“What of the boy?” she asked.
“According to Brodie, he is safe, but he did not share where he had taken him,” I had her add to the notes.
“What about the inspector who continued to work that old case after Mr. Brodie left the MET?” Alex asked.
“He’s dead,” Munro replied. “He was kilt the night Brodie was arrested by Abberline’s people.”
“That leaves the man Iverson to question from that night ten years earlier. The one whom you learned about from Mr. Burke. And Sir Edward. According to what you learned, he was there that night as well.” Alex concluded.
“I can have someone I know check the Registry Office regarding Mr. Iverson. We work with them all the time. Theyhave information on everyone—births deaths, burials,” Lucy added.
It did seem that she had settled in quite well to her new position with the Agency.
I stood back from the board to make certain I hadn’t failed to mention something.
Then, as if Brodie was standing there, I added three words that had assisted in solving past inquiry cases—motive, means, and opportunity.
It was rapidly approaching the evening hour, and I was learning a valuable lesson—the Special Services Agency never slept.
At least not when there was a situation, or a case, as it were, that apparently had been given top priority.
The hours were long and went longer into the night, even as other offices across London closed for the day.
I hadn’t eaten since the night before, when I had joined Brodie in St. Giles, and I was going on raw nerves alone.
Munro brought food in from the tavern very near the Tower. I still had no appetite as I thought of that stark cell at the New Scotland Yard and that metal plate on the floor with a congealed mass that apparently was supposed to pass for food.
When confronted by a determined Scot...I ate.
It was very near eight o’clock in the evening when a young man knocked on the door of Alex’s office and entered with a large paper envelope that had been delivered from the Registry Office, in spite of the fact they had closed hours before.
It seemed that Sir Avery’s influence extended even after working hours.
The envelope contained a list, made on a writing machine with entries under the name Lucy had given them. It included the date of birth, date of marriage, number of children, and addresses where Thomas Iverson had lived, and includedemployment as a steward at the Clarendon Club. There was no date of death shown.
I had wanted to go to the club tonight, but both Alex and Munro persuaded me against it.
“He would not want ye to go there at night,” Munro had informed me, somewhat kinder than I would have expected. He did have that same gruff manner when it came to these things. I discovered a softer side to him as I reluctantly agreed.
I had made my notes.
Lucy was to go to the newspaper archive in the morning and find out if there were further articles about Stephen Matthews’ murder, while Alex was going to make inquiries with the MET. He’d use the connections of Sir Avery to try to learn when formal charges were to be filed against Brodie.
Everything that could be done for now, had been done. Still...I kept seeing Brodie in that cell. It was little consolation that Sir Avery had been by Alex’s office earlier to let me know that he had sent a physician to New Scotland Yard to see to Brodie’s wounds.
I was assured the man was a long-time associate, most competent, and would not be turned away. Munro had accompanied the physician. Still, it was of little comfort.
I worried about Brodie, then I worried about Munro, considering some of the exploits I had heard about their youth on the streets of London. However, it seemed that Abberline had little interest in Munro now that he had the man he wanted...had wanted for ten years.
Munro had returned unscathed some hours later.
I had clasped my hands together to prevent them from shaking as he removed his jacket and a particularly nasty-looking knife that apparently the constables at Scotland Yard had either overlooked or were unable to find.
I reminded myself that they were dealing with a wily, much experienced person who exceeded them in experience when it came to the streets andminorcriminal activities.
“How is he?” I demanded.
“He’s had worse.”
