Chapter 21 #2
“It would.” Reynolds set the report down to glare at Henry. “It’s not our case. While they appreciate our assistance with the situation yesterday, we are not to pursue the investigation in any manner.”
“But, sir—”
Reynolds held up a hand. “I understand the urge to look into the matter, given your involvement and injuries, but that is not possible. You’re a witness for this, a victim. Not the investigator.”
Everything within Henry demanded he argue. Not only had he been hurt, but others had as well, and Amelia nearly so. “Even though four bombs have been set in the past week?”
Reynolds’ mouth tightened. Was his superior not pleased to have to stand down either? “I’m aware of the facts, Field. But our orders are clear.”
Henry couldn’t deny his disappointment or frustration. In his mind, the departments should work together—yet clearly that wasn’t possible. “Very well.” He stood and turned to go.
“Field?”
Henry looked back, aware his irritation must be written on his face but unable to mask it.
His superior gave a casual shrug. “If you happen to come upon anything...interesting regarding the suspect, assuming your efforts were discreet…I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing about it.”
Well then. The Director was full of surprises today.
“However, I did not say that to you.” Reynolds leveled him a pointed look.
“Say what, sir?” With a smile, Henry took his leave.
Several pairs of eyes watched as he left Reynolds’ office. He nodded at a few fellow officers and took a seat at his desk, unsurprised when Fletcher immediately appeared before him.
“Did the Director tell you the same thing he told the rest of us?” Fletcher asked in a low tone.
“To think, we’re not supposed to take any action regarding the bombs, even after another was set yesterday—even after one nearly took your life.
” The sergeant’s eyes flashed with ire. “As if we’re supposed to continue walking about this city without fear or constantly looking over our shoulders. ”
“Fletcher, I know you’re upset. You have every right to be, and so do I.” Henry held his friend’s gaze. “But we have a job to do and I need your help.”
Fletcher’s moustache twitched as he looked away, clearly trying to gain control of his upset. “Yes, sir.” The lack of enthusiasm in his flat tone was undeniable.
That was all right. Fletcher would catch on to the situation soon enough.
“Any luck on finding the late Mrs. Symes’ family?” Henry asked.
“Only a niece who’s married and living in Devon.”
Devon. It would’ve been easier if she were close enough for them to speak with, but they’d have to work with what they had.
“Send a telegram to the local police station and ask them to interview her regarding her aunt’s stay at the sanatorium, the nature of her illness, and whether she expected or received any inheritance—that last part is important. ”
“Very well.”
“Then we need a list of any patients who died while staying at Hollowgate Heights in the past six months.”
Fletcher frowned. “Difficult. How do you suggest we procure such a list?”
“Sounds like we need a warrant to view the records of the place, don’t you think?”
Fletcher’s eyes widened. “Does that mean the second postmortem of Mr. Dunn had the evidence we need?”
That would have been ideal. “Not precisely, but we’re moving forward anyway.”
“With the Director’s approval?” Doubt shone in the sergeant’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“Huh. Well, at least he’s letting us pursue something.”
“Not all is as it seems,” Henry murmured as he held Fletcher’s gaze, hoping the sergeant caught enough of his meaning to let the matter go for now.
His friend considered the comment a moment, clearly uncertain what to think. “Shall I see to the telegram first?” His gruffness meant either he had yet to be convinced, or was aware others watched them.
“Yes.”
Henry swiftly compiled a list of the information he wanted to obtain from the sanatorium, though he remained uncertain whether they’d receive approval for a warrant. Perhaps with the Director’s support, they’d get it—if not, they’d have to think again.
They worked steadily through the rest of the morning before leaving the Yard for an early luncheon. It hadn’t escaped Henry’s notice Fletcher’s heart wasn’t in their case, and he knew why.
“Any word from Marcus?” Henry asked. He continued to worry about him and was tempted to venture to Whitechapel himself soon.
“Not as of yet.” His sergeant wiped his generous moustache. “How is Mrs. Greystone faring after yesterday’s events?”
“Shaken, needless to say.” As was he. The memory of her tear-streaked face coated in dust was enough to rattle him even knowing she had been unharmed. “Upset to think innocent people are being hurt to make a point.”
“Can’t blame her for that.”
“Fletcher.” Henry took a careful look around to make certain no other officers were nearby, lowered his tone, and waited for the sergeant to meet his gaze. “I intend to look into the suspect we arrested yesterday.”
The task involved a certain amount of danger, including risk to his career. Reynolds wouldn’t be able to help if Henry went too far with his unofficial investigation. If Fletcher chose to help, he would be at risk as well.
Fletcher stilled, a gleam in his eyes. “You don’t say.”
“Unofficially, obviously.” This wasn’t the first time he’d worked a case in such a manner.
“And with Reynolds’ blessing?”
“Not exactly.” That was as much as Henry wanted to say.
“That’ll do.” Fletcher gave a single nod. “I want to help.”
Though expected, his offer sent relief through Henry. “No one can know. We’ll have to hide our activities with our other investigations—”
“Easy enough.”
The man had to be sure. “If this all goes wrong, Reynolds won’t stand up for us.”
“Unless we find those involved,” Fletcher suggested.
“Yes, well, it won’t be that easy.” Far from it. “We take this one clue at a time, just like our other cases.”
“Right. And if you’re in, so am I.” Fletcher lifted his glass, and Henry did the same. “Anything is better than waiting for another explosion.”
“Agreed.” He only wished he felt physically up to the challenge.