Page 41

“Very well,” she sighed.

Detective Palmer stopped at his desk in the main office, where he took up his coat and hat, and tugged them on with short, sharp movements. As Mr. Castelan watched them leave through the front door, he did not hide his amusement in throwing the two of them together for what would certainly be an awkward, if not hostile, evening out.

Jasper really wasn’t going to like this.

Detective Palmer flagged a cab, and though he held out his hand to help Leo up, it was with an ungracious scowl fixed on his mouth. The driver took them along Holborn to Newgate Street and Cheapside, all while she and Detective Palmer remained silent.

Leo could not entirely blame him for being churlish; she had barged in on his investigation, after all. But he didn’t need to be so impolite about it.

“Cillian Carter has been missing for a week,” Leo finally said, breaking the silence. “I highly doubt he will be at a pub.”

“We’ll speak to a barmaid or the barkeep,” Detective Palmer said. “And as it is Tabitha Pierce I’ve been hired to find, not Cillian Carter, we can ask if anyone has seen her recently.”

“How long has she been missing?” Leo asked, overlooking his bite of sarcasm.

“About seven days.”

It was the same amount of time as Cillian, as Jasper had predicted.

“Does she have no other family she might have gone to? No other friends?”

Detective Palmer squinted as if marking her as a dullard. “I wish you’d been here to suggest that earlier,” he said, his sarcasm plain. “I cannot believe I didn’t think of asking her husband those questions.”

“You needn’t be surly,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “Or are you the type of man who feels an injury to his pride when he is made to work with a female?”

“I do not care to work with anyone, Miss Spencer, male or female,” he replied.

“You don’t value help?”

“I don’t require it.” His astounding arrogance only made her shake her head and smile. “That amuses you?”

“It sounds lonely,” she replied. “And in my experience, two minds are always stronger than one.”

Detective Palmer pressed his lips firmly, as if to stifle a rebuttal. Several more minutes passed, the scent of brine announcing that they had neared the docklands.

Just when Leo thought he would not speak to her for the remainder of the evening, he said, “Desmond didn’t know or even suspect his wife was stepping out on him until a neighbor asked where Mrs. Pierce was working now that she was going out nearly every evening after Desmond would leave for work.”

“Did Mr. Pierce confront her?” Leo asked, tentatively pleased for the shared information.

“He did. They rowed, but she wouldn’t give up the name of her lover.”

“That row is how Mr. Pierce received scratches on his neck?” Leo presumed, recalling that Jasper had mentioned them. Detective Palmer nodded, frowning.

“He had no idea it was a Carter until your inspector showed up, asking about him.”

The cab drew up along a curb and let them out. It was a grubby, riverside street, bustling with lower working class, sailors, street urchins, and prostitutes. It was not the sort of place Leo would have ever ventured on her own.

The Golden Harp public house was busy, but there were a few tables left to choose from when she and Detective Palmer went inside. He was still grouchy, but at least he held the door open so it would not shut in her face.

They slid into wooden chairs at a round table near the center of the pub, and as Leo removed her gloves and cloak, she peered around the room. Though the Golden Harp catered to working-class men and women, there were some suited men interspersed with laborers. Loud voices, guffaws of laughter, and a man sitting in the corner by a coal stove, playing a lively tune on a fife, were proof that this pub was a popular spot.

“What does Tabitha look like?” Leo asked, trying to raise her voice above the noise of the crowd, but also keep it quiet enough to not be overheard by their neighbors.

Detective Palmer sat with a rigid back and shoulders. “Twenty-eight, curly auburn hair, light brown eyes, and freckled skin.”

Leo peered at the several women seated around the pub or standing around the long bar with men. None matched the description.

“At twenty-eight, she is a bit older than Cill—” Leo stopped herself from forming his name. “Than her lover.” It wouldn’t do to be overheard mentioning a Carter.