Chapter 15 The Rotten Right Hand of the Devil #2
The bandaged copper’s gaze crawled up Cora’s mile-long legs, lingered on her chest, then rose to her face. Suspicion clouded his features. “Blimey, she’s a tall moll. Ain’t a lot of women like that walking around London. Except for this club… and that cemetery.”
Potts whirled to him. Wicked glee flashed in his eyes. “This is the woman you saw with Spindler? At the cemetery tonight?”
Cora’s nails bit Malachy’s shoulders as she hovered close behind him.
The copper’s brows drew together. “I dunno, sir. It was dark. After they knocked me out, my head’s been all sixes and sevens.
When Spindler and me arrived for our patrol shift at the grave, we heard a sound and followed it.
Bloke must’ve gotten turned around or something, ‘cause the next and last time I spotted Spindler, he was wandering off all drunk-like with some dame that was taller than him.”
“Then she rushed back here to warn her boss.” Potts’s stare landed on Cora with the finality of a judge’s gavel. “The loyal accomplice. The rotten right hand of the devil himself.”
“I-I dunno, Lieutenant. Respectfully, sir, there’s no way anyone could’ve gotten here from the cemetery that fast and still had time for…
” The copper waved an uncomfortable hand at their dishevelment.
“Foolin’ around. I rushed straight here myself, sirens blaring and all, and it still took me half an hour. ”
“They have their ways, Adamson.” Potts was undeterred.
He strode deeper into the office, both his posture and uniform askew.
Dark shadows circled bloodshot eyes in a face gone gaunt.
Demons had been chasing the dutiful lieutenant as well.
“The accomplice is dessert compared to the main course, lads. Malachy Bane, by authority of the London Metropolitan Police and God Almighty, I am arresting you for the murder of two innocent men.”
Behind Malachy, Cora’s nails dug trenches into his shoulders.
“The first victim,” Potts said, “was positively identified as Guy Haviland. As you may recall, Mr. Bane, your late employee was found with his neck snapped behind your club after a public confrontation with your accomplice here. The second body was found in bags outside the front doors and is… awaiting identification. Fish-eaten and water-logged, it will take time, dismembered as he was.”
“Dismembered?” Cora gasped. “No.”
“Yes.” Potts’s gaze remained fixed on Malachy. “Two bodies found near your club. Twice damned. Justice prevails, Mr. Bane.”
Lies sprung smoothly from Malachy’s lips. “When was I supposed to have found time for two murders? Anyone in the club can attest that we have been occupied in my office for hours.”
“It’s true,” Cora said.
Malachy shot her a quelling look. Potts’s look was much longer.
“And your name is?” Potts asked.
“The, er, piano player.”
“The piano player,” Potts repeated in a flat voice. His gaze flicked to his fellow officers, who leered at her. “Adamson, move the piano player to the top of the suspect list.”
“Go upstairs,” Malachy told Cora. “I’ll be up shortly.”
She shuffled past the coppers to the door. Adamson blocked her exit.
“Make room for the lady, Adamson.”
“Ain’t no lady,” he snickered.
“I am a lady.” She straightened to her full height, several inches taller than the copper. “Didn’t you fucking notice?” She brushed him aside and left.
A grin tugged at the corners of Malachy’s mouth. One that fell when his gaze rested on Lt. Potts, come to arrest him for murders he had, in fact, committed.
Malachy took stock of the situation. Killing Potts was the quickest solution, and the most likely to see him dangling from a scaffold.
O’Leary was the best and least available solution—between his skills as a solicitor and as a memory-siphoning mage, O’Leary could put Potts off his trail with legal jargon and a glancing touch.
For now, Malachy had only himself.
“Explain to me, Potts, why would I kill my electrician? Guy Haviland was a valuable employee for years. After the gas leak that caused all the damages here, I need an electrician now more than ever to switch the club from gas to fully electric.”
“Yes, we heard all about this ‘gas leak.’ All night, we had complaints about the noise, the lewd acts. The public indecency. The strange behavior.”
“Altered behavior is a symptom of a gas leak, Lieutenant. I noticed patrons acting odd, then a fire sparked up and the sprinklers drenched the place. Switching to electric and repairing the damage will take even longer without my electrician. Guy might have found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. Without reliable witnesses, who’s to say? ”
Potts stormed across the office until the tips of his polished spats abutted the desk. “A witness will come forward. In the meantime, the second body needs accounting for. Dismemberment, I know, is the least of your crimes.”
“A second body, which you have yet to identify, and you’re already blaming me for the death.” Malachy leaned back, steepling his fingers. “I am curious, Potts. Why do you believe I would put dismembered bodies in front of my own club? Elaborate on how that would benefit my business.”
Potts cast a glance over his shoulder at his whispering officers. “Motivation is unnecessary when you had the opportunity.”
“When? I have been occupied in my office for hours, as anyone in the club can attest to. The only time I am concerned with, Potts, is the time you’re wasting now on baseless conjecture.
Without witnesses, motive, or opportunity, you have only circumstantial bullshite that my solicitor will litigate into irrelevance.
Instead of doing the work the fine people of London are paying you for, you’re off chasing shadows whilst two men are brutally murdered outside my business.
Is that what taxpayers are funding—your incompetence? Their blood is on your hands.”
Mottled red rage flooded Potts’s pale face. His eyes skittered to the coppers, whose whispers grew louder. “I have upheld the duties of my office to the fullest letter of the law—”
“Is that so? After this stunt, Potts, you’ve slated yourself for public and private embarrassment. I sit on several executive councils and make substantial contributions to the re-election campaigns of your superiors. But you’re no stranger to lining your own pockets, are you, Lieutenant?”
Malachy scrutinized Potts to see if he had made a miscalculation. By the terror constricting Potts’s throat, the strike was aimed true. Malachy pressed onward.
“Not with your own private donor to appease. Someone is desperate to frame me, and you’ve fallen for their lies.
A rulebook-thumping police lieutenant, cashing bribes to infringe upon the rights of a private business owner central to London’s commerce.
It’s not a good look, Potts, but it’ll make a grand headline. ”
It had been a gamble, using the tidbit Cora had gleaned from a corpse as bait. A gamble that paid off. Potts’s face blanched. Malachy went for the killing blow.
“I wonder, does your benefactor wear a hood to protect his reputation or yours?”
The coppers didn’t bother lowering their voices now. “I knew it, Adamson. Didn’t I tell you he was taking money on the side?”
“I-I have never—” Potts spluttered.
“Committed such an egregious ethics violation?” Malachy supplied.
He let the damning silence stretch on as Potts quavered in uncertain panic, halfway between the desk and the door.
“I’ll make you a deal, Potts. Leave, and I’ll keep your dirty secret.
Spare me the headache and spare yourself the career suicide.
Conduct a thorough investigation into these two, possibly unrelated deaths, and apprehend the parties actually responsible. ”
“I…” Potts looked between Malachy and the coppers, now openly discussing their superior officer.
“That will be all, Potts. Fuck off before you add trespassing to your list of crimes.”
Tail firmly set between his legs, Lt. Potts retreated from the office, two whispering shadows at his back. When the door closed behind them, Malachy dropped his head onto the desk. Shaky breaths gusted out.
Jesus, that had been close.