To some extent. I have heard his story. It makes little sense.
Either way, this is not Special Branch business unless Abberline deems it so. The locals are quite capable of handling this inquiry.
I am aware of that, sir. However, as we have vouched for the man, I felt it best we keep an eye on the investigation.
Fisher’s face clouded. He leaned back in his chair. That’s a patently thin argument, Sergeant.
Not entirely, sir. If, God forbid, he is this murderer, it would be better that we discover our own error.
Fisher did not reply for almost a full minute. During that time, Keats saw his career flaming into oblivion.
Give me your report, Fisher commanded.
Keats painstakingly related everything he’d learned and handed over the envelope he’d taken from Alastair’s room. While Fisher read through the documents, Keats studied his hands.
How did you know he was in custody? Fisher asked, tucking the papers into the envelope.
There was a commotion in the streets, and I went to investigate. I found Alastair in a dazed state with blood on his hands. When the mob began to chase us, I sent him here.
Fisher’s eyebrow shot up. He did not mention you were present at the scene.
I asked him not to.
Why? his superior demanded.
I did not want Special Branch implicated at the onset.
Fisher’s eyes narrowed. Did he have a weapon on him?
No.
You searched him?
Flustered, Keats shook his head. I had no time, given the mob.
He might have discarded it along the way.
Yes, that is possible.
His boss was studying him with an intensity that made sweat pop out on Keats’ forehead. There’s more here than you’re telling me, Fisher hissed. Out with it, man!
There was an apparent attempt on Miss Lassiter’s life two nights earlier. She was pushed in front of a wagon. Fortunately, she was quick in her response and took little injury.
Was this reported?
No. She asked that it not be, dismissing it as an accident.
Why would someone wish to harm her?
Of that, I am not sure. According to the doctor, she received a note to meet a fellow at the Paul’s Head last evening, which she apparently did. The cobbler I interviewed was quite precise in his description: an older gent with a cold demeanor.
A loaded sigh from his superior. His boss took a lengthy sip of his drink, as if to buy time. Grimacing, he slammed the cup on the desk so hard Keats thought it would shatter.
Nothing worse than cold tea, Fisher growled. Looking up, he advised, I dislike this situation intensely, Keats. At first blush, it feels like someone is mimicking our East-End killer. Nevertheless, I sense more is going on than you or Montrose are willing to impart. You will put the next round of questions to the doctor. It is time you squared your personal loyalties.
Ashamed, Keats nodded. Yes, sir.
I will arrange for a transfer to our patch. He’ll be safer there.
Jarred out of his misery, Keats blurted, Oh, God, thank you, sir.
Fisher’s eyes turned flinty. You’re not out of it yet, Sergeant.
There’s a great deal of your story that doesn’t track. We’ll talk more about this later.
The feeling of dread grew. Keats could only murmur a contrite Yes, sir.
As he washed his hands in the bucket of cold water, Alastair blessed the dim light for affording one benefit: He was unable to see Jacynda’s blood staining the water. Toweling dry, he heard the bolt slide free. He shielded his eyes from the light. Two entered: Chief Inspector Fisher and the man he’d once considered his friend.
Shut the door, the senior cop ordered. A constable complied with a noisy bang.
Alastair scowled, flinging the coarse towel away. Ah, Sergeant Keats. Come to torment the accused?
Keats stared at the floor.
Did you tell them about Chris Stone? Of course you did. You played me for a bloody fool.
Detective-Sergeant, Fisher urged.
There was a low sigh. Keats pulled something out of his jacket and tossed it on the mattress. It appears you are now rather wellheeled.
I don’t know what gives you that notion, Alastair retorted.
That is a letter from…Miss Lassiter. She left you a considerable sum of money on deposit at the Bank of England.
Alastair shuffled through the papers, his mouth agape. This is incredible, he said, looking up. I had no idea that’s what she meant.
Meant by what? Keats demanded.
She said she’d left a surprise in my room.
When?
Right before she went into the pub.
Keats took the papers from him, returning them to the envelope. Where you see philanthropy, others may see a motive for murder.
Alastair flared, You think I would harm her for money?
There are lesser reasons for mayhem, Keats replied.
According to your landlady, you two traded words.
We were at odds over an unrelated matter.
Which was?
It is a private concern. Alastair shot a look at Fisher. I am not a killer.
Keats jumped on that. You’ve done it once; why not again?
Alastair gritted his teeth. You know that was self-defense.
A noncommittal shrug. What really happened in that alley?
It’s not believable.
Where is she? Keats pressed.
I don’t know where she went. That is God’s truth.
I had thought you would be more reasonable—
Reasonable? Alastair snarled. I am not inclined to be reasonable with a man who pretends to be my friend and then betrays me.
That is not the issue! Keats shouted. Jacynda is the issue, in case you’ve forgotten.
Is this your petty revenge because she refused your offer of marriage? Alastair shot back. Well, she did the same to me. It appears that neither of us measured up to her standards.
Well, well, well. So there’s the missing link, Fisher said, shaking his head. I should have known the woman would be at the bottom of this.
Keats gave his superior a panicked look. Sir––
Fisher waved him into silence. There are too many half-truths flying in this room. Perhaps a bracing ride to Scotland Yard will clear both your minds.
Alastair gestured toward the door, After you, Inspector. You, I trust. Keats looked away, his fists knotted.
Fisher hammered on the cell door to summon the constable.
You would do well to trust no one at this moment, Doctor.
2057 A.D.
TEM Enterprises As Cynda rested in the semi-lit room, enveloped by the monotonous thrum of technology, her ears still reverberated with the cries of eel-pie sellers and creaking carriage wheels on uneven cobblestones. She thought she could smell naphtha lamps and the fresh tang of horse sweat. God help her, she missed Victorian London.
Forty-five degrees upright, she commanded. The bed smoothly took the requested position.
A movement on the bed caught her notice. He was still blue, the one constant in her life.
Posh digs, he said, gesturing with a leg. A bit flat for my tastes, mind you. I like Covent Garden better.
Yeah, real posh. I wasn’t sure you’d make the journey.
I’m here for the duration.
My brain’s that fried?
The spider gave what passed as a nod and bustled over to the side of the bed until he reached a small mound of bed clothing.
Settling on top of the mound, his multiple eyes watched her intently.
Thanks for warning me, she said. I should have listened.
You will in the future.
You can bet on that one.
He put the watch into your hand after he hurt you, the spider commented.
She concentrated on that, pulling up the memory. Her assailant had played with her, taunting her. ‘Figured it out yet?’
Then he’d deliberately placed the watch in her hand after driving the knife deep into her chest. Why?
Cynda glanced toward the spider for input, but he appeared asleep. It seemed to be the best solution to her problems. It wasn’t like she was going to go back to ’88 and ask the bastard.