The Detective's Dilemma (19 page)

All three men were dressed in slightly shabby clothes, but other than that, they bore no resemblance to each other. One was fat, another had a long sad face, and the third, the youngest, had red hair and more freckles than she’d ever seen on a person.

“Who’s this?” the fat man demanded.

“Never mind,” said Caleb.

“Is this your wife?” The man with the sad face brightened and tipped his hat at Julianna. “Mr. Sawyer said she had a little boy.”

Caleb growled. “I said never mind.”

“Ma’am? You married to him?” The fat man spoke around an unlit cigar.

Caleb gave her a startled look, something like pleading in his eyes. Julianna pressed her mouth to Peter’s head to hide a smile. Apparently, introductions were not about to be made, because Caleb snapped, “You don’t need to know.”

Walker shouldn’t have made his delight at the sight of her so obvious. He didn’t mind Julianna knowing how glad he was to see her, but these idiots shouldn’t witness it. Damn Sawyer and his big mouth.

He turned to McMillan, the fat reporter and the most persistent pest. “You said you wanted the story. It’s not in this alley. Come on, we’ll walk around front.”

McMillan took off his derby and smoothed his hair before replacing the grubby hat. “You’re the one who came running down here in a hurry like a bat outta—”

“Language, A lady is present, not to mention a wee tot,” scolded the red-haired friend of Sawyer’s, Gerrard or Gerald. Walker was usually good at names and faces, but when the introductions were made in the carriage, he wasn’t paying attention. He’d been too busy silently shouting at the driver to go faster.

And now, suddenly, his desire to invade Winthrop’s house and pummel Springfield had vanished. Julianna stood in front of him, safe, and her safety was all he required. He shoved his hands hard into his pockets and wondered when the infatuation had taken hold. Probably it had its seeds in a meeting that had taken place years before.

She shifted the sleeping boy in her arms.

“He looks heavy. May I take him?” Walker asked.

“I told you she’s the widow,” McMillan muttered to Gerrard/Gerald. “I’ve heard she’s a wife again.”

Julianna must not have heard the conversation. She only answered Walker’s question. “I’m so grateful to have Peter back, I don’t think I can let go of him for the next decade or so.”

Walker strolled next to her in case she tripped trying to make her way over the uneven dirt and cobbles of the dim alley. “We don’t need to go back there for this,” he murmured. “It could be nasty, and you might not want him to see what happens.”

He nodded at the baby Peter, who looked like a pink-cheeked pig from this angle—to be fair, a clean little piglet.

She wrinkled her nose and lifted her chin. That look meant she seriously considered the matter. This was a woman he knew already. He wanted to know her better.

Arms full, she used her shoulder to try to push a lock of hair off her face. He reached over and brushed the soft hair back. She gave him a glowing smile. “I’m so glad to see you.”

Just under his heart, something clenched, and he had trouble drawing breath. “Good. Now go away until this is over.”

“As far as I know, I might be wanted by the police, so going off on my own could be a mistake,” she said slowly.

“I’d go with you,” he said at once.

“You’re too generous.” Dry amusement colored her voice. “I know you want to find out what’s happening with your friend Sawyer, and you might find the solution to your problems.”

What he really wanted was to make sure she and her sleeping piglet stayed safe.

She spoke softly when the men in front of them slowed. “I need to find a way to get Brennan out of jail, and your friends might be able to help.”

He’d go to the jail and release Brennan himself. He’d have to tell some sort of lie, something about a prisoner transfer. But she was talking again, and he stopped planning so he could listen.

“Caleb. I should tell you…” She slowed so they fell back even more. “I can trust you, right?”

He didn’t make his usual sarcastic remark
about sure, you can always trust a crooked cop.
“Of course,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what happened.” She told an odd tale of Mrs. Winthrop with a fireplace poker and an unconscious Winthrop.

“Are you telling me Mrs. Winthrop walloped her husband for a change? Ha!”

“Hush. And, really, you sound too delighted.”

“Oh, I am,” he assured her. “I only wish I’d been there to see her do it. Good for Mrs. Winthrop senior. I could never in a thousand years imagine that damp rag of a lady taking action.”

“No need to be rude about her. She has had a shocking sort of a day.”

“You have too, but your spine remains strong. Never mind, stop frowning at me and tell me—is her husband dead?”

“No. Or he wasn’t when I left. Is Mr. Sawyer already at the front door?”

“Yeah, we came around back in case they couldn’t manage to get in the front way, but that guy waving? Means someone came out and signaled they’re in.”

She held her little boy tighter and walked faster. He sped up too and realized the sinking feeling wasn’t anticipation at the coming confrontation. That wouldn’t bother him. Walker wasn’t sure he was ready for this day to end. They walked down the block to where the front door lay open, and he pushed through the group on the stairs. “I go first,” he said to McMillan. “You don’t like it, feel free to wait in the carriage. It’s just around the corner.”

McMillan seemed about to protest. Walker held up a hand. “Not negotiable. You wait.”

Even after all these years and the rot of his career, he still felt the need to protect members of the public.

He walked into the marble foyer. Sawyer hadn’t made it far. He stood a few feet into the huge hallway, arguing with a man who resembled a gorilla with an underbite.

“Hey, you!” Springfield and another man, aha, Mr. Leshem, lurking in the background, came surging forward. “Caleb Walker. You’re wanted by the police for the….” His voice died away as he goggled at Julianna coming through the door, holding her baby.

“Wait. You and that baby are in the room with Mr. Winthrop, what the…” He didn’t bother finishing his sentence but turned and hurried down the hall toward a door.

“Sawyer. Stay put and keep an eye on these chuckleheads and Julianna,” Walker said. When he saw Sawyer’s leer, he wished he’d remembered to say
Mrs. Winthrop
or even
Mrs. Walker.

He rushed down the corridor after Springfield and the other Winthrop men.

Springfield pounded on a closed door, calling, “Sir?” They all packed in behind the big gorilla, then stumbled forward in a clot when someone opened the door. They crowded into a room—some sort of parlor with the usual too many tables and knickknacks, only on a grander scale. All of Walker’s apartment would fit into this one room.

They didn’t get far, because Harriet the maid stood near the doorway, hands on her hips, blocking their way. “Is the house on fire?” she addressed Winthrop’s men tartly. “Mr. Winthrop is feeling poorly, and you all can’t stay quiet?”

She indicated a sofa behind her, where Mr. Winthrop had been laid out, a handkerchief over his brow. How had the two ladies managed that? Walker wondered. In her hurried description, Julianna had told him Winthrop had dropped onto the floor near the French windows. Walker forced himself not to look in that direction to look for signs of blood.

Instead, he focused on the older Mrs. Winthrop, who sat in a chair at the other end of the room, knitting. She looked up and pursed her lips. “This racket is hardly the sort of noise I’m used to,” she quavered. Her hands trembled. “Why didn’t you announce these gentlemen, Springfield?”

Springfield ignored her and leaned over his boss. He shook Mr. Winthrop’s shoulder. “Sir? Sir, are you ill?”

Everyone in the room froze as the man’s eyes flew open, and he said something like “Mmvwelpier.”

Walker caught Julianna’s anxious gaze before she carefully lowered herself into a chair near the door, both arms tight around her baby, who seemed to still be asleep. He hadn’t known babies were such sound sleepers.

“Sorry, sir, didn’t get that. Tell me again?” Springfield leaned over and put his ear near Mr. Winthrop’s mouth. A few seconds later, he straightened. “He says his wife hit over the head with the fireplace poker.”

“Oh, the poor man,” said Harriet.

It seemed she would throw her lady employer into the soup, but then the maid went on in thrilled tones. “He must have hit his head harder than we thought, to imagine such a thing, Mr. Springfield. Mrs. Winthrop wouldn’t hurt a fly. You know that. And see? The poor lady barely has the strength to hold her knitting needles.”

It certainly looked that way—the poor lady’s hands were shaking so that everyone must notice. “He slipped,” Mrs. Winthrop said. “He was walking to the door to ah, ah…” Her voice trailed off.

Julianna spoke from her chair. “He opened the door to aid me so I could take the baby outside for a few minutes and then, uh…”

Harriet hurriedly took up the thread. “Mr. Winthrop began to walk toward us, and he fell. Maybe that small rug tripped him? I helped him to the sofa. I thought he was fine, or I’d have called for help, of course. But he must have hit his head,” said Harriet. She was the most fluent liar of the three ladies, a pretty, wide-eyed young maid distressed by her master’s injury.

Mr. Winthrop mumbled again.

“What did he say?”

“Hogwash,” said Springfield. He glared all around the room and stared at Walker. “What the hell is going on? Why are you all in here, anyway?”

Walker chided, “Language, Springfield. There are ladies present.”

“Thank you, Mr.…sir. Whoever you are,” said Mrs. Winthrop with dignity. Julianna pressed her face to her baby’s head, probably hiding a nervous laugh. She did have a tendency to laugh when things didn’t seem particularly funny. And Mrs. Winthrop did a terrible job of pretending she didn’t know Walker.

But he didn’t do a terrific acting job himself, starting with surprise when Julianna spoke up. “This is my own dear Mr. Walker. Remember, Mr. Springfield? He was looking for me, and you were wrong to force us from the shop. He grew worried and enlisted help.”

Walker’s mouth hung open at that ‘dear’ until realized the attention had shifted to him. He gave Springfield a glare.

“What the hell?” McMillan said.

Julianna kissed the top of her child’s head. “Although I am grateful to get my baby back again, it was naughty of you and Mr. Winthrop to keep him and not tell me.” She gazed at the reporters. “Very naughty.”

Springfield was about to say something when he noticed at least two of the men had out notebooks and were scribbling. Julianna’s tone had been light but carried an edge of threat. Walker couldn’t have been more proud of her.

Mr. Winthrop was apparently too injured and annoyed to notice that his sitting room was full of strangers. His eyes remained closed as he grumbled. “I paid good money to get that kid. I’m not letting you get your mitts on him again. Why, that was over two hundred dollars out to Gregory, and his help turned out to be bumbling, you’re saying it’s worse? involved with you?”

“Boss, hey, hold off on—” Springfield began, a warning note in his voice, but Winthrop plowed over him.

“You’re a nuisance, girl.” Winthrop mumbled. “I’m just about tired of you and this ineffective fool of a cop you’ve picked up.”

Julianna seemed about to say something else, but Walker held up a hand. Let the man incriminate himself as much as he could. Winthrop grumbled in a low but audible voice, “God almighty, my head hurts. I’ve had more than enough of this foolery. It won’t take a lot more pay to make you disappear—jail or Bellevue seems about right. Some of your dear Walker’s coworkers are willing to do something even rougher or a more permanent kind of—” He broke off, because at that point, Springfield had put a hand over his mouth.

Winthrop said something muffled that might have been “Quit it.” His eyes opened, and he finally figured out that not all the men in the room worked for him or with him. He went silent and even paler than before.

The crowd, most of them hungry for a good story, surged forward, especially the reporters. The fact that Mr. Winthrop had been knocked out was already forgotten. His strange speech would lead to better headlines.

“What do you mean you paid Gregory?” McMillan demanded. “Come on, let’s hear the rest.”

One of Sawyer’s boys, a lawyerly type, spoke in a loud voice. “From what I understand, Mr. Walker is a police officer. Are you saying the police are being bribed to arrest innocent people?”

Next to him, Harriet happily murmured, “Ha, serves the old devil right.” She folded her hands in a most demure, servant-like manner. Walker grinned at her and winked at Julianna, who gave him a faint smile in return.

The papers getting their hands on the story had been good enough, but Sawyer would go even further, bless his vengeful soul.

Walker considered arresting Winthrop and decided to let another cop take on that job. He wasn’t going to leave Julianna alone, even if he got dragged into the net Sawyer tossed. Would Julianna protest if he stepped up and talked about his own situation, or might she tell him it was his duty? He couldn’t wait to argue with her about it. Mrs. Walker—a strange and funny thought that he rather enjoyed running through his brain. Settled with an instant family? Him? Nonsense. He grinned at such a thought.