Page 55 of Ghost in the Garden
Constance closed her mouth. It made an unpleasant kind of sense. “Perhaps. But she did seem genuinely…afraidthat it truly was a ghost, in particular the ghost of a St. Giles victim, such as Lenny Knox’s wife. There is genuine guilt in her, Solomon.”
He did not discount what she said. “I wonder if Lambert feels guilty, too, in his own way. Perhaps the ghost is to do with his making amends somehow? Or trying to. Have you time to come to St. Giles before you go back to Angela?”
“Well, she’s not going to dismiss me,” Constance said wryly. “Though the other servants are already looking at me askance.”
They went directly to Scotland Yard, since they were sure this was where Inspector Harris could be found.
Ten minutes later, he stood glowering at them across his small office. “Are you two going to start plaguing me like the Tizsas?” he demanded.
Solomon presented him with a card. “Our new venture for those who cannot or will not involve the police. We are looking into matters that concern a ghost, Caleb Lambert, and the murder of Huxley Gregg. Are you involved in the case?”
Harris continued to stare at them. Then he sighed, indicated the chairs opposite his chaotic desk, and commanded them, “Cough it up.”
Solomon blinked, uncomprehending. So Constance told him about hunting Angela’s ghost, the discovery and disappearance of Gregg’s body, and how they thought they had pursued it as far as the invisible boundary of Devil’s Acre.
“I assumed they were going to dump it in the river,” Solomon confessed. “But when we tried to pick up the scent again, we had lost it. Then we saw in the newspaper that Gregg’s body had been found in Devil’s Acre.”
Harris had listened without interrupting, though his sharp, intelligent eyes were gleaming.
“I will enjoy Lambert’s face when we arrive with a warrant to search his fine house and arrest him,” he said dreamily.
Contance exchanged a glance with Solomon.
“The thing is,” she said, “it would be more satisfying yet to prove Lambert was as much to blame for the St. Giles disaster as Gregg, and stop him from inheriting if we can.”
Harris’s eyes went cold again. His lips tightened. Undoubtedly, he could see the point. “I can’tnotinvestigate a murder on the strength of your intuition,” he snapped.
“No, but there are plenty other avenues to investigate,” Solomon argued, “evidence to collect that does not involve raiding his home—for example, Gregg’s bank accounts to match against the rents he gathered, and Lambert’s also. Find out who sees him on Thursday and Saturday evenings. The ghost is connected somehow. Give us until tomorrow night before you arrest him.”
Harris scowled, drumming his fingers on his desk.
“It would be a shame to jump in too quickly when you might be able to tie him into so many other things,” Constance wheedled. “You could close down his whole organization with a little patience…”
Chapter Twelve
“Inspired,” Solomon saidwryly as they sat in the hackney taking them to St. Giles.
“True, though.” Constance hesitated, then said, “We are acting against our client’s interests. She doesn’t want her husband arrested or hanged. She didn’t hire us for that.”
“No. She hired us to find her ghost, and we agreed. Anything else is outside our agreement.”
“It’s as well we made her pay half her fee in advance. Solomon? Don’t let my mother take advantage of you.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners, rather beguilingly. “I am not known as a soft mark to anyone else.” Their eyes met. “She misses you. And she regrets much, much that you would forgive in any other woman.”
“I do forgive her,” Constance said. Curiously, it was true. “In fact, there is very little to forgive. I just refuse to be where I am not wanted.”
“She does want you. But she knows she has lost you.”
Constance dragged her gaze free. She didn’t like the clawing of old pain. “Oh, she’ll never quite do that.” It was meant to be funny, although her voice broke. “Don’t think I haven’t tried.”
She gazed out of the carriage window for a time, at the passing traffic and the street vendors, all yelling their wares so that it was indecipherable above the noise of wheels and horses against the cobbles.
“So which of these women do you think might be the ghost?” she said at last.
“Any of them who can walk,” Solomon said. “They all know Lambert was at least one of their landlords, and most of them would be happy to knife him. She looked young to me, but I suppose she was just spry. I never saw her face.”
“Neither did I. Or her hands.”
