Chapter 23
Elbows propped on the desk, head in hands, Peter Kendrick stared at the papers spread out before him.
Notes and sketches, all pertaining to the two murders.
He’d reviewed them several times without finding the clue he sought.
A mistake the killer must surely have made — something that would lead Peter in the correct direction.
The details were starting to become a jumbled mess in his head. He couldn’t focus. Least of all when there was also the matter of Mr. Croft’s missing wife. Two murders and one abduction, with no sign of an impending arrest.
The last time he’d felt this useless was when he’d hunted the Mayfair Murderer. Too many women had died at Clive Newton’s hands before the man had met the end he deserved. Thanks to Croft, not Peter.
He blew out a heavy breath and unrolled the long piece of parchment Miss Hastings had prepared yesterday.
A timeline of the events connected to the killings, along with any pertinent details.
Approximately two weeks had elapsed between the two cases.
The first murder had taken place in a closed carriage, but the second would have required more careful planning. As well as access.
It couldn’t have been done by simply anyone.
Perplexed, he reached for his cup, only to find it empty. Additional coffee would be required if he was to keep doing his job. He’d not been home since Jackson called him from his bed yesterday morning. A couple of hours of sleep in this very chair was what kept him from total collapse.
With a yawn, he pushed to his feet and collected his cup. Gabriella appeared in the doorway before he had time to get out from behind the desk.
She titled her head. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like it too.”
“Why don’t you go get some rest?”
“Because there’s too much to do.”
“None of which will be done effectively when you can barely keep your eyes open.” She huffed a breath and pushed her spectacles back into place. “The answers you seek are probably eluding you because your brain has slowed to a crawl.”
For some peculiar reason, the image this evoked made him smile. The smile she offered in return caused his chest to expand with warmth. “I’m sorry I’ve not yet responded to your proposal.”
Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink. She crossed her arms, raised her chin a smidgeon, as though attempting to look nonplussed. “You’ve been busy. All things considered, I didn’t expect to discuss it with you until both of the cases you’re working have been resolved.”
“I did review it,” he confessed, “but I’m going to have to make a few amendments before I sign it.”
If they were going to do this properly, both their needs would have to be met.
She gave him a funny look, her lips quirking a little. “Oh?”
“How we proceed will likely depend on whether or not you agree to my terms as well. There’s room for compromise, so we can go back and forth on a few of the points, but overall, I want to make sure there are no conflicting differences.”
“I appreciate that.” She shifted her gaze toward his cup. “Would you like me to fill that for you?”
His shoulders sagged with relief. “Would you?”
“Certainly.” She approached him and extended her hand, her fingers brushing his as she took it from his grasp.
The contact was brief, yet it filled his blood with starlight and made every nerve ending purr with pleasure. “Thank you.”
She only nodded, her entire face now flushed with color, and hurried from the room. When she returned moments later, Peter had opened the nearest window despite the rain and was smoking the last half of his cheroot.
“Are you beginning to appreciate fresh air?” she asked, her voice teasing as she set the cup on his desk.
“Possibly.” There was merit to it, he supposed, though he had a far more compelling reason. “If I’m to be completely honest, I did it for you.”
“Really?”
“You brought me coffee. I opened the window so you won’t have to suffer the smell of my smoking.”
“Hmm…” A broad smile provided him with the ‘thank you’ she left unspoken. “Any news from Mr. Croft?”
The question shifted the conversation back to the serious subjects at hand. “Not yet. I mean to visit him on my way home.”
She settled into one of the two chairs across from his and watched as he dropped the last of his cheroot in a crystal dish before closing the window and taking his seat. “Can you spare the Runners you’ve sent out across Town on his behalf?”
“I have to. Anything less would be unacceptable.”
“I realize you think so, and I’d not disagree if the missing person were anyone else. However, I’m sure Mr. Croft’s connections will meet with more success than your Runners. And once he finds out where his wife is, I’m not sure law enforcement should be anywhere nearby.”
He held her gaze, the meaning behind her words echoing musings he’d had, though he’d never dare voice them out loud.
As chief constable, he had to uphold the law for all citizens.
There could be no exceptions. Yet he knew that if it were Gabriella in Mrs. Croft’s place, he’d want the satisfaction of murdering the man who’d taken her.
“As far as I am concerned,” he said, choosing his words with care, “I have done what was required of me. I’ll speak with Croft and see what he thinks. Chances are, it may make sense to recall the Runners so we can focus all our efforts on finding the active killer.”
“Would you like to review what we’ve learned so far?”
He picked up his cup and sipped his coffee.
The temperature was perfect — hot without any risk of his burning his tongue.
Setting the cup aside, he gave Gabriella his full attention.
“We have two corpses, both of them men the exact same age. Both found with their throats slit and with their cravats shoved into their mouths. Shillings were placed beneath both their tongues, each coin minted in 1815. Beyond this, we’ve learned after yet another visit to the Royal Artillery Barracks in Woolwich this morning that these men knew each other well. They served in the same unit.”
“In reference to which it’s important to note that they fought together at Waterloo. A battle that happened the same year in which the coins were minted.”
“Quite right.”
Gabriella dropped her gaze to the papers scattered across Peter’s desk. “Are the records we’ve borrowed from the barrack’s archives among those?”
Peter smoothed away the papers that lay on top — notes and sketches from the first murder — and gathered the ones Gabriella referred to. “Right here.”
He slid them toward her and she picked them up, began leafing through the collection of files.
Each belonged to a soldier who’d served alongside Warren and Orwell.
Men they were in the process of issuing warnings to in case they too were in the killer’s sights.
“I can review all of these tonight if you like. See if I can find a connection between the victims and an event that led to them being targeted. It could make it easier for us to stop the next murder, in case the killer hasn’t yet finished. ”
“We can do it together. If we divide the files between us, we’ll—”
“You are going home to sleep,” she told him firmly.
He frowned. “I can’t leave you to do all the work.”
“There will be more for you to deal with tomorrow, I’m sure. But if you read through these now, exhausted as you are, I’ll only have to review it afterward anyway. To make sure you didn’t miss an important detail.”
His instinct was to argue, though he knew she was right. Hadn’t he been struggling to focus since before she came to find him? “Fine. I’ll do as you suggest, if only for a few hours.”
“Until tomorrow morning,” she insisted.
“We’ll see.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed but said nothing more as she gathered the files in her arms. “Just so you know, I’m bringing these home with me tonight. That way, I can take my time with them after supper.”
He wanted to suggest she not overtax herself, but the truth was he needed her to find him a lead as quickly as possible. If there was indeed one to find. So he merely nodded and thanked her, then watched her take her leave.
The black glossy knot of hair at the nape of her neck seemed to toy with him as much as the gentle sway of her hips. His fingers gripped the armrests of his chair, digging in as desire rushed through him.
If only she were his. To pull into his arms and to kiss. To undress and lay upon his bed. To worship and adore.
She could be.
A reminder that whispered through his bleary mind.
He pushed aside a few more papers that covered his desk until he found the agreement she’d given him. If only he had the wherewithal to review the last part of it now. He made an attempt, but found himself reading the same sentence several more times.
She was right. He needed rest. And until he got it, he’d not have the frame of mind to catch a ruthless killer, to help Croft in his search for his wife, or to move things along with Gabriella.
Resolved to improve his abilities in all three areas, Peter collected his hat and gloves and went to find his bed.
* * *
Dissatisfied with the way in which he’d parted from Miss Roberts, yet unable to chase after her as he wished, Edward went to call on his friend.
As much as he loathed waiting, there would be time for him to talk things through with Miss Roberts later.
Samantha’s abduction, however, was an urgent matter in need of immediate attention.
Despite all this — the grave situation Adrian faced, the troubled look in Miss Robert’s eyes, her comment before she’d run from him – Edward felt lighter.
The kiss they’d shared had exceeded his expectations, assuring him that he was right to pursue her.
All he had to do now was alleviate her concern.
He would never ask her to be his mistress, but this was apparently all she believed she could be to him.