"Investigating a murder, sir," Harper replied.
"You were given vacation leave four hours ago," Abbot Greeley snapped. "You shouldn't even be in town."
Harper realized that the abbot's voice had been one of the two he had heard whispering in the other room. Harper wondered how long Abbot Greeley had been at the crime scene. Certainly long enough for his clothes and hair to dry, despite the soaking rain outside.
"I heard a woman on the street calling for help. She sent me here to try and reach the girl before she was killed." Harper held the accusation back from his voice. "May I ask how you happen to be here, sir? Normally you'd be at home by this hour, wouldn't you?"
"Lord Cedric and I are good friends." Abbot Greeley gestured to the man in the violet dressing robe. "He sent for me the moment he saw what had befallen his poor niece."
"You have my condolences, sir." Harper had seen photographs of Lord Cedric in the social columns of the papers. He recalled that the man was a cousin to the bishop of Redstone, but little else.
"Thank you," Lord Cedric said quietly. Harper recognized the rich depth of his voice. He had been the second man up in the room with Abbot Greeley.
Clearly, Lord Cedric had sent for the abbot long before he had called for any Inquisitors. The abbot would have instructed Lord Cedric in the matter of erasing evidence. It wouldn't have taken long to move the girl's body from the stairs to her bedroom and hide the signs of her previous beatings under a long nightgown. A maid would be called to clean the stairs and hall. Then, to concoct a murderous intruder, they smashed the glass doors. Their deception had been created in haste, and no doubt Abbot Greeley knew that any decent investigator would have seen through it.
But then Abbot Greeley had the advantage of choosing which Inquisition captain to summon. Briefly, Harper glanced at Brandson. The captain flipped his wet hair back from his face. He picked up one of the dead girl's hairbrushes, considered it for a moment, and then, noticing Harper's gaze, returned it to the dressing table.
"Good of you to come, Harper," Abbot Greeley said. "But we have things well in hand now. You can get back to your vacation."
"I'd be happy to." Harper continued to study Brandson. He'd never thought highly of the captain's intellect, but perhaps he could be roused to thought. "Before I go, however, I can't help but wonder what's become of the footprints and water from the intruder?"
"Well." Brandson pointed to Harper's own tracks. "Those would be them, I would say."
"I'm afraid I have a pretty tight alibi, Brandson." Harper crossed his arms over his chest. "Those are from my boots. Moreover, they don't lead in from the balcony to the body. There aren't any tracks leading in from the balcony."
"That's impossible. A rug this white would have been marked. No one could break in and not leave a single print." Brandson frowned down at the white carpet.
"A Prodigal could. One of the flyers wouldn't need to set foot on the floor." Abbot Greeley offered Harper an angry smile. "Thank you for pointing that out, Captain Harper. We now know that we are looking for a Prodigal."
"Shouldn't you also consider the possibility that no one broke in?" Harper directed the question to Brandson. "Someone might have shattered the glass to make it look like there had been an intruder—"
Abbot Greeley cut Harper off. "Captain Brandson can certainly draw his own conclusions, Harper." He still smiled at Harper, but his eyes were narrowed in anger. "I'm sure we've kept you from your vacation long enough. Brandson and I will take care of things here."
"Of course. I should be going then," Harper stated coldly.
"What about the maid?" Lord Cedric's voice carried from behind Brandson and Greeley.
Abbot Greeley glanced back at Lord Cedric, then to Harper.
"Quite right. Harper, where is the woman who sent you here? We'll need to speak to her."
Harper had no intention of handing the old woman over to Abbot Greeley, not after what had happened to Peter Roffcale. At the same time, he didn't have the proof or the authority to out-rightly challenge the abbot. The woman hadn't actually accused Lord Cedric by name. All Harper had was his own conviction, and that wouldn't stand up against the abbot's authority.
"I left her at the Convent of the Pierced Heart." Harper picked the most plausible place in the vicinity. Pierced Heart had the added advantage of being farthest from where he had actually left the old woman. Harper wasn't sure if Abbot Greeley believed him, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he answered. So long as Harper didn't directly disobey orders, the abbot couldn't have him locked up or discharged.
"Right, then," Brandson said. "I'll send two of my men out to take a statement from Captain Harper's witness."
"Send Reynolds and Miller. If they don't find the woman at the convent, have them search north toward the Chapel Street carriage house," Abbot Greeley said.
Brandson nodded.
"Also..." Abbot Greeley gave a quick glance to the shattered glass doors. "Send Camp, Thurston, and Wills out to round up the Prodigal flyers that we have on record. I want a confession from one of them within the next week."
Again Brandson nodded, as if the thought had been his own. The fact that a Prodigal had been designated as the murderer even before the investigation began didn't seem to bother Brandson. Only Abbot Greeley's orders seemed to penetrate his thoughts.
Harper had once wondered how Brandson managed to rise to the rank of captain. He supposed that he was now witnessing the qualities that Abbot Greeley so valued in Brandson.
"With your permission, sir, I think I had better get back to my vacation." Harper inclined his head slightly to the abbot out of habit.
"A very good idea, Captain Harper. I don't want to catch a glimpse of you until you're due back." Abbot Greeley smiled as if he were joking. Harper wondered if the abbot actually thought he was fooling him.
"We can both hope," Harper replied, and then left the house.
Chapter Two
Needle
The old woman hung against Harper like a mass of soaked laundry. She was limp in his arms, her body and limbs buried in the filthy, dripping fabric of her dress. Her wrinkled face was nearly as colorless as her lace cap and white hair. Only the short wisps of her breath brushing against his collar assured Harper that she was even alive.
For a brief moment Harper thought that she had died when he first returned to her, but he found a pulse still weakly throbbing through the pale veins of her wrist. She hadn't awakened when he shook her, only letting out a weak groan. Her skin felt icy and tremors shuddered through her body. She needed to be taken to a physician. He quickly wrapped her in his coat.
She shivered, and Harper pulled her closer to the heat of his own body. Her lace cap hung in a tangle with her hair. One of the little hairpins jabbed into the side of Harper's neck as he walked. He shifted the old woman's unconscious body against his shoulder, and her cap fell entirely free.
Harper knew that he should stop and retrieve the cap. It might take only one scrap of lace to serve as a trail. But time was already against him. He didn't dare stop and fish through the mud while this woman died. He kept walking and hoped that the mud and darkness would hide whatever trail lay behind him. His best chance lay in putting as much distance between himself and the Chapel streets as quickly as possible.