Not the Tower? It did seem as if Abberline was reluctant to have Brodie anywhere near the Tower and Sir Avery. Most interesting, I thought.
“What else?” my great-aunt reminded him.
“I will have people I know make inquiries in the matter. Still, I can make no promises. You do understand?”
I nodded, my thoughts already turning toward that meeting to come.
“I will note that I have received communication from his Royal Highness, the Prince of Wales, as well,” he continued. “That is the reason I have acted quickly in this. And of course, on behalf of Lady Montgomery.” He nodded to my aunt.
He then handed me a folded note. “These are instructions to the warder at Scotland Yard, that will allow you to see the prisoner. You do understand that you must conduct yourself appropriately, so not to jeopardize Mr. Brodie’s chances of vindication.”
This was for my benefit, however, I was aware that he looked directly at my aunt when he said this.
I took the note, and nodded once more.
Munro accompanied me at the appointed time.
I had been to Scotland Yard in previous inquiry cases, yet not when so much hung in the balance.
I knew the Chief Inspector well enough to know that he would no doubt be gloating at having Brodie his prisoner.
Motive, means, and opportunity? It was a frequent topic of conversation when attempting to solve a murder. And now?
Abberline had proven that he had the means, and most certainly Brodie’s determination to speak with Morrissey had provided the opportunity.
The Chief Inspector’s motive? Ambition, no matter the cost, no matter the lives it destroyed.
I thought about Morrissey on that long coach ride to Scotland Yard. He had a family to protect! And it had cost him his life.
If I could have questioned him, I would have demanded to know if they were protected now! But I didn’t have the gift of communicating with the dead like my friend Templeton.
The MET had recently moved from their original building at Whitehall Place into a new red-stone building with conical towers at the Victoria Embankment and was now called the New Scotland Yard. Featuring, no doubt, a new office for Chief Inspector Abberline.
I remembered a newspaper article some two years earlier that a dismembered woman’s body was found during construction. It caused all sorts of speculation, and, to my knowledge, the woman’s identity was never known.
I suggested that Munro wait in the coach rather than accompany me as we arrived at the arched granite entrance in the embankment.
“There are no charges against me, miss,” he replied.
“Do you trust Abberline?” I asked.
“I see yer point, miss. If ye’ve not returned in a reasonable time, I will contact her ladyship.”
“You are a good friend,” I told him as Mr. Hastings appeared at the door.
“And ye as well, miss.”
Friend. And then there was Brodie. Most certainly a friend in the beginning.
I had needed him to help find my sister—a man I could trust, my aunt had said of him at the time.
I stepped down from the coach and entered the New Scotland Yard, a massive four-story building. Brodie was somewhere inside.
I signed in at the ground floor desk, presented the note from Sir Laughton, and waited.
The constable at the desk returned, and I was escorted into the office of Chief Inspector Abberline. The note Sir Laughton had given me lay on the desk before him. He did not stand but indicated the chair across from him.
“Sir Laughton,” he commented. “I should have known that you would use your name and title to persuade others to assist in your efforts. Not that it will do any good. The case against Angus Brodie is strong.”
