Lenoir didn’t seem to hear. He gazed at the grave site, visibly annoyed. “The evidence has been destroyed.”
The priest was unapologetic. “You would not have found anything, Inspector. Footprints and the work of a spade—nothing more.”
“How did the boy die?” Lenoir asked.
“Fever.”
“And his parents, where are they?”
“Not far from here,” Brier said, eager to help. “I can take you there, if you like.”
They remained in North Haven until late afternoon, but they didn’t learn anything useful. So Lenoir said, anyway, but Kody thought they were overlooking an important detail.
“The two boys were the same age,” he pointed out as they rode back to Kennian. “That must be significant.”
“Why must it?” Lenoir asked indifferently.
“Well, it can’t be coincidence.”
“Of course it can, Sergeant. The corpse thief is obviously interested in fresh bodies, ones that have not yet decomposed. My guess is that we are dealing with a philosopher of some kind, someone who is using the bodies for research purposes. He looks for a dead child, and then he digs it up. Two children aged nine died recently, so he dug up two children aged nine. It is not significant.”
As a rule, Kody didn’t see much point in arguing with people who’d already made up their minds—and that went double for Lenoir. But he wasn’t willing to let this one pass, not without a fight. “With all due respect, Inspector, wasn’t it you who taught me that every detail is significant?”
“I also taught you not to allow yourself to be distracted by them. You must consider the motive, Sergeant. If you cannot explain why the crime has been committed, you will never solve it. You must focus on the whole of the thing, find the story behind it.”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to do. Maybe there is no pattern here, but maybe there is, and we have to want to see it. Whether it’s a constellation or just stars depends on who’s looking.”
Lenoir sneered. “Such affection you have for that hackneyed saying of yours. You do realize it makes you sound like a romantic fool?”
They fell into a cold silence. If I’m a romantic fool, Kody thought bitterly, you’re a lazy bastard. Lenoir didn’t want to acknowledge a pattern because that would mean they had a lead, and they would be obliged to follow it. If Kody was right, they could bide their time until another nine-year-old boy died, and then watch the grave until the thief appeared. But as usual, Lenoir seemed perfectly uninterested in solving this case.
Kody didn’t know how much longer he could cope without his frustration boiling over. He’d specifically requested to serve under Nicolas Lenoir, since the man was something of a legend. Lenoir had done a lot to professionalize the city’s police force—in fact, he’d practically founded the Metropolitan Police ten years before, remodeling it after the renowned Prefecture of Police in his native city of Serles. That done, he’d gone on a brief but spectacularly successful rampage against Kennian’s complex criminal networks. He and Sergeant Crears (now Constable Crears) had broken up the largest thieving ring in Kennian’s history, recovering almost a million crowns’ worth of goods and arresting the city’s most notorious crime lord. Crears was promoted, and Lenoir received a commendation from the lord mayor.
But those days were long gone. Having secured his place as the top inspector on the force, Lenoir no longer felt the need to exert himself. He still hauled in the occasional big fish, but mostly he just went through the motions. He was a brilliant detective; Kody had seen flashes of his genius on plenty of occasions. But mostly he was cynical and indifferent, and Kody had a hunch that wasn’t the worst of it. Instead of propelling his career forward, working as Lenoir’s deputy had frozen his progress, ensuring that he never had the chance to break a major case. Quite simply, Lenoir was holding him back.
No more.
He broke the silence. “I understand this case probably isn’t worth your attention,” he said coolly, “but if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to look into it a little further.”
Lenoir glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable. “As you like, Sergeant, but it is a waste of your time. You will not find anything.”
Maybe not, Kody conceded inwardly, but at least I’m willing to look.
CHAPTER 5
Darkness already held sway over Kennian by the time Lenoir quit the headquarters of the Metropolitan Police. A cold, damp fog was seeping into the streets like a slow poison through the veins of the city; Lenoir had to turn the collar of his coat up to shield his neck from the chill. He was in an ill temper as usual, rankled by Kody’s thinly veiled contempt. How sick he was of the sergeant’s judgment! As though a whelp such as he had anything to say to Lenoir, who had been catching criminals since before Kody had seen his first winter. The man’s treacly affection for the law was sickening, and his ambition would have been laughable, were it not so pathetic. Kody genuinely believed he would fix the force someday. Catch the criminals. Save the world. Lenoir snorted contemptuously, sending a plume of mist into the air. One day, the sergeant would learn what the world was really like, and Lenoir could only hope he was there to see it.
Anger drove his step as he headed for the poor district. He needed to find Zach before the boy turned in for the night. It was not difficult; Zach had a few reliable haunts, and Lenoir found him at the second tavern he checked. He did not even need to go inside; as he rounded the corner of the inn, he spied Zach tumbling into the street, the wrathful innkeeper towering above him. Lenoir was reminded forcibly of the incident at the Courtier the night before, and his mood soured still further.
“If I catch you in here again, you little mongrel, I’ll cut your throat for you!” The man’s shoulders heaved with rage, and he cocked his leg back, as though he were preparing to kick the pile of rags in the dirt.
“Will you, sir?” Lenoir said mildly, stepping into the glow of a streetlamp. “And who will run your establishment while you are in jail?”
The innkeeper squinted into the light. “Who are you?”
“I am Inspector Nicolas Lenoir of the Metropolitan Police, which you know perfectly well, since you have seen me in your tavern a dozen times or more.”
The innkeeper’s lip curled. “So I have, with this little thief in tow.” He pointed a thick finger at Zach, who had righted himself and now stood defiantly before his accuser. “You keep bad company for a policeman.”
“The company I keep is not your concern. And besides, what proof have you that the boy is a thief? Did you see him take anything?”
“One of my customers was pickpocketed, and I’ve seen that boy around enough to know what he’s about.”
Lenoir approached Zach. “Turn out your pockets.” The boy searched his face for a moment, but when he saw that Lenoir was serious, he did as he was told, reaching inside his trousers and turning out his pockets. They dangled like a pair of hound’s ears, empty.
“There. You have no evidence with which to accuse the boy. Do not let me hear of you mistreating him again.”
The innkeeper responded through a tightly clenched jaw, “He has no reason to be in my place. He’s not a paying customer. It’s my right to put him out if he can’t pay.”
“So it is.” Lenoir dropped some coins into Zach’s palm. “Go inside and buy yourself a meat pie.” To the tavern owner, he said, “Now he is a paying customer.”
The man could do no more than stand there shaking with anger as Zach walked triumphantly past, trailed by Lenoir. He did not dare challenge an inspector of the Metropolitan Police.