33

Friday, June 18

James sat outside Murdock’s office promptly at nine, his new hat in his hands.

Senior Inspector Murdock was in a dark mood when he opened the door. His eyebrows knit together when he saw James sitting outside his door like an errant schoolboy summoned to see the headmaster. “Come in,” he said, his head jerking toward the chair in front of his desk. “We have much to discuss.”

James entered, thinking of Daniel in the lions’ den, yet doubting he had divine protection. “Aye, Senior Inspector. About the hearing . . .” Murdock grimaced. “There’ll be no hearing.”

James’s mouth gaped and he bolted upright from his chair. “I’m to be discharged just like that, after all my years on the force?”

Murdock looked over his glasses. “Sit down, Inspector. You’re not to be discharged . . .” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “but promoted.”

James melted into his chair. “Promoted? How? Why?”

Murdock replaced his glasses and glared across his desk. “Why, indeed. You might even be knighted at this rate.

“First, the chief of Financial Crimes, Senior Inspector Danforth, spoke with the police commissioner before I did. It appears the chap you sniffed out wasn’t alone in his chicanery, thus the extent of corruption is broader than it first appeared. You’re a hero, apparently. Dan-forth wants you in his department and promoted to senior inspector and his assistant, as soon after the Jubilee as possible.”

“But I’m no clerk! Why would he think I’d be of any use in that department?”

“He says he has plenty of clerks. He needs a proper policeman in charge.”

Murdock coughed. “Secondly, your suspicion regarding Ott’s risk to Her Majesty was verified last night in a most unexpected manner. Due to an anonymous letter received yesterday we have the man who was sheltering our assassin in custody at this very moment. He was most talkative, but Ott was already gone.”

Murdock opened his desk and slid James’s badge over to him. “Take it. Your Webley is waiting for you down in the armory.” The senior inspector straightened in his chair, a sour look on his face. “Given these new developments, I’ve decided to keep your indiscretion entre nous. Based upon your body of work over the years, and your instincts regarding our anarchist, I think you merit the promotion.

“Our informants tell us that several senior anarchists in London are heading to Geneva for a hastily called conference. While none of our sources know the precise reason for the meeting, the timing coincides with the Jubilee, and I see this as further confirmation that your concern about this assassin was correct. I suspect Kropotkin and his kind are seeking high ground to avoid the fury a royal assassination would provoke. I’ve informed the police commissioner that it was you who unearthed this threat against the queen, so if catching errant bookkeepers becomes wearisome, I could find you a post here, as my deputy.”

“While I’m gobsmacked at my good fortune, Senior Inspector. Don’t you find this anonymous letter a bit too convenient?”

“Aye. It smells to high heaven. I suspect this betrayal is an act of revenge by one faction against another, but at the moment I’m not inclined to be too choosey as to who helps me protect our sovereign. The enemy of my enemy, as it were.”

“If you don’t mind, Senior Inspector, I’d like to question the man you brought in last night to see what he can tell me about our assassin.”

“As you like, Ethington, though I doubt you’ll learn much. He has much to hide, doubtless, but it seems he was kept in the dark concerning Ott’s true purpose here in England.”

James looked at the badge on the desk in front of him. He recalled the day he’d made inspector and how proud Alice had been when he’d taken his police constable uniform off for the final time, what they’d done after, and the baby who followed. His badge lay there, gleaming, waiting for him to pick it up, even as another waited to replace it. Senior Inspector. He’d be in charge of a section and lead his men into battle.

Murdock continued. “The promotion becomes effective at the start of a new pay period, July the fifth. Until then you are still a member of Special Branch, and your only concern until further notice is Ott. If you can’t catch him, at least keep him on the run so he doesn’t interrupt the Jubilee next Tuesday. Once the Jubilee is over, you can take the rest of the time off with pay until your promotion becomes effective.

“We may sing God Save the Queen, but for the next four days, Special Branch will do their part. That may not make us angels, but at least we’ll be on the same side.”

James thought of the stern old woman who represented a nation’s will and nobility. His hand seemed to move on its own as he watched it place his badge back onto his vest.

“Thank you, Senior Inspector. God save the Queen.”

“God save the Queen!”

Luigi Parmeggiani was haggard and twitchy when James sat down with him in an interrogation room. His linen suit was badly wrinkled, and he smelled more of prison soap than rose water.

“Please, Signore, why am I still here? I’ve told you everything I know.”

“How did Ott come to work for you?”

Luigi knew that only Grüber could have betrayed him, but the fence would not turn him in to the authorities. In Italy, revenge was almost an art. Justice would be served in due time, but at a time and date of his choosing. He’d worked out his cover story before he’d reached the police station.

“I needed an electrician. This man showed up, was quick and proficient, so I hired him. I see no crime in that.”

“Yet you turned him out once his likeness appeared in the papers, so you knew you were harboring a wanted criminal.”

“I was unaware of the picture, and once it was shown me, it’s not a very good one. Ott, you say his name is? He told me it was Schmidt. Anyway, he’d just learned of his wife’s death a couple of days before. I gave him an advance on some lamps he’d made for me. I assumed he’d gone off to drink away his sorrow. He may be back at the shop even now.”

Just then there was a knock at the door, and a sergeant stuck his head in.

“Beg pardon, Inspector. Mister Parmeggiani’s barrister is here to see him.”

A well-dressed gentleman came through the door with a briefcase and an umbrella, ready to do battle. He flourished a card identifying himself as Richard Baxter, Esq.

“Good day, Inspector. May I ask why my client is still in custody?” he asked in a mild voice, his public-school accent declaring his class as surely as an Oxford tie.

“He was harboring a man suspected of attempted murder, sir. Surely that warrants further investigation.”

“You have proof my client was aware he was a wanted criminal?”

“Well, no.”

“Has he answered all your questions to the best of his ability?”

“He has answered all our questions,” James said, “though his ability is still in question.”

The barrister showed his teeth in what may have been a smile, or a polite snarl. “Nice turn of phrase, Inspector. I’m requesting his release in court this afternoon. Unless you have something more than an anonymous letter that could have been written by a competitor of my client’s, I expect his release today. If you have any further questions for him, I must insist on being present. Do you?”

James knew he’d get nothing more from the little Italian.

“No, I’m done.” He turned to Luigi and handed him his card. “If you think of anything further which may help us locate the man, please look me up.”

James walked down to the armory where Sergeant Q and James’s Webley awaited. “I’m here for my revolver,” he said. “What did you find?”

The armorer shrugged. “Needed a bit of oil, which is your responsibility, and the spring on the extractor needed replacement. The cylinders were tight as a drum.” He handed over the cleaned and well-oiled weapon, whereupon James reloaded it and replaced it in its holster.

It felt right there somehow. He hadn’t realized how he’d missed its reassuring weight until it was back in place.

Rearmed and bearing his badge, Inspector Ethington set forth to save a queen.

When James returned, Elizabeth was practicing walking like a boy in her urchin costume.

“How did your meeting with the senior inspector go, James?” I asked, “Will your hearing occur before the Jubilee?”

“No need,” he smiled. “They’re promoting me!”

“What!” Elizabeth said, round-eyed, and they embraced.

As I watched Elizabeth congratulate her father, I recalled my foolish thoughts from the day before, of asking James if he’d join me in a new life in Australia. I was glad that for once my head had won out over my heart.

“How is that possible?” Elizabeth asked.

“Where to begin? The embezzler had collaborators, and I was credited for their arrest. The chief of Financial Crimes wants me as soon after the Jubilee as possible, as his deputy.”

“That’s wonderful!” said Elizabeth.

“Oh, there’s more than that. An anonymous letter received at Special Branch yesterday led to the arrest of the man who was sheltering Ott.”

“But not Ott himself?” I asked.

“No, he escaped. The man we arrested readily admits to hiring our anarchist as an electrician, but we can’t find any reason to hold him. He’s probably free already. I suspect his hands aren’t totally clean, but I don’t have time to pursue that, at present.”

“So close,” I said. “His luck can’t hold out forever. Anything else?”

“Our informants report that several prominent anarchists are suddenly leaving London, and Murdock believes that it’s to get them safely away before the assassination. He now agrees with me that the man is a definite threat to Her Majesty, and Ott is my only responsibility until after the ceremony. After the Jubilee, assuming all goes well, I get nearly a fortnight’s paid holiday before my promotion takes effect.” He hugged Elizabeth again. “Things couldn’t be better.”

A fortnight before my ship sailed? Time enough to consider canceling my booking, enlarging it for three, or sailing alone as planned. Apparently, my head and heart were still not in full agreement. I bit my tongue and remained silent, forcing a smile.

Josh, Ben, and Harry—Billy Fisher’s three sons—had fanned out into the markets and pubs of Whitechapel. It wasn’t long before Josh heard that Keys Malone was paying off his debts and buying drinks. Not like him at all. Before the night was over, Keys had a shadow.

Herman cleaned and oiled his rifle. Once it was ready, he began pressurizing his spare flask. Fifteen-hundred strokes of the small pump would take at least a couple of hours.

The rifleman was far enough away from the route that the late-night hammering of bleachers being erected by electric light didn’t bother him. Banners were being hung from buildings, and hawkers were busy selling the few remaining seats. Nearly everyone in the city was in their own way preparing for the big day to come, now just four days away.