“Sounds like we need a warrant to view the records of the place, don’t you think?”
Fletcher’s eyes widened. “Does that mean the second postmortem of Mr. Dunn had the evidence we need?”
That would have been ideal. “Not precisely, but we’re moving forward anyway.”
“With the Director’s approval?” Doubt shone in the sergeant’s eyes.
“Yes.”
“Huh. Well, at least he’s letting us pursue something.”
“Not all is as it seems,” Henry murmured as he held Fletcher’s gaze, hoping the sergeant caught enough of his meaning to let the matter go for now.
His friend considered the comment a moment, clearly uncertain what to think. “Shall I see to the telegram first?” His gruffness meant either he had yet to be convinced, or was aware others watched them.
“Yes.”
Henry swiftly compiled a list of the information he wanted to obtain from the sanatorium, though he remained uncertain whether they’d receive approval for a warrant. Perhaps with the Director’s support, they’d get it—if not, they’d have to think again.
They worked steadily through the rest of the morning before leaving the Yard for an early luncheon. It hadn’t escaped Henry’s notice Fletcher’s heart wasn’t in their case, and he knew why.
“Any word from Marcus?” Henry asked. He continued to worry about him and was tempted to venture to Whitechapel himself soon.
“Not as of yet.” His sergeant wiped his generous moustache. “How is Mrs. Greystone faring after yesterday’s events?”
“Shaken, needless to say.” As was he. The memory of her tear-streaked face coated in dust was enough to rattle him even knowing she had been unharmed. “Upset to think innocent people are being hurt to make a point.”
“Can’t blame her for that.”
“Fletcher.” Henry took a careful look around to make certain no other officers were nearby, lowered his tone, and waited for the sergeant to meet his gaze. “I intend to look into the suspect we arrested yesterday.”
The task involved a certain amount of danger, including risk to his career. Reynolds wouldn’t be able to help if Henry went too far with his unofficial investigation. If Fletcher chose to help, he would be at risk as well.
Fletcher stilled, a gleam in his eyes. “You don’t say.”
“Unofficially, obviously.” This wasn’t the first time he’d worked a case in such a manner.
“And with Reynolds’ blessing?”
“Not exactly.” That was as much as Henry wanted to say.
“That’ll do.” Fletcher gave a single nod. “I want to help.”
Though expected, his offer sent relief through Henry. “No one can know. We’ll have to hide our activities with our other investigations—”
“Easy enough.”
The man had to be sure. “If this all goes wrong, Reynolds won’t stand up for us.”
“Unless we find those involved,” Fletcher suggested.
“Yes, well, it won’t be that easy.” Far from it. “We take this one clue at a time, just like our other cases.”
“Right. And if you’re in, so am I.” Fletcher lifted his glass, and Henry did the same. “Anything is better than waiting for another explosion.”
“Agreed.” He only wished he felt physically up to the challenge.
Twenty-Two
