“Yessir.” He shifted uncomfortably. “There is a man...”
“What man?”
“He arrived from London afterward. He’s known in the whisky trade and is said not to be crossed.” There was more. “He’s contacted those he knows on the streets for word about the whore’s murder.”
The old man slowly nodded.
“I need to know more. You’re to tell me where she goes and whom she speaks with.”
The whore’s death had been unexpected but necessary. And the old woman’s as well. And now this young woman.
Who was she? What was she to the whore?
Secrets. He had been careful. But things had a way of not remaining secret.
“One more chance,” he told the man who stood across the desk from him, as he looked him in the eye. “I need to know what was in the letters the old woman spoke about before she died.”
“I understand,” he replied, with the determination of a man who knew what wasn’t said. “I will not fail.”
“Make certain that you do not.”
9
Munro
Brothels were a lucrative business in Old Town, and the New Town as well. Almost as lucrative as the whisky and ale business. Munro knew them both well.
He had sent a telegram to her ladyship in London earlier, assuring her that Lily was safe and silently cursed as he sent it.
The truth was that he had no way of knowing where she was after she made a visit to police headquarters earlier in the day.
Inspector Landry had provided her the report into the old woman’s murder with the understanding that it was requested by Sir McQuarrie.
Understanding. An interesting word, as he questioned exactly wot she had told the police inspector in order to see that report.
She was resourceful as he knew only too well, not above saying whatever it took to get a look at that report.
He had cursed a great deal more after Sir McQuarrie assured him that he had not made such a request on her behalf. Still, he had to admit that she was not unlike himself.
He knew where it came from, had seen it more than once the past several years after she went to live at Sussex Square—that survival instinct, although loyal to those who had provided the opportunity for a better life, but with a bold spirit when confronted with a difficult situation.
That was the only way to describe it.
Whether it was with one of the tutors that had been provided or in a confrontation on the street after slipping away in her ladyship’s motor carriage.
He had silently laughed at her excuse, one that reminded him of things he’d heard about Miss Mikaela as a girl of the same age—slipping out of her room on the second floor at Sussex Square rather than sit in another boring lesson with her own tutor. They were much alike.
Sir McQuarrie had not heard from her, and there was only the inspector’s word from having met with her earlier that morning. Nor had the inspector’s sister heard from her since early in the day.
Aye, resourceful, he thought with a curse, and now out and about the city in unknown places, while he was hunting down a man by the name of Campbell who ran a good number of brothels in both Old Town and the New Town.
Campbell knew everything that happened regarding his lucrative business enterprises, and might know who was the man seen the night Lily’s friend was murdered. And how to find him.
While it appeared that Dory didn’t work for a ‘house,’ a man in Tommy Campbell’s position would make it his business to know everythin’ that went on, including those who chose to work on their own and cut into his lucrative business.
The Campbell name came with a dangerous reputation for treachery and betrayal, even among those on the streets. He was not a man to cross, or trust.
Munro always insisted on cash up front for a shipment, to protect her ladyship’s business interest. No credit with payments made later by a man who might easily end up in the gutter after an encounter with a rival. And there was more than one.
