‘Decide what needs to be done and I will have it carried out before we move. That way, you and the prune won’t be inconvenienced.’
‘Are you sure? How much can I spend?’
Riley lifted one shoulder. ‘As much as is necessary for you to make a comfortable home for us all.’
Amelia leaned over the table and, mindless of Stout’s presence, kissed Riley full on the lips.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You are the most generous of husbands.’
Riley glanced up at Stout and was almost sure that his lips had twitched, but he’d arranged his features into their customary neutral expression again before he could be certain.
Chapter One
Riley made his way into Scotland Yard the following morning, still smiling at recollections of his wife’s enthusiastic gratitude the previous night, which hadn’t allowed him much time for sleep. Even so, he was wide awake and barely conscious of the high temperatures and the accompanying smells that pervaded the London streets.
‘Morning, Barton,’ he said as he entered the police station, acknowledging the desk sergeant, who never seemed to be off duty.
‘Morning, sir. Nice day for it.’
Riley didn’t pause to seek clarification. Barton was a law unto himself and Riley had learned at an early point in his career always to remain on his good side. He could make life exceedingly difficult for anyone he took in dislike or of whose methods he disapproved, and it had taken Barton several months before he decided that Riley didn’t fall into either category.
Riley, having accepted promotion to the position of chief inspector with some reluctance, had thus far found his additional duties less onerous than he had feared would be the case. His disgraced predecessor, Riley soon realised, had created work for himself in order to enhance his standing—much good it had done him. Riley now supervised two detective inspectors and still kept his own hand in by heading up serious investigations with the essential help of his sergeant, Jack Salter.
‘There’s been a suspicious death reported to us down in Clapham,’ Barton said. ‘The local bobbies thought it worthy of us, so I sent young Peterson down to rouse Salter. No sense him coming up here and then having to return to his own back yard.’
‘Thank you, Barton,’ Riley replied. ‘Very forward thinking of you.’
‘I aim to give satisfaction.’
Riley made his way to his office, silently cursing. He’d hoped for a continued quiet spell, even though he knew it was overly optimistic to expect local criminals to curb their unlawful activities just to oblige him.
Riley read the messages that had accumulated overnight and then called Inspectors Turner and Grayson into his lair. They began their regular morning meeting, updating Riley on the progress of ongoing cases while he allocated responsibility for anything new that had come to the interest of the detective department since the previous day.
‘Morning, sir.’ Jack Salter walked in, looking harried.
‘Morning Salter,’ Riley said. ‘I hear the denizens of Clapham have been ill-mannered enough to do one another harm at a time when we were enjoying a lull in the crime wave and a pleasant spell of sunshine.’
‘Afraid so, sir. The locals were right to call us in. It’s murder right enough—and what’s more, I know the victim.’
‘Sorry to hear that.’ Riley nodded to a chair and Salter fell heavily into it. ‘Do we know what happened?’
‘A pub brawl by the looks of things. The victim, John Dawson, was bashed on the back of the head with something solid and left to die in a side alley. He was found by a baker on his way to work early this morning who popped down that alleyway to relieve himself and got more than he bargained for. I’ve got young Peterson asking questions of the landlord and then waiting to talk to his regulars, but you can bet your last shilling that no one saw nothing.’
‘Has next of kin been informed?’
‘Aye, sir. The lad has a mother. Spoke to her myself. She’s beside herself, poor woman. Dawson didn’t deserve that sort of love, and she sure as heck doesn’t deserve to have her heart broke.’ Salter let out a long sigh. ‘Anyway, I came in to let you know what’s what. Want me to spend the rest of the day on it?’
‘And the one after that, if necessary. You may not have liked the victim, Jack, but he probably doesn’t deserve to be dead, and his demise warrants our best efforts.’
‘Right you are, sir.’
‘Take Carter and Soames back with you,’ he said, referring to the two detective constables who ordinarily worked with Salter. ‘Ask more questions. Lean on the landlord. He won’t want his trade interfered with, so he might suddenly remember something useful.’
‘Right you are.’
‘You said you knew the man, Jack. How?’
‘Sorry to interrupt, sir,’ Barton said, putting his head round the door. ‘But I’ve had an urgent message from a Lady Ida Randall. She reckons you know her.’
‘I do, Barton,’ Riley said, smiling and rolling his eyes simultaneously. ‘What does she want?’
Barton sniffed. ‘She reckons she’s misplaced one of her footmen and what do you intend to do about it?’
‘Oh heck,’ Salter said. ‘That’ll be Dawson she’ll be looking for.’
‘Why?’ Riley felt justifiably confused. ‘Your murder victim turned up in Clapham. Lady Randall resides in Portman Square. Is there a connection?’
‘There could be.’
Riley frowned as his normally forthright sergeant hesitated. ‘Out with it, man,’ he snapped.
‘Dawson was always
