Chapter
One
December 26, 1825
London, England
The Christmas merriment was still hanging in the air, the excitement of Boxing Day filling the interior of numerous English households, but at the Theatre Royal in Covent Garden, there was not much to celebrate. Another murder had taken place, and Cordell Steele had decided it was time for him to intercede.
He generally left most of the routine crimes to the expertise of the Bow Street Runners, the men he used to call his brothers in arms. But when he’d decided to set out on his own as an inquiry agent, that all changed. They now viewed him as something of a traitor who was trying to put on airs and treat them as inferior investigators. None of that was true, of course. Was he trying to better his circumstances? Naturally. But that didn’t mean he considered himself superior in any way. Granted, he might have gained a positive reputation that put him in touch with the upper echelon of society, but he was still the same man who had grown up with most of these men, toiling and clawing his way beyond an otherwise miserable existence. He was still working hard to try to make a difference, and right now, he decided, if there was a mass murderer on the loose in London, that was something more threatening than anyone’s wounded pride and the imagined betrayal he’d committed.
“Look who it is, gents. If it ain’t Cordell Steele, renowned inquiry agent for the Crown.”
Cordell was used to the barbs and had long since gotten immune to them. “Always a pleasure, Reynolds. And you shouldn’t listen to the rumor mill. It’s not as if His Majesty reached out to me personally, or that I was invited to the palace for tea.”
“I’m sure you would have gone if you’d had the opportunity,” he ribbed.
With a tolerant smile, Cordell tried to change the subject to something more serious. “The last murder was a week ago, and from what I understand, the killer manipulated the victim in a similar manner.”
Reynolds narrowed his beady eyes. His paunchy frame had gotten a bit thicker over the past few months, but at least he’d kept his wiry beard trimmed. Thankfully, Cordell wasn’t overly concerned about anything but the chance to see the body before it was taken away by the coroner. “It seems you’re well informed, Steele.” He spat a stream of tobacco juice to the side and wiped the side of his mouth with his fist. “Come on inside, then.”
Until then, Cordell had been forced to wait outside the theatre until Reynolds had appeared to approve or deny his entry. At least the man was smart enough to remember how adept Cordell was at solving a case. He had an eye for detail, and not much escaped his keen notice.
He followed Reynolds through the rear section of the theatre until they reached the back of the stage. A grayish-blue corpse lay on the ground with a rope wrapped around her slender neck. She was wearing a royal blue wrapper and her eyes were open as if still staring at her attacker. “Holy Christ, does no one have any respect for the dead?” Cordell growled as he walked over and bent down, shutting her eyes to give her some semblance of the peace that had been denied her in her last moments on this earth as her young life was snuffed out.
Clenching his jaw, he turned to another Runner, who was taking notes on a pad. “What else do we know?”
The man eyed Reynolds, who gave a slight nod as Cordell continued to inspect the body. “Doesn’t look to be any signs of forced entry or bruising on the body, which tells us that the victim was either surprised by the attack or she knew the murderer.”
“I would be inclined to agree,” Cordell murmured. “What else?”
“The victim stayed behind after the play because she was planning to meet someone.”
“Who? An admirer? A lover?”
“That is uncertain. All we know is by the time Miss Sims arrived to check on her when she didn’t return to their shared flat, she discovered the body.”
Cordell suppressed an urge to berate the man. He despised neutral terms like “victim” and “body.” It sounded as though this woman had just been an inanimate object and not a living breathing human just a short time ago. “Her name?”
“Miss Geneva Adams.”
Leaning over to grasp a strand of the deceased actress’ light-colored hair, he rubbed it between his fingers and then released it. He rose to his feet as he announced his next move. “I would like to speak with Miss Sims.”
Reynolds took that moment to intercede. “We’ve already spoken with the lady.”
Cordell offered a tight smile. “That may be, but I’d like to speak with her myself.”
He received a disgusted snort in return, but he was led farther into the backstage area where various pieces of equipment lay scattered about. A few dressing room doors lined one wall. One of them was open, and two women were visible, sitting in proximity to each other.
“Miss Sims, if I might be granted another moment of your time?—?”
The blond woman immediately stood, her green eyes shining with venom. “How many times must I be subjected to this circus that your men call an investigation?” she snapped. “I told you everything I know, and yet you haven’t moved from this auditorium, preferring to stare at Geneva’s body like she’s some sort of curiosity exhibition.”
Reynolds had the grace to appear properly chastised. Cordell, however, was under no such compunction. He stepped forward, used to the combination of anger and grief from the people he interviewed. “Forgive the intrusion, Miss Sims, but I was the one who requested an audience.”
Her green eyes shot to him. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m an inquiry agent. My name is Cordell Steele.”
