Chapter Twenty-Three

M aurice Bates was a creature of habit. He'd work his shift. At the end of it, he'd eat a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread at the tavern nearest his lodging house. He would drink precisely one tankard of ale. No more or less. Then he'd go home. On every other Wednesday, he'd visit a woman who had an apartment on Bedford Ct. Close enough to Bow Street's office and his lodging for convenience, far enough away to avoid any complications. When he visited this woman, he stayed with her for exactly forty-five minutes. No more or less.

It was for those reasons that Joss knew precisely where to find him. Like clockwork, the door to number 47 Bedford Court opened and Bates appeared. He looked pristine. So pristine that Joss was hard pressed to believe the man had spent the past three quarters of an hour swiving some randy widow. But there was a looseness in the way Bates moved, a relaxation that normally was never seen in the man. Maybe, Joss thought, if the bastard visited the widow a little more frequently, he'd be less of an arse.

"Bates," he called out and saw the other man look up. Whatever looseness or relaxation had suffused him prior simply vanished. Instantly, his chin came up, shoulders back, spine ramrod straight—but it was the derision on Bates' face that truly marked his disdain for his former coworker.

Joss didn't give a rat's ass if Bates liked him, respected him, or wished him to the devil on a regular basis. "I need a word with you, Bates," Joss insisted.

"You can make an appointment and see me at Bow Street," Bates replied.

"I don't think so. I'm here to talk to you about Lady Ernsdale."

Bates's expression shifted into a grim smile. "Ah, the murderess. I take it her brother-in-law sent you. Always the Hound's errand boy. What do you get out of that arrangement with him, Ettinger? A pat on the head? A nice juicy bone? Or does he toss you scraps like the cur you are?"

He refused to let the man get a rise out of him. "Lady Ernsdale is no murderer. And if you try to make her look like one, it'll be the end of the career you prize so greatly. If you are wise, you will heed this and turn your investigation in a different direction. The person who had the most to gain from Arthur Dagliesh's death is his nephew Simon."

"His own nephew cut him down in the street?"

"It's as sensible an explanation as his wife doing so," Joss pointed out. "Simon Dagliesh is in deep with the worst moneylenders in all of England. He owes his fucking soul to Ardmore."

Bates paused. "Ardmore?"

"Yes. Ardmore. Look, investigate as you will. But do not be so single-minded in proving that Lady Ernsdale is a murderer that you let an actual one go free."

"Bring me proof. I need more than just your word, after all. You're not exactly the most trustworthy sort, are you? The entire time you were working for Bow Street, you were in the Hound's pocket. Feeding him intel and misdirecting us so we wouldn't catch him in the act."

That hadn't exactly been the way of it. Yes, he'd turned a blind eye to what the Hound did in many instances. But the Hound had also helped them to put some of the worst criminals in a noose or on a ship bound for distant lands. It had been a mutually beneficial arrangement, and the London streets were safer for what they had done. Even if it had required bending a few rules. But Bates wouldn't give a damn about that. He was all about the glory.

"I'll bring you proof. In the meantime, leave her the hell alone," Joss warned.

"Or what? The Hound will make me disappear? His teeth have been pulled and his claws clipped... he made that choice when he walked away from his criminal enterprise for nothing but a skirt."

Joss looked Bates dead in the eye. "It's not the Hound you have to worry about. Not when it comes to her. Do we understand one another, Bates, or do I need to spell it out for you more clearly than that?"

"A murderess and an adulteress. It hardly makes her look less guilty."

"Don't make an enemy of me, Bates. Don't put me in a position where I'll have to show you which of us is the better man. I'm not asking you to ignore a crime. I'm asking you to be certain you have the right of it before you lay something that ugly at her door."

Bates looked at him. Then he shrugged. "Forty-eight hours. I'll give you forty-eight hours to prove it. And at that time, I'll take her into custody, and I'll get a confession from her one way or another."

Joss knew then that it didn't really matter. Bates wanted her to be guilty because getting her arrested, getting her convicted, would be the way to make a name for himself. "You won't build your career by putting a noose around her neck. I'll see to that."

Walking away from Bates, he headed for Vincent's and Honoria's home. His home, at least temporarily.