I do not usually report to clients until the job is finished,” Owen Sweetwater said.
Caleb angled his chin in acknowledgment of the great favor that Sweetwater appeared to think he was granting to Jones & Jones. In the few months that he and Lucinda had been doing business at the agency, they had discovered that the only people more troublesome than the clients were the powerful and unpredictable talents the firm was obliged to hire in order to conduct the investigations.
“We appreciate that you are making an exception for us,” Caleb said.
His cousin Gabe, the Master of the Society, studied Sweetwater with a considering expression.
“You came highly recommended, Mr. Sweetwater, but please understand that this sort of business is new to us,” Gabe said.
The three of them were standing in an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Sweetwater had chosen the location for the meeting, just as he had selected the location the first time, when Caleb had contacted him about the possibility of employment. It had become clear immediately that when one engaged the services of the Sweetwater clan, one accepted the arrangements stipulated by the particular Sweetwater with whom one was dealing.
At the first meeting Caleb had been convinced that Owen Sweetwater was a hunter-talent of some sort but not the traditional variety. The psychical abilities of the average hunter tended to be of a more physical nature. Such talents were usually endowed with preternatural reflexes, speed, hearing and night vision. They hunted by detecting the psychical spoor of their prey.
Owen Sweetwater moved with a predatory ease and control that put one in mind of a hunter, but Caleb had grown up in a family that boasted a number of hunters sprinkled throughout the bloodline. He knew true hunters, and he was quite certain that whatever Sweetwater was, he was not a traditional hunter-talent.
“What we want to know,” Caleb said carefully, “is whether you have found any evidence that supports my belief that the two glass-readers were killed by paranormal means. If not, then this case is not J & J’s problem. I will give what information we have to an acquaintance at Scotland Yard. The police can take responsibility for finding the killer.”
“The way they took responsibility for the murders of an untold number of prostitutes in the past several years?”
Gabe frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Tomorrow or the following day, you will read of the tragic death of Lord Hollister in the morning papers,” Owen said. “The official cause of his demise will likely be a heart attack or stroke. In reality, he died of a knife in the chest.”
Caleb raised his brows. “Your work?”
“I cannot take the credit. I suspect the wife. I found the body when I explored the basement beneath the mansion.”
“What the devil were you doing in Hollister’s basement?” Gabe asked.
“That is where my investigation led me,” Owen said a little too smoothly. “What the press will not be aware of is that Hollister preyed on young prostitutes for years. He lured them into his carriage and took them to the basement beneath his mansion, where he raped and murdered them. There is no telling how many he killed. While I was on the premises, I found another girl who was still alive. I took her to the charity house in Elm Street.”
“I have seen nothing in the papers about missing streetwalkers,” Caleb said.
“That is because the press rarely notices when girls go missing,” Owen said. “Prostitutes are forever vanishing from the streets. Sometimes they turn up in the river, sometimes they simply disappear. But unless the death is a particularly bloody one, the public has no interest. Hollister was careful to dispose of the bodies so that they did not draw attention.”
Gabe thought about that. “You say Hollister was a talent?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it, possibly a glass-reader.”
“That is why your investigation led you to his basement,” Caleb said, mentally assembling the pieces of the puzzle. “Was he the one who murdered the glass-readers?”
“No, but there is some connection between Hollister and the murders of the glass-readers,” Owen said. “My investigation is ongoing.”
“That does not tell us a great deal,” Gabe said without inflection.
“I can give you one or two other interesting facts. I came across a rather dangerous psychical weapon disguised as a clockwork curiosity in the Hollister mansion. There may be other such devices out there.”
Caleb groaned. “I had hoped that the crystal guns that gave us so much trouble in the course of a recent case were the end of our problems with paranormal weaponry.”
“Evidently not,” Owen said. “I can also tell you that the link between Hollister’s death and the deaths of the glass-readers runs through the Leybrook Institute.”
Irritation flashed through Caleb. “That damned Institute is rife with charlatans and frauds.”
“When you consider the matter closely,” Gabe said, “it is the ideal place for a true psychical killer to conceal himself.”
“A genuine talent hidden among the fakes.” Caleb sighed. “Very clever.”
“It’s called hiding in plain sight,” Owen said. “The monsters are very good at that.”
It seemed to Caleb that there was a new chill in the atmosphere. It was not coming from the river or the fog that shrouded the warehouse. It emanated from Owen Sweetwater’s aura.
“It seems you were right, Caleb,” Gabe said. “But then, you generally are when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Caleb did not respond. There was nothing to say. He was almost always right when it came to seeing patterns. He was especially skilled at noting the dark evidence that indicated crimes that had been committed by villains endowed with psychical talent. But no one was right one hundred percent of the time. Deep inside, he lived with the knowledge that someday he would miscalculate and innocents might die. It was the theme of his darkest dreams.
He frowned at Owen. “How do you intend to proceed?”
Owen shrugged, as if the question had an obvious answer.
“I will identify the killer and remove him,” he said. “I will then, of course, send you a bill for services rendered.”
Gabe leaned back against a large, empty wooden cask and folded his arms. “A simple plan.”
“I have always found that they work best,” Owen said. “Now, then, I am rather busy at the moment. If there is nothing else, I trust you will excuse me.”
He turned and walked away through the deep shadows at the back of the warehouse. In a moment he was gone.
Gabe watched the darkness where Sweetwater had vanished. “I do not think that he told us everything he knows.”
“You can place a wager on that assumption,” Caleb agreed.
“He’s one of us, though, isn’t he?”
“A hunter?” Caleb said. “Yes, I’m sure of it. But he is not like any hunter-talent I have ever met.”
“How do you think he hunts?”
“From what little I have learned about him, I suspect that he has the ability to discern what it is that compels the killer. Once he knows that, he can make some predictions.”
“Such as the possible identity of the killer’s next victim?”
“Yes.”
“What if he’s wrong?”
“Then I was wrong to employ him,” Caleb said. “If another innocent glass-reader dies, I will bear a good portion of the blame.”
“No,” Gabe said. “You took the only step you could take to try to stop the person who is murdering the glass-readers. And as the Master of the Society, I authorized the hiring of Sweetwater for this venture. It was, I believe, a very logical move. We are sending a man who hunts monsters out to hunt his natural prey.”
Caleb exhaled slowly. “What gives us the right to do such a thing?”
“Damned if I know,” Gabe said. “But if J & J doesn’t go after the psychical villains, who will? It is not as
