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Andrews UK - Bianca Jenkins

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65 pages

English

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Lestrade realized abruptly that he was not alone. He turned to face his assailants. Outnumbered, he braced himself for an unfair fight with no delusions of winning. Light glinted off metal as one of the men drew a blade, and Lestrade realized that he was in for more than just a beating - these men fully intended to kill him. London. 1867. Against the advice of his senior partner and mentor, newly promoted Inspector Lestrade agrees to look into a case no one else wants, only to find that there is more to investigate than a simple disappearance, and that his fellow Inspectors may not be as trustworthy as they seem. Determined to carry on, uncertain who to trust, Lestrade faces danger and corruption both in the city-and within Scotland Yard itself.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	08 février 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781787057210
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0250€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Tales of Scotland Yard: Lestrade
Bianca Jenkins

Published in 2020 by
MX Publishing
www.mxpublishing.com/
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2020 Bianca Jenkins
The right of Bianca Jenkins to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

One
Scotland Yard, 1867
Try as he might, Inspector Johnson could no longer ignore the boy. Standing primly in the midst of chaos in what was most likely a brand new suit and seemingly unfazed by the crowd swarming around him, the young man would have blended in with the common criminal element present in the room had it not been for two things: the aforementioned suit, and the fact that he was somehow cleaner than the majority of the police force at Scotland Yard. Not, Johnson admitted to himself, that that was necessarily a particularly impressive feat in and of itself.
The fact that he had been here since shortly after the inspector had come in this morning, and had remained in place without so much as shifting position – as far as Johnson could tell based on the four times he had passed through the room and noticed the other man out of the corner of his eye – made Johnson wonder what exactly had brought him here, though he was equally if not more interested in what had caused him to stay.
Johnson made his way over to the desk sergeant to make an inquiry. Crane, a heavy-lidded man with thin lips and a sallow complexion, had a way of making his skin crawl without so much as uttering a word. Of course, when he did speak it was so much worse. Johnson usually tried to avoid the toad when he could, but unfortunately there was little he could do this time without simply approaching the lad himself and demanding an explanation.
He leaned almost casually against Crane’s desk and found himself reconsidering as the man’s dark eyes drifted up almost lazily to meet his. Stifling a sigh, he forced himself into the conversation.
“Snappy dresser,” he commented, tilting his head ever so slightly. Crane did not bother to look. “Clean, too.”
“Hmm,” the other man hummed noncommittally. “Won’t last,” he pronounced judgment. Johnson felt his forehead wrinkle.
“New constable?” he asked, but that wasn’t right. The boy would have been in a uniform.
“Former. Promoted. Came over from Fleet Street.” Crane was no longer interested in either the newcomer or in the inspector invading his desk space. “Superintendent said to stick him with the first inspector to ask about him, if he didn’t get fed up and leave first.”
Johnson bit back an oath. “And I’m the first?” There was no need to ask. The very reason he had ignored the lad the first several times was that he had not wanted to deal with him.
Crane smiled up at him almost maliciously. This time Johnson did swear. Without another word he stalked across the room.
Up close the boy was not as young as Johnson had thought, but still young enough. His clothes were new, well-made, and a little more expensive than most Inspectors went for, but perhaps that was an attempt to offset his physical appearance: short, thin, dark-haired, and with a pinched look that on the street would make a man reconsider the safety of his wallet. Johnson paused in front of him and waited.
The young man met his gaze slowly. He had to look up to do so, and Johnson found himself staring down into the darkest pair of eyes he had ever seen in his life. The lad blinked – Johnson could not entirely shake his first impression of a boy standing untouched by all around him – and whatever might have been read in those almost black eyes by someone caught less off guard, shuttered. His expression closed to a polite mask.
Johnson wavered between curiosity and annoyance. “What’s your name, boy?” He asked more sharply than he meant.
Perhaps exactly as sharply as he meant. He really had no interest in being followed around by some freshly promoted inspector that the superintendent clearly did not want around.
“Lestrade, sir,” a brisk response, “Inspector Lestrade,” he added carefully. It sounded as if it were the first time he had tried the title out. Johnson wondered how he liked it.
“Inspector Johnson,” he introduced himself. “Seen the superintendent yet?”
“No, sir,”
“Well, you won’t. Not unless you stick around long enough for him to notice you. Until that happens, or you quit or die, you’re with me.”
“Yes, sir,” Not one for conversation, but maybe he was just nervous. Johnson wondered if Lestrade’s polite expression would falter, just a bit, if he smacked him.
“Come on, then,” Johnson headed back to his office, wondering just what exactly he was supposed to do with a rookie inspector. Paperwork, maybe?
“Yes, sir,” That was going to get old quick.
“You don’t need to speak unless you’re answering a question,” Johnson suggested, and the lad fell mercifully silent and followed him down the hall.
He looked around as they entered his office and realized he was further behind on his paperwork than he had originally thought. His office was in worse shape as well. It was both impressive and infuriating when the rookie took in the room and its contents without the slightest change of expression.
“Can you read, boy? Write?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Which?”
“Both, sir.”
Johnson pointed to a stack of cases heaped on a chair in the corner. “You can start by sorting through those and getting them in some sort of order. They go in that cabinet when you’re finished.”
Lestrade blinked at him, then looked back at the chair. Johnson wondered if he were going to argue with him, but he only asked, “Any special way you want them ordered, sir?”
The older inspector shook his head. “Just make sure I can find something when I need it.” He doubted the lad would get far, or that anything he did would be particularly useful later, but at least it would keep him out of Johnson’s way while he tried to catch up on his reports.
He sat down at his desk. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Lestrade gingerly examine the file sitting on the top of the stack. The lad’s eyes furrowed as he stared down at the page, and a frown slipped through the mask.
“You did say you could read?” Johnson pressed. He received no reply, but Lestrade’s eyes were moving across the page, albeit slowly. The older man left him to it and turned his attention to his own work.
Three-quarters of the way down the page his office door opened. A head poked through the now open door frame. “The lad’s gone – Smith will be so disappointed. He was sure the boy would be waiting there all day and …” Inspector Adams stopped as he noticed the room’s second occupant. “Yours?”
“It is now,” Johnson grumbled. Lestrade never looked up. “Rookie inspector. Fresh from Fleet Street.”
“He involved in that incident with the barber?” Adams grinned. “Are you going to introduce us now or wait a couple of weeks to see if he lasts?”
Johnson strangled a laugh into a cough and set down his report. “Inspector Lestrade.”
The boy looked up and barely stopped himself. Johnson could still hear it. “ Yes, sir?”
“This is Inspector Adams.”
Lestrade sized up the other Inspector in much the same way a pickpocket on the street might. It lasted only a second, but nonetheless left both inspectors unsettled. “Pleased to meet you, sir.” His voice was every bit as carefully pleasant as his expression.
“Well, we’ll see,” Adams returned. “Lestrade, was it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Adams chuckled. “And Johnson has you doing his dirty work.”
Something flashed in those eyes, but Lestrade’s expression only shifted to mild uncertainty. “Sir?” he asked, his gaze drifting momentarily down to the file in his hand before returning to meet Adam’s.
The inspector shook his head. “Never mind. I’m sure Johnson is only trying to make sure you’re fully prepared for every aspect of your new position.”
Eyes flickered between the two older men, and Lestrade must have realized some sort of response was in order. “Of course, sir.”
“He’s polite enough,” Adams said a moment later, as the lad went back to sorting through the stack of files.
“Doesn’t say much,” Johnson grumbled. “Mostly variations of what you just heard. He does know his own name, at least. And he can read.”
“That’s something,” Adams conceded. Excusing himself with a wave he added, “Smith will probably be by later to size him up.”
By the time Smith showed up Johnson had made it through the last of his reports and was entertaining himself by watching the rookie inspector sort through a vastly diminished stack of files. Around him, and seemingly with no particular design or method were a number of smaller piles, and Lestrade had even gone so far as to open one of the cabinet drawers. Now he stood frozen, halfway through some turn that he had started but not completed, his head tilted slightly and his eyes startlingly unfocused.
Whatever had caught his attention had caused a complete change in the man; his body suddenly seemed to radiate an almost nervous energy. Fascinated, Johnson did not immediately notice when