Chapter Sixteen Zero Leads
Chapter Sixteen
Zero Leads
“Tell me how it’s been seven days, and yet you have zero leads.”
Richard clenched his jaw to keep from flinching at the viceroy’s scorn.
Once, he had considered the two of them alike, fancying himself an echo of a younger Clarence Sutherland, the one who had assumed control of the island at only twenty years of age and guided it into an age of economic prosperity that none had seen before.
How things had changed—both within the colony, now plagued by poverty and crime, and with the duke himself.
All Richard saw now was the way Sutherland’s suit sagged at the shoulders where muscle had once filled it in, the way his wispy white hair could no longer hide the patchy pink skin of his scalp.
Richard was nothing like Clarence—he was not weak, nor did he possess the elder man’s grotesque fascination with Virians.
Clarence was obsessed with them, determined to make them civilized, refusing to see them for the inferior species they were.
Richard would have ended his bloodline before he tainted it with a Virian child, and therein was their greatest difference.
“It’s a complicated case, Your Grace,” Richard said. “Rest assured, we are working hard—”
“Working hard?” Sutherland repeated, glaring at Richard.
“Working hard? You ought to be running yourself ragged.” He slammed his hand on the table.
The sound reverberated against the walls of the room.
“That’s my daughter, boy! The woman you publicly vowed to make your wife.
As her husband, your only job will be to protect and provide for her, and you’re failing already. ”
Richard bowed his head, wisely recognizing nothing he said could soothe Sutherland until Poppy was returned to him.
He itched to reveal his plot right there, to show the duke the forged smuggler’s records with her name on it just to see the old man’s face fall.
But Richard still needed to marry her for his claim to be legitimate.
Until then, he could not ruin her reputation.
If Sutherland disowned her now and put the succession to a vote, then the viceroy’s office would become a free-for-all.
The nobility was nothing if not self-serving.
“I’ll get her back,” he said. “I swear it.”
Sutherland muttered something under his breath.
Then, he said, “Let one thing be clear: The only reason you’re still the lead investigator is because when Poppy is found, I don’t want her to be humiliated marrying the man who failed to bring her home.
But if you cannot produce a lead in forty-eight hours, I will have you taken off the case. ”
Humiliated? Richard’s vision flared red. It is I who will be humiliated, reduced to marrying a lowborn Virian in front of society and the Founder. Richard bit back one last urge to put the old man in his place.
He bowed, uttered a flat “Your Grace,” then left. As the door swung shut behind him, he turned back. Sutherland had folded, his face in his hands as his shoulders shook silently. Richard filed away the image of the old man’s misery to recall later, when he needed a boost of strength.
At first, when Poppy had gone missing, there’d been theories—cold feet, perhaps, or another man.
It couldn’t have been either of those things, not when Richard had spared no expense in winning her heart.
She thought he was a perfect prince, traditional enough to provide for her, but liberal enough to treat her like an equal.
Abduction was the only plausible answer.
When the ransom letter arrived at his house, his suspicions had been confirmed.
He hadn’t told anyone about the letter yet, save for Ernest Alderfort.
Ernest was the second son of Gerald Alderfort’s fourth brother, which meant that his inheritance would be chump change compared to what the other children of the nobility would receive—especially Poppy.
It hadn’t taken much to convince Ernest that he deserved far more than that, and that Richard was willing to give it to him, for a price.
“Why don’t you just tell Sutherland about the letter?” Ernest had suggested.
“Because,” Richard had said, drawing out the second syllable, “if Poppy is supposedly working with the Jackal and his smuggler, then why would they kidnap her? If I admit to Sutherland where she really is, I’ll have to scrap the whole plot. Who knows when I’ll get another chance to get rid of her?”
Richard was trapped. If he was taken off the case, the new lead investigator would almost certainly discover his cover-up.
While Richard’s own squadron were handpicked and loyal to him, there were other men—older men—who resented his quick promotion and would seize any opportunity to tear him down.
But if he revealed his lead, the letter, then he would lose the chance to incriminate Poppy, extending their marriage for an interminable amount of time.
Either way, he was screwed, and he knew it. He got into his car and pressed his forehead to the steering wheel. Founder, grant me a miracle. With a deep breath, he peeled out of the lot, driving back to the precinct.
· · ·
When Richard walked into the police station, two of his men jumped up.
“Sir,” one said, “we need to talk.”
Richard tensed. Had his duplicity been discovered? He kept his voice level as he asked, “What is it, Officer Edwards?”
Edwards and the other man—Underwood—led him past the bullpen, toward the individual holding cells. “We’ve been tracking down the staff who served the party,” Edwards explained. “We found this in one of the valet’s homes. He hadn’t had the chance to pawn it yet.”
Richard squinted at the small item Underwood held up: a pearl earring, set in white gold. He didn’t recognize the jewelry, but given the context, he concluded, “This belongs to Poppy.”
Underwood nodded. “When we asked him how he got the earring, he said she gave one to him and the other to his fellow valet, if they promised to tell no one that they’d seen her. We’ve tried beating him, sir, but he won’t change his story.”
Richard was silent as he shuffled through the pieces of the story to accommodate this latest development. A revelation dawned on him, one so powerful he had to fight back a smile. He had pleaded to the Founder, and the Founder had granted him a boon.
“Find the other valet,” Richard ordered. “If he can corroborate the first man’s story, then we’ll know they aren’t lying.”
“But what if they’re working together?”
“I have reason to believe they aren’t.” Richard hardened his voice. “If you cannot do the task, Officer Edwards, I will see to it myself.”
The other man paled. “No, sir, I didn’t mean to—I’ll find the other valet, Captain.”
“Good. One more thing. Did the valet say she was with anyone when she left?”
“She left the party alone,” Underwood answered, “but the valet said one of the caterers exited right after, in the same direction as her. If he returned to the party, they didn’t see it.”
“Officer Underwood, have a sketch artist sit with both the valets and have them describe the man—separately, mind you,” Richard instructed. “Come to me when it’s been done.”
“Will you share your theory with us, sir?” Underwood inquired.
Normally, Richard would have lambasted the man for his presumptuousness.
But in this case, it would be to his advantage if word spread.
He inhaled deeply, twisting his lips into a grimace, as though it physically pained him to speak.
“I believe Miss Sutherland has fallen in with the wrong crowd,” he whispered.
“She has a generous nature. I have cause to believe that she has grown sympathetic to the cause of a particular criminal in the city.”
Edwards’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean the Jackal?”
Richard nodded, pleased that the other man had caught on. “The very same. I believe that it was he who followed her from the party. They must have arranged to leave separately, to avoid suspicion. She is likely with him as we speak.”
“But, sir, why would she go with him?”
“To extort her father.” Richard shuddered. “The Jackal is notorious for manipulating others. Usually, he bullies the poor, but he must have seen Poppy as bait to hook a much larger fish. Sheltered as she is, she likely does not even realize she’s being used.”
Richard let silence fill the hall for dramatic effect. Then, he said, “You must tell no one. It’s only a theory, and I would not have my fiancée’s reputation tarnished without proof.”
“I swear it,” Underwood said. Edwards echoed the affirmation, which all but guaranteed that by tomorrow, the entire precinct—and soon the nobility—would doubt Poppy Sutherland.
The only thing he had left to do was to prove there was a connection between her and the criminals, something public and irrefutable.
And if there wasn’t proof, he would create it.