Page 13 of Written in Secret (The Art of Love and Danger)
C HAPTER 13
A brAHAM TOOK HIS TIME RETURNING to Central despite the imperative task of finding a new lead. How had he missed that Miss Pelton and Dupin were one and the same? He should have suspected her the moment she came so fiercely to Dupin’s defense. Or at the very least, he should have noticed the similarities of style between her and Dupin’s writing and questioned the possibility then.
But no, he’d allowed attraction to affect his judgment. What a fool he’d been to believe her a misguided, onetime criminal and an exception to the immorality of dime novels. His work had taught him better than to think she was different from every other criminal he’d arrested.
Except that she was different. He could feel it in a way that he couldn’t explain.
Which was ridiculous.
She was a charlatan, a criminal, and not the sort of woman who should captivate his attention.
Maybe Lucian was right. Abraham didn’t get out enough. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be doomed to bachelorhood or marriage to an arrestee. Once this case was over, he’d be more intentional about attending events that would introduce him to eligible and desirable women. That should rid him of any lingering detriment Miss Lydia Pelton had inflicted on his judgment.
The hack rolled to a stop outside Central Station. Ordinary citizens flowed in and out of the main entrance, intent on their business attending police court or visiting another government office. Just as plentiful were the dark blues and domed hats of officers as they either returned from their beats with prisoners in hand or headed out to patrol the city.
Abraham grimaced. He did not envy them. Until yesterday, he’d been sweating it out in a uniform that absorbed the heat of summer and baked him like a loaf of bread. The thinner gray material of the everyday suit he wore now was a welcome relief as temperatures continued to climb.
He stepped out of the hack just as Lawson jogged down the stairs.
Lawson pivoted to walk alongside him. “Glad you made it. Did you gain any more information from Miss Pelton during the ride?”
Abraham pulled the notes from his pocket. “I haven’t read them, but this is what she gave me.”
Lawson didn’t even look at them before tucking them away. “What about what you learned from her during your ride? Did she give any indication of who she’s working with?”
“Who she’s working with? As in, as a suspect?”
“Absolutely. She couldn’t have physically murdered those men, but she is most assuredly a potential participant. Haven’t you read those books I gave you?” He waved the question aside. “Never mind. You haven’t had time.”
Abraham might not have read them word for word, but he’d skimmed them well enough to know nothing in them indicated Miss Pelton would be intentionally complicit in murder. But what did he know? He already felt a fool where she was concerned.
Lawson opened the basement entrance to the station, and they passed into the dim interior. He continued speaking without any indication that the stifling, musty air choked the breath from him like it did Abraham every time he entered.
“Miss Pelton’s mind is especially keen, and her sense of justice is as strong as any man’s I’ve met. I don’t know whether to be dismayed or impressed.” Lawson’s voice dropped as they passed the rows of desks humming with conversation. “All this time I spent searching for Dupin, I never once considered that Dupin might be a woman.”
Lawson’s admission soothed some of Abraham’s frustration with himself. If a seasoned detective hadn’t considered it, why had he expected himself to?
“It boggles the mind to know a woman can lay out such a clear plan of action for serving justice. Did you notice that she didn’t appear upset those men had been murdered? Only that Dupin was a suspect? For all we know, she could be pleased that her plan worked.”
It was an unsettling image; however, Abraham couldn’t attribute the vile mind needed for such pleasure to Miss Pelton.
The elder detective continued thinking aloud as they entered the closet they called an office. “Perhaps she does have a partner. Her stories would be the perfect avenue for communicating without detection. All he’d have to do is pick up her book to know his target and what to do.”
“She has the mind for it, but do you really believe she would partner with someone for murder?”
Lawson shrugged. “Everything is possible until proven otherwise. It’s best to remember that whenever you are conducting an investigation.”
A suspicious mind might have spared Abraham the brief attraction to such a reprehensible woman. He still had a lot to learn about being a detective, and he wouldn’t waste this opportunity to tutor under the best. As far-fetched as the theory of communicating through books was, the possibility of a partner held merit. It wasn’t plausible for her to have committed those crimes on her own.
“Marcus Monroe seems a likely candidate for a partner,” Lawson mused. “He has the size required and no compunction against lying to a detective. His romantic interest in her would serve as motivation for carrying out her plans. His handwriting didn’t match that of Billy Poe’s notes, but that doesn’t necessarily rule him out.”
“We should consider James O’Dell as well. He’s benefited greatly from these murders.” Abraham’s suggestion was met with agreement.
“We’ll examine those notes for other potential leads, but I’d also like to become more acquainted with Miss Pelton. Maybe she’ll reveal something that will lead us to her partner.”
Hopefully Lawson would assign himself to the task and have Abraham investigate Monroe and O’Dell. The last thing Abraham wanted was to spend more time with the woman who made him feel like a fool every time he looked at her.
Reading through the two dozen Billy Poe letters proved fruitless. None of the readers seemed overzealous in their admiration of Dupin or Billy Poe, nor did anyone’s handwriting match the distinct style of the notes left on the bodies. Only a handful of readers had written to Miss Pelton more than once. Those and the two who’d offered suggestions as to which crimes to write next went to the top of his and Lawson’s list of people to question. It would take a few days, but they intended to meet with everyone who’d mailed a letter.
They spent the rest of the shift reevaluating each case’s file and searching for others to add to their suspect list. Unfortunately the only clear link between the murders was Dupin’s novels. Not one officer, prosecutor, or judge was involved in the process of reporting or investigating all four original crimes. Even the suspected political connections weren’t the same between cases.
That meant any of the 250,000 residents of Cincinnati with access to a Dupin novel, a city directory, and the strength, means, motive, and opportunity necessary could have committed those crimes. And that was if only one person were involved. Like Lawson suggested, they could be dealing with multiple perpetrators and a possible leader—albeit Abraham still doubted Miss Pelton qualified as a suspect for any of those positions.
Abraham massaged his tired eyes. Switching to a day shift schedule wasn’t easy, but he undoubtedly would sleep like the dead that night.
“Time to call it quits, Hall. Cases like these aren’t solved in a single day.” Lawson closed his notebook and stretched. “We’ll meet here in the morning, then visit Miss Pelton at her home.”
“Would it be better if we divided tasks, and I began questioning those who wrote Miss Pelton?” That would keep him far away from the possibility of unwanted attraction distracting him.
“Nonsense. I can’t teach you how to be the second-best detective if you’re off scampering around on your own. We’ll discover what kind of woman Miss Pelton is together. A criminal mastermind or just a talented author.”
As long as he kept in mind she was a schemer, Abraham would be fine. At least he prayed so.