Whatever it was, it would be worth it if it brought the threat to Juliana to an end.
A guard he didn't recognize opened the door. “What?”
“We’re here to see Mr. Pickens.” Brogan held up a banknote as encouragement.
The guard’s face hardened. “Pickens won't be seeing nobody today.”
Brogan’s shoulders went back. The prison couldn't still be closed for inspection. Was this an extortion attempt for more blunt?
The guard glanced at Juliana then at the space over Brogan’s shoulder, saying nothing. He looked as immovable as a gargoyle.
There was shuffling behind him, and the door swung wide. A familiar face poked his head out. The guard he’d dealt with previously looked longingly at the banknote Brogan held.
“Forgive my friend,” he said. “He doesn't mean to be rude. He doesn't know any other way.”
That garnered a glare from his fellow guard.
The second guard wrinkled his nose. “What he meant to say is that Pickens won't be seeing anybody at any time. He was killed yesterday.”
Chapter Eighteen
Juliana paced the wooden floors of the agency's office, making sharp turns at either end of the room. She bit back oath after oath. Her frustration should have boiled her blood.
Dead.
She couldn't believe it. Right when Pickens was ready to talk. The timing of it seemed too coincidental to be believed. Could someone have set it in motion?
Brogan sat on the corner of his desk, arms crossed, speaking to Wilberforce. “The guard said a fight broke out yesterday in the common area during afternoon exercise. Two other people are receiving care for knife wounds, but Pickens was dead when the doctor arrived.”
“And the man wielding the knife?” Wil absently rubbed his thigh.
“No one seems to know who it was. No one saw, or at least no one's talking.” Brogan ran his hand up the back of his hair. “There was a mass of bodies rolling about and the guards couldn't see who was doing what.”
“And your one lead is dead.” Wil’s voice showed as much disbelief as Juliana felt.
Brogan nodded.
“It can't be coincidence,” she said. “It would be too providential for the person responsible for the attacks against my father to have the one person who could name him die before he spoke.”
She leaned against the windowsill. “How hard would it be to pay someone to kill Pickens inside the prison?”
Wil pursed his lips. “Not hard at all.”
She slapped the wall and started pacing again.
Their one lead gone.
“My brother must see the truth in my suspicions now,” she said. “Once I tell him Pickens was killed, he’ll have to believe me. Do more to protect our father. Question all the servants, investigate his friends. Something. Anything.”
“Our questions and investigations have discovered nothing.” Brogan flexed his hand. “I don't see how you brother’s would do any better,” he grumbled.
She frowned. Men and their egos. “I just mean it will be nice not to have to work against my brother in this matter.” She nodded. “I must talk to him.”
“If you wish,” Brogan said. “But for men predisposed not to believe any danger exists, this will easily be brushed away. Prisons are full of violent people. A violent act occurred. Pickens getting killed isn’t all that unlikely.”
“Even my brother,” she began then paused. No, her brother probably wouldn't see the truth of this. He would believe it was naught but coincidence because that was what he wanted to believe. It didn't mean she didn't have to try.
She checked the clock in the office. “I'd still like to talk to him.”
