River of Fallen Angels by Rowland Laura Joh

Author:Rowland, Laura Joh [Rowland, Laura Joh]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Historical
ISBN: 9781639101511
Amazon: 1639101519
Goodreads: 63116187
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books
Published: 2023-01-10T08:00:00+00:00

* * *

After photographing Irene Muller, I give the negatives to a darkroom assistant to develop and print. Barrett and I leave Sally at her desk, working on her story. Then we hurry to Whitechapel to alert Inspector Reid about Irene Muller and Charlie Holt before the Daily World’s extra edition comes out.

At the police station, Barrett asks the desk sergeant, “Where’s Inspector Reid?”

“Conference room.”

Barrett leads me upstairs. On a closed door in the dingy hallway, a handwritten paper sign reads, “Torso Murders Task Force.” Barrett and I barge into the room without knocking. We find Reid and the five other task force policemen at the table with Jasper Waring and a Chronicle photographer. Their heated conversation ceases, and they look up at us. The air is smoky from their pipes and cigarettes; scattered papers, full ashtrays, and cups stained brown with coffee residue cover the table. One wall is covered by charts, lists, photographs of the body parts and scenes where they were found, and newspaper clippings.

“So you came to rub it in our faces?” Reid glares at us.

Confused, Barrett says, “Sir?”

Reid stands, grabbing a paper from the table. The paper is wrinkled, as if it’s been crumpled and smoothed out. Reid smacks it against Barrett’s chest. “Don’t play dumb with me.”

Barrett and I examine the paper—a telegram that reads, Irene Muller alive and well at Daily World headquarters. Charlie Holt in prison Birmingham has alibi. You’re welcome. Sir Gerald Mariner.

We’d looked forward to debunking Reid’s theory, but Sir Gerald beat us to the punch.

Barrett recovers from his shock. “I’m not the dumb one.” He tacks the telegram on the wall, beside the photographs. “You misidentified the victim and suspect.”

I glance at the hostile faces of the other policemen, then at Jasper Waring. He looks chagrined. The Chronicle’s photographer glowers at me as if this is my fault. Reid yells at Barrett, “You must have busted your tail looking for Irene Muller and Charlie Holt, just to make me look bad!”

“That’s not what happened,” I say.

Reid points his finger at me, says, “You stay out of this,” then turns back to Barrett. “You were supposed to be guarding the morgue. I’m going to reprimand you for insubordination and dereliction of duty.”

“You ought to be glad you found out instead of going further down the wrong track,” Barrett says.

“You ought to have reported it to me before Sir Gerald. Did your wife make you wait so that he could get at me and beat out the Chronicle?”

“I didn’t do anything,” I say. “Irene Muller came to the Daily World building. She wants everyone to know she’s alive and Charlie Holt isn’t the Torso Murderer. She talked to me because she was afraid to go to the police. You can read about it in the Daily World’s extra edition tonight.”

“You can wipe that smug look off your face.” Reid’s bright, malevolent cheer revives. “Because if you think this is a lucky break for you, think again. No matter that Charlie Holt isn’t the Torso Murderer or the Ripper, you know who is.

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