Chapter 19
Nineteen
“Very well.” Director Reynolds nodded thoughtfully. “Let’s order the second postmortem. Hopefully Mr. Taylor will be able to find something helpful.”
Henry stilled in surprise, having expected a downright refusal to pursue the case. “I’ll do so right away.” Clearly he’d explained the situation better than he thought if his superior wished to proceed.
Reynolds leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed. “I’d be interested to learn what the hypodermic needles are used for.”
“As would I. I’ll mention them to the surgeon so he can look for needle marks on the body.”
Henry made quick work of sending an order to have the body exhumed and alerting Arthur of the situation. He also wrote a brief message to Mr. Dunn to let him know that they were conducting a second examination of his uncle’s body.
But before he could move on to the next case, Fletcher insisted they pause for luncheon. “Can’t have you working yourself to death on your first day back.” The sergeant led the way to their favorite pub, and they were soon tucking into delicious meat pies and a needed pint.
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Henry admitted as he took another bite, grateful for the pause in their day, and thinking of how often he’d taken lunches just like this one for granted. Yes, his head still ached, and his ribs hurt like the devil, but those pains felt manageable for now.
“Perhaps the food tastes all the better now that you’ve managed to convince Reynolds that we need a second look at Dunn’s body,” Fletcher suggested.
“Cheers to that.” Henry lifted his glass as his sergeant did the same.
They formed a plan to pursue the jewelry theft while waiting for Arthur’s report on the body and were returning to the Yard when a boom bellowed in the distance.
No.
“Tell me that was thunder,” his friend murmured as he looked up at the clear sky.
“Damn. Another bomb?” Henry couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine.
They hurried as fast as Henry's ribs could manage toward the Yard, where they found a flurry of activity.
“Do we know where?” Fletcher asked a passing constable.
“Somewhere on the Strand.”
The pair of them joined a half dozen other officers loading into a wagon for the short journey and quickly arrived. The scene was sickeningly familiar, and Henry had to brace himself as they surveyed the street.
Devastation. The door to the newspaper office had been torn from its hinges and lay in bits in the middle of the street.
Windows had shattered, glass shards littering the pavement.
A handful of injured people sat dazed on the pavement, faces streaked with blood and dust. Two constables were already on the scene, attempting to control the chaos.
“Terrible.” Fletcher shook his head as he took in the damage before meeting Henry’s gaze. “But not as bad as the one at the Yard, I would say.”
Truly? Henry’s thoughts slowed to a crawl as he took a closer look at the area, unsettled to realize that was true, given the number of people and buildings involved. What must Fletcher have found at the Scotland Yard blast? It didn’t bear thinking about.
“If the explosions continue, we’re going to have riots on the streets.” The sergeant shared a worried look with Henry.
One problem at a time, he decided. That was as much as he could handle at the moment. He forced himself to focus. “See who needs a doctor,” he ordered Fletcher and Constable Dannon, who also stood nearby. “And find out if anyone witnessed what happened.”
“Right, sir.” Dannon nodded, his body stiff, gripping the top of his truncheon as he hurried away.
“I’m staying with you,” Fletcher countered, his concerned look suggesting his statement wasn’t up for debate.
Henry nodded, unable to argue, and with his sergeant’s help they found one of the officers who’d been among the first to arrive on the scene.
“Perkins, tell me what you know,” Henry prompted the constable.
“I was only a street away when I heard the explosion and came running.” The younger man shook his head. “It was bedlam, never seen the like of it.” His eyes widened as he stared at Henry with dismay. “Can’t imagine what you endured only a few days ago, sir.”
And to think, he’d hoped no one else would have to suffer it. “Quite unpleasant,” Henry admitted.
“I’m sure, considering this. At any rate, people were screaming, running in every direction.
No deaths reported, only minor injuries thus far.
I helped those I could and asked them to wait so we could take their statements.
” The young man gestured to where half a dozen people sat lined up on the edge of the pavement and swallowed hard.
“Difficult to find words to bring comfort when so many need it.”
“Excellent work, Perkins. Continue on and send any others you talk to over there.” Henry gestured toward the group of potential witnesses. “Sergeant Fletcher and I will start taking statements. Someone must have seen something helpful. We need every detail we can gather to piece this together.”
Where were the men from the Special Irish Branch?
They should be there to help sort everyone out and see the damage for themselves.
Frustration simmered within Henry as he glanced around, unable to spot any of them.
He gave himself a mental shake. The victims on the scene needed his understanding, not his anger. That could wait.
“I’ll start at this end, and you start at the other,” he told Fletcher and moved to the last person seated in the shivering group, only to halt in surprise as she looked up. “A-Amelia?” He couldn’t believe his eyes. It wasn’t possible.
“Henry!” Her eyes were dull with shock, dust coating her attire. She rose to reach for him, hands shaking.
His heart squeezed as he held her tight in his arms, his mind trying to grasp why she was there, even as he wanted to drop to his knees in gratitude that she was alive. “Are you hurt?”
“No, thank goodness.” She eased back and wiped her dust-and tear-stained cheeks with a gloved hand. “I was several doors down from the newspaper office when the blast—” She bit off the rest, as if unable to finish.
“Thank goodness,” he repeated as he hugged her again, unable to let her go despite the pain in his ribs. Not until his heartbeat slowed its rapid pace. She was safe. “What brought you here?”
“I-I had just finished visiting with my editor at London Life.” She gestured with a trembling hand down the street to where the periodical’s office was presumably located. “I had another stop to m-make before returning home.”
His heart lurched; it was all he could do not to whisk her away from the scene, evidence and witnesses be damned, and do everything within his power to comfort her. Yet he also had a job to do. It was imperative they find who did this and stop them from doing it again.
“Did you happen to see anything out of the ordinary? Someone who looked out of place?” Though there was every chance the bomb had been placed before her arrival, he had to ask.
She blinked, as if trying to gather her thoughts. “What did you say?”
Henry tried to keep his voice low, calm, level. “Did you see anything?”
Amelia nodded gingerly. “There was a-a man. Tall. Thin. In a long heavy coat, which I thought odd given the fine weather.” She looked toward the open hole where the newspaper door had been.
“He brushed against me as he passed, and made no apology, so I turned to watch him. He set a b-bundle of some sort n-near the door of the newspaper.” Tears filled her eyes as she looked back at Henry. “Could that have been the bomb?”
“More than likely.” To think she been that close, had actually touched whoever had done this made Henry even more nauseous. What if she’d gone closer to investigate? They wouldn’t be having this conversation. He shuddered at the thought.
“Dear heaven.” Her mouth gaped, searching for words.
“I-I can’t imagine what you went through, Henry.
The blast—oh, it shoved me back as if someone had struck me.
And I still can’t hear well.” She held a gloved hand over one ear.
“The rubble coming down made it all the more terrifying. Like…like the end of days.”
He nodded, understanding completely. “The ringing in your ears will ease after some time. Are you sure you’re not hurt elsewhere?” His gaze raked up and down her form to be sure. She was covered in dust, yes, but was there any blood?
“I’m fine. J-Just shaken.”
After another breath to calm his racing thoughts, he squeezed her waist. “Do you remember any details about the man you saw? His face, his clothing. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“I think so.” Her eyes narrowed as if already trying to remember.
Henry blew out a long, careful breath. “Don’t be too obvious, but when you can, look around casually and see if you spot him anywhere.” There was always the chance he’d waited to see the destruction he’d caused.
Amelia’s eyes widened with horror. “You think he might still be here?”
“Often those who intend to cause damage remain in the vicinity to see if they were successful. To watch what happens when the police arrive.” To laugh at law enforcement’s attempts to find the guilty.
Some were even so bold as to give the police false information, pretend to be a witness. But he didn’t mention that out loud.
“How terrible.” She shook her head, wincing slightly. “What kind of...awful person would want to do such things?” She eased farther back and glanced around, her movements casual just as Henry had asked.
He nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him, wanting her to know she was doing exactly what he wanted and unlikely to draw suspicion if anyone observed them. “Initial reports suggest no one was killed, thank goodness.”
“I didn’t see anyone seriously injured, though I haven’t gone looking.” She glanced at him and then away again, her gaze carefully sweeping the area.