Page 59 of A Treacherous Trade
Sophia paused from powdering her bosom to cast me a derisive look. “You don’t strike me as simple, Fiona, but one would think in your line of work you’d know that just about anyone is capable of any kind of thing. One can never tell by looking.”
“You’re right, of course.” We shared a bleak moment of understanding before she went back to preparing her face for her next customer.
“If you want my opinion, it’s probable Indira needs to be kept safe. She’s more likely to be the next victim than the murderer.” Sophia looked over her shoulder at me. “She has too much class to get her hands dirty.”
I nodded. “One of the other girls, maybe? Or what about clientele? Can you think of anyone in particular who would like to hurt Alys or Jane?”
Sophia snorted as she pulled her lips tight to apply rouge. “Men love to hurt whores. It’s what they do best.”
“I… I understand that.”
“Do you?” she asked. “Do you, really?”
“I do.” I met her challenge with preternatural calm. “I was best friends with the whore who was hurt the very worst.”
One brow lifted. “You think so?”
“Mary Kelly.”
“Fuck.” It was her turn to gape, a charcoal pencil frozen halfway to her eyes.
“Indeed,” I agreed. “I still search for him in my spare time.”
“So this… is personal for you?”
“In a way,” I admitted. “I have no personal stake in what I’m asking you, though. I did not know Alys or Jane, nor am I much acquainted with Mrs. Chamberlain. So anything you say to me will not be regurgitated to anyone at The Orchard without your consent. I just… I want to know who is killing prostitutes.That’swhat is personal to me. That is why I was hired to help, because the detective inspector on the case isn’t inclined to work hard on behalf of two dead whores, as unfair as that is.”
“Only them out there—the privileged few—expect fairness.” She gestured with her chin toward the door. “The rest of us know better.”
“We do. But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve justice.”
“I don’t believe in justice.”
“All right, revenge, then.” I allowed my frustration to escape in my tone. “I’m not the law. I’m simply looking for the truth.”
For the first time since we’d met, she was quiet. Pensive. Dare I say chastised.
“It’s Davies isn’t it? The inspector?”
I nodded. “How did you know?”
“He had to have spent half his salary on Alys, if it was a penny. Obsessed, he was. When she went private, and refused him, it was in front of the entire brothel full of lads. I cackle about it still in some of my favorite moments alone.” She smirked, but it faded quickly. “He’s had it out for The Orchard ever since.”
I plopped down on the trunk, exhausted by the notion. “A detective investigating his own crimes. He could get away with anything.”
“The police are famously terrible at policing their own,” Sophie pointed out, drawing a lid down so she could line it properly with the coal. “If you’ve already ruled out Charles Hartigan, then I’d say Davies is the next likely bastard.”
“Charles Hartigan?” I echoed.
She sent me a queer look. “No one mentioned him to you?”
I shook my head.
“I suspected some of the girls were seeing him on the side. I heard Jane was one.”
I was almost afraid to ask. “What did he do?”
“He was unnatural. Eerie and quiet, nice but clinical, like a doctor, but powerful strange.”
