Fearless (Scarlet Suffragette, Book 1): A Victorian Historical Romantic Suspense Series (9 page)

“Mary Bennett, you say?” the superintendent murmured. “My Elizabeth knows her well.”

Auckland, for all its metropolitan guises, was still a small city.

“And you want to keep this quiet?” Chalmers queried, turning on Kelly, and dismissing me in one last disapproving glance.

“The nature of the injuries and the timing, so close to the last murder, will cause a riot,” Kelly offered.

“I don’t know, Kelly,” Chalmers replied, looking back at Mary’s body. “If it gets out that we’ve kept this from the papers, it could all blow up in our faces. It is an election year, you know?”

“I am aware, sir. But panic is the last thing we need. The last thing the mayor’s office needs.”

Chalmers looked up at Kelly sharply. The disapproving gaze I’d received now directed at the inspector.

“Either way,” the superintendent eventually argued, “this could come back to haunt us in a manner you haven’t ever seen.”

“You’d be surprised what I have seen,” Inspector Kelly offered neutrally.

I wondered just what the inspector was referring to, but the superintendent’s next words made the puzzle slip completely from my mind.

“Be it what it would, get Drummond in on this straight away.”

I let out a small breath of air, the only indication of my disappointment. I looked up at Kelly, his eyes already on me. A wealth of apologies in that one heavy gaze. This hadn’t been his intention. This hadn’t been what he’d meant when he’d told Sergeant Blackmore to keep the crime from the papers.

How had the superintendent heard of the murder so quickly? When Kelly and Blackmore hadn’t even mentioned his name? Perhaps they inherently trusted him. Perhaps they had no choice in the matter; he was their superior officer, so immediately informed of the crime.

It didn’t matter. It was irrelevant. I was being locked out of the case.

“Keep me abreast of your progress, Kelly,” Chalmers demanded, beginning to walk away. “I want firsthand knowledge of how this develops for my Elizabeth,” he said over his shoulder. “And make sure, man, that Miss Cassidy is kept out of the way.”

My hands fisted at my sides.

“We’re a professional operation, after all,” the superintendent added gruffly. “Let’s try to keep it that way.”

Eight

In Every Way But Reality

Inspector Kelly

Anna’s mouth fell open and then, in the next heartbeat, she was striding towards the superintendent. A fiery glow to her eyes. Her body the fluid and graceful charge of a wildcat; it seemed to mesmerise, to slow down time to this single moment. I stepped in front of her, receiving a second shock in as many hours.

Soft breasts pressed up against me, as a whoosh of heated air left her mouth. I stared at her lips for too long, then stepped back and straightened my jacket.

“Anna,” I started.

“Don’t you Anna me!” she growled in return. “How dare he?”

“He has every right,” I explained. “Drummond is the official chief surgeon.”

“And yet, you did not want him to know about this crime.”

“He has a tendency to gossip,” I offered. “Word will get out now.” Just how long we could get ahead of the papers remained to be seen.

Anna let out a slow breath of air, as though releasing her anger and disappointment in that one expulsion. She bit her lower lip and turned back to look at the alley. Of all her miraculous talents, her ability to acclimate to any situation was the most impressive. Anger did not rule her as it so often did myself these days.

“What else can you tell me?” I enquired, desperate to appease.

If it were my choice, she would be chief surgeon. But it was not my choice. And Drummond was too connected by far to be toppled by anyone else’s hand but the superintendent’s.

“He did not perform the murder here,” she said slowly, eyes scanning the alleyway and the two walls either side. “Then why the blood at the entrance?”

I paced back to the opening and looked at the spot Anna had soiled her glove at. The blood was smeared, from Anna at a guess. But it would be difficult to determine now if that was indeed the case.

“An invitation to enter,” I deduced. “He wanted us to find the body.”

“He knew you were in Mechanics Bay this morning.”

I nodded, looking around the street we were on. Noting the closed warehouses, some abandoned, some in operation but loading bays were down the side, out of sight. Some merely vessels for storage, little activity going on within.

“He brought her here,” I announced, “while it was still dark enough to go unnoticed in such a disused part of the dockyard. Making his escape possible. But he also knew we were in the vicinity.”

“Why cover your tracks but place yourself so close to a police inspector?” Anna enquired.

“He is toying with us,” I surmised.

“Or part of him does indeed wish to be caught. Stopped.”

I turned to look at her. I did not believe she was that trusting of human nature. Anna had seen her share of the depravity that exists. Her assessment was purely from a psychological standpoint. Her innate ability to understand mankind.

“The escalation of the crime is concerning,” she said. “Mary Bennett is not so strapping as to offer much resistance. But carrying her body in the darkness of pre-dawn, and placing it in such a difficult to access position, would require strength of a degree.”

“I could manage such a feat.” The unsaid being, even with my disability. Miss Bennett was a mouse of a woman. Small framed, but fully clothed. It would be difficult, but I could accomplish such a deed.

Anna looked over at me, assessing my size and build impartially. She was completely the physician now. Trained as she was by her father and not a university.

“He took care with this one,” she declared. “The slicing of the cheeks, diagonally from the corner of the mouth, matches on both sides. A mirror image. The knife would have been small, but sharp. The slices made with one hand while the other held the skin flat; to avoid puckers or blemishes in the incision.

“Her thigh is also sliced,” she added. “Deeply, but only on one side. This wound was done while the victim was still alive, perhaps while they grappled. It would have bled profusely. Her clothing, although saturated with blood, has not stained the ground beneath it. However, the murderer would not have missed that fate.”

She looked back at the alley, thoughts and extrapolations flashing in her bright eyes.

“He sliced her thigh while she fought; while she was conscious enough to retaliate,” she said in summation. “She would have bled out quickly.”

“Is that the cause of death?” I enquired. It sounded almost accidental. The rest a post-script, delivered when emotions were not running so high.

“I cannot determine that here, but Drummond will at his surgery. He might also determine if the knife used on the thigh is the same as that used on the face. I would hazard a guess it is not.”

“Guesses don’t catch criminals.”

“No, Inspector, they do not. You need to have this body removed to the surgery and a complete post-mortem examination done within the hour. Rigor mortis will hinder certain discoveries.”

I was sure that last was Anna’s way of showing her pique.

“The stomach,” I said, returning her to her findings; as rudimentary as they had to be. “A departure from the original crime which could prove troublesome to link.”

“You may have two killers on the loose,” she agreed, lifting her face to the approaching sound of cart wheels.

I looked over toward Custom House Street, picking out Blackmore and Constable Mackey at the front of the vehicle. I wasn’t sure what had befallen them when Blackie had confronted the constable; my assumption was the superintendent being within earshot. I sighed. Blackie would suffer enough guilt for the both of them. Well aware of the need for discretion.

“Of course,” Anna continued, still musing, offering a distracted wave in return to Blackmore’s greeting. “He could have just heard the cries at the first murder scene.”

“Cries?” I enquired as the cart came to a stop several feet away. Blackmore and Mackey alighting, the latter hanging back uncertainly.

“‘
The Ripper is here,
’” Anna explained, making Constable Mackey cross himself and Sergeant Blackmore suck in a sharp breath of air, puffing his chest out in a defensive manoeuvre I’d seen him effect a time or two before now.

“Was that a cry at the first scene?” I enquired.

“Repeatedly,” Anna offered.

“Then it is worse than I feared,” I said.

“It is that, sir,” Blackie offered. “The reporters are picketing the Station.”

I opened my mouth to extol my disapproval, but remembered at the last moment that a lady was here.

“Well, that does make the necessity to keep this one as quiet as possible more imperative,” I remarked instead.

Anna ignored my statement, continuing with her assessment of the scene. “If he heard the cries and is emulating the Ripper,” she said, “then we can assume he was present for some time at the first murder scene.”

I looked down at the petite woman beside me, once again dumbfounded at her astute observational skills. A tenuous link, but a profound one.

“He hung around, then, the bludger,” Blackie announced.

“Long enough to be affected by the crowd’s upset,” Anna remarked.

“So who, exactly, was there?” I asked.

We’d been over this. The street had been crowded; the Suffragettes offering a draw for many that morning. And the protest rally, mixed in with the election speech, meant all manner of walks of life were milling upon Queen Street.

“The person you’re looking for is tall and strong,” Anna suggested.

“Big like a shadow and lost all his marbles,” Blackie offered.

“Carries himself like pugilist,” I clarified.

“And knows how to wield a knife.” Anna again. She looked back into the depths of the alley, her face a mask of frustration and desire. She wanted at that body. She wanted to discover its secrets. Being denied was eating her insides.

“Drummond will be here soon,” I said quietly. “Constable, cordon off the street at Custom House end. Don’t let anyone through here who hasn’t been invited.”

“Yes, sir,” Mackey replied, tipping his hat at Anna and hurrying off to the end of the street.

“Sergeant, take my curricle and return Miss Cassidy to her home, if you would.”

“Of course, sir.” He walked off some distance allowing me a last moment of privacy with Anna.

“And you?” she asked, returning her soiled glove to her bare hand and then reaching down to her parasol where it leaned against a wall. She’d attempted to wipe the evidence clean, but blood smeared her fingertips and palm, coating her clothes in a dark crimson. She was a sight, my Anna. My scarlet Suffragette. Delightfully regardless of propriety.

And not mine. A fact I must not forget.

“I will canvas the immediate area,” I replied. “Police work, Miss Cassidy. The case will require more than just the physical assessment of the crime.”

It was a harsh way to remind her, that although her talents and skills were formidable, they were not the entirety of what would be required to solve these murders. I needed to do my work now. And she needed to go home.

“And we are back to Miss Cassidy again,” she said without rancour.

To me, she would always be Anna. But perhaps that was the problem.

I twisted my cane in my hand and then tapped it on the ground as a reminder. To her. To me. To the whole damned world. Some things were not meant to be.

And some things would be lost to us for eternity.

“Very good, Inspector,” she offered, her shoulders back, her parasol open and offering suitable cover. She looked a picture.

If one failed to note the blood.

She walked a few feet away, my eyes seemingly drawn to her form irrevocably. I wanted her to turn back. She didn’t.

But she did whisper over her shoulder, “Find him. Please find him, Inspector.”

And for once, I wished she’d call me something other. For once, I wished to her I was simply Andrew. Her Andrew.

Like she was simply my Anna… In every way but reality.

Nine

To Equality!

Anna

I entered the hall at precisely two-thirty. Anger still wrapping itself securely about my frame. My movements were stiff, my back straight. My eyes glinting with suppressed ire.

Sergeant Blackmore had been quiet on the ride to my home, thankfully; aware I was raging inside and respecting my need for silence. But sleep had still not come easily this morning, after he’d returned me to Franklin Street with such studious care. Anger is not so easy to quieten.

To be so close to participating on a case and have it stolen from within my grasp was unconscionable. I could hardly blame Inspector Kelly. But then, it was easy to turn my irritation towards the man.

Chalmers I could never accost, but the inspector? That was an entirely other thing.

Still, crossing paths with him was unlikely to occur here. At a Suffragette meeting.