Otherwise Engaged (20 page)

H
is name was Virgil Warwick,” Amity said.

“Damnation.” Benedict flattened his palms on Penny’s desk and glared at the names on the sheet of paper in front of him. “He’s not even on the guest list. No wonder we weren’t getting anywhere with our inquiries.”

An icy rage threatened to override his self-control. They had been chasing the wrong quarry. So much time wasted.

“We had to start somewhere,” Amity said gently. “It was logical to begin with the Channing ball connection. After all, the gossip about me started the day after that event. That could not have been a coincidence.”

It was as if she had read his mind, Benedict thought. And not for the first time. He straightened away from the desk.

“I know,” he said. “But when I think of all the time Cornelius and Richard spent interrogating men in their clubs about suspects who have proven to be of no interest—”

“As an engineer, I’m sure you’re accustomed to the necessity of having to perform any number of experiments that fail before one gets it right,” Amity said.

Logan looked amused. “That’s certainly how it works in my profession. We needed a starting point, one that got us into the Polite World. The guest list from the ball provided that. And by the way, do not discount the value of those interviews your brother and your uncle conducted. They helped us discard a number of suspects.”

“You’re correct, of course,” Benedict said.

He went to stand at the window. The sensation that time was running out clawed at him. Part of him was certain that the monster was out there, somewhere, and he was stalking Amity.

“I would also point out that the fact Virgil Warwick’s name is not on the list does not mean he did not hear the rumors about Amity from someone at the ball,” Logan said. “That possibility still holds.”

“I think that is very likely,” Penny said. “But we no longer need to search for the connection between the guest who attended the ball and the killer. We have Virgil Warwick’s name.”

“Thanks to you, Penny—Mrs. Marsden,” Logan said, hastily correcting himself. “And you, Miss Doncaster.”

“It was Penny who recognized the significance of the gown,” Amity said proudly. “It was a brilliant notion.”

“Thank you,” Penny said. She blushed. “I’m glad it worked out well.”

“I don’t care to contemplate what else in the way of evidence was lost or discarded before I was assigned the case,” Logan said grimly.

“We still don’t know for certain that Virgil Warwick is the killer,” Amity said.

“No,” Logan agreed. “But I must tell you, Miss Doncaster, that I have noticed a pattern over the years. Whenever a wife is found dead under mysterious circumstances, it is often the husband who is guilty.” He paused before adding dryly, “And vice versa, although women tend to be more subtle about the crime. Poison is usually the weapon of choice.”

Benedict turned back to face the others. He thought he saw Penny and Amity exchange glances, but they both looked away so quickly he could not be certain.

“I assume the next step is to interview Virgil Warwick?” Amity asked.

Penny put down the guest list and looked at Logan. “Will you do that, Inspector?”

“In a perfect world, yes,” Logan said. “But we all know that it is unlikely that Warwick will see me, even if he happens to be innocent of any crime.”

“He’s not innocent,” Benedict said. “I can feel it.”

“Unfortunately, I cannot arrest a gentleman of his rank without something more in the way of proof,” Logan said.

“He’ll talk to me,” Benedict said.

“Are you acquainted with him?” Logan asked, his tone sharpening.

“Not personally,” Benedict said. “I don’t spend much time in social circles. But I promise you, I can and will get past his front door.”

Logan raised his brows but he did not say anything.

“What good will it do to speak with Warwick if you don’t take me with you?” Amity asked.

“No,” Benedict said automatically. “I’m not putting you within arm’s reach of that bastard.”

“I appreciate your concern,” Amity said. “But as we all know, I am
the only one who might be able to identify him. I need to hear his voice, see his hands and smell the scent of his cigarettes.”

“No,” Benedict said again.

Logan and Penny remained quiet. Benedict knew that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Keep in mind,” Amity said, “that he does not know that I might be able to recognize him. He wore a mask. I’m sure he considers his secret safe.”

Benedict closed one hand into a fist and then forced himself to relax his fingers.

“Damn it to hell,” he said very, very softly.

She was right. There was no other option.

Less than an hour later, Benedict stood with Amity on the front steps of Virgil Warwick’s town house. The drapes were closed on all of the windows. No one responded to a knock on the door.

“The bastard is gone,” Benedict said.

The door of the neighboring house opened. The housekeeper, a middle-aged, sour-looking woman in a grimy apron peered out at them.

“Mr. Warwick ain’t home,” she announced. “Heard he left for Scotland nearly a month ago. Got a hunting lodge there, someone said.”

“Is that so?” Amity said politely. “How did you discover that?”

“The housekeeper mentioned it. She was let go, you know. She was told that she would be notified when it was time to open up the house again. Expect she’ll find a new post before he comes back, though, just like the last housekeeper did when he disappeared for months on end.”

Benedict took Amity’s arm. They went down the steps and walked toward the housekeeper.

“When do you expect him to return?” Benedict asked, taking some coins out of his pocket.

The housekeeper eyed the money with acute interest.

“Got no notion,” she said. “Last time he went off to Scotland, he was gone some six months. Real fond of Scotland, he is. Can’t imagine why.”

“When did he leave on that first trip?” Benedict asked.

“About a year ago.”

Amity smiled. “Did you happen to notice if he took a lot of luggage with him this time?”

“Never saw him leave, not this time or the last time, for that matter.” The housekeeper snorted. “On both occasions he just went out one night and never bothered to come home.”

“Thank you,” Benedict said. He dropped the coins into the housekeeper’s outstretched hand. “You’ve been very helpful.”

The woman closed the door and shot the bolt.

Benedict looked at Amity. He could see the excitement in her eyes. He had a hunch there was a very similar gleam in his own expression. Neither of them spoke, however, until they were back in the cab.

“Mr. Warwick was gone for some six months the last time he disappeared to Scotland,” Amity said.

“And now he has disappeared again,” Benedict said. “The timing certainly fits Logan’s theory that the killer was out of town between the first killing and the more recent murders.”

“Do you suppose he actually is in Scotland?”

“Perhaps he went there the first time,” Benedict said. “But it strikes me that a man who was badly injured would not be in any condition to undertake a long journey by train or private carriage. It seems likely he would select a closer lair in which to recuperate.”

An excited Mrs. Houston opened the front door before Amity could take out her key. But one look at their faces and the housekeeper’s initial anticipation transformed into a look of dismay.

“He wasn’t the right man, then?” she asked.

“I think that Warwick may, indeed, be the killer,” Benedict said. He followed Amity through the door. “But he’s disappeared again.”

“Oh, dear,” Mrs. Houston said. She closed the door.

Logan and Penny were waiting in the doorway of the study.

“What do you mean, he’s disappeared?” Logan asked.

Before Benedict could respond, he was interrupted by a frantic banging on the front door.

“What on earth?” Mrs. Houston opened the door again.

A young out-of-breath policeman was on the front step.

Mrs. Houston beamed. “It’s you, Constable Wiggins. Nice to see you in the daylight. Did you get some sleep this morning?”

“Yes, Mrs. Houston, thank you.” Wiggins looked at Logan. “I’ve got good news, sir. Constable Harkins found the driver.”

“What driver?” Amity asked. Then her eyes widened. “Good heavens, do you mean the driver of the killer’s carriage?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the constable said. He grinned. “We’re getting somewhere now, aren’t we?”

“Maybe,” Logan said. “Where is the driver?”

“According to Harkins, he spends his free time in the Green Dog. It’s a tavern near the docks.”

“Summon a cab, Constable,” Logan ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

The constable took out a whistle and hurried off toward the far end of the street.

Benedict looked at Logan. “I’m coming with you.”

“Glad to have you along,” Logan said.

H
is name was Nick Tobin. He reminded Benedict of a terrier—small, wiry and probably very fleet of foot. But he wasn’t running now. He was more than pleased to talk to Benedict and Logan—for a price. He pocketed the money that Benedict placed on the table, took a long pull on his ale and told his story. It was not a long tale.

“Aye, a gennelman ’ired me to drive his carriage for him,” Nick said. He wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his well-worn coat. “Said he was meeting a lady who didn’t want to be seen in public with him. That’s the way it is with some of them high-class whores. But I expect you gennelmen know that.”

Benedict tamped down his anger. “The lady mistook the carriage for a cab.”

“Well that’s ’ow it was supposed to work,” Nick said patiently. “I was to make it look like she was getting into a cab. How was I to know she was a lunatic?”

“What made you think she was mad?” Benedict asked.

“Cut me customer up somethin’ terrible, she did.” Nick shook his shaggy head. “Never saw the like. Blood all over those fine cushions. A real shame. Then she jumped out and ran off hollerin’ like a madwoman.”

“What happened to your fare?” Logan asked.

“When the bint ran off the customer flew into a right panic, I can tell ye that much. He screamed at me to get him away from that street. Naturally I did what he said to do. Not like I wanted to hang about, either.”

“Where did you take him?”

“As soon as we was away from the madwoman I opened the trapdoor in the roof and asked him where he wanted to go next. Imagine my surprise when I saw all that blood.”

“Did he instruct you to take him to his address?”

Nick appeared surprised by the question. “No, sir. He never said where he lived, sir. He ordered me to take him to an address in Crocker Lane and that’s what I did. When we got there I ’ad to help him up the front steps. He pounded on the door. Bleeding all over the steps, he was. Someone opened the door. Me customer went inside. That was the end of it.”

“Not quite,” Benedict said. “What about the carriage?”

“A man came out of the house and gave me some money. He said it was to pay me for my time. He said he would deal with the horse and that strange carriage. I was to take myself off and forget what had happened. And that’s exactly what I did. Next thing I know, I ’eard that two gennelmen wanted to talk to me and would make it worth my while.” Nick squinted at Logan. “Course, I didn’t know that one of the so-called gennelman was from the Yard.”

Logan gave him a cold smile. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

“Always pleased to do a favor for the Yard,” Nick said.

“It won’t be forgotten,” Logan promised.

Nick nodded, satisfied.

Benedict studied him. “You do realize that the carriage you drove that day belonged to the killer they call the Bridegroom?”

Nick stared at him, deeply offended. “No, sir, that’s not possible. That was a gennelman’s carriage, I tell ye. Real fine vehicle it was, even if it was odd inside. Not the kind of vehicle a crazed killer like the Bridegroom would go about in now, is it?”

“I want the address of the house in Crocker Lane,” Logan said.

Nick turned wily. “Well, now, that’ll cost you a bit more, sir.”

Logan looked as if he was about to argue the point. Benedict shook his head ever so slightly and took out more money.

“The answer had better be correct,” Benedict said.

“It’s not like I’d forget a fare like that,” Nick said cheerfully. He rattled off a number.

Logan narrowed his eyes. “Where were you going to take them?”

Nick’s bushy brows scrunched together. “Take who, sir?”

“The gentleman and the lady who did not want to be seen getting into the carriage,” Logan said evenly. “Where were you supposed to take them?”

“Can’t help ye there, sir. Never did find out exactly where we was headed on account of the little whore going crazy like she did. I was supposed to get my instructions after we picked her up.”

Logan and Benedict got to their feet.

“One more thing,” Benedict said.

Nick looked up. “What’s that, sir?”

“What was it about the carriage that struck you as odd?”

“The way it was all sealed up inside. Reminded me of one of those wagons they use to transport prisoners. The windows were covered
with wooden shutters. There were even bars in the trapdoor in the roof. The door could be locked from the outside so no one could break in, I reckon.”

“Or escape from the vehicle, perhaps?” Logan suggested.

“Aye, if ye locked it from the outside, the person inside would be trapped, right enough,” Nick said. “Hadn’t thought about that bit. My client allowed as to how he was afraid of being attacked by robbers when he traveled around London.”

“He had a point,” Benedict said. “The streets are dangerous.”

“Aye, sir, that’s the truth, it is.”