Dooley shook his head. “None that time of the night. His partner, Constable Tabor, found him when he failed to meet at the end of their shift and he backtracked to Regent Street.”
Brodie frowned. It was not the first time that a constable had been attacked and killed in the line of duty, yet it hadn’t happened in some time as far as he knew. Still, a constable by himself? It was the reason two usually covered their area.
“There might be something to be learned on the street,” he commented, his thoughts already going to those who worked the street in a different manner, the underground information system controlled by organized gangs that was well known among those who served the MET.
Still, late in the night, and at Piccadilly with most people well gone for the evenin’? Not a time of the night when targets for robbery were plentiful.
“Has there been a report from any of the shop owners and businesses in the area about a burglary?”
Mr. Dooley shook his head. “Nothing that has been reported.”
“Wot of the attack?”
“A long-blade was used, a single deep wound according to the police surgeon. It was over very quick. There didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle beforehand.”
Brodie’s dark gaze narrowed. No struggle. That was not like the man he knew.
He thought of possible motive. “Was anything taken?”
“He still had his watch on him along with a few coins.”
No struggle and not for robbery.
“That could be useful.”
He thought then of Joe’s wife and the warm suppers she had insisted he share with them instead of returning each night to a cold flat.
“What of his wife?”
“She knows, but I thought considerin’…” his voice trailed off. There was no need to explain.
Brodie nodded. “I will call on her. Wot of the service?”
There would be one as soon as the police surgeon released the body.
Joseph Martin had served nearly twenty-five years with the Metropolitan Police, a tenure that had included several commendations, as well as being highly respected by all those who worked with him. There would undoubtedly be an honor guard out of respect, though it was not a common practice.
“That will be determined later. I will let you know when we have word on that.”
“Mr. Conner should be made aware as well,” Brodie added. “I will speak with him, although he may already know of it from some of other lads.”
“Aye, they served some time together.”
“Who is on the case?” Brodie inquired.
There was a brotherhood among those who served the MET, particularly those who walked the streets. When something like this happened, they would want answers, and the person caught who was responsible.
“It’s not been assigned yet.” Dooley’s gaze sharpened. “I came to tell you as soon as word came down this morning because of the time you spent with him on the street.
“No doubt Abberline will see to the matter.”
Abberline. Formally reprimanded with time away and now returned as Chief Inspector. He saw the look Dooley gave him.
“It’s best to let others handle this for reasons you know well enough.”
Brodie made no response. There were good people with the MET, Mr. Dooley was one of them. But as he knew all too well, they were short of staff, and their hands were often tied by those they answered to.
A sound came from the landing outside the office. Dooley stood to leave.
