His Irish Detective by Summer Devon

Author:Summer Devon
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: victorian mystery, bodyguard romance, mm romance, gay mystery, kate rothwell, cross-class romance, london mystery
Publisher: Summer Devon
Published: 2018-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER NINE

PATRICK’S FRIEND WELCH, a middle-aged fellow with graying hair and a drooping mustache, wasn’t dressed like a policeman. He wore a sagging blue suit and sat behind a desk. When he looked up, Welch seemed pleased to see Patrick, until he noticed the others. He pushed back his chair as Patrick introduced Colm and Marrill.

He rose to his feet and squinted at Marrill. “Mr. Marrill? Quade Marrill?”

“Yes, I expect you know the name. The police interviewed me before. And now I’m here to find out about the notes and evidence you have relating to my family.”

Colm admired how his Marrill had no interest in pleasantries and nonsense when he was focused. He’d been that way since Colm had first met him, but in the last day or so, he’d turned sharp, not mean, more the well-honed blade ready to be used.

Marrill continued, “There were accusations directed at my late brother Jack Marrill. I’m particularly interested in them. Since he’s recently deceased, surely you won’t mind sharing that information?”

The officer pushed his chin up out of his stiff collar, showing the world an impressive display of nose hairs. “If there is anything...” Welch hesitated and rolled his shoulders back as if relieving some burden. “That is to say...that sort of thing is not available to the public. And I’m not sure how you came to know of it at all.”

Patrick watched the exchange, wearing a face covered with confusion mixed with curiosity. Of course, he wasn’t supposed to know about the letter that he’d read on the sly.

“Kelly?” Welch narrowed his eyes at Patrick, who only shrugged, a look of hurt bafflement on his face.

Patrick said, “You know I’m interested in the case, but I didn’t suggest coming here. Still, it’s not a big surprise that Mr. Marrill is interested as well.”

Not a confession, not a lie—Cousin Patrick was adept at evasion.

Marrill rapped the desk with his knuckles. “I would like to know why you didn’t ask me about that note sent to my brother’s widow.”

Welch gave a surprised chuckle. “That note to Mrs. Jack Marrill implied that you were a threat. You’re saying you want to be considered a crazy devil, then?”

“Of course not. But someone clearly wants to point the finger at me. Why haven’t you asked me any questions?”

“Take a seat.” Welch settled himself into a chair. The other ignored the suggestion and paced around the small office.

Welch tapped a pipe onto a tray and then repacked it from a pouch that lay open on his desk, most of which seemed covered with a fine dust of tobacco and ash. “I believe we have a person in mind for that bit of ugliness, sir. No need to disturb your family what’s already been disturbed enough.”

Patrick said, “You can’t tell us who?”

At the same time, Colm said, “You’re looking for that valet Pennick, aren’t you?”

Welch busied himself by fiddling with the pipe’s bowl. “I can’t tell you that since I’m not in charge of the case.”

It was as good as a yes.

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