Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(11)

“I accepted her word on that point. How did you learn all this?”

“Mrs. Effington sent me a cable once the ship was at sea. She said you had documented evidence of her husband’s abuse.”

“I do. It’s at the boarding house. I will send it to you.”

“Do so. She also instructed me to speak with her lady’s maid, who provided a few details.”

Alastair couldn’t resist bearding the lion. “Have you questioned Mrs. Effington’s paramour yet?”

“Paramour?” Hulme retorted.

“Mrs. Effington admitted she had taken a lover, a gentleman by the name of Reginald Fine. She said he is a solicitor.”

The inspector’s face darkened. “I’ll track him down and see if he has an alibi, and have another talk with the maid while I’m at it.”

“Excellent,” Fisher said. “Any notion of where Keats is, Doctor?”

Alastair shook his head. “I might as well be looking for a ghost.”

“Or Flaherty,” Fisher replied. “Anything else, Inspector?”

Hulme shut his notebook and stuffed it into a pocket, frown firmly in place. “That’s enough for now,” he said, rising. “Good day to you, sir.” He didn’t bother with the courtesies when it came to the doctor.



Hulme pushed past a constable in the doorway, who then stepped forward to place an envelope on Fisher’s desk. “From Sir Charles Warren,” he intoned gravely.

Fisher nodded. “Ah, yes, the daily missive. Thank you, Constable.” Once the door closed, he grimaced. “These are never good news,” the chief inspector confided, pushing the envelope aside like it was a ticking bomb. “Was there something else, Doctor?”

“Yes. I have learned that one of Effington’s maids disappeared right after Desmond Flaherty stole those explosives. ”

“From what source did you hear this?”

“Miss Lassiter.”

Fisher’s brow furrowed. “Yet you didn’t think to mention this information in front of Hulme?”

“No. There are…mitigating circumstances.”

“Such as?”

“She is Flaherty’s daughter, Fiona. According to Mrs. Effington, a mysterious gentleman named Mr. S. would call at their home to speak to her husband. She said the man wore different disguises each time. The girl vanished right after one of those meetings.”

Their eyes locked. “Could he be one of your kind?”

“I fear so,” Alastair replied, though he hated admitting it. Fisher was already leery of the Transitives as it was. “According to Mrs. Effington, her husband was one of Miss Hallcox’s clients. She was blackmailing him. Perhaps Effington knew something about the location of the explosives, which is why she dangled that bait in front of Keats.”

“If he’d fallen into the trap, Miss Hallcox would own him for life.”

“Precisely.”

Fisher walked over to the window and stared down at the street. “Given that the Hallcox woman was involved with Effington, it is quite possible she did know Flaherty’s location. Keats should have brought her in immediately.”



“And risk censure for attending one of her parties, even by accident?” Alastair protested. “You saw the list of men who were bedding her. Almost without exception, those calling cards we found in her bedroom represent powerful people who do not want to risk exposure. Either way, Keats would have been made the fool.”

“Better a fool than a condemned man,” Fisher shot back. “Damn and blast! We are missing a very large piece of this puzzle, Doctor. My twenty-two years on the force tell me there’s another player in this game, one who’s way ahead of us.”

“Perhaps it is the man who was visiting Effington.”

Fisher turned. “In disguise, no less.”

Alastair didn’t reply, unsure of what to say. Fisher had no direct knowledge of Transitive politics. For an Opaque, as the non-shifters were derisively called, he knew too much already.

“I will see what I can learn from my…kind,” the doctor said, rising.

“That would help. I deeply appreciate your candor, Doctor. Keep me apprised of anything you hear. If we’re lucky these are no more than overly ambitious anarchists.”

“And if we’re not?” Alastair asked.

Fisher turned his back on him, resuming his post at the window.

“One thing is very certain, Doctor. Blindness always comes at a very high price.”





Chapter 4




2057 A.D.

TEM Enterprises

Morrisey waited patiently as Harter Defoe adjusted the Thera-Bed controls with considerable care. His usually sharp gray eyes were dull, his face sallow. He’d always seemed so robust, but the bullet wound in his chest had drawn down some of that vitality.

“Did it fall out like I thought?” his friend asked.

“Yes,” Morrisey replied, pulling up a chair. “Davies was in fine form, as usual. They want Miss Lassiter back immediately, and they’d love to get their hands on you, old friend. If I give them what they want, they won’t file charges.”

“Well, then, I’d sell us out if I were you,” Defoe joked.