Page 65

He glanced over his shoulder at Superintendent Monroe. The man was scowling, as if being in the same room with someone as low as Castelan was able to taint him. He gave a single nod.

“Very well,” Jasper said. “What have you to say for yourself?”

After a moment, Castelan raised his chained hands, palms out. “Samuel came at me first. I was simply defending myself.”

“Is that so?” Jasper asked, his doubt plain.

“And I did not directly kill Victoria Herrington. Nor did I attempt to take Augusta Lawlor’s life. I brought them the laudanum, of course, but Samuel took care of the arsenic and administered both substances to them. I did not physically poison either woman. I merely selected them as potential brides. Samuel did the rest.”

His solicitor put a hand on his arm, as if to stop him. But Castelan shrugged it off.

“Samuel Edwards ran the entire scheme. It was his idea,” he went on. “He knew the kind of money it takes to operate a business such as mine, and he wanted a partnership. Castelan and Edwards Private Inquiries.”

“It’s easy to rest all the blame at the feet of a dead man, isn’t it?” Jasper said.

Castelan shrugged. “It is the truth.”

“Even if a jury does believe you,” Jasper said, “you will need to answer for why you attacked Mary Keating.”

She’d told Castelan that she’d given up the rooms, but earlier, when Jasper had asked the private detective if Samuel and Mary were romantically involved, he must have put together the possibility that she had been lying. His two employees would need somewhere to meet if they were plotting together.

“I went to warn her that you were on your way to speak to her,” Castelan said. “That you knew everything. She accused me of selling her out and flew into a raging panic.”

“So, she tried to kill you first, just as Samuel did?” Jasper said, his disbelief bordering on amusement. “What about Leonora Spencer? What is your excuse for lunging at her with a knife?”

Jasper’s voice had climbed as he spoke, his fury climbing along with it. Had Superintendent Monroe not been present, Jasper would have reached across the table and taken hold of the man by his collar. The private detective made no reply and continued to gloat, as if he knew exactly what Jasper wished to do but couldn’t.

“Where is the money Samuel stole from Mrs. Lawlor?” Jasper tried next.

“I cannot say,” Castelan replied. “I never saw it.”

“If you want the superintendent to advocate for a lesser punishment, I suggest you start telling the truth,” Jasper growled. “The money. Where is it?”

Castelan held his jaw firm for nearly a minute. It was practically visible, the way the man’s mind sifted through all the possible ways to extricate himself. Finally, he relented. “My office, in a wall safe.”

Jasper exhaled, relieved. Recognizing that the police would crack his safe and find the money anyway, the private detective had decided to capitulate.

“You admit to selecting Victoria Blake and Augusta Hart for this scheme. Why?” he asked next. “Because they were wealthy spinsters? Alone, with no family?”

Castelan frowned, his expression suggesting the answer should be obvious. “They would never have married anyway. Never had children to pass along their fortunes.”

“And because of that, they were expendable?” Jasper pressed.

Castelan merely shrugged again and, with cruel indifference, said, “They simply did not matter. No one would miss them.”

Jasper pushed to his feet. With a confession and enough evidence to secure a conviction, he was finished here.

“Well, Castelan, you’re either going to prison for the rest of your life, or you’ll hang. Either way, I suspect you won’t be missed, either.” He turned to Warnock. “Arrange for his transfer to Newgate.”

Jasper stormed from the interview room feeling less than satisfied. Paul Castelan had claimed little responsibility and felt even less remorse for what he’d done. There was no question that he’d organized both schemes and that Samuel Edwards and Mary Keating—while still culpable for murder—had been his underlings. A plea of self-defense when charged with Samuel Edwards’s murder would be weak, and Jasper hoped he would not be granted clemency by a judge. But it was now out of his hands.

“Well done, Reid,” Superintendent Monroe said as he followed Jasper from the interview room. “He may not hang, but he certainly won’t know what freedom tastes like for the rest of his life.”

“Thank you, sir. If possible, I would like Mary Keating to be shown some leniency for her confession too. If she lives,” he tacked on, as there was still a possibility she would die from her wounds. She was by no means innocent, but in the end, she had at least cooperated with the police.

“I’ll see to it that she avoids the noose, at the very least,” Monroe said. Then, with a clap to Jasper’s shoulder—something that was becoming more and more irritating—added, “The Home Secretary will be pleased with this outcome. It’s good publicity for the department. And for you. Rose and I will see you at the dinner Saturday evening?”

It might have been fatigue, or perhaps frustration with Castelan’s unrepentant arrogance, but as Jasper searched for a response, he found his well of tolerance for the superintendent’s designs utterly drained.