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“I’m looking for someone. I think you might know where he is.”
Desmond sniffed, unimpressed, and started to close the door.
“Cillian Carter.” He trusted the name would stop Desmond’s retreat, and it did. The door reopened, and Desmond’s stare turned hawkish. Though he stood a full head shorter than Jasper, he had the thick, brutal look of a man who knew how to throw a debilitating punch.
“You’re a copper,” he stated.
“I’m not here on police business,” Jasper replied. “I’ve been hired privately.”
“And why would you think I know where this Carter fellow is?” Though he tried to sound it, Desmond wasn’t ignorant as to who Cillian Carter was. Every Angel would know the name of the East Rips leader’s only son.
“I’ve been told your wife is an…acquaintance of his,” Jasper said bluntly, prepared for any sort of reaction the man might give. An incoming fist, for example, or the sudden appearance of a blade. But all Desmond did was squint.
“Bollocks,” he said, and with a genuine snort of disbelief.
Jasper peered over Desmond’s shoulder into the shabby room. “Is Tabitha in?”
Desmond came forward, shutting the door behind him, to hamper Jasper’s view. His upper lip curled into a sneer. “Where did you hear my wife’s name, copper?”
“Part of a rumor, I’m afraid.”
The man glowered but said nothing.
“It isn’t my intention to malign your wife,” Jasper continued. “But my client wants no stone left unturned. Mr. Carter has been missing for several days, and his loved ones are concerned.”
Desmond’s nostrils flared, but his swelling temper seemed to cool. “How many?”
“How many what?”
“Days,” Desmond ground out. “How many days has he been gone?”
The question took Jasper by surprise. “Seven, now. Have you seen him?”
A shade of nervousness seeped through Desmond’s scowl. He bumped his heels into the closed door as he took a step back. “No. Now, leave off.” The order lacked any teeth.
“When will your wife be in?” Jasper asked as Desmond backed into his room. He slammed the door without answering.
The tension in Jasper’s chest eased as he descended the soft, corky wooden stairs and exited the doss-house. Desmond hadn’t said much, and Jasper was still no closer to finding out where Cillian might be, but the Angel hadn’t seemed to know Cillian was Tabitha’s lover.
And by asking how many days the young Carter had been missing, he’d also let something more slip: Jasper was almost certain Tabitha Pierce had been missing for the same length of time.
Chapter Eight
Nivedita Brooks was standing at the cottage range, up close to Connor Quinn, when Leo entered the morgue’s office just before eight o’clock. The two of them—sipping tea, conversing in low voices, grinning bashfully—were so entranced with one another that Leo’s presence did not register until she closed the back door with a firm tug.
“Oh, good, Dita, you are here,” Leo said brightly.
Connor cleared his throat and stepped away from the range. Dita followed the coroner with a lingering gaze.
Before she had met Connor, even the thought of dead bodies had turned Dita’s stomach and made her dizzy. Daring to cross the threshold now was testament to Dita’s serious interest in the assistant city coroner. Though she still refused to enter the postmortem room. Once the heat and humidity of summer set in, Leo doubted Dita would even be able to stand entering the office or front lobby.
“Hmm?” Dita murmured distractedly, then reluctantly peeled her attention away from Connor.
Leo only shook her head and laughed. “I wanted to ask you about a case Jasper and I are investigating.”
“Oh, yes, Connor told me all about it. A dead woman who came back to life at Tate’s?” Dita’s interest was now completely on Leo rather than her new beau. “And the doctor who named himself after that textbook?”
Leo set her bag down and removed her gloves. It was icebox-cold in the office, but she would warm them on a cup of tea, as Dita was.
