She sank into her chair.
“My name is not Mr. Rutherford. It is Detective Fletcher from Scotland Yard.” He gestured to the men flanking him. “And these gentlemen are not here for pleasantries.”
He dropped the ledgers onto her desk.
“I–I’ve never seen those,” she said, though the guilty flush rising in her cheeks told the truth.
“I found them under your desk,” Mungo said.
Mrs. Holton pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Where in Buckinghamshire is Polly Watts, and why was she taken there?” Gray asked.
Mungo had seen Gray in many roles: loving husband, doting father, protective brother—but now he was all steel, his voice hard.
“I will keep asking, Mrs. Holton,” Gray continued when she remained silent. “You are complicit. Whatever you say next will shape your future.”
“I want you to leave my office,” she whispered.
“That will not happen. Tell us everything, and quickly, or you will be dragged to a cell and left there until you choose to speak.”
Still she hesitated.
Mungo slammed his fist on the desk. She jumped.
“Speak now,” he growled. “Because unlike him, I am not a gentleman. I will extract what we need by whatever means necessary.”
“As will I,” Calder added, his fury simmering.
Gray hissed out a breath—his only sign of annoyance—but didn’t contradict them.
“Talk,” he ordered.
Mrs. Holton swallowed. “I… I supply girls to the Baddon Boys.”
“For what purpose?” Gray asked coldly.
“For… parties. Wealthy men. The girls serve them.”
Mungo instantly understood what that meant. His rage sharpened.
“Plenty of women would willingly take such work for coin,” Gray said. “Why force innocent ones?”
“Because the men want innocence,” she whispered.
Gray’s jaw clenched. “These girls believe they are going to Europe for employment, when in truth, you send them straight to hell. Is that correct?”
“I do what I must to survive,” she said, chin rising.
Mungo’s voice was a low growl. “You ruin women’s lives for coin. There is no survival in that, only evil.”
“So,” Gray said, containing his own fury with effort, “they pack their things, enter a carriage, and then? Where are they taken?”
“Different locations. Sometimes the same.”
“Where is Polly Watts?” Gray demanded.
“I–I….” Mrs. Holton paled. “An estate called Three Waters. In Buckinghamshire. The Baddon Boys arrange everything. I receive payment for… for supplying the girls.”
