Chapter 11 #3
Her artist’s eye was attuned to picking up subtle details and the nuances of color. Determined to make a thorough examination, Charlotte fixed her gaze on the part of Langdon’s neck where his hair ended, and then began a slow sweep of the exposed back.
Henning shuffled his feet and fiddled with his cuffs.
She refused to be distracted—or rushed. Let the chips fall wherever they may.
It took over a minute before Charlotte looked up.
“Here!” She pointed to a tiny red spot on the fleshy part of the dead man’s left shoulder. “That’s clearly a puncture mark.”
Henning leaned down … and then made a rude sound. “In my professional opinion, that’s naught but a normal blemish caused by a build-up of natural oils in the skin’s pore.”
Charlotte was sure he was lying but couldn’t bring herself to voice a challenge.
She made a charade of studying the rest of the exposed flesh, then stepped back. To her relief, the sound of Griffin and the body wagon attendants approaching from the garden precluded any further discussion with their friend.
“I had better hide myself in the corridor until Griffin is gone,” she murmured. While the Runner had seen Magpie from afar on several occasions and knew the shadowy fellow was part of Wrexford’s band of street informants, she didn’t trust her disguise to fool him up close.
The Runner entered the room a few moments later, pausing to acknowledge Wrexford and Henning with a gruff grunt before moving to examine Langdon’s remains.
“Any idea as to the cause of death?” he asked, after a cursory look.
“I would rather not hazard a guess until I have a chance to make a more thorough inspection,” said Henning.
From her position in the corridor, ear cocked to hear what was being discussed, Charlotte noted the earl said nothing to contradict their friend.
Griffin wordlessly signaled the attendants to take the body away. “Please do so quickly,” he said to Henning. “Given Lord Langdon’s position in the government, I’ll have the administrative minions at Whitehall breathing down my neck for an answer.”
“When have I ever let you down?” muttered Henning. “No matter the troubles your pernicious government intrigues make for me.”
The seemingly harmless statement only exacerbated her fears. She wished that she dared to take a peek into the room and assess Wrexford’s expression. Griffin was too sharp by half to miss any subtle sign that something wasn’t right.
“I had better be on my way,” groused Henning, “seeing as you expect me to work miracles by morning.”
“That makes two of us,” intoned Griffin. “My superiors will be pressing me for an easy answer, no matter the reality of the situation.”
“You two go on. I’ll finish up what needs to be done here,” said Wrexford. “Langdon’s staff needs to be roused and informed of their employer’s unfortunate demise.”
Charlotte waited for the sound of their footsteps to fade into the night before slipping back into the study and closing the door behind her.
“Baz is lying,” she said without preamble.
“Through his teeth,” agreed Wrexford.
“It must have to do with Campbell,” said Charlotte.
“And perhaps Langdon,” he replied softly. “Several days ago, Griffin mentioned that he recalled hearing Langdon’s name mentioned during his efforts to bring Archie Campbell and his gang to justice.”
“Oh, but surely …” Her face paled. “Surely Baz wasn’t involved in any way with the Lisbon Conspiracy counterfeiting scheme.”
“It boggles the imagination,” replied the earl. “But money can do strange things to one’s morals. If he were offered a cut of the proceeds, he might have seen it as a way to fund his clinic for the poor.”
“The ends justify the means?”
Wrexford gave a cynical grimace. “Alas, that self-serving reasoning has enticed countless good people to start the slippery slide down the Road to Perdition.”
She wished that she could muster a retort, but none came to mind.
“What worries me just as much as Baz’s behavior is the reason why Langdon asked me here in the first place,” continued the earl.
“I barely know the fellow, and yet he wished to discuss a matter of great delicacy with me. It makes no sense.” A frown.
“Unless he knew of my friendship with Baz and had learned something incriminating.”
“I can’t imagine …”
“Neither can I. But I can’t in good conscience dismiss the possibility,” said Wrexford.
Feeling a little light-headed from all the emotions spinning like whirling dervishes inside her head, Charlotte squeezed her eyes shut, trying to make sense of it all.
“But why would Baz have alerted us to the fact that Fletcher Campbell’s death wasn’t just a random street crime if it would link him to some nefarious misdeed?” she asked after a lengthy silence
Wrexford looked away, but the shadows couldn’t quite hide the flicker of anguish in his eyes. “I haven’t a clue.”
“Then we had better start untangling all the lies and subterfuges in order to find our way to the truth.” She swallowed hard, trying to dispel the bitter taste of bile in her throat. “Before it’s too late.”