Peter dipped his hand to bring the light down near his feet. Right enough, there was something there. A piece of gauzy fabric, so delicate he wondered what it had been used for. He collected it and rubbed it between his fingers. It felt like silk. Expensive. “Well done, Lewis. Let’s lock this up and send word to the morgue so the coroner knows to come here first thing. In the meantime, I’m going to speak with the driver — see what else I can learn.”
They headed indoors where Peter found the shaken driver slumped in a chair while Anderson scribbled away at his desk. Peter approached. “Good morning. I’m Chief Constable Kendrick.”
When the coachman merely stared at him through bleary eyes, Anderson said, “This is Mr. Dunken. He’s a seasoned hackney driver, sir. It’s his thirty-third year on the job.”
Peter considered the hunched over man who sat before him. “It’s my understanding you’ve had a traumatic night, Mr. Dunken. Perhaps you’d like a cup of coffee?”
Mr. Dunken nodded. “I’d appreciate that.”
Peter prepared a couple of cups and offered one to Mr. Dunken, then pulled up another chair and sat. “You were right to bring your carriage to us when you realized what had occurred in it. Unfortunately, given the nature of the crime, we’ll need to hold onto it for a few days.”
“A few days?” Mr. Dunken gaped at him. “That carriage’s me liveli’ood, to say nothin’ for what me employer ’ll say when ’e learns it’s been seized. ’E’ll ’ave a bloomin’ fit.”
“What would the alternative have been? Toss the body, scrub the carriage clean, and pretend nothing happened?” When Mr. Dunken dropped his gaze, Peter realized the notion had crossed his mind. Thankfully, he’d chosen to do the right thing. “I’ll pen an official letter to your employer explaining the situation.”
“That won’t stop ’im from sackin’ me,” Mr. Dunken complained.
“Perhaps not. However, I do have the liberty of providing you with the income you’d be denied under these circumstances.” Peter sipped his coffee and set his cup aside before adding, “I want to know every detail pertaining to what occurred.”
“I’ve already given a full account.” Mr. Dunken glanced at Anderson, who leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.
“Nevertheless,” Peter said. “Who accompanied the victim?”
Mr. Dunken sighed and scrubbed the back of his neck. Realizing he probably wouldn’t be leaving until he complied, he slid lower in his chair and drank some coffee. “T’was a woman. She ’ailed me first, then ordered me to stop when we came alongside the man ’oo was killed. I saw no problem with it. People sometimes do this when they spot an acquaintance. They’ll share the ride if they’re goin’ the same way.”
“So it seemed like the two were familiar with one another?”
“I dunno. I couldn’t ’ear much of their talk. Besides, I wasn’t really payin’ attention. From what I could tell though, ’e was deep in his cups an’…” Mr. Dunken frowned and was quiet a moment before adding, “I think ’e refused ’er offer at first.”
Peter leaned forward, one forearm braced on his thigh. “What makes you say that?”
“He started movin’ away, but then she said somethin’ more. I’m thinkin’ she mentioned his cravat?” Mr. Dunken shook his head. “That can’t be right. Makes no bloody sense.”
And yet the cravat did seem to have played a role. Perhaps there was a connection? Peter filed the piece of information away for later. “So the man climbed in and you took off once more. Toward the initial destination provided by the woman, or somewhere else?”
Mr. Dunken blinked. “Um…The man said to ’ead for Number 7 Garnsford Street, so I did. But before we reached the place, I was again ordered to stop. The woman climbed out, paid me, and asked that I make sure ’er friend got ’ome safe.”
Except the man was already dead, allowing the woman to disappear into the night before his body could be discovered. Not the worst sort of plan if one wished to commit such a crime, though this did suggest it had been done with purpose.
Peter took another sip of his coffee, his thoughts shifting to the gauzy material he’d found on the floor of the carriage’s cabin. “Did you see what the woman was wearing?”
“A pelisse, I think. ’T’was dark and cold so I can’t remember the details. Honestly, it’s not the sort o’ thing I consider.”
Peter huffed a breath. Of course it wasn’t. “What about her face? Would you be able to describe her likeness so our artist can produce a sketch?”
“Don’t think so,” Mr. Dunken said. “It was dark. Plus, whatever I saw was brief an’ from an elevated angle.”
“Very well then.” Peter stood. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about writing that letter to your employer and making sure you get paid for your time.” He started turning away, only to pause on a thought. “Where was the woman when she hailed you?”
“Corner of Garrick an’ the Strand,” Mr. Dunken supplied.
“Right.” Spotting Lewis, who’d since come indoors, Peter crossed to him and asked, “Have you sent word to Doctor Fellowes?”
“A messenger was dispatched five minutes ago.”
“Excellent work.” Peter sighed with relief. If all went well, progress would be swift. “We’ve only a few clues to go on. The driver can’t be counted on for an accurate description of the killer — a woman who seems to have lured the victim to his death. However, we know she was picked up where Garrick meets the Strand.”
“You want me to head over there and find out if anyone saw her before she got into the carriage?”
