“I’m on it, Chief.” Smitty pulled the report across the counter.
“Also, send word at once to Ira Harvey that I wish him to return to work here at the station posthaste. Tomorrow morning, if possible. Inform him he is to be my new personal assistant.”
Smitty’s face twisted, his side-whiskers skipping along for the ride. “I don’t follow, sir. How can ye rehire someone who wasn’t dismissed in the first place?”
“But I did dismiss him.”
“Must not have been clear to him, then.” Smitty wagged his big head. “Why, this very moment he’s poking about the supply room, planning how to reorganize that mess.”
What a kicker—but a good one for a change.
“Ahh, you’re here.” Baggett’s voice boomed down the hall as he approached. “I’ve got good news and bad. Which do you prefer first?”
Jackson held up a finger and faced the clerk. “See to that report immediately, Smitty. There’s a lot depending upon it.”
“Aye, Chief.”
Jackson tipped his head, signaling for Baggett to follow him to a nearby bench. In all his years of service, he’d learned that good news was often elusive and bad news all too abundant. If he were to shoulder ill tidings, best to do so sitting down. “Let’s have the worst over with.” He held his voice steady despite the trepidation settling in his left temple like a big headache.
Charles dropped beside him, weary crescents smudged beneath his eyes. The man deserved a leave of absence for the nonstop service he’d performed these past several weeks.
“That driver whose head you want on a platter?” He waited until Jackson nodded. “Too late. Someone else got to him first. His body’s over at the city morgue right now.”
Mixed emotions roiled in his gut, one of which he was ashamed to admit was a slight amount of perverse pleasure in seeing justice—albeit harsh—served, even if he had not been the one to deliver it. “Do you know who did it?”
Charles nodded. “Bellow. Not directly, mind. He hired a killer.”
“But why? It was my understanding that cully worked for Child, not Bellow.”
“Apparently he worked for both.” Charles shrugged. “And with Child gone, Bellow made a move to have him put down, along with any others who held split allegiance.”
“Bold move for such a weasel.” He stretched out his legs, then pulled them back as several officers lugged a man towards the stairs. Did Bellow seriously think to claim the criminal dynasty left behind by Child?
“What’s the good news?” He studied Charles’ face.
A smile lifted Baggett’s moustache. “Bellow is locked up downstairs. Frankie found a cache of crates packed with blown-glass figurines, each one filled with a ball of opium. And if Coleman’s testimony can tie him into the embezzlement scheme against Percival and Willis, Mr. Bellow is looking at a very, very long time in gaol.”
Baggett’s smile was infectious, and for the first time in weeks, hope buoyed Jackson’s soul. “Then I’d say justice has been served on all accounts.”
“Which is cause for celebration, eh?” Charles clapped him on the back.
Jackson eyed him. “What have you in mind?”
“First, a pint at the pub.” He winked. “And then a wedding.”
He’d known this day was coming. Had even told Jackson so on a day that seemed like forever ago instead of only a week. But now that Charles stood at the altar, he could hardly believe the time had arrived. Yet here it was. Any moment now, Martha would sweep down that aisle. Unless she didn’t. A lifetime commitment was a big decision after all. What if she harboured second thoughts? Had changed her mind completely? He tugged at his collar, the infernal thing suddenly a noose.
Beside him, Jackson leaned close and spoke low. “Steady on, old man. She’ll be here. She’s not Kit.”
He hid a shudder. What horror Jackson had suffered when he’d stood in this very place and his bride hadn’t shown. “I don’t know how you did it,” he whispered. “You’re made of sterner stuff than I.”
A rogue smile curved Jackson’s mouth. “You wouldn’t have said that a few years ago to a certain bubble-headed rookie.”
“I didn’t say you were bubble-headed.” He smirked. “I said your ideas were.”
“Well, this one isn’t. Marrying Martha is the right thing to do. You were made for each other.”
Some of the tension eased in his shoulders. Jackson was right. From the moment he’d met Martha, he’d felt she was a kindred spirit, something he’d never experienced with any other woman. He was making the right choice. Besides, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t given this any thought whatsoever. He’d agonized over it the past year and a half.
