She had no rulebook for this strange world.
Edison would be an exceptional guide, if she’d allow him to lead.
Ada sniffed away the last of her tears. “Well then, Mr. Sweet, what’s our first course of action?”
Chapter 11
“Good to see you, Sweet.” Detective Inspector Caleb Burke held out a hand in greeting. “Got your package last night.” He grinned. “Well wrapped.”
Edison wiped damp palms on the front of his jacket before shaking the detective’s offered hand. He hoped Burke wouldn’t notice the cold sweat trickling down the sides of his face.
He hadn’t expected the station to affect him so. Hadn’t given it a thought until he and Ada pushed through the swinging doors.
The old fears bludgeoned him the minute they crossed the threshold of the Met’s headquarters. Stepping through the low half-door that separated the law-abiding public from the officers’ desks made his heart pound as if a peeler were chasing him down.
Not even the smell had changed.
A coat or two of paint had been slapped on over the years, but it wasn’t enough to cover the odors. The wool uniforms, the tobacco smoke, and the stink of rancid, fear-induced sweat.
Two steps beyond the lobby, and he became that boy again, the one who stole for a living. The one who lived with constant fear of the crushers.
The one who abandoned his mate to the horrors of Newgate.
It took every bit of concentration he could muster to shove the ugly memories aside and present a confident demeanor.
Ada needed it. She was frightened enough.
He ignored the odd flutter in his chest and made the introductions, rushing over the words as if he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “Mrs. Templeton, Detective Inspector Caleb Burke. Burke, Ada Templeton.”
He pulled a chair out for Ada, then dropped down beside her. “Have you gotten anything out of them?” The question was out of his mouth before Burke’s backside touched the seat behind his desk.
“Nothing helpful.” The inspector tapped a pen on the desktop. “It’s odd. They aren’t frightened. Not ready to talk yet though. Trying to figure out how to cut the best deal, I suspect.”
“So they’re not worried about their employer doing them in,” Edison reasoned.
“No,” Burke agreed. “Makes me think we’re not dealing with a gang, or anyone highly placed in the criminal world.”
Edison rather wished they were. “Just an ordinary madman hiring a few killers.”
“That’s my guess.”
Ada sat forward, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Where would one find killers for hire? It’s not as if they advertise in the Evening Gazette.”
Burke’s eyebrows rose. “Excellent question, Mrs. Templeton. Your average citizen wouldn’t have the faintest idea where to hire competent thugs.”
Edison hunched forward and planted his elbows on his knees. “Until they tell us where they were hired, we don’t have much to go on.”
Burke nodded. “So far, none of them’re offering specifics. It’s only a matter of time before one of them breaks.”
“Breaks?” Ada asked.
“Rats out his partners,” Edison explained. “A few more days in a cell, and one of them’ll try to cut a deal.”
Like Robbie should have.
With each inhale, his chest tightened as if there were a great band cinched around him. He pressed a palm to his breastbone and tried to breathe normally, but he might as well have been sipping air through a plugged up straw.
He squirmed in his seat, hoping movement would ease the tension. Instead, the handcuffs hanging on a nail next to the door caught his eye, mesmerizing him. The bite of cold steel around his wrists, the click of the two halves locking together, flashed through his mind, making his stomach heave.
“Edison?” Ada was leaning toward him, concern obvious on her face.
Burke’s sharp detective’s gaze was on him as well. Light brown brows rose in polite query.
Cold sweat trickled down the back of his neck. He ran a finger under his stiff shirt collar. “What about the cottage?” he asked, struggling to tamp down his anxiety.
Silence stretched as Burke searched his face, then he eyed the mess of papers spread across his desk. He plucked one up and tossed it toward Edison. “The cottage was let by a Mrs. Ada Templeton.”
“What?” Ada bolted upright in her chair. “That’s ridiculous. I never—"
Edison put a calming hand on her arm. “It’s no more than I expected.”
“A clever touch.” Burke sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach.
“Right.” Ada swallowed. She looked a bit green. “Of course.”
Edison grunted. “That was fast work.”
“I telegraphed Chiddingfold station last night, soon as I got your telegram.”
“Any chance we could get the name of the leasing agent or the owner?”
Burke grinned. “Thought you might ask.” He peered at the file again. “The owner’s an—”
An older, shorter man with grand muttonchops threw open the door and burst in, bringing a cloud of stale cigar smoke with him. “You haven’t seen the file on the Carmichael robbery, have you Burke?”
The inspector half rose from his chair. “That’s Barger and Roswell’s case, sir.”
The older man nodded. For the first time since he’d flung open the door he noticed Edison… and Ada. His eyes widened. He sketched her a small bow. “Beg your pardon for the interruption, madam.”
Ada was studying him back with equal fascination. “Not at all.”
“Chief Inspector Gerald Todd,” he offered with a smile.
Edison had no reason for concern, but he couldn’t stop himself from turning his face away from the chief inspector’s view.
“I’ll let you get back to it, Burke.” The other man pulled back, out of the room. Just inches from closing the door, he stopped and popped his head back in.
Cold blue eyes focussed on Edison’s face. “I know you from somewhere.”
Edison’s stomach flipped over as the leaden odors of cigar smoke and Shipley’s Oil Pomade billowed into the room. With an immense effort, he tilted his head, as if intrigued by the man’s interest. “Been known to dip in on the fights now and again,” he lied. “More now than again, honestly.”
The chief laughed. “Myself as well.”
Edison swallowed around the sharp stone in his throat. “That must be it. I’m generally found at Gently’s. Horchatt’s when he’s got a string of strong fighters.”
The man looked thoughtful. “Could’ve been either place, though Gently hasn’t had much quality of late.” He withdrew, pulling the door shut behind him.
Edison’s bones felt like jelly. He refused to allow himself to slump down in his seat.
Burke slapped a hand down on his desk, startling him. “Owner is a Timothy Haversham, but the cottage has been to let for years. His solicitor handles the business.”
Edison’s eyebrows rose. “You’re thorough.”
Burke shrugged off the compliment. “Local bobbies are sharp. Soon as the flames settled, they were at Mr. Haversham’s door.”