“I’m not entirely sure you have now,” he told the constable.
“Sir?”
Jasper straightened up. “Do you know of anyone in this area who could photograph the scene?”
Wiggins balked at him. “Why would you want to go and do something like that?”
“I know a coroner in London,” Jasper said, thinking of Connor Quinn. “I’d like him to see the body, as it has come to rest. I’m not convinced this was self-inflicted by Stephen Decamp.”
“Looks like it to me,” Wiggins said.
As the man had just admitted to never having come upon a suicide, Jasper did not give his opinion much weight. “A photographer,” he repeated, standing tall. “Is there one?”
The constable shook his head. “None I can think of.”
Jasper sighed. Of course, there wasn’t. He would have to commit every detail to memory, it seemed.If only Leo was here, he thought for the second time.
“Arrange for the removal of the body, Wiggins, if you would,” Jasper instructed. “Meanwhile, I’ll search the home and grounds.”
He would start with the gig in the barn.
Wiggins hurried off, eager to be gone, it seemed, and Jasper went out into the yard again. The dog, its shaggy neck loopedwith a rope and tied to a hitching post ring, had tired of barking. Its bright eyes were alert as Jasper approached.
“Who put you out here?” he mused aloud as he extended a hand to its snout. He hadn’t much experience with dogs. Mrs. Zhao disliked them, as they caused nothing but messes, so Jasper and his father had never brought one into the house. Oliver had a couple of hounds he used for hunts, but they were happy to ignore anyone who wasn’t their master. However, Jasper knew to allow the dog to scent him before getting any closer.
The dog did so and, deciding it had nothing to fear from him, started to whine for freedom. Jasper worked at the knot around its neck, loosening it enough to release the animal. The dog yipped and pranced away from the hitching post but didn’t go far. It was too interested in following Jasper into the barn, where he took a closer look at the unhitched gig.
The compact carriage would have been a light and fast option for a midnight ride to London. Most gigs didn’t have hoods, but this one did, and it was currently raised into position. It would only have protected Stephen and Helen so much from the rain, which would account for the state of Helen’s damp clothing and hair, even so many hours after her death. The black-painted wood of the dashboard and the two shafts that would have attached to the harnessed horse, were covered in dried mud. Some clumps had flaked off into a mess on the ground underneath the conveyance, but it was obvious the gig had been out along muddy roads.
It had not rained since the night Helen was killed, and by yesterday, the roads would have been mostly dry. The mud still clinging to the gig indicated that Stephen had taken it out during or immediately after the storm.
A pair of horses, one tan and the other a darker chestnut color, occupied two nearby stalls. With a quick look insideeach stall, Jasper saw the tan horse had not been groomed. Its hooves and fetlocks were caked with dried mud, and its coat needed a good brushing. By all appearances, when Stephen Decamp arrived home yesterday afternoon, he’d seen to the bare minimum of unhitching his horse. He’d then downed a few bottles of gin. Presumably, in his drunken state of grief and guilt, he’d tied his dog up outside before going back into his house, writing the short note, and killing himself.
Jasper searched the gig for anything that might indicate that Helen had been a passenger. There was nothing. However, he was convinced Stephen had driven it to London with Helen, especially now that he knew Stephen had summoned her to their meeting spot the night of the storm.
If his theory was correct, why then would the viscount’s stables be missing a phaeton and horse? Unless Helen parted ways with Stephen after they met at their spot, then took the phaeton and pony on her own to London. Might Stephen have followed her there? Had they quarreled?
There were too many questions, and now, the only person left who might have been able to answer them was dead.
Chapter Fourteen
From its exterior, the boardinghouse on Brewer Street, just north of Picadilly Circus, appeared to be a modest and respectable place for Lydia Hailson to have let a room. It was a well-kept house, surrounded by a church, shops, and homes that also looked well cared for.
Last night, shortly after Jasper and Mrs. Zhao left, a knocking had come at the front door. Leo had, momentarily, wondered if he had returned. Part of her had hoped it was Jasper, and yet when she’d seen Dita standing on the front step, Leo had exhaled in relief. The argument with Jasper had left her shaky and disappointed, and she knew deep down that if he’d come back right then, they would have only argued more.
Joining a detective agency wasn’t what she wanted in the least. She’d only used it as an example—and perhaps out of anger, to provoke him. But she didn’t want to be told what she could and could not do as a detective inspector’s potential wife.
That word set her heart aflutter each time she thought of it. Visions came, unbidden, of waking next to Jasper every morning, and of falling asleep in his arms every night. Of livingunder the same roof, sharing their evenings, and setting off each morning for work, arm in arm.
However, that was where a swirl of frustration set in—over the rules and expectations that would come with marrying a Scotland Yard detective inspector. Would she be expected to stay home? Would she be forced to give up her work at the morgue?
Leo cared deeply for Jasper, and her attraction to him was overwhelming to the point of distraction. But how could she accept his courtship if it meant she would need to restrict herself from doing what she wanted to do?
Last evening, she’d allowed Dita inside and invited her to stay for dinner. Mrs. Zhao’s roast was plenty big enough to feed them all for a few days. But Dita had only been stopping by on her way home to deliver the information that Leo had requested.
“On my first day at the department store, I saw Mrs. Gleason placeSusan Clark’s employee information in a file cabinet drawer,” Dita said, emphasizing her false name and arching a brow. “So, I waited until she and Mr. Gleason left for the evening, then dashed into her office and found Lydia’s file.”
Leo was both impressed with Dita’s daring and irritated by it, though her frustration was more likely a remnant from her argument with Jasper.
