A Lesson in Love and Murder (Herringford and Watts Mysteries, #2)(5)

Come to think of it, he had failed (again) to telephone Jem and tell her he’d be late. That is, he’d failed to send a message with Kat or Mouse, the urchins who sometimes worked with Jem and Merinda. The guilt gnawed at him—guilt for more than his silence. He hadn’t been able to pay the electrical bill, and their telephone had been cut off the week before.

He straightened his face so Jasper wouldn’t be plagued with one more thing to worry about and turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Shaking his head, he observed, “So highly unlikely it was an accident.”

“Our station could have used you years ago. You have a better pulse on criminal activity in Toronto than most.”

Ray grimaced. “I can’t tell whether that’s a compliment or not.”

“It’s a compliment. From me. Not from Tipton. Reason I’m so on edge is because he forbade me to talk to you.”

“And why is that?” Ray said, knowing the answer even as he asked it.

“Tipton is under Montague’s thumb, and Montague hates you.”

“No love lost there.”

“I’m not supposed to tell you I suspect these accidents to be intentional.”

“And yet here we are.” Ray smiled.

“I found something last week at Osgoode.” Jasper reached into his pocket “And it caught my eye because it was so unusual. It could be anything, any scrap, really. But I thought it was of interest. Then, earlier, after spending too much time plying tweezers through that blasted rubble, my eye caught on something.”

He extracted two squares of plastic and held them out to Ray. Ray unwrapped the package and found a small wire that he held up with inky fingers. He squinted. “You have a very good eye to see these with all of that going on.” He inclined his head in the direction of the explosion. The wire was slight and black, charred really, but shaped in the most interesting knot. Ray set the piece down and attempted to mime the slight fingers that might have tied such a small, thin wire so intricately.

“I don’t know what it means yet.” Jasper ran his fingers through brown hair still matted in the shape of the hat that he now dangled tiredly at his side. He didn’t stand on ceremony when it was just the two of them watching Skip’s bulb flashing, the medics loading vans to the hospital, and the passersby and witnesses dispersing to be questioned or sent home. “But something about it seemed odd.”

“How did you ever see that amidst all those wires and things?”

“Something Merinda said once, probably. From that Wheaton fellow.* ‘Stop looking for what you expect to find.’ It inspired me to widen my gaze.”

Ray gingerly rewrapped the small knotted wire and handed it back to Ray.

“No. Possessing this could land me back on traffic duty, but I’d like you to keep it. You see more of the city than I do. If it’s something, maybe you’ll notice it too. But don’t come by the station. Tipton would be furious if I were even seen talking to you. We’ll find somewhere to talk.”

Ray folded it into his breast pocket, patting its space emphatically.

Jasper smiled gravely. “I feel like a heel. Betraying Tipton’s trust. Going behind his back. Even dragging you into this. I’ll have no excuse if he catches us.”

“Jasper, we’re allies. I need you on my side. I don’t have many friends, but I trust you. You can trust me too.”

“I know that.”

“And I am your friend, whether or not Merinda Herringford is speaking to you at any given moment,” Ray added lightly.

“I wish I had her pluck. Would make everything easier.”

“There are many ways to show strength, Jasper.”

A ruckus across the street erupted, with Tipton at the center and camera bulbs flashing. Ray recognized a few reporters from the Globe, each trying to inch closer over the singed steel. He had no interest in a statement from the chief. Ray and Jasper exchanged a look.

“Interesting,” Jasper said slowly. “I spoke to him earlier, and he made no suggestion that he would grace us with his presence.”

Ray smirked at Jasper’s tone.

Leaving Jasper and spotting Skip meandering closer to Tipton and his statement, Ray turned in the direction of the Hog. It was a long walk but preferable to finding a cab amid the insanity and commotion. All the trolleys had stopped immediately, and a dozen empty streetcars sat abandoned and unmoving on their tracks.

Finally at his desk, hair damp with perspiration, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he thought about betraying Jasper’s trust. It would make for an easy headline and spare several sheets of paper from a crumpled toss at the overflowing wastebasket. Leading Detective Constable Suspects Foul Play.

He muttered in his first language, kicked a few overturned crates, and almost swept his typewriter from his desk to the floor. Then, immediately remorseful for the thought, he stroked the Underwood gently. Some nights it was his dearest friend.

He stared at the telephone. Made to pick it up. Then remembered the service had been turned off at home. Poor Jem. What a husband he’d turned out to be.

Jem deserved a stable home, matching dishes, and a happily-ever-after. But lately he’d been returning home to find her asleep fully clothed on the sofa in the front room, clearly waiting for him with a book open on her chest. If she had nicely set the table with flowers from their overrun garden and her one good lace tablecloth, it made him feel like a cad for days. What did he have to say for himself?