Henry stilled in surprise. ‘Feel’ wasn’t a word his superior used often, or ever. After worrying for so many years that he hadn't inherited the famed ‘gut instinct’ of his father and grandfather, he had fought against any feelings in cases. And now here was his superior encouraging it.
“Your instincts have been solid in the past, Field. Make sure they prove the same on this case.” The Director picked up a report from his desk, signaling the brief meeting was over.
A welcome wave of confidence surged through Henry, and he nodded but didn’t take his leave. He had one last question. “Sir?”
Reynolds glanced up, his expression less than encouraging. “Yes?”
“The suspect we arrested yesterday for the bombing—”
“The case has been turned over to the Special Irish Branch.”
Irritation surged through Henry. He had doubts as to what actions, if any, the department was taking. “Surely it wouldn’t hurt for us to look into the suspect’s recent activities and acquaintances.”
“It would.” Reynolds set the report down to glare at Henry. “It’s not our case. While they appreciate our assistance with the situation yesterday, we are not to pursue the investigation in any manner.”
“But, sir—”
Reynolds held up a hand. “I understand the urge to look into the matter, given your involvement and injuries, but that is not possible. You’re a witness for this, a victim. Not the investigator.”
Everything within Henry demanded he argue. Not only had he been hurt, but others had as well, and Amelia nearly so. “Even though four bombs have been set in the past week?”
Reynolds’ mouth tightened. Was his superior not pleased to have to stand down either? “I’m aware of the facts, Field. But our orders are clear.”
Henry couldn’t deny his disappointment or frustration. In his mind, the departments should work together—yet clearly that wasn’t possible. “Very well.” He stood and turned to go.
“Field?”
Henry looked back, aware his irritation must be written on his face but unable to mask it.
His superior gave a casual shrug. “If you happen to come upon anything...interesting regarding the suspect, assuming your efforts were discreet…I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing about it.”
Well then. The Director was full of surprises today.
“However, I did not say that to you.” Reynolds leveled him a pointed look.
“Say what, sir?” With a smile, Henry took his leave.
Several pairs of eyes watched as he left Reynolds’ office. He nodded at a few fellow officers and took a seat at his desk, unsurprised when Fletcher immediately appeared before him.
“Did the Director tell you the same thing he told the rest of us?” Fletcher asked in a low tone. “To think, we’re not supposedto take any action regarding the bombs, even after another was set yesterday—even after one nearly took your life.” The sergeant’s eyes flashed with ire. “As if we’re supposed to continue walking about this city without fear or constantly looking over our shoulders.”
“Fletcher, I know you’re upset. You have every right to be, and so do I.” Henry held his friend’s gaze. “But we have a job to do and I need your help.”
Fletcher’s moustache twitched as he looked away, clearly trying to gain control of his upset. “Yes, sir.” The lack of enthusiasm in his flat tone was undeniable.
That was all right. Fletcher would catch on to the situation soon enough.
“Any luck on finding the late Mrs. Symes’ family?” Henry asked.
“Only a niece who’s married and living in Devon.”
Devon. It would’ve been easier if she were close enough for them to speak with, but they’d have to work with what they had. “Send a telegram to the local police station and ask them to interview her regarding her aunt’s stay at the sanatorium, the nature of her illness, and whether she expected or received any inheritance—that last part is important.”
“Very well.”
“Then we need a list of any patients who died while staying at Hollowgate Heights in the past six months.”
Fletcher frowned. “Difficult. How do you suggest we procure such a list?”
