“That’s not true,” Vivian insisted with a whimper, but he was already standing, clearly done with her.
“Your week is almost up, Miss Kelly, so I will no doubt see you in two days. In the meantime, say your good-byes to whoever you must. That sister of yours, perhaps. Or that girl who sings in illegal places.” His smile was cold. “For now, I will have my office to myself again. Or must I summon one of my men to take you out?”
Vivian took a step backward. Her whole body was shaking. She wanted to shake him, too. She wanted to say something that would make him feel as lost as she felt. She wanted to run as far away from the city as she could.
But he had mentioned Florence, and now he was talking about Bea too. She knew the reminder wasn’t an accident.
“I’ll go,” she said, staring directly at him. She wouldn’t let him see her afraid. “But it’s not over. Not yet.”
He didn’t even notice; he was already leaning back in his chair, shaking the pages of his newspaper to smooth them out. “Tell yourself whatever you like,” he said, not looking up. “It won’t make a difference to me.”
When she reached the street, she stopped, her feet drifting into stillness almost on their own. She stared around her at the city waking up, knowing she needed to get to work but not able, yet, to make herself move. Across the street, she could see her shadow in the blue suit waiting. Apparently, he had wanted to be far away from the commissioner when she stormed into his office.
If no one had come to the house… it didn’t make sense. Someonehad to be lying. The meeting had happened, otherwise Buchanan would never have left the sitting room. Surely they could see that?
But at the same time, part of Vivian wanted it to be true. If no one but her had come to the house, it meant Honor couldn’t have been there. She couldn’t have killed her father. She couldn’t be letting Vivian take the fall.
Vivian so badly wanted that to be true.
“What are you doing here?”
Vivian jumped, her hands rising into defensive fists as she spun around. The voice hadn’t been familiar, but the face was. Levinsky stood next to her, clearly just arriving for work in uniform and with what looked like a lunch pail in his hand.
Across the street, she saw the cop in the blue suit stand up—he had been leaning against the wall of a bakery—then settle back down when he realized she was talking with another cop.
“Levinsky,” she said, slowly lowering her fists. Vivian didn’t bother to keep the bile from her voice or her expression. “Coming to have a word with that nasty piece of work you call a boss? Maybe he’ll tell you to arrest a church full of nuns. I bet you’d do it, too. Whatever he says, doesn’t matter if anyone’s guilty. Isn’t that right?”
He didn’t interrupt until she was done. “Guessing you were here for a chat with the commissioner, then?” he asked. Vivian, still breathing heavily, jerked her chin in a quick nod. Levinsky grimaced. “Not the nicest way to start the day.”
“No,” Vivian bit off. “It wasn’t.”
“You don’t sound like you’re having a great week.”
Vivian wanted to yell at him. But his tone was so wry and sympathetic, it deflated the anger she was trying to hold on to. “I guess you could say I’m not,” she said, with a laugh that had tears in it. She had no reason to trust him, and every reason not to. But he’d seemed genuine enough at the Nightingale, and she wanted to believe what he’d said about trying to help people. God knew she needed help.
“How much do you know about my case?” she asked slowly, watchingLevinsky’s face. “You heard what I told the cops who arrested me, about someone meeting with Buchanan?”
“Oh, that,” he said, nodding. To her relief, he still looked sympathetic. “And the servants said no one did.”
“Commissioner called me a liar,” Vivian said, her hands clenching into fists once more. “And I guess it looks that way. But I’m not. Which means someone else is.”
“And you want me to do something about it?” he guessed. She couldn’t tell, from the way he asked the question, what he thought of that idea.
Vivian met his eyes steadily, though her stomach was turning over. She’d never asked a cop for help before. “You said you cared about helping people. I’m people. And something here doesn’t add up. If one of his business partners is hiding something, or paid off the servants…”
Levinsky sighed, taking off his hat to run his fingers through his hair. There were dark circles under his eyes. Vivian remembered what he’d said about his new baby at home. “Couldn’t have been the partners,” he said, settling the hat back on his head and letting out a slow breath. Before Vivian could protest, he tugged her into a shadowed corner between two buildings. “I told you the one, Whitcomb, he was at the office, right? Well, we talked to Mr. Morris’s servants. Apparently, they don’t like him much, so they were happy to spill the beans on him. He was at home that morning. With his mistress. Couldn’t have been him either.”
Morris. Vivian had forgotten the names of Buchanan’s partners until that moment. And she was willing to bet that Hattie Wilson’s Mr. Morris, and his scandalous letter, weren’t unrelated.
His scandalous letter that was signedE.
“Can I give you a tip?” she asked slowly, glancing around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. Levinsky nodded warily. “Go back to talk to his servants again. And take a picture of Mrs. Buchanan with you.”
His eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “What makes you think—”
“I hear things,” Vivian said. “Can you find out? If it was her, she couldn’t have been the one to do it either. But maybe one of the partners hired someone, or one of Buchanan’s servants knows… Someone was there that morning.”
Levinsky nodded at last. “All right, I can look into it.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a grim smile. “And I can pay special attention to that lousy stepson of his. My gut says there’s something fishy about that one.”
