“This will be nothing but a memory soon enough,” Fletcher predicted comfortingly.
Memories were one of the things that worried Henry, or rather, the lack of them. He waved his father forward, knowing from the way he lingered near the doorway that he’d like nothing more than to hear about the investigations. “Care to join us for the report?”
“If you’d like.” His father walked eagerly toward a chair while Henry and Fletcher shared a smile. He had told his sergeant numerous times how much his father missed being in the thick of things.
“Which one first?” Fletcher asked.
“The bombing.” Henry hoped his sergeant would repeat the events of that night so he might better piece together what had happened—and more importantly, what he’d missed. Surely he should have noticed something out of place and been able to prevent the explosion.
“Ah.” Fletcher nodded. “I thought as much.” He shifted in his chair, suggesting the topic made him nearly as uncomfortable as it did Henry. “The Special Irish Branch is handling it, not us, of course. I assume they came to interview you.”
“No, they haven’t.” The idea hadn’t occurred to Henry, but clearly it should have. Evidence of another gap in his memory.Blast it.What else had he failed to think of?
“That’s odd.” Fletcher frowned. “They haven’t told us much. As you already know there were three bombs that evening, though the other two didn’t harm much of anything.”
Henry nodded. His father had shared that much.
“The one at the Yard caused a fair amount of damage. The rubble has been cleared and new windows in the neighboring buildings will soon be replaced.”
Henry frowned, puzzled why Fletcher was talking about the repairs rather than the status of the investigation. Then a terrible thought took hold, chilling his blood. “Marcus?”
“I have yet to lay eyes on the lad myself, but according to Jack at the Royal Arms he’s fine, other than a few cuts and bruises. Of course, he’s a bit shook. Jack says he’s got a wary look in his eyes.”
“I can imagine.” Henry probably did as well. He would have felt better if Fletcher had seen the boy for himself.
“I have yet to discover what news he intended to tell you that night,” Fletcher admitted almost reluctantly. “Do you recall…anything?”
Henry searched his memory but couldn’t say whether Marcus had told him anything of interest. Had they even spoken? “Might be worth leaving another message with Jack.”
“Agreed. I’ll see to that this afternoon.”
“Surely there’s been some clues about who set the bomb,” Henry prompted, needing to know anything the sergeant could tell him. He’d sleep more easily if he heard progress was being made on the case. “Someone who claimed it?”
“It sounds like the Irish Americans were behind the bombing campaign, with the same goal as before.” Fletcher shook his head. “Little sways the government more than an outraged public. Targeting those in charge isn’t enough, but terrifying the general populace by making them fear that a bomb might go off anywhere in London? That can do wonders.”
Henry’s father cleared his throat. “What’s truly concerning is how good the Fenians are getting with these bombs. To set a timer for them to detonate without those involved present...” He shared a worried look with Henry. “Makes it damn near impossible to catch them.”
“Everyone is on high alert, including the military,” Fletcher added. “Then again, I thought we werebeforethis, though it clearly did no good.”
Guilt churned in Henry’s stomach. Should he have managed to halt the explosion? Had he noticed anything out of the ordinary before it went off? He couldn’t say, memories tangled and out of reach, and it bothered him terribly. “Do they have any leads on the individuals who planned it?”
“Not that they’ve told us. Or at least, Director Reynolds hasn’t said.” Fletcher heaved a sigh. “I can tell you everyone is on edge, looking over our shoulders and wondering what might happen next. Who might be next.”
“They’re getting bolder and more frequent with these explosions.” Henry’s father’s scowl spoke volumes.
“I hate to say it, but we all feel a bit powerless to stop them.” Fletcher’s moustache twitched, a sure sign of his upset.
The admission made Henry even more eager to return to his duty. “As always, we need to focus on what we can do and remain alert.” Yet the advice felt empty. Flimsy. Not nearly enough.
The sergeant leaned his elbows on his knees, holding Henry’s gaze. “Some say the Fenians are getting more cunning with each attack. That they’re testing hidden trip wires and the like, to set off explosions.”
The news was enough to have Henry reach to rub his aching head before he could think better of it. “Then it’s all the more important that we aid the Special Irish Branch.”
“They don’t want our help. One of them told Duncan to keep his nose out of it, that they’re handling it.” Fletcher straightened and crossed his arms over his chest, clearly dissatisfied with their response.
As was Henry, given how much he still hurt. “They don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it.”
Henry’s father frowned. “Terrible job—not even interviewing the main witness? But too often different branches don’t work with one another. They act like it’s a competition, and that sort of behavior starts with those in charge.”
