We walked into the old building of Great Scotland Yard police quarters, and I immediately experienced a sense of déjà vu. I had read about it previously, proposed by a French philosopher, that sense of having done something exactly the same or being in a place where one had been before.
I very definitely felt that now, upon entering the Great Scotland Yard, which would eventually be moved to new headquarters very near the Tower of London. But for now, as in the recent past, the sounds, the smell, and the cloying feeling was there as it had been when I had first come there during the investigation into my sister’s disappearance.
And then there was what Brodie had suffered at the hand of Chief Inspector Abberline, a most despicable man. I was hopeful that he might not return to the position.
“What is it?” Brodie asked.
“It’s just that...being here again, after what happened.”
That dark gaze met mine. “Aye.”
I tried to push back the memory of the last time I had been to this place, yet it was impossible—the sight of him imprisoned in a cell at the back of the building, beaten and bloodied.
“If ye’d rather go some other place and wait until I’ve met with the man, I understand.”
I shook my head. “We do this together.”
I could only imagine what it took for him to return here.
He frowned. “Aye. We’ll hear wot the man has to say. Then decide what’s to be done.”
I had not previously met Mr. Graham. Yet, Brodie seemed to at least have an admirable opinion of the man. Fair and reasonable, he had described him on the coach ride to the series of buildings at Whitehall Place that comprised Old Scotland Yard.
Still, I thought it couldn’t be demolished soon enough. Not that I was one to hold a grudge over Brodie’s experience there. Not bloody likely!
Mr. Graham was a pleasant-looking man, in his late forties by Brodie’s estimation, with greying hair that had receded somewhat, side whiskers, and quite neat in his appearance. The smile that greeted us was cordial.
“Mr. Brodie, thank you for agreeing to meet. And Lady Forsythe. Your successes in your inquiry cases precede you. But of course, I am not surprised, Brodie. You have shown yourself most admirable in the past in service to the MET in spite of… certain circumstances.”
Did I detect an apology in the greeting? Not in so many words, as evidenced by the chief inspector’s careful glance at the young constable who had accompanied us to his office.
“You may go now, Mr. Hughson,” he dismissed the constable.
The careful smile broadened after the man had gone.
“It is damned good to see you Brodie. After certain things, mistakes that were made…”
“Best left in the past, sir,” Brodie replied somewhat formally.
“We have both walked the streets and apprehended some fairly dangerous sorts. I believe that we can dispense with formalities.”
Brodie merely nodded an acknowledgement in a way I had seen before, and now here as well. He was after all a Scot.
“Please sit, both of you.” He offered to have coffee brought. Brodie declined.
“Perhaps best to get on with the point of yer request to meet.”
“Yes, I do understand,” Graham replied, and I did sense that he understood very well Brodie’s guardedness.
“You have taken an inquiry case in the matter of a young woman who was found dead several days ago, Miss Charlotte Mallory. May I ask who your client is?”
“You may ask,” Brodie replied.
I looked over at him with some surprise. We had not discussed the need to keep Lily out of this. I need not have been concerned.
“That is a confidential matter,” Brodie then added.
“I understand. However, in the interest of finding the person or persons responsible…” Mr. Graham suggested.
