Page 4 of With Good Grace
Facts had to be faced, Jake decided with a heavy sigh. He was deeply, irrevocably in love with Olivia. How the devil he had permitted that situation to arise was beyond his understanding—and it changed everything. It was unwise for him to let anyone get too close; to show any weaknesses that his myriad enemies could seize upon in order to hurt him. Damaging one hair on Olivia’s head would be the ultimate revenge. He had tried to make Olivia understand that but she brushed his concerns aside with an airy wave of dismissal. Well, there was nothing else for it. He would now give up taking dangerous assignments from Thorndike, the Prime Minister’s aide, and put his shady activities for an ungrateful establishment behind him. At least that way he would not add further enemies bent on revenge to the existing small army already out for his blood.
‘Inspector Henderson, my lord.’
Deep in thought, Jake had not heard the club’s steward approach him.
‘Thank you, Clark.’
He stood and shook Henderson’s outstretched hand.
‘Good of you to make the time to see me, my lord.’
‘It’s always a pleasure.’
‘Never thought I’d set foot in this place,’ Henderson said, glancing around the room and taking in every aspect of its furnishing, his sharp gaze appearing to miss little.
‘We can talk in comfort here. What will you drink?’
Henderson glanced at Jake’s half-empty glass. ‘Burgundy?’
‘It’s drinkable, I think you’ll find. A glass for the inspector, Clark, and I’ll have a refill.’
‘Right away, my lord.’
Jake waved the inspector into the chair facing his. In his mid-forties, with distinctive red hair and sharp blue eyes, Henderson was a decade older than Jake. From a middle-class family, he had joined the police directly from school and thanks to a quick mind and willingness to work all hours he had quickly risen through the ranks.
They had first met when Jake was attempting to prove that Olivia had not murdered her husband. It had not been Henderson’s case, and the chief inspector to whose lot it had fallen was determined to make a name for himself by charging the beautiful Mrs Grantley, with scant regard for actual evidence. Henderson had slipped a few vital pieces of information to Jake that enabled him to unmask the actual killers and they had been friendly ever since.
Henderson’s wanting to see Jake today implied there was another miscarriage of justice that required intervention from someone outside of the police force. Jake was well aware that Chief Inspector Drake resented Henderson, felt threatened by his success rate, and was waiting for an opportunity to ruin his career prospects if he stepped out of line. Jake was happy to help his friend, provided he considered the situation worthy. If Drake was juggling the evidence to make it fit a politically sensitive crime then Jake would not lift a finger to help. But if a private citizen had fallen prey to the ambitious chief inspector’s questionable methods then Jake would probably…possibly…see if there was anything he could do to help.
‘I can see that you are on your way out for the evening,’ Henderson said, eyeing Jake’s evening clothes as he took a sip of the drink that had appeared at his elbow and gave a nod of appreciation, ‘so I’ll get directly to the point. There’s been another murder, precisely the same as Grantley’s.’
‘Grantley was stabbed three times in the stomach,’ Jake replied nonchalantly. ‘Nothing unusual about that method of murder, other than supposing a woman would kill in such a fashion virtually in front of a houseful of guests, as our friend Drake tried to convince the world was the case.’
‘I agree, and would not have bothered you with the information, but for the fact that the killing took place in Grantley’s old office in The Strand.’
Jake sat forward. Henderson now had his complete attention. ‘Who was the victim?’
‘A night watchman. Drake seems to think he interrupted a burglary and paid the ultimate price for that intervention.’ Henderson shrugged. ‘I actually think he might be right on this occasion.’
‘Possibly, but I doubt whether he has bothered to ask why anyone would choose to break into the office of a theatrical agent—and even if he does, I cannot imagine him thinking it any more than coincidence that it had once been Grantley’s office.’
‘Precisely so. You have always believed, as have I, that the rogues who killed Grantley were working at the behest of a third party. They were looking for something and were caught in the act but were too frightened to name their employer. Either that or they did not know who he was.’ Henderson dangled one arm over the side of his chair. ‘The questionable individual whom they claimed employed their services disappeared off the face of the earth when Grantley died, and the perpetrators went to the gallows claiming that Grantley was killed by accident in the struggle that ensued when he interrupted them. Much like this latest case and the unfortunate night watchman.’ Henderson frowned. ‘That is why I brought it to your attention. I thought there might be a connection, you see. I dislike loose ends and would dearly love to know who commissioned the search of Grantley’s house that ended up with his being killed, if only for my own peace of mind.’
‘I have often wondered the same thing.’ Jake shrugged. ‘But I don’t suppose we shall ever know for sure. Anyway, you think that two years later the mastermind is still looking for that elusive something?’
‘The idea crossed my mind.’
Jake shook his head. If the suggestion had come from anyone else, he would have dismissed it out of hand. But he respected Henderson’s opinions and knew he would not concern Jake with unsubstantiated theories.
‘Grantley was killed in his Belgravia home,’ Jake said. ‘He and a party of friends, including his brother and his wife, had been to the theatre to watch one of his actors perform and returned to the house for a late supper. Grantley and Olivia were heard arguing in an anti-room. Grantley stormed outside for a smoke. Olivia went out to pursue the argument and found him lying in a pool of blood, breathing his last. She lifted his head to see if she could help him, got her gown covered with blood and was found in that position by Grantley’s brother.’
‘The fact that Grantley’s study had been systematically searched bore no weight with Drake,’ Henderson added, with a gesture of disdain. ‘You and I have never doubted that the thieves were looking for something specific but seeing Grantley on the terrace outside either scared them into attacking him, or he accosted them.’
Jake nodded, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair as he thoughtfully rubbed a forefinger against his chin. Two men known to Jake walked into the room and acknowledged him. They sent quizzical glances at Henderson and went to sit elsewhere.
‘That’s me put in my place,’ Henderson said, his eyes alight with humour.
Jake sighed and stretched his legs out in front of him. ‘Believe me, your place is often preferable.’
