Page 45 of Solving Sophronia

Constable Merryweather nodded. “He’ll be glad for the information.” He pulled on his hat brim again. “Keep an eye on your valuables, my lady.”

Sophie turned, her thoughts back on the murder investigation. She’d fetched the list from the Kingsclere Hunting Club this morning after calling on Dr. Peabody, and the sheer number of names on it had made her ill. At this rate, they’d never narrow down the suspects.

She did not pay attention to where she was walking and bumped into someone going the other direction. She looked up and winced when she saw it was Lord Everleigh. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”

“Lady Sophronia.” He gave a curt bow and continued on, most likely in search of her sister.

She returned to her friends. The other ladies had decided, in her absence, to visit Hazel, and Sophie was thrilled by the idea. An afternoon with the Blue Orchid Society was just the thing. Then, Saturday night, they’d meet again at the assembly hall for Lord Ruben and Lady Lorene’s engagement ball.

The heat returned to her chest and neck when she remembered Detective Graham’s rejection of her proposal to attend the ball as a means to finding the murderer.

Pushing away her embarrassment, she considered the man himself. She’d spent hours with him the day before but still did not know the first thing about Detective Graham. The man was private, and his past certainly held secrets. Was he more than he appeared? She remembered the bullet on his pocket watch fob and the small scrap of information he’d given about it. What was his friend’s name again? Tom Stackhouse.

Sophie’s curiosity was piqued, and she decided to send a note to theIllustrated London News’s research assistant, Mrs. Ingram, requesting some information. Perhaps the real mystery wasn’t the murders but the man solving them.

Chapter 13

Jonathan leaned back against hisdesk, standing with one leg crossed over the other. He studied the board propped against the wall behind it. Miss Bremerton’s drawing of Jane Duffin’s body in the Porky Pie alley was stuck with a tack to one corner, and beneath it was George Lewis’s name, written on a scrap of paper, along with the crime scene photograph of Alfred Burgess, the Bluebird Furniture delivery driver. The coroner’s reports were on the board, as well as photographs taken by the doctor of the victims’ injuries. Jonathan had attached a drawing of the horse statue and a map of the city with the Belcourt Assembly Hall and the locations where the bodies were found circled in red ink. Over the past days, he had written and crossed out various leads. The door to the pub had turned up nothing, and no physical evidence had been found at the scene, aside from the body. He’d pinned lines of thread identifying relationships and possible motives, but instead of making the case clearer, as laying it out in a practical manner was wont to do, the board only created confusion and more questions.

“Too many suspects,” Sergeant Lester muttered from his chair in front of the desk. He tossed the list of assembly hall employees onto the desk and rubbed his eyes.

Jonathan stuck the paper to the board.

A sharp rap came at the office door, and Sir Peter Dennington, the chief inspector, entered the office.

Jonathan straightened, and Sergeant Lester jumped to attention, offering the chief inspector his chair.

Sir Dennington ignored the gesture. “Threebodies?” He waved at the board. “And all related? Tell me you have a suspect.”

Jonathan shook his head. “We’re following up every possible avenue, sir, but so far—”

“I’ve just had a visit from Assistant-Commissioner Pembroke. The borough council is calling for this case to be solved, immediately. Some are questioning my competence to manage the division.” He placed both hands on Jonathan’s desk and leaned forward, his face reddening. “I don’t need to tell you your future here is on the line, Detective.” He glanced to the side. “And yours, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir,” Sergeant Lester said.

“I understand, sir.” Jonathan kept his voice calm, knowing the chief inspector needed only to release his frustration. Once he yelled and blustered, he’d return to the rational, sharp-minded person Jonathan admired, leading the H Division station house with a firm hand and unwavering loyalty to his men.

Sir Dennington nodded and stood, straightening his coat. He let out a breath and relaxed his shoulders. “Now then, where are we in solving this? What do you need from me? Manpower? Warrants? The constabulary is at your disposal, Graham.” He rounded the desk, taking a closer look at the board. “Who are our suspects?”

Jonathan moved to the side to give him space. “Sir, the case is... complicated. We proceed cautiously by design.”

Dennington turned toward him, folding his arms. “And why is that?”

“The murder could very likely be a member of the Kingsclere Hunting Club,” Jonathan said.

Sir Dennington cursed, rubbing his temples. “Tell me you jest.”

“I wish I were, sir. To accuse a man of rank—possibly a nobleman—without sufficient evidence...” Jonathan left the remainder unspoken.

Sir Dennington nodded. He looked back at the board. “A false accusation in that case would be far worse for H Division than three unsolved murders.”

“Agreed,” Jonathan said.

“Your discretion is understandable,” the chief inspector said. “But you must remember the delay could end all of our careers.”

“And leave a murderer walking the streets, free to kill again,” Sergeant Lester reminded him.

“Quite right.” Sir Dennington gave a quick nod. “Use any resources you need; follow every lead. Solve this case, Detective. Promptly.” He turned and left the office without another word.

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