Page 81 of The Secrets of Lord Grayson Child
The leader blinked, then shot a glance at his mates. “I…er.” He swallowed. “We thought we’d be speaking to the man who owns the paper—I. Molyneaux.”
Baines nodded amiably. “The owner’s assisting us. If you have information to share, son, now’s the time to tell it.”
“Er…well.” After another glance at his mates, the leader blurted, “We saw the bloke.”
“And which bloke was this?”
“The photographer fellow—”
“No, it was the murderer,” the lad to the leader’s left insisted. When the leader turned startled eyes his way, the second lad mumbled, “They know what the photographer looked like. Stands to reason it’s the other one they’re after.”
Baines’s expression hardened. “Do you three actually know anything? Or are you just chancing your luck?”
The three protested, but it quickly became apparent that it was the latter description that applied.
Baines sent the three off with fleas in their ears.
As the door shut behind the trio, Gray glanced around and saw disappointment in every expression.
Izzy sighed and voiced what she was sure everyone had thought. “I know the edition has only been out for a matter of hours, but I’d hoped we would have hadsomeonecome forward with at least a snippet of honest information by now.”
Baines grunted and faced the assembled crew. “To have anyone with real information come forward today was, at best, a very long shot. Even if the right people have read the paper by now, I can tell you that members of the public with genuine information always think twice before ‘getting involved.’ Most often, they’ll sleep on it before doing what their conscience prompts them to do, and sometimes it takes even longer for them to work up the backbone to own to what they know. Frankly, if it wasn’t for the reward, I doubt we’d see much result, even from all this effort. But sizeable as it is, the reward changes things mightily. And I warn you, come tomorrow, I’m sure we’ll have a slew of people thinking to flummox us with spurious information, but amongst all the dross, I won’t be at all surprised if we don’t get at least a few worthwhile sightings, a few real clues.”
Izzy scanned the faces around her and saw Baines’s words sink in. She glanced at the clock, then turned to address her troops. “Right, then. You’ve heard the inspector’s experienced assessment, which means we’ve no cause to feel disappointed, much less dejected. As it’s nearly five o’clock, I suggest we get everything squared away and go home for a well-earned rest.”
“You’re not wrong about that rest,” Lipson said, making the others smile. “Usual time tomorrow, everyone, and expect to be busy. Chances are we’ll have more orders come in, and we’ll need to get the press cleaned and ready for next week.”
On cue, the bell tinkled, and another hopeful delivery lad came in. Mary and Donaldson moved to the counter to deal with him, and the rest of the staff dispersed to, among other things, disconnect the boiler and belt assembly from the press and remove the formes and stack them ready to be broken down and cleaned.
Two more delivery lads turned up just as Mary was closing her ledger. She opened it again, and Donaldson quickly counted out the copies the lads had been sent to collect.
Reminded of the chore she’d neglected due to the hectic afternoon, Izzy swooped in and gathered all the order slips Mary had stashed beneath the counter. She carried the untidy pile into the office and placed it on her desk. She eyed the stack; she wasn’t looking forward to tomorrow, when she would have to go through all the slips and issue invoices to match.
She returned to the foyer as the staff were collecting their hats and coats. “It seems likely that tomorrow, we’ll have more would-be informants flood in, most no more genuine than those three lads earlier.” She looked at Baines. “Inspector, are you and Sergeant Littlejohn planning to be here?”
Baines settled his hat on his head. “As it’s possible you’ll have some genuine information come in tomorrow, you couldn’t keep me away.” He cast a sidelong glance at his sergeant. “As for Littlejohn, likely you couldn’t keep him away regardless.”
Everyone laughed, even Littlejohn.
“Very well.” Relieved on that score, Izzy turned to the staff. “Before we leave, we should discuss how we’ll handle anyone coming in claiming to have information.”
“Aye.” Lipson nodded. “I suspect we’ll have lots.”
A short discussion ended with Mary—the least threatening person—being deputized to man the front counter as usual, but actively supported by Lipson and Littlejohn. Between them, they would take down the name and address of anyone offering information, along with the details of that information. Subsequently, only those Littlejohn deemed to have genuine insights pertinent to the crime would be conducted to the office, where Izzy, Gray, and Baines would undertake a more in-depth interview.
With the next day as organized as it could be, Izzy sent everyone off. Now that the hue and cry edition had been distributed far and wide, all had agreed there was no longer any reason for the killer to target the printing works’ premises.
Goodbyes were called as the staff departed, and she answered as she fetched her coat and bonnet. With both on, she joined Gray, who had already donned his coat and hat and was waiting in the foyer. The staff had gone, but Baines and Littlejohn lingered; apparently, the pair had been chatting with Gray and had remained to see her safely on her way.
She waved toward the door and led them to it. As she approached, through the glass, she saw three delivery lads crowd onto the steps, tapping desperately.
“Allow me, ma’am.” Littlejohn stepped to the door, unlocked it, and patiently explained that as it was after five o’clock, the office was closed.
Izzy glanced at the counter and saw with relief that all the extra copies they still had—several hundred—had been secreted out of sight.
A predictable wail of woe greeted Littlejohn’s news, but he was unmoved. “Be here tomorrow when the place opens again.”
“At eight o’clock,” Izzy called.
