass one that he thought would fool people.”

“Then that’s what he needs to bring,” Solomon said decisively. “Ask for gold. He’ll try to palm you off with the brass one, but that doesn’t matter. Someone will recognize it.”

Constance stared at him. “A stranger might think you experienced in the art of criminal negotiations.”

“Just negotiations,” Solomon said.

“Well, we can think how to deliver this message tomorrow,” she said, rising to her feet.

“What’s wrong with tonight?” Solomon asked, his eyes hard and glittering with determination. “We have a house to see tomorrow.”

*

Drayman was lying down, staring at the ceiling while he tried to think how to find Johnny without going to the Crown and Anchor. Not that even Johnny would be foolish enough to go back there, but someone would probably know where he was living.

“’Ere,” Rosie said, invading the back room with her skimpy robe hanging off one shoulder. “Kid brought a message for you and ran off, poor little—”

Drayman sat bolt upright in one quick motion. “What message?”

“You’ve to go meet him at the Crown and Anchor.”

“I ain’t going near the Crown and Anchor.”

Rosie threw up her arms. “Don’t, then. It’s all the same to me.”

He scowled at her. “When?”

“Tonight. Now.”

Drayman swore. “Who’s it from?”

“How the hell would I know? Certainly not the boy.” She turned to go, then swung back as her gin-raddled memory made a discovery. “Johnny, he said.”

A slow smile began to curl Drayman’s lips.

It seemed he didn’t have to look for Johnny after all.

Johnny had found him, only he was too scared to come in.

Not that Drayman could blame him for that.

There were trapdoors and spikes and blades all over the building—Drayman had almost lost an arm once in this bloody place.

“Did he say that? Good old Johnny. What else, Rosie, my love?”

Rosie gave a derisory snort. “He says he needs paying to keep you safe. And gold will do.”

Drayman began to laugh. Sure, he’d give Johnny the brass watch after he’d killed him—and then the law would be off Drayman’s back. It couldn’t have worked out better than this.

He sobered again quickly, though. “Here, Rosie, got a job for you. You need to go out.”

“I need to work if I’ve got two bleeding mouths to feed!” she said furiously.

Drayman didn’t have to say anything, just look.

And inevitably, she dropped her gaze first. “What?” she asked aggressively.

“Fetch a couple of my lads to meet me outside…”

*

Constance did not mind particularly that she had been given the easy job to keep her out of danger.

She was quite happy to summon the police to the Crown and Anchor—and to accompany them to that less-than-salubrious establishment.

Accordingly, she set off to Scotland Yard in a hackney that she instructed to wait for her.

She gave the sergeant at the desk her best smile and told her tale—a servant had overheard that the perpetrator of the murder outside the Crown and Anchor last week was there again now, and that it was Constance’s duty to pass the word along.

The sergeant eyed her skeptically. “That a fact, madam? Well, you’ll be glad to know we already have a police presence at the Crown and Anchor, and if any murderers turn up, we’ll be sure to catch them.”

Constance raised a haughty eyebrow. “I don’t believe you’re taking me seriously, sergeant.”

He scowled back. “I don’t believe you’ve took me seriously neither. Thank you for your information, ma’am, now please leave the matter to the police.”

She waited, but he neither moved nor called anyone. “Sergeant, one tired man wilting in the cold and the rain is not going to be enough! Drayman will be with friends.”

“And you know this how, madam? More overheard conversations?”

“Yes,” Constance declared.

“Go home, ma’am,” the sergeant said wearily.

“I wish to speak to Inspector Omand. Or failing that, Inspector Harris.”

“Do you? Well, you’re out of luck, ’cause they’re not here. And they deserve their beauty sleep.”

“Sergeant Flynn, then! Anyone who will take me seriously.”

The sergeant straightened and looked her over with undisguised contempt. “Madam, return in the hours of daylight. Now please go before I’m obliged to have you removed.”

“Imbecile!” Constance exploded, which was hardly wise, but she’d had enough of his scorn and his superior manliness and wanted to scream in frustration.

Two large constables were advancing upon her. She walked in the direction of the door and, while they accompanied her, told the story to them again and requested they do something about it for the sake of their careers.

They shut the door in her face while she was still talking.

Stunned, Constance was temporarily flummoxed.

It had been a long time since any man had dismissed her, and she truly hadn’t expected it now, at the worst possible time, when she needed the police to save Solomon and arrest the murderer.

Well, she wasn’t going to give up. She marched back to the hackney and said loudly, “Bow Street police station!”

Would the attitude at Bow Street be any better? Did she really not look respectable enough? Even at this time of night?

And then she realized that no, she didn’t.

She should have had a husband with her, or at least a male escort.

And failing either of those, a maid or female companion.

She should have taken the time to fetch Janey or one of the footmen at her establishment, for now she had lost time she could little afford.

With no idea how long it would be before Drayman made his appearance at the Crown and Anchor, she wanted to drive the horses forward herself. They seemed maddeningly slow.

Arriving at Bow Street, she found something of a party on the police station steps.

The entranceway was blocked by a crowd of expensive young man, all drunk as lords.

They may even have been lords, for all Constance knew or cared.

She just acknowledged with a freshly sinking heart that the harassed police constable trying to deal with them would not have time for her, and neither would any of his colleagues inside, who were no doubt gathering to arrest the crowd on the steps.

But she had to try.