Chapter 4

I had learneda great deal from Brodie over the past two years in the various inquiry cases we'd had taken.

One: Assume that anyone might be the criminal in an investigation.

Two: It is quite often the innocent bystander who saw something important they weren't even aware of.

Three: Always be aware of my surroundings.

Four: Trust no one—except for Brodie of course.

They were lessons that he'd learned on the streets as a boy and then in his time with the MET and during our private inquiry cases. Lessons to live by, as he put it somewhat grimly at the time.

And then there were the aspects of every case that must be determined:

Who had the motive for murder?

That might be anyone. A family member, someone wronged by the victim, greed for either wealth or power. Then there were the cases of foreign espionage, someone killed passing information or someone else determined to topple the government.

Who had the means?

Most usually it was someone in a position known to the victim beforehand, someone trusted, an acquaintance, or someone who moved in certain circles that brought them into contact with the victim and might never be suspected.

And who had the opportunity? Often someone who seemed unlikely, perhaps even innocent, however, they had the means and the motive, and then created the opportunity.

Motive, means, and opportunity. I found it all fascinating.

Brodie, of course, called it something different—morbid curiosity about the darker aspects of human nature that I had been studying for some time. He suggested that it was a dark aspect of my nature.

Women, ladies in particular, according to his experience, simply weren't supposed to be interested in such things.

Yes, well, I had my opinion on that!

It was very possible that accounted for the fact that Brodie and I worked so well together...that and other things.

This was something very different. There was a warrant out for Brodie's arrest for murder. Not that I thought for a moment that he had killed that poor woman.

I knew exactly where this came from—Chief Inspector Abberline, his illusions of promotion even now, ten years later—and that previous case where Brodie chose to protect the woman rather than feed her to the wolves, as the saying goes.

And then there was revenge.

Now, a young woman was dead.

I refused to believe that Brodie had anything to do with that, even though there was very obviously a history there. I knew him. He might be capable of many things, but murder wasn't one of them.

Knowing him as I did, he would be determined to find who had killed her. And I was equally determined to help in that.

Abberline was an ambitious man. He was completely self-absorbed and considered himself superior to anyone else.

He used people for his own advancement. Case in point: that previous murder Brodie had investigated while with the MET. And now, ten years later, it was obvious that Abberline was more determined than ever.

Not only in the matter of the woman's death, but undoubtedly in an effort to resolve that old case, something that he undoubtedly saw as his way to long-overdue promotion.

I did hope that Brodie would contact me. I wanted to help him with this. Two were far more likely to resolve an issue than one person on their own.

I knew that Munro's warning in that regard was undoubtedly correct. That simple wedding ceremony in Scotland was not a widely known fact. However, once more, I put nothing past Abberline.

It was very possible that he was more than aware that Brodie and I were now husband and wife. If so, he would undoubtedly attempt to use that to get to Brodie.

But not if I had anything to say about it.

I was not about to sit idly by, waiting for Abberline to slither up to my doorstep—and that was a perfect description of him.

Therefore, I intended to begin my own inquiries, beginning with the scene of the murder, once I was certain the police had completed their business there.

It wouldn't be difficult to determine precisely where the woman had lived in Charing Cross.

I was aware that I would need to take precautions.

I dressed in clothes I used from time to time when out and about London that included a sturdy walking skirt Templeton brought me from one of her tours, shirtwaist, jacket, and boots.

Downstairs I gathered my bag that included my notebook and that revealing patch of wool cloth, then prepared to depart. Rupert met me at the door.

"I fed him earlier," Mrs. Ryan announced. "He likes bacon."

Imagine that!

"He seemed quite upset about something last night," she added. "And you were up quite late as well. A new inquiry case, miss?"

"Some matters I need to look into...." I left it at that. "Will you be going out today?" I then asked, with a thought to that ‘something' the night before she had mentioned.

"The market for your supper and some bake goods that are almost gone."

Her biscuits and scones. Rupert would be pleased with that.

"Anything you or Mr. Brodie might want, miss?"

There wasn't, of course, with his whereabouts unknown. I reminded her to set the locks on both doors when she left.

"Of course, miss. I always do."

That left the subject of Rupert who waited at the door as the cab I had called for earlier had arrived. He had most definitely earned his supper and breakfast the night before.

He shot out the door when I opened it, then proceeded to take care of some morning business before planting himself at the kerb.

I recognized the driver from previous occasions.

"The Strand, miss?" he asked as I climbed aboard and Rupert followed.

Instead, I gave him the address in Holborn where I hoped to find someone.

A person who might be able to provide information about that case ten years earlier.

Mr. Conner had been with the MET for very near thirty years, then was forced to retire because of an injury.

He lived on a small pension due to that injury, other income including work from Brodie, and additional work that Brodie described as ‘assistance' for others. That frequently included security work at the docks and ‘other things' that he didn't explain and I didn't ask about.

A fellow Scot, he knew the streets as only one who had walked them for many years and had encountered all sorts of criminals. He lived alone and frequented a tavern near where he kept a flat.

He was gruff and could be as hard as the streets of the East End, but he was loyal to Brodie and I liked him very much. With his connections, it was very likely he already knew about the warrant Abberline had put out for Brodie's arrest. Very possibly he knew about that old case, and might well know where Brodie was.

I could have sent a message round by one of the messenger services, but it might not have been delivered for some time. He didn't have a telephone. Consequently, the only way to find him was to go there.

It was very near midday when I arrived in Holborn. There was no answer at his flat. A man who occupied the flat next door informed me that Mr. Conner had been out most of the night, which might mean anything.

"You might ask at the Black Bull, across the way."

The Black Bull Tavern was in a narrow space between a dry goods shop and an engraver's. I might have missed it, except for the sign over the door, that of a black bull.

I stepped inside. The musty smell of cigarette smoke, along with stale beer and equally stale bodies filled the room, along with an enthusiastic shout over the sound of dice being slammed down at a table. Tables lined one side of the tavern with the bar at the back.

I was not unfamiliar with the inside of taverns and pubs—in fact I had been in my fair share in our past inquiries. Unfortunately, I often drew unwanted attention. I suppose part of it might have been the sight of the hound.

That enthusiastic uproar of drink and gambling immediately fell silent, a dozen or more faces staring at me, including the one I was looking for.

Mr. Conner was tall, with close-cropped white hair, his brown eyes staring back at me from one of those tables.

He spoke to his companion, then rose, and approached me.

"Miss Forsythe, yer not something this sort usually sees in here," he commented in that unmistakable Scot accent. "I won't say that I'm not pleased."

He could be quite engaging. "I trust ye've come about the arrest warrant Abberline has out for Brodie."

It seemed that he was indeed well informed. "I do need to speak with you about it."

He nodded. "Not here. These fellows can't keep something private to save themselves, and all they know how to do is gape at a pretty young woman.

"We'll go down the way to the public house. They won't be crowded yet this time of the late morning. And I suppose we must include that filthy creature." He looked down at Rupert.

The ‘filthy creature' merely grinned.

The public house where one might find a meal was much like the one across from the office on the Strand.

"The filthy beast is with me, Mr. Finlay," Mr. Conner told the man behind the counter as we entered. "He won't bother."

Mr. Finlay nodded. "Keepin' strange company are ye nowadays?"

Mr. Conner ordered coffee, then escorted me to a table in the back, some distance apart from the only other customer.

He waited until Mr. Finlay brought the coffee.

"Will you be having a bit to eat?" he asked.

I shook my head.

"Not this mornin'," Mr. Conner told him.

"You know about the arrest warrant that Abberline has for Brodie."

He nodded. "I heard about it last night from one of the lads I keep in contact with. We raise a pint or two from time to time." He gave me a long look. "This situation is most serious."

"I want to help but I have no idea where he is."

"Ye've not seen him since ye learned about this?"

"Not since two days ago. With the death of the young woman, I'm certain he's determined to find whoever murdered her."

I knew that he and Brodie were extremely close from the time they worked together at the MET, perhaps including that particular case ten years earlier. They had a mutual respect, as well as mutual dislike of the Chief Inspector.

"I cannot help him if I don't know everything about this," I told him.

"Has it occurred to ye that he doesn't want you involved?"

There was no need to reply to that. My presence there was answer enough.

He swore under his breath. "I knew ye could be stubborn…" The rest went unspoken. He shook his head.

"Brodie'll not take kindly to my telling ye what I know, or allowing ye to involve yerself."

I waited. He swore again, then began with a question of his own.

"What do ye know about the reason he left the MET?"

"I know that it was over a case where a woman witnessed a murder that he was investigating. It seems that she was threatened because of what she saw. The Chief Inspector demanded that he turn the woman over to the police. When Brodie refused, Abberline threatened to have charges brought against him. He left the MET shortly after.

"She had returned to London and was living under another name," I told him what I had learned. "And apparently there is a child, a boy Brodie was seen leaving the woman's flat with the night she was killed."

"You know a great deal," he replied.

"Munro was able to provide me with some information. "But there is obviously a great deal more that I don't know about all of this."

I retrieved the cloth from my bag and handed it to him.

His gaze narrowed. "Where did you get this?"

"The beast, as you called him." I then explained the encounter the previous night. "He returned to the town house with this piece of cloth."

The frown deepened. "Has Abberline called on ye?"

"Not yet. However, I would imagine that is only a matter of time."

He was clearly trying to decide what to tell me. He shook his head.

"Nothing has changed about the man," he replied, then paused as Mr. Finlay appeared to fill our coffee mugs. When he had returned to the counter, Mr. Conner handed the cloth back to me.

"It would seem that Mr. Abberline has already sent someone to watch yer place with the hope of finding Brodie."

"When was the last time you spoke with him?" I then asked.

He took a long sip of coffee, holding the mug between both hands.

"Some days before. He had asked me to inquire through people I know about counterfeit money that has been found about London. He was hoping to find a connection…" He shook his head. "Not since then."

"What do you know about the woman who was murdered?"

He seemed to have come to some sort of a decision as he set the mug back on the table, then sat back in his chair.

"She was hardly more than a girl when she showed up at Covent Garden, selling fresh produce. According to the story she told, the woman her father kept with threw her out of where they lived.

"It's difficult enough to make it at the Garden if ye own the stall and work it yerself, but a young thing like that…"

He shook his head. "She was near starvin' to death when she was accused of stealin'.

"Brodie stepped in the middle of the situation when she might have been arrested, and paid the vendor what he claimed he was out. Comin' from where he had, he felt sorry for her, and found her a place where she could stay, along with work at a public house that paid better than what she could make at the Garden.

"She made the acquaintance of a woman there who worked in one of the private men's clubs, one of those fancy places where they go to drink, gamble, and…" He hesitated and looked at me.

"I quite understand," I told him. "Please continue."

"She was a pretty little thing and eventually became acquainted exclusively with one of the young men. She made far more money there in one night than a month at the public house."

It wasn't difficult to know what that had included.

"The young man promised to take care of her," I replied.

"Aye, with fancy clothes, her own flat verra near the club, and a good amount of coin in the bargain," he continued.

"She witnessed a murder." I also knew that much.

He nodded. "The young man she had been with was killed. She saw the man who did it. She was terrified and went to Brodie. He promised to help her. Abberline had other thoughts in the matter.

"He needed a witness in order to solve the crime. However, she was threatened if she ever revealed what she had seen."

I knew the rest of it. "And Brodie helped her to leave London for some place safe.

"Aye, as far from Abberline as possible and under a different name," Mr. Conner replied.

"She returned and apparently found work at the Brown Hotel,"

He nodded. "That was just over a year ago."

"Why did she return?"

"That, I do not know, miss. I only know that Brodie was aware of it."

As much as he was Brodie's friend, and would undoubtedly say anything to protect him, I did believe that Conner didn't know the reason she had returned.

"He was seen leaving her flat with a boy," I then told him. "Do you know anything about that?

I thought I saw something in the expression on Mr. Conner's face, perhaps a thought, something he might have said, then decided against.

"Mr. Brodie might be able to tell ye more about that," he replied.

"If I knew where to find him," I pointed out. "Do you know where he is?"

He shook his head. "There are many places for a man to go when he knows the streets. I've already put the word out to contacts I have," he said. "There's a man I'm to meet later who may be able to tell me something."

I nodded, then caught that sharp look.

"The man is known to frequent an establishment in Whitechapel on the high street," he continued. "He sells information, and I've used him in the past. But it's no place for a lady, and Brodie would have none of yer goin' there, with the killings of those women."

A series of murders that were still unsolved by the police.

"You will tell me what you learn from the man?"

He nodded. "If ye'll give me yer word that ye'll stay away from there. The man has enough to worry about out there."

I knew he was referring to Brodie.

I agreed. "And you'll tell me if you hear from him?"

He nodded. "Aye."

He paid for our coffee and then escorted me from the Public House, out onto the street. I caught that thorough look down one end of the street, then the other before we continued to the corner. He waited with me until a cabman appeared, that gaze watchful.

I climbed aboard the cab and the hound followed. Mr. Conner paused as he closed the gate.

"Do not underestimate Abberline," he cautioned. "He's waited a long time, and he will use everything at his disposal to get to our friend." He glanced down at the beast.

"And as much as the animal smells and has disgusting habits, keep that creature with ye at all times, and see that ye have protection."

I assured him that I would.