Page 33 of When You're Lost

“A detective,” Mickey cut in, eyes narrowing.“I've seen this fella on the news.That’s what I heard.We don’t really like that word in here.”

Finn felt multiple gazes from the bar shift onto him.He lifted a hand, smiling disarmingly.“If it’s any consolation, I’m not the biggest fan of the word myself.I’m more of a consultant detective.And I’d prefer not to cause trouble.”

Mickey stared him down for a moment, then snorted.“Heh.You’re with Ellie, so you must be fine.But you’d best keep that detective business under wraps.”Turning back to Eleanor, Mickey’s grin returned.“Leopold will be thrilled you came to see him, Ellie.He’s back in the room there with his card buddies.”He gave Finn a once-over.“And you sure this fella can be trusted?”

Eleanor straightened.“Yes, Mickey.He can be trusted.We just need a word with Leopold, that’s all.”

Mickey studied Finn for another beat before shrugging.“Your call, Ellie.”He stepped aside, gesturing for them to move through a curtained archway at the back.“Follow me.Watch your step—some folks in this place don’t take kindly to outsiders.”

Finn glanced around, seeing a couple of men puffing cigarettes at a corner table, eyes flicking his way.He nodded at them, but they didn’t respond, just stared.Charming crowd, he thought dryly.

Mickey led them down a short hallway, every inch of it reeking of stale smoke and liquor until they emerged into a larger back room.A single hanging lamp illuminated a round card table where four men sat, jackets off, glasses of whiskey at hand.Clouds of cigarette smoke curled in the air.One man—Leopold Dawson, presumably—rose when they entered.

Leopold was in his seventies, tall but hunched with age, hair a wispy silver combed neatly back.He wore a tailored suit, fine lines in the fabric hinting it was expensive.He had an air of casual authority, his gray eyes sharp beneath bushy eyebrows.The other three men at the table glanced up, noticing the newcomers.

Leopold smiled, revealing surprisingly white teeth.“Ellie!My dear, it’s been ages, doll.”He extended his arms, and, with visible reluctance, Eleanor stepped into a brief hug.

“Leopold,” she said quietly, voice touched by something between nostalgia and regret.“You’re looking well.”

He turned to the other gamblers, waving a hand in introduction.“Gentlemen, this is Harold Matthews’s daughter.I told you about Harry, didn’t I?One of the best men I ever knew.”

The men around the table rose, each offering Eleanor a handshake and murmured condolences for her father’s passing.“Harry was a diamond,” one muttered, eyes warm with memory.“Sorry to hear he went.”

Eleanor nodded politely, her cheeks coloring at the memory.“He was… quite a character,” she allowed.

After a few more nods and greetings, Leopold turned his attention to Finn, eyes narrowing.“Now, who’s this tall fellow?Tall enough to be a copper, I’d reckon.Are you a copper?”

Finn forced a friendly smile.“Name’s Finn Wright.I’m a consultant with the Home Office.Not an officer, exactly—”

Leopold barked a short laugh.“Consultant detective, is that it?Hmph.Not good enough for a badge at the Met, or what?”His grin had an edge to it.

Eleanor stepped in, voice firm but respectful.“He’s with me.And the only reason we’re here is because people are being murdered—three so far.They’ve been staged like famous paintings, and all of them connect back to the Blackthorn Gallery somehow.We believe forgeries might be at the heart of this, as each murder scene mimics a forged painting.”

Leopold's gaze didn't waver."Murders.Forgeries.None of that is my business, Ellie.It shouldn't be yours, either."

She pressed her lips together.“I know you prefer to stay out of trouble, but… My reputation’s on the line.I’m attached to this case.I need help to stop any more deaths.”

A flicker of something akin to concern crossed Leopold’s face.He sighed heavily.“You always did have a stubborn streak, like your father,” he muttered.“Fine, come with me.We’ll talk somewhere quieter.”He motioned to the others, who resumed their card game with no fuss.

Leopold led Finn and Eleanor across the room to a narrow door that opened into a small study.A single overhead lamp illuminated a wooden desk cluttered with old ledgers, empty whiskey glasses, and a battered globe that sat in the corner.Once inside, Leopold closed the door behind them, muffling the laughter and clink of glasses from the card table.

"So," Leopold said, hands resting on the desk's edge, "tell me about these murders.And keep it brief.I'm not a gossip, and I won't be dragged into giving depositions."

Eleanor took a breath, crossing her arms.“Three victims, each killed and posed to resemble a famous painting.I identified them: The Cornfield, The Blue Boy, and something reminiscent of Rubens’s Medusa.All had potential ties to the Blackthorn Gallery.We suspect a ring of forgeries is the real motive—someone’s either silencing those who discovered the fakes, or covering up something bigger.”

Finn nodded, stepping in.“That’s why we’re after information on who might’ve created these forgeries.We think each victim may have recognized a painting was fake or learned something about the ring.We believe you, Mr.Dawson, might know who in London’s art underworld has that kind of skill.”

Leopold’s mouth twitched.“You think I’m about to snitch?”He shot a sidelong glance at Eleanor.“You know, Ellie, in my world,snitchingis a dirty word.”He winked in Finn’s direction.“Especially to a detective, consultant or otherwise.”

Finn tensed.“We’re just trying to prevent another murder.”

“Were any of the victims, women?”Leopold asked.

“Yes,” Finn replied, starkly.“Victoria Palmer was 73.”

Leopold gave a small, humorless laugh.“Damn shame.That’s not on.Killing women is frowned upon even in my circles.But I appreciate your predicament.”He opened a drawer, pulled out a notepad, and scribbled something.He ripped the page free and held it between two fingers.“All right, Ellie.For the sake of Victoria and your father, I’ll give you what I know, but that's it.”

Eleanor reached out, and he handed her the scrap of paper.She glanced at it but didn’t read it aloud.Finn tried to peer over her shoulder, but she was too quick to fold it away.

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