Page 81 of A Fearless Heart
Gabe grabbed it and tucked it between folds of the newspaper. “The whole thing? What the hell did you do?”
“Barely anything! Shouldn’t even count as a theft if you ask me. The clerk at the desk was helping a lady—a very attractive lady—and he couldn’t tear his eyes from her. So while he was distracted I just leaned a little further over the desk and nipped it.”
“They’ll know someone took it!”
“So? They won’t know who, or why. The manager will probably assume a rival hotel stole it to see who their customers are so they can poach them. If you like, the book can be returned when you’re done with it,” Jem finished kindly. “No work at all.”
“I do want it returned. The less anyone questions any aspect of this mess, the better. But I do thank you. It’s going to help me sort through and find the likely murderer.”
“Maybe it’s a case where there’s a different murderer every time, sir. A sort of gentlemen’s agreement, where they pass around this bottle of poison from person to person. Once you’ve killed your chosen victim, you give the bottle to the next on the list.”
“Christ, Jem. I don’t know whether to be impressed or horrified at that notion. It’s ingenious. And absolutely morally bankrupt.”
“You’re too kind, sir. But honestly, I just think about what a man would do if there were no laws standing in his way, and that usually tells me how dangerous a person I’ve got to deal with.”
“How’d you develop that practice?”
“Working among the aristocracy,” Jem said bluntly. “Until I met Lady Cordelia, I thought they were all monstrous. If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, the problem with those at the top is that there aren’t enough people to tell ’em no.”
“You may have something there,” Gabe conceded, thinking of all his superiors in the army who issued some of the most absurd orders, knowing that they’d have to be obeyed.
“I mean, it’s probably the same person,” Jem conceded. “Can’t picture a half-dozen madmen who all like to serve their victims the same poison. But think about the victims, not the killer.”
“Focus on the motives, not the means?”
“Oh, that sounds very professional, sir,” Jem said with a nod. “Let’s start with the lady’s father. He’s the only one who wasn’t killed in London. That’s interesting, isn’t it? Do you know who might have wanted to do him in?”
“I wish I did. I’ve been asking around. There doesn’t seem to be anybody else besides Lady Arcadia herself who had access to poison and who wanted to kill Lord Calder. And I’m sure she didn’t do it, even if she had a reason.”
“Her brother, Trevor, had reason. And access.” Clearly the Disreputables had been taking notes.
Gabe shook his head. “He’s told me he hasn’t been back to the estate in years. And he left as soon as Arcadia gave him the bottle to dispose of.”
“So he says.”
“You think he’s lying?”
“Well, I’d lie if I were sneaking back to procure a deadly poison to murder my own father!” Jem crossed his arms. “Far as I’m concerned, he’s the most likely suspect. Cast out and disowned, probably stewing about it for years. So the wound festers until he just can’t stand it anymore.”
“And he lets his sister take the fall for it? The one person who loved him and supported him without question?”
Jem frowned, but still argued his point. “Look, these things aren’t always logical. I’ve seen it over and over. A man works on the docks, say, and he’s sacked. He’s furious at his employer, but he goes home and strikes his wife. Why? She’s completely innocent, of course. But she’s there, and she can’t fight back. Rage is about lashing out. It’s not about fairness.”
“You’ve seen Trevor Osbourne when he came to the house. Do you really think of him as a killer?”
“No,” Jem admitted. “But it would have fit pretty well.”
“We need the answer to fitexactly.”
“Where are you going next? Can I help?”
“I don’t think so, Jem. You get back. I’ll call there later to discuss what I’ve learned with Cady.”
After Jem left, Gabe walked to his next destination, the offices of the Royal Society of Chemistry, where he put in a few specific inquiries and was told it would take several days to get answers to any of them.
Thinking of Jem’s words, he decided to return to Trevor’s unnamed club and see if the man was there to question. At the door, he told the footman, “Here to see Trevor Osbourne. It’s important, so if you could just send me to the Beige Room and tell him I’m here, it would be appreciated.”
The footman obviously remembered Gabe from the last time, and nodded. Gabe waited impatiently in the oppressively dull room until Trevor breezed in.
