“It is, sir.”
“Very good, then I shall find you something to ease you into the swing of things.” He shuffled through a few of the open cases, his gaze settling on one in particular. “Looks like there’s a rat pit running over on Old Pye.” He glanced up. “We can’t have that, can we?”
“Oh, no sir.” With a flourish, Harvey tucked away his handkerchief. “Absolutely not, sir.”
“Good.” He shoved the file across his desk. “Then shut it down.”
“Mmm…I cannot, sir.” The man shook his head, an amazing feat considering it didn’t appear he had a neck.
Jackson frowned. “Why not?”
Harvey sniffed, his puffy cheeks jiggling with the action. “Rat fur makes me swell, sir.”
Looks like you already have.Jackson swallowed the retort. The fellow could hardly be blamed for a physical deficiency. “Fine. I’ll send someone else on that one.” Once again he fingered through a few files, then flopped another atop the rat pit case. “How about you go over to Seven Dials and investigate who roughed up the owner of the gin shop on Queen Street? Sulkies is the name. Find the villain who committed the act and bring him in.”
“Oh, I do not think so, sir.” Harvey lifted his nose as if he smelled a fresh pile of manure.
Which, of course, was not to be borne. Jackson slapped his hands on the desk. “Why the devil not?”
“It is too far, sir. Perhaps you ought to enquire if the Charing Cross or Covent Garden stations might take on that case?”
Was this fellow seriously trying to tell him his business? Jackson lowered his voice to a growl lest he blast the man with a few oaths. “It is not for you to deem the boundaries of our jurisdiction.”
“Naturally not, sir. But even so, I personally cannot travel such a distance.” He whipped out his cloth once more, this time pulling off his spectacles and wiping away the fog. “You see, sir, I get terribly road sick when inside a coach.”
“Then hoof it, man!”
“I have a bunion on my left foot, a real stallion of a bulge.” Replacing his glasses, he honked into the cloth then stuffed it back in his pocket. “I do not think it in my best interest to inflame the thing any further.”
And it is definitely not in my best interest to have you serve as an inspector!
Jackson sucked air through his teeth. It was either that or jump over the desk and throttle the man for insubordination. “Listen, Harvey, assignments are not up for debate. If you are not able to perform as commanded, then—”
A great scuffle from the corridor burst into the room. His old friend, Inspector Charles Baggett, clutched the collar of a wild-haired collection of rags that smelled little better than the Aldersgate Sewer.
“Oh, dear.” Harvey edged to the far side of the office.
“Look what I found slinking around Spitalfields.” The grin on Baggett’s face shone particularly white-toothed against the backdrop of his soot-smeared face. “Been after this kipper for nigh on three weeks now.”
The thug in his grasp struggled to free himself, an impossible feat with his wrists handcuffed behind him and Baggett’s unrelenting grasp about his neck. “Ye got the wrong man, I tell ye.” He choked. “Why, I’m a regular saint, tha’s what. Ye’ve no right to treat me so poorly. Ye hear?”
“Shut yer gob, Pinge.” Baggett gave him a good shake then faced Jackson with a gleam in his brown eyes. “You’d have loved the chase. This cully thought he’d give me the slip by going topside, but after scrabbling over three roofs, skimming down a drainpipe, then mucking through Nuckbuckle Alley, I—”
Jackson held up a finger, cutting him off. This story would be better told over a pint after hours. “Well done, Baggett, but perhaps you ought to first lock the man up before you regale me with the whole story?”
“Oh, right, I—”
“Chief Inspector Forge!” In barreled Sergeant Doyle, a steamroller with his broad shoulders, practically flattening Harvey against the wall. Even Baggett and his captive stepped aside, and no wonder. The sergeant held a bloody rag to his head, looking more like a monster than a police officer.
“Something’s got to be done, Chief. This station is falling apart. My lamp fixture just broke loose from the ceiling and beaned me on the skull with no warning a’tall! We need more funding before someone gets seriously hurt, and as chief inspector, you’re the man to make the request.”
Jackson blew out a long breath. This was the sort of trouble the former chief had to deal with? No wonder the man had gone to an early grave. Rising, Jackson squared his shoulders. “Yes, Sergeant, I am fully aware of the need and my responsibilities, but—”
“I’m the one what’s wronged here!” The thug wriggled in Baggett’s grip.
“Pipe down.” Baggett cuffed him in the head.
“About my assignment, sir.” Harvey squawked from his corner, his voice rising above the curses spewing out of Pinge. “Is there any case less, em…suffice it to say I feel I would be a better fit for catching accounting errors or clerical espionage. Paperwork is the thing for me.”
