Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
“ I didn’t like him,” Mr. Barrett said, carrying on after he’d revealed the name. “He was too charismatic, too good at saying the right thing all the time. My sister was enamored.”
Jasper had managed to maintain a placid expression, though just barely. William Carter? Miss Barrett’s fiancé had been an East Rip. Just as Clarence Stillman had been. His mind whirled forward with questions—most importantly: “How did Carter die?”
Mr. Barrett returned to his chair. “A housebreak. He was shot.”
Leo made a small sound of surprise. “Like Mr. Stillman.”
“Who?” Mr. Barrett asked.
Jasper retrieved the photograph from his pocket and showed it to him. “Do you know this man?”
It was only a blink and the tensing of his brow, but Hannah’s brother couldn’t mask his recognition. He’d seen Stillman before. Jasper would have wagered money on it.
However, he shook his head. “No. No, I don’t, but I’d like to know what he has to do with my sister.”
Jasper left the lie unchallenged for the moment.
“He was the morgue intruder. He was found dead. Also shot.” Predictably, Leo’s blunt explanation only stoked more confusion in Mr. Barrett.
“And he took my sister’s locket? Where is it now?”
“That is unknown,” Jasper answered. He was more interested in what William Carter had to do with all of this. And why Mr. Barrett was lying about knowing Clarence Stillman.
News of Carter’s death hadn’t made a big splash in the newspapers, and that was probably because he hadn’t been one of the more active and notorious members of the Carter family. Jasper paid attention to anything in the papers regarding the East Rips and recalled that William and his father, the late Patrick Carter, had a public falling out years ago. Ever since, he’d been a fringe member. Not in, but also, not out.
“How did your sister meet Carter?” Jasper asked.
Mr. Barrett gazed upon the framed photographs on the fireplace mantel and sighed. “Our father died when we were both very young, but our mother only passed eight months ago. We used Hogarth and Tipson for the funeral.”
Leo nodded. “They’re reputable.”
“Yes, so we were told,” he replied bitterly, massaging his temple with his bandaged hand. “I’ve no complaints with their services, but that is where Hannah met William. He is— was —employed there.”
“In what capacity?” Jasper asked.
Mr. Barrett fiddled with a loose end of the bandage. “Among other things, he was a photographer. He…immortalized the dead.”
Death photography was no new thing; the practice of arranging the recently deceased for a final portrait before their burial, oftentimes in such a way that it appeared as though they were still alive, was quite common. It had always struck Jasper as unnecessary though. Not to mention macabre.
Leo rose restlessly from her chair and paced to the window, then back. “Was Mr. Carter’s murder investigated?”
“I’m not sure.” He cast an uneasy glance toward Jasper. “Hannah said she was turned away when she went to the police station to inquire what was happening with the case.”
“Where did Carter live?” Jasper asked, curious about which division might be responsible.
“Off Russell Square. Bernard Street,” Mr. Barrett answered, then fiddled again with his bandage.
He eyed the wrapped hand. People generally only fiddled when they were nervous. Leo, he had observed in the past, rubbed the scars on her right palm whenever she was uneasy or flustered. But already Mr. Barrett had lied about not recognizing Clarence Stillman. What more was he lying about?
“Back to the locket,” he said, no longer doubtful that it had been taken from Miss Barrett’s body purposefully. Stillman had been an East Rip. Hannah Barrett had been engaged to one. “Why might an East Rip gang member have wanted it?”
Mr. Barrett’s already wan cheeks paled more. “How should I know what he wanted with it?”
“Perhaps there was something inside the locket?” Leo cut in.
“You already said there was a lock of hair,” he pointed out.
Most people were wretched liars, and Mr. Barrett was one of them.
“It’s important that you be forthcoming with us,” Jasper said. “In addition to the lock of hair, there was a piece of paper tucked inside your sister’s locket. What do you know about that?”
Mr. Barrett looked stunned and offended as he got to his feet. “Nothing. Nothing at all. I?—”
“Stop lying, Mr. Barrett. You recognized the man in the photograph just now.”
“No! No, I didn’t. I swear.” He paused. Then, his attention shifted toward the entrance to the sitting room.
“What is it?” Leo asked, following his gaze.
“All right. I do have some idea about the paper William gave Hannah.”
Jasper asked him to explain, and he obliged, however haltingly. “I came down the stairs one night and saw William and Hannah in here, standing right where you are, Miss Spencer.”
Leo was by the window, a spot that would have been easily visible from the bottom of the staircase.
“He was agitated. Hannah kept hushing him to lower his voice, but I did hear him say something odd.” Mr. Barrett peered between his two callers with hesitancy.
“Go on,” Jasper said impatiently.
“He said if anything were to happen to him to ‘dig it up’.”
Jasper stared at Mr. Barrett, his pulse picking up speed. “Dig what up?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t want to intrude, so I went back upstairs. But William had been handing her something. Something small. I couldn’t see what it was.”
Jasper turned to Leo. “How large was the piece of paper?”
“An inch long. Two inches wide. It was folded into quarters,” she answered. “It easily fit inside the locket.”
It was possible William Carter had been giving his fiancée the paper; but with instructions to dig it up? How could whatever Strange Nun B17 R4 meant be worth digging up? It made no sense.
“When was this specifically?” Jasper asked. “How long before Mr. Carter’s death?”
“It was last Thursday,” he answered with a grim furrow of his brow. “William was killed the following night.”
Leo practically skipped toward Jasper in her enthusiasm. “Mr. Carter knew someone was coming after him. He knew he was in danger. It wasn’t a housebreaking at all.”
Jasper held up a hand. It was always easiest to jump to conclusions, but most often, it was folly. He fought the urge to do so now.
“Your sister said nothing to you about Carter’s visit that night?”
Mr. Barrett shook his head. “It was better if we did not discuss her beau. He was the sort of man you knew, in your heart, was bad, but when he engaged you in conversation, he…well, he could change your mind. If only briefly, before you came to your senses again.”
Jasper withdrew the convict portrait of Stillman from his pocket again. “You’ve seen this man before.”
He wouldn’t let Samuel Barrett wiggle away from the truth.
“He…” Mr. Barrett stammered, his pale coloring becoming even more pallid. “He came looking for my sister.”
“When?” Leo asked, sounding astonished.
“It was…Monday.” His chin quivered, and he let his face fall into his hands in distress. Monday was the day Miss Barrett had died.
“He injured your hand,” Jasper said. “And you told him where to find Hannah.”
Mr. Barrett’s shoulders shook, and he sniveled into his palms. “Yes, but that can’t have anything to do with her accident. An omnibus struck her.”
“Did Mr. Stillman mention the locket to you?” Leo asked.
“No. No, he never said anything about it. He just wanted to know where to find her.”
“And you didn’t think this was important to tell the police?” Jasper asked, his temper flaring.
“I didn’t think it mattered! I figured the man was some thug connected to William, and I know I shouldn’t have told him where to find Hannah. I know I was a coward… But in the end, he never found her, did he? Hannah’s death was an accident.” He looked from Leo to Jasper. “Wasn’t it?”
Pity for the man dampened Jasper’s exasperation. He’d likely lied about his hand to conceal his cowardice. His sister, after all, had been struck down in the street with numerous witnesses, not shot as her fiancé had been.
“It looks to be an accident, yes,” Jasper replied. To give Samuel Barrett any reason to doubt what the police and the coroner’s report had determined would bring only trouble. The C.I.D. did not need more bad publicity, and if it came, Chief Inspector Coughlan would hold Jasper personally accountable. “However, I am not convinced Mr. Carter was the victim of a random housebreak. He told your sister to dig something up should something happen to him, and the next day, he was shot and killed.”
“Might she have done as he asked?” Leo said. “Could she have dug up whatever he was referring to?”
“She said nothing to me about it,” Mr. Barrett replied.
“Have you been through Hannah’s room since her death?” Jasper asked. If she had dug something up, surely, she might have kept it there.
He shook his head. “I haven’t had the heart.”
“Would you allow us to have a look?” Leo asked, and at Mr. Barrett’s surprise, she added, “To be sure there isn’t some piece of evidence connected to Mr. Carter’s death lying about in there.”
It wasn’t much of an excuse to snoop around Miss Barrett’s room, but Jasper did want a look. And he didn’t want to take the time and trouble to obtain a warrant to do so. Mr. Barrett hesitated and appeared to be on the verge of saying no.
“It’s no trouble if you’d like the detective chief inspector present with a warrant. In fact, it might be faster for a team of constables to come through here and have a thorough look through all the rooms. We should also report that our most recent murder victim came to your home, asking after your sister.”
“No, please, that isn’t necessary, inspector. You may search her room, of course,” Mr. Barrett said, reacting just as Jasper had hoped.
“I also need to know where you were the evening of your sister’s accident,” he said. He didn’t truly think Mr. Barrett had anything to do with Stillman’s death—he was far too meek and fidgety to be a killer—but there was no doubt he had motive.
“Here, of course. I’d just learned my sister was dead,” he replied.
“Were you alone?”
He pressed his fingers against his temple. “No, though I would have liked to have been. My neighbor was outside when the police constables came to inform me. She spread the news among our other neighbors, and after that, I wasn’t allowed to grieve alone until near to midnight.”
It would be simple enough to corroborate. They followed Mr. Barrett upstairs to a narrow landing. On the left was a closed door, and to the right were two more. He opened one of the doors to the right. Inside, Jasper traced the lingering scent of rose water. A reminder of how recently the room’s occupant had died. Floral paper covered the walls as did a few samplers and paintings. At a mirrored vanity, a collection of brushes, combs, and glass bottles had been left in a state of disarray, though not in any concerning way; it looked as if Miss Barrett hadn’t tidied up before leaving the house on the day of her accident. And why should she have? She’d believed she would be coming home, not that the next person to enter her room would be the detective investigating her death.
On the nightstand next to her slim bed was a stained-glass lamp, a book marked off with a ribbon, a teacup and saucer, and a small, framed carte de visite of William Carter. Jasper hadn’t laid eyes on him since he’d been a boy, but William hadn’t changed much. Earlier in the hansom cab, Leo had accused him of keeping secrets, and she’d been right. He’d kept his life before the Inspector to himself, so it wasn’t fair for him to become frustrated that she did the same.
Mr. Barrett picked up the teacup. Inside, cold tea had stained a ring around the white ceramic. His hands trembled. “I’ll bring this to the kitchen.” He left in haste. It was evident he didn’t wish to be inside the room.
“Poor man,” Leo said once he’d gone. “He seems unmoored without his sister.”
“He gave up his sister’s location to a thug without a second thought,” Jasper said, feeling little pity for him. “He had to have known Stillman intended to harm her, and yet he didn’t go to the police.”
Leo opened the top drawer in a tall bureau and peered inside. “Now he must live with that guilt.” She shut the drawer as Jasper stepped away from the nightstand.
“Might Mr. Stillman have already known about the locket when he arrived here, searching for Hannah? Mr. Carter could have given up the information before he was killed,” Leo said as she opened the bottommost drawer, then shut it again.
Jasper crouched to peer under the bed. He was met with several pairs of footwear and nothing else. There was nothing here of interest. “It makes the most sense. Maybe Carter thought it would save his life.”
“Come look at this,” Leo said. He straightened to find her touching the edge of a framed picture on the wall. In the hazy, pastel-hued oil painting of a reedy pond on a summer’s day, a man and woman were in a small rowboat, the lady with a parasol and the man at the oars.
Jasper grimaced. “I’m not fond of Impressionism.”
“I wasn’t asking your opinion on art,” she replied with a small grin. She pushed the corner of the frame, which hung slightly askew on the wall. It moved an inch, and Leo pointed to the scraped wallpaper beneath. The spot was worn. So was the wallpaper under the opposite lower corner of the frame. This painting had been moved often.
Jasper removed the frame from its hook and set it on the floor. A small, oval-shaped hole had been cut into the wall behind it. A few inches in diameter and at least a few inches deep, the cut into the plaster had been smoothed. Leo ran her fingertip around the circumference.
“How strange. Why would—” She stopped speaking and retracted her finger. Then quickly stuck it back in. “Curious. There is a small lever in here.” As she pressed it, Leo put her eye to the cutout. And gasped. “What in the world?”
Jasper suspected what she was seeing. Sure enough, when she stepped aside and allowed him a look, he was peering into the neighboring room. It appeared to be a bedroom.
“Why would Miss Barrett have wanted this peephole?” Leo asked.
Jasper stood back and rehung the framed painting. The corners rubbed the wallpaper again, and he determined Miss Barrett had done this same thing many, many times.
“And what or who was she watching?” he asked.
Finished with his search of Hannah’s room, he went to the door and listened for any sound from downstairs. With a flick of his hand, he gestured for Leo to follow. Stepping quietly, he went to the neighboring door and tried the knob. It gave, and he and Leo entered the other bedroom. There was a four-poster bed, a privacy screen, a chaise longue, and a nightstand. Typical bedroom furnishings, and yet they were also spare and impersonal.
“It’s a guest room,” he said.
Jasper went to the wall that abutted Miss Barrett’s room. The busy wallpaper pattern made it difficult to find the peephole, and he succeeded only because he knew where to look for it. It was a wafer-thin, papered-over oval, and when he pushed it aside, the peephole was revealed. When in place again, the lines of the pattern matched up perfectly.
“Why would Miss Barrett wish to spy on this room’s occupants?” Leo whispered.
A noise sounded from downstairs. Jasper took Leo’s arm, and they hurried out. It wouldn’t do to be found snooping inside a room they had not requested to see. He closed the door quietly and met Mr. Barrett at the landing before he could ascend the stairs fully.
“Did you find anything?” he asked.
“No.” Jasper’s fingers tensed around Leo’s elbow in a silent bid for her to say nothing about the peephole. It would be wiser to keep the discovery of it to themselves until they could determine if it held any importance.
“Have you some family or friends to keep you company as you mourn, Mr. Barrett?” Leo asked as they descended to the ground floor, her elbow having wiggled from Jasper’s hold. “Anyone to stay on with you here?”
It was a clever way to inquire about guests who might have stayed in the room Miss Barrett had spied on. Though, it bore no fruit.
“I’m afraid not,” he answered, walking them to the front door. “Hannah and I don’t have family, and we mostly kept to ourselves. I suppose, now…well, I won’t burden you with my lonely circumstances.”
Not knowing what to say to that, Jasper thanked Mr. Barrett for his time and promised to keep him informed on any lines of inquiry related to his sister. Then, he and Leo took their leave.
“What do you make of that?” she asked as they walked along the pavement, and Jasper searched for a hansom.
“Miss Barrett was watching someone in that guest room,” he replied. “And by the marks on her wall from the picture frame, it was often.”
“Someone she was cautious of?”
“Or infatuated with.” But it was all theory. There was no way to link it to the missing locket, her death, or even her fiancé’s.
“Will you look into the police report about William Carter’s death?” Leo asked as they came upon a hansom at a nearby cab stand. Jasper directed the driver back to Scotland Yard before handing her into the carriage.
Once he’d taken the bench across from hers, he answered, “I don’t think I have a choice. There is a connection between Carter and Stillman now—the East Rips. And if Carter gave Miss Barrett something that she then kept in her locket, Stillman was clearly after it.”
“What can I do?” Leo asked. She looked so eager that Jasper almost felt guilty for shaking his head.
“Nothing. I’ll take it from here.”
She pressed her palms flat on the bench at her sides. Drumming her fingers, she merely held his stare. Her lips formed a little tuck in the corner of her mouth. She didn’t argue, but she also didn’t agree to leave off. By the time they arrived at the Yard, Leo still hadn’t said anything. The silence had grown thick, their staring battle a drawn-out challenge. It gave Jasper plenty of opportunity to observe her face and not be reprimanded for it.
She’d always been pretty, in a dark and serious sense. But since his transfer to the C.I.D. a few months ago, he’d noticed a new intensity to her beauty. It had left him somewhat unsettled. The several years he’d spent in the Clapham and Highgate Divisions, he’d hardly seen her except for holidays and of course, each January 15. Now, they crossed paths more often, and she was no longer a remote, shy girl. She was direct and confident, though a layer of vulnerability still broke through every now and again. At nearly twenty-five, Leo could be considered a spinster. An unusual thing for a woman even half as attractive as she was. Her appearance couldn’t have had anything to do with her unmarried state; it was her choice of work, no doubt, and her peculiar manner.
“When you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she said, after they’d arrived at Whitehall Place and Jasper paid the driver.
“I won’t. Leo, if the Carters are a part of this, you’re to be nowhere near any of these cases.”
“But Jasper?—”
“ Stop .” The order cracked through the air, loud enough for a few constables walking across the open courtyard to glance over in curiosity. Jasper lowered his voice. “Don’t make the mistake of thinking that our acquaintance gives you free rein to walk in on any of my investigations. There are rules and procedures in place for a reason, and I’m not going to break them. Not for you, not for anyone. Is that clear?”
At her stricken expression, swiftly followed by one of anger, Jasper knew he’d spoken too harshly. He’d allowed his irritation with her needling stubbornness to touch a nerve.
“Exceptionally clear,” she replied, then spun away, leaving the Yard at a fast clip.
Jasper bit his tongue against calling her back and apologizing. It was better for her to leave. Better for her to be angry with him. Maybe then she’d keep her distance. What he’d said was true: if a criminal gang was involved, he wanted Leo out of it. It was the safest option—for them both.