“Aye? What did he share with ye?”
“It could be important toourinquiries into the murder of the chief inspector and perhaps Constable Martin.”
That dark gaze narrowed as I gathered my bag and went to the door.
“I’ll explain what I was able to learn on the ride to Scotland Yard.”
Nine
NEW SCOTLAND YARD, THE VICTORIA EMBANKMENT
On the rideto the Embankment, I explained what Mr. Burke had eventually shared due to subtle persuasion and a little assistance from Rupert, regarding the chief inspector looking for information about that old case.
“Blackwood,” Brodie repeated the name with a frown. “It’s been a long time since I heard the name.”
“You worked on the case?”
He nodded. “Aye, with Joseph Martin. I had just made inspector, and he was the constable on duty when the poor young woman’s body was found.”
Our driver stopped before the main entrance of the “Yard” as it was called, what was now the main headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.
It was several stories tall, an imposing red-brick and stone building that was rumored to also include meeting rooms for high-ranking officials and offices for the growing Criminal Investigation Department.
That included Chief Inspector Abberline, and a morgue where bodies were received for further inspection by medical professionals as part of a growing need for their services.
Personally, I considered there to be no difference between Abberline and bodies in the morgue.
He was quite despicable, incompetent, and not to be trusted, as noted by others as well as myself, and merely waiting out the time until his pension. It would come none too soon, as far as I was concerned.
A plain-clothed young man rose from his desk and greeted us as we entered the lobby.
“Yes, sir…madam,” he added with a somewhat curious look at myself. “How may I assist you?”
Brodie handed him the note from the Home Secretary’s office.
“And this would be in the matter of?” he inquired.
“The matter of the recent death of Chief Inspector Dawes,” Brodie replied. “The body was brought here and is presently in the morgue.”
The young man nodded. “And you are?”
“Angus Brodie and Lady Mikaela Forsythe, private consultants. I spoke with Inspector Dooley earlier.
“Of course. I will advise him that you have arrived.”
We waited as the clerk, who was quite young, made a telephone call presumably to Mr. Dooley, who arrived promptly. He nodded in greeting.
“I’ve made the necessary arrangements for you to inspect the body.” He indicated that we were to follow him.
“Perhaps the lady would care to wait in one of our private offices,” the young clerk suggested.
“I assure you, the lady has no doubt seen more dead bodies than yourself, Mr. Davidson,” Mr. Dooley informed him as we proceeded past what was referred to as the booking desk, down a long hallway past a meeting room where the meeting had just adjourned, then toward the part of the building opposite the embankment.
Constables and plain-clothed men emerged from the large room, including Chief Inspector Abberline, who immediately exchanged glances with Brodie, then stopped Mr. Dooley.
“As you well know, Mr. Dooley, the examination rooms are out of limits to the general public.”
“Yessir, well aware. However, this is on direct orders from the office of the Home Secretary.”
