Vow of Deception (The Ministry of Curiosities #9)(16)

He returned fifteen minutes later and ordered our coachman to take us home.

"What did you learn?" I asked.

"The victim's name is Reginald Lander, a baker's apprentice who worked in Threadneedle Street," Lincoln said as the coach rolled forward. "He was killed on his way to work in the early hours. His body was found by two constables at four-thirty in the morning. There were no witnesses, although the police continue to question the local residents. Considering the extent of Lander's injuries, they speculate that someone must have heard him scream."

"No one heard the Ripper victims scream," I said darkly. "How extensive were his injuries? Did they match Protheroe's?"

"In every way, according to the report." He indicated where the wounds had been inflicted and described claw marks.

"That does sound like Protheroe's injuries." Once upon a time, such injuries would have sent a shiver through me, or made me nauseated, but I'd seen so much death in the last year, it no longer shocked or sickened me. "We need to find out if Reginald Lander was known to either Gawler's or Swinburn's packs."

"We can ask them now," he said.

"Or we could simply ask Lander's ghost."

"I had a feeling you might say that."

"And I can see you've already decided that I will question the ghost." At the arch of his brow, I added, "You told the driver to return home, not travel to Gawler's or Swinburn's house."

He huffed out a laugh. "Would you rather do it now or wait until we arrive at Lichfield?"

"Now will do. What's his middle name?"

"William."

"Reginald William Lander," I intoned. "I call on the spirit of Reginald William Lander. I need to speak with you about your death."

The ghost filled the cabin like a sketch come to life, and settled on the seat beside me. The baker's apprentice had been huge, as big as Gus, with shoulders and arms that strained the seams of his clothes.

He looked around then addressed Lincoln, sitting opposite. "How'd I get here?"

"I summoned you," I said. "You're dead."

"Aye." Usually the newly deceased were a little confused, but Reginald Lander was quite composed. "But why summon me?"

"I called you here because I need to speak with you about your death. I'm sorry to rip you from your afterlife—"

"I weren't in my afterlife. I stayed near where I died."

"You remained to haunt?"

He passed a massive hand over his face, but it went right through, disturbing the outline of his bulging forehead. His face resettled in the same pattern of oversized nose, lips and brow. "Aye. I wanted to catch the dog what did this, but don't seem to be able to leave the street. I need to go further."

"You can't," I said. "That's a limitation of haunting—you must remain where you died."

"Then what's the bloody point?" The spirit dissolved into wisps that swept around the cabin twice before reforming again on the seat beside me. "Who're you and why'd you bring me here?"

My name is Charlie Holloway and this is Mr. Fitzroy, my fiancé. We're investigating your murder," I said. "We hope to bring your killer to justice."

"Murder? By a human?"

"We believe so. A human in wolf form, that is."

"A what?"

"You called your killer a dog just now, so I thought you knew, or had guessed, that a shape shifter murdered you."

He screwed up his face, drawing his heavy brow to plunge over his eyes. "You ain't making sense, miss. What's a shape shifter?"

I quickly explained the situation. He didn't look like he believed me but he didn't outright dismiss me either. "Is there anything you can tell us about your killer?" I asked. "Anything we could use to identify him or her?"

"It were a big dog," he said with a shrug. "Could have been a wolf, I suppose, although I ain't never seen one before. It were all brown fur and big teeth. And claws." He looked down at the shredded clothing at his chest. "You saying that were a person in there?"

"Yes."

"Why did they kill me then?"

"Did you have enemies?" I asked.

"No." Another shrug of those big shoulders. "I worked hard, helped out my ma at home, got me a nice sweetheart, too."

I repeated his answer for Lincoln. "Were there any rivals for her hand?" he asked.

Lander shook his head. "None. She weren't the prettiest, but I ain't either." He laughed, revealing crooked teeth. "She's the daughter of my employer. Her parents were happy for me to court her. They said we made a good match, being alike in temper and all." He sighed. "I'm going to miss her."

"I'm sure she'll miss you too," I said. "Mr. Lander, does the name Gawler mean anything to you?"

He shook his head. "That your suspect?"

"Not at this point. What about a man named Swinburn?"

Another shake of his head. "You got clues? Witnesses?"

"No, nothing."

He grunted. "You're going to give up, aren't you? Another body turns up in the East End and you don't care. You pigs won't find my killer, just like you didn't find the Ripper. What's it matter if a whore gets murdered, or a dock worker, or a baker's apprentice? It's just another less mouth to feed, another voice what won't rise up."