9. Convergence
Ichabod was anxious to confront Thomas Geoffrey the next day concerning the drawing of Geoffrey Latham, but to his dismay his enigmatic new acquaintance wasn't at the Court House when he arrived with the other constables at quarter to eight. By the time the Burgomaster emerged and called everyone to order he still hadn't arrived. Considering that the man had arrived daily at the Court House at quarter to eight and spent each and every day sketching the trial religiously it was truly puzzling that he suddenly didn't appear today. Ichabod wondered if perhaps Geoffrey realized that he'd handed him the wrong sketch by accident and fled.
When the Burgomaster adjourned for the lunch break Ichabod walked to the Tontine Coffee House. Mr. Horn received him and sent someone up to knock on Thomas Geoffrey's door.
"Did you see him at all last night?" Ichabod asked Horn.
"No. I left here at seven yesterday evening. If and when Mr. Geoffrey returned it was after that."
"And you haven't seen him yet this morning?"
"No."
"Which room is Mr. Geoffrey's?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Which room is he staying in upstairs? I will be submitting a request to the Court for permission to search his room and possessions, and I would like to be as specific as possible in my report. However, if you don't wish to tell me that is certainly your prerogative."
Several minutes later the youth who had gone upstairs returned with the report that Mr. Geoffrey was not in his room.
"Thank you, Joseph. Please go back upstairs and take Constable Crane with you."
"Sir?" the young man questioned him, surprised.
"He would like to see Mr. Geoffrey's room."
Joseph's eyes widened and he looked stunned; but he finally nodded to Horn, took the set of keys that Horn held out to him and beckoned to Ichabod to follow him. They climbed the stairs to the second floor and the young man led him down a corridor, toward the back of the building. They reached a room at the end of the hall and Joseph opened the door for him. Ichabod stepped over the threshold and glanced about.
The room was quite spacious and contained a divan, an end table, three large chairs with plush cushions set around a round coffee table made of finished oak and a matching writing desk and chair in the corner. Ichabod stared at the luxurious lodgings, unable to believe that Mr. Geoffrey was allowed to stay here, and indefinitely, for free. Mr. Horn and the proprietors of the coffee house were indeed close friends; that, or Thomas Geoffrey had more financial resources than his appearance and attire suggested. Or perhaps some other arrangement had been made.
Ichabod's gaze drifted to the top of the writing desk, where Mr. Geoffrey's ledger lay. He walked over and rested his hand on it, wondering at the fact that it had been left behind. Ichabod had the impression that Geoffrey carried this book with him at all times.
He picked up the book and flipped it open, beginning to study each and every sketch Geoffrey had made. Joseph stood in the doorway, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uncomfortably.
"Mr. Constable, sir?" he began. "I will need to return to my post…"
"I shall not be too long, Joseph, and Mr. Horn gave you permission to accompany me."
"Yes, sir."
After flipping through several pages Ichabod came across a sketch of Geoffrey Latham that looked to be the same as the one Thomas Geoffrey had given to him. He withdrew his own ledger from his pocket and pulled out the loose sheet of paper that he'd received the previous day. Laying it beside the picture in Thomas Geoffrey's ledger he confirmed that they were indeed identical.
"I wonder," he murmured as a thought occurred to him.
He flipped both pages over and his eyes widened when he saw that the reverse side of each contained identical sketches of the murdered Hartford man. Mr. Geoffrey hadn't handed him a two-sided sketch by accident. For a reason that was as yet unknown to Ichabod Mr. Geoffrey had wanted him to see both sketches, to know that he knew Mr. Latham.
Ichabod tucked the loose page back into his own ledger and returned it to his pocket. He shut Geoffrey's ledger then turned and gestured to Joseph.
"I'm finished here. Thank you."
Ichabod stepped out of the room and Joseph locked the door behind them.
"Would you like me to leave a message for Mr. Geoffrey, Constable Crane?" Mr. Horn asked when Ichabod returned to the desk.
"Yes, please ask him to contact me at the Watch House as soon as possible. If I'm not there he is to leave me a message advising where and when I can contact him. I will return here tomorrow morning if I haven't heard from him before then."
Horn's eyebrows lifted in surprise but he only replied that he would pass along Ichabod's message.
"Please stress to him that it is quite urgent. Good afternoon, Mr. Horn."
Ichabod returned to the Court House directly after he finished speaking with Mr. Horn at the Tontine, knowing full well that Joseph had instructions to report back all of his activities in Geoffrey's room.
For the next few hours he was distracted, brooding about how he could go about searching for Mr. Geoffrey in the event that he didn't appear again. Fortunately the afternoon session proceeded smoothly and quietly, and at five o'clock the Burgomaster adjourned until Monday. Ichabod went back to the Watch House and asked to see a copy of the report filed by Constable Green concerning the brawl in the Black Cat at the beginning of March. He sat at his desk and read through the report twice. Then he wrote in his ledger, including key information that the report revealed, some of which he'd already noted previously.
He was reminded of the fact that there was a back door, which opened up off of the tavern's kitchen and into the alley behind it, where he'd found the body. Earlier, when he had no knowledge of the brawl in the tavern, it had not occurred to him that the back door would have any significance other than the fact that perchance a worker happened to be in the doorway and glimpsed something, perhaps the perpetrator running off. Now he suddenly saw it from a different vantage point. Naturally that door was for the staff's use only, but it was not impossible that on the night of the riot one or more of the patrons avoided arrest by sneaking into the kitchen and escaping the tavern through the back door. Quite possibly the man from Hartford had done so, as perhaps had Mr. Geoffrey. Maybe someone working there had assisted them.
"As I said, it was quite a night. Complete chaos and I spent most of the night after the place was cleared groveling and bargaining with Constable Green, who was threatening to make me close the tavern."
He remembered, word for word, Augie Smith's answer when he asked him if he saw the man leave. It was certainly plausible that he was too preoccupied with other things that night to notice anyone sneaking back into the kitchen.
"Or he lied," Ichabod muttered to himself. He scribbled another note in his ledger.
Constable Green had included a list of names of the people who had been arrested that night, which was in the leather-bound file with his report. Ichabod pulled out the list and began to peruse the names. None of the men on the list had been formally charged with any crime. They had merely appeared as a group before the Burgomaster the following morning, where they received a reprimand, paid a small amount of money to the Court and were then sent on their merry way.
Augie Smith did not have to appear in Court; Constable Green may have threatened to force him to close the tavern but that was under the condition of a recurring incident. This time he had conceded to give Smith another chance. Ichabod turned back in his ledger to the pages with the notes he'd made earlier when he interviewed Augie Smith the first time, shortly after the body was discovered. The riot occurred on a Thursday night, a busy Thursday night, and the place was more heavily staffed than it was when he returned with Mr. Geoffrey two nights previous. His eye roved over the page until he found the place where he'd written down the names of the two men working the bar that night, Joe and Will. It appeared that Lydia didn't work that evening nor had she been present when Ichabod questioned Augie Smith the first time.
Yet Lydia Smith and Thomas Geoffrey knew each other. She had been angry at him for some reason. Was it possible that she was at the tavern that night? Maybe it was she who had snuck the Hartford man and Geoffrey out, to help them avoid arrest. Ichabod thought about his visit to the tavern with Geoffrey on Wednesday night, replaying the scene in his mind. Smith did seem anxious to shut Lydia up and get her out of the way, sending her off to see to the customers and refusing to allow her to remain while he asked questions.
"And I discounted her," he murmured to himself. "What a dolt I am."
He'd asked everyone in Augie's tavern about the Hartford man except Lydia. Confused and uncomfortable with her familiarity, assuming that she was merely being a tease and playing with him, he'd taken Augie Smith's patronizing and denigrating words about her seriously. It hadn't even occurred to him to question her after that.
Ichabod rose and returned the leather-bound file with the report to Green's desk. Then he left the Watch House and walked directly to the Black Cat.
Augie Smith was clearly surprised to see Ichabod in the tavern again.
"I'm looking for Mr. Geoffrey," he told him, after carefully surveying the room. "We…I was expecting to see him today and he never appeared. Was he here at all this afternoon?"
"Mr. Geoffrey doesn't come here very often. Until he came here with you the other night night I hadn't seen him since the night of the riot."
"I see," Ichabod replied with a nod. He glanced about, searching for Lydia. "When I was here the other night I never had a moment to speak with your daughter. I should like to speak with her now."
"Why?"
"Perhaps she saw something…"
"She didn't see anything."
"How do you know? You yourself said that you were involved with Constable Green and were not aware of everything that happened during and after the brawl."
"Joe and Will were working that night. Lydia wasn't in the bar."
"Nevertheless, I haven't spoken with her yet and I should like to ensure that my investigation is complete."
Smith's lip curled into a grimace.
"I should like to speak with her," he insisted. "It will not take long. If you refuse I can arrange to bring her to the Watch House and interview her there."
He agreed reluctantly, his face contorted into a deeply dissatisfied expression, and went to the door behind the bar, pushing it open.
"Lydia," he barked out. "Come out here."
It took her several minutes to appear. A dark bruise had formed on her cheek, no doubt from the blow Augie gave her the other night. The expression in her eyes was cool as she looked at Ichabod and she seemed completely disinterested. She leaned against the bar, arms folded, looking utterly bored and waiting for him to speak. He was taken somewhat aback by the sudden change in her behavior, simply because the change was so drastic.
"Good evening, Miss Smith," he began politely, withdrawing his ledger and opening it to a new page. He took out pen and ink, set it on the bar then dipped the pen and wrote the date at the top of the page. Underneath it he made a quick note about the extreme change in Lydia's affect and behavior.
"Were you in the bar on the night that the riot occurred?" he asked.
"I already…" Smith began. Instead of returning to his business he had remained with them, hovering over Lydia, his eyes boring into her.
"Please, Mr. Smith. I am asking her and would like to hear her answer. It is just a formality."
Smith glared, first at him and then at his daughter. Ichabod turned back to Lydia.
"Miss Smith, were you in the bar on that night?" he repeated.
Lydia's eyes shifted from Ichabod to her father then back to Ichabod. "No, I wasn't in the bar."
"Two men were working."
"Yes."
"Joe and Will," Ichabod pressed. "I see that they are working tonight as well. And yet you are here too."
Her gaze remained stony and she didn't answer or even nod.
"The other night when I was here you looked at the sketch that Mr. Geoffrey drew. You commented on Mr. Geoffrey's talent. Had you seen the man in the sketch before?"
Once again her gaze darted between him and her father. Then she shrugged. "It was a well-made drawing of a man. I thought so anyway."
"I see."
He wrote some more notes, partly to memorialize even the most trivial details, partly to give himself time to regroup and figure out how to further investigate. This interview was not proceeding well and Ichabod realized that it was due to Augie Smith's presence, confirming his suspicion that Smith had not wanted his daughter to answer any questions the other night and had purposely shooed her away. She knew something, or at the very least Augie Smith was afraid that she knew something. He was hovering over her in order to intimidate her so she wouldn't speak of it.
"Miss Smith, Mr. Geoffrey was supposed to meet me today and he never appeared. I'm somewhat concerned. I was wondering if perhaps you had seen him. Maybe he stopped in for a short time? Or perhaps you passed him in the street?"
She shook her head.
"Will that be all, Constable?" she said suddenly. "It's Friday and we always have a large crowd on Friday nights. I must return to the hearth and finish preparing dinner for the many patrons who will want to sup here."
"Of course," he answered dejectedly. "If you don't mind though…before you go, is there anything else you can tell me about the man from Hartford, or about Mr. Geoffrey?"
Lydia shook her head once more. At that moment a group of well-dressed men entered the bar and motioned to Augie Smith. These men must have been of some importance. Smith glanced at Ichabod nervously, told him he would be right back and hurried over to the new group, but not before giving his daughter a meaningful and cautionary look.
Ichabod turned back to Lydia, who had already made her way around the bar and was headed for the kitchen. He desperately tried to think of something to say that might delay her. As she walked through the door he could have sworn he heard her call back to him in a husky voice.
"I'm disappointed in you, Constable. You never asked me if I was working in the kitchen that night."
The door swung closed before Ichabod could even attempt to sputter a response. He stood for several minutes staring dumbfounded at the closed door. Then he quickly gathered his things, turned and hurried out of the tavern, nodding to Augie Smith as he passed by.
He dashed around the corner and into the alley behind the tavern. A long stretch of time passed after he knocked on the back door before Lydia opened it.
"I'm cooking, Constable, and my father may come back to the kitchen to…keep an eye on me. I cannot stay out here."
"On Wednesday night…you asked me to meet you here in the alley because you wished to speak freely with me…"
"I waited for as long as I could…you never came," she said, her tone accusatory.
"Forgive me, Miss Smith. I…I misunderstood your intention…" A blush crept across his cheeks and up into his ears. "I'm sorry."
She sniffed haughtily. "So now you want my help?"
"Please." He paused, waiting to see if she would turn away from him, disappear inside and slam the door in his face. But she didn't; she stood there watching him and he decided it was alright to move forward. "And so, you were here on that night?"
"Yes. Joe and Will were working in the bar. I was working in the kitchen the entire night. John came back into the kitchen when the constables began to show up and asked me to take him out this door."
"Who is John?"
"The man in the sketch that you showed everyone."
"Then, you did know him. Did you know him well?"
"As well as anyone could know him," she answered with a little giggle.
"Oh…I see…then he came to see you often when he was in the city?"
"When he was in the city? He never left the city. Well, maybe he traveled across the river into New Jersey sometimes."
"What?" Ichabod murmured, bewildered.
She stared at him, apparently unable to understand what it was that was confusing him.
"I'm sorry," he began again, "but I was under the impression that this man John was from Hartford."
"Hartford?" Now she looked confused. "Well, I suppose maybe he was. He never mentioned Hartford to me, but then I didn't know everything about him. If you asked some folks who knew him, such as my father, they might tell you he hailed from under a rock."
"Your father didn't like him?"
"He despised him." Her expression changed a minute later as she realized she'd said something to compromise her father in Ichabod's eyes. "He didn't kill him though. He was here all night, dealing with Constable Green for most of that time."
"I know," Ichabod answered quietly. He wasn't ready to discount Augie Smith as a suspect just yet, especially since Smith had shamelessly and blatantly lied about knowing the man, but Lydia didn't need to know that. "It seems to me that there are a great many discrepancies…this man John was wearing clothing that would be worn by a gentleman when I found him, and yet in Mr. Geoffrey's sketch he was wearing a working man's clothes. I cannot account for the difference…"
He trailed off, interrupted by Lydia's laughter.
"John in a gentleman's clothes?" she bleated in between belly laughs. "That's a laugh. He must have stolen those clothes from someone. Maybe he stole them from Geoffrey. Now he was dressed in some fine clothing whenever I saw him."
"He was?" Ichabod repeated, astonished.
"Well, except for the other night when he came in with you. It was a real surprise to see him looking like that."
Ichabod's interest was piqued and his instinct told him that he'd finally hit on the right track, that maybe, finally, this would be a breakthrough. So Mr. Geoffrey was of much better means than he let on if what Lydia was saying was to be believed, which would explain how he could afford to stay at the Tontine. It would also explain why Mr. Horn and the other employees there were so adamant about protecting his privacy; they were paid to do so. But why was he trying to hide that he was a gentleman of means? He was in essence hiding his identity by doing so. Had he simply gone mad or was there another motive?
"Do you have any idea why Mr. Geoffrey started dressing in rags?" Ichabod asked.
She shook her head.
"Is there anything you can tell me about Mr. Geoffrey?"
Lydia shrugged. "He comes into the tavern from time to time. He was always dressed well and he was always pleasant enough. I was surprised to see him in the doorway with John. My guess is that Geoffrey wanted to avoid getting arrested when the brawl broke out so John offered to help him escape through the back door. Not for nothing, of course. John didn't do anything for nothing. I'm sure he had Geoffrey pegged as a target and here was a chance to trap him alone in this dark alley."
"Do you believe he was planning all along to rob him then?"
"Yes," she said, nodding for emphasis. "If I had to guess I would say that the clothes he was wearing when you found him were Geoffrey's clothes."
"He must have had a weapon then. It's the only explanation as to why Mr. Geoffrey would have been intimidated enough to remove his clothing voluntarily." Ichabod shook his head at the absurdity of it. He could imagine the man threatening Geoffrey with a gun or a knife and demanding that he hand over his money. Asking him to strip and hand his clothes over on top of that struck him as rather excessive and perverse. "What was this man John's surname? Judging from your description the constabulary has likely had experiences with him. I should like to investigate his record."
"Trent. I knew him as John Trent. He may have been calling himself another name when he was arrested."
"John Trent wasn't his real name?"
"I don't know for sure, but I doubt it."
"And yet you…" Ichabod trailed off and sighed. It was none of his business who she chose to consort with but he had to wonder why a young woman would choose to associate with such a scoundrel as Mr. Trent seemed to be; and that was a polite word for it. He felt sad for her.
"Was anyone else with Mr. Trent and Mr. Geoffrey when they came back here?" he continued.
"No." She turned and glanced over her shoulder anxiously, as if she expected her father to burst in at any moment. Ichabod began to speak quickly.
"Did you see what happened here in the alley after that?"
"No. I let them out this way and immediately shut the door behind them. That was the last time I saw either of them, until Geoffrey came in with you on Wednesday night."
"Lydia!" Augie Smith's voice rang out, clearly audible through the door behind her. He was on his way to the kitchen.
"I have to go. Good evening, Constable."
She ducked inside and the door shut before he had a chance to reply.
oooOooo
"I hope nothing has happened to him," Katrina said worriedly.
"As do I," Ichabod answered. Bursting with energy from a combination of anxiety and anticipation that he was finally making headway he was pacing the floor as he spoke. "His things were still in his room at the Tontine, including his sketch book. That is what…disturbed me right away. He is never without that sketch book. The fact that he left it behind...I'm at a loss to explain exactly what has happened, but it's odd."
"Do you think that maybe he was afraid? I think you're right that he gave you both sketches on purpose. He wanted you to know that he knew Geoffrey Latham…or at least that he'd seen him and drawn a picture of him. Maybe he had second thoughts after that, and it was too late to take it back."
"Maybe. I do know that Mr. Geoffrey is a very complicated man and something…drastic…has happened in his life, something that has, I fear, left him somewhat out of his mind. Lydia Smith…the barmaid at the tavern…confirmed your own suspicions about the so-called Hartford man; that he was a scoundrel, a miscreant, a thief at best and possibly worse. She suspected that this man…this John Trent, or whatever his real name was…intended to rob Mr. Geoffrey."
"And she allowed him to do so? She didn't try to warn him, to dissuade him from going into the alley alone with him?"
Ichabod sighed and shook his head. "Perhaps she was too afraid. This is a young woman who lives and works with a father who bullies and threatens her. The other night I saw him hit her in front of a tavern-full of people. She now has a nasty bruise on her face from it. Unfortunately it doesn't end there; she chooses associations with other men who behave the same way or worse."
He ceased pacing and moved back to the writing desk where she was standing, peering at his open ledger.
Katrina stared into his face searchingly. "I didn't know."
"I know," he murmured tenderly, reaching out and stroking her cheek. "I thank God that her experience is something that you have never had to know personally, Katrina."
He sat down at the writing desk. Katrina went and drew another chair up to the writing desk, sitting on the other side and facing him.
"What about Mr. Geoffrey? Yesterday he offered to go with you quietly. Do you think he changed his mind?"
"I don't know. But he is never without that sketch book. Even if he did flee to avoid arrest, I don't believe he would have left that book behind. Stephen's suggestion is very plausible. He felt ill when he woke up this morning, or possibly he was injured since I saw him last, and he went to see a doctor. Tomorrow when we go to the Tontine to find the man that spoke to him of Jonathan Drake I will also ask for the names of physicians. I'm certain that Mr. Horn has a list of doctors that he recommends to his patrons when necessary."
He absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the open page of his ledger, glancing over the notes he had made when he returned home. Katrina and Stephen had waited to eat supper with him, and while they worked in the kitchen preparing the food Ichabod sat at the table writing in his ledger, memorializing every word that Lydia had said and noting all of the discrepancies and conflicting information that was now becoming apparent.
The man's name was John Trent. Then again, maybe it wasn't. Who was he?
Then there was the discrepancy concerning his and Mr. Geoffrey's attire. Lydia had suggested that Trent stole Geoffrey's clothes and the only way Ichabod could imagine that happening was if Trent had a weapon. Yet Trent was the one who ended up dead on that night. Had someone else been there, someone who attacked Trent after he'd acquired Geoffrey's money and clothes? And why had Geoffrey, who no doubt owned more than one fine outfit, decided to wear rags all the time now?
At dinner Katrina and Stephen had been bursting with questions about what he had discovered that day. Ichabod couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm and interest in his work, especially Stephen's. The young man, it turned out, had a good analytical mind and real potential to be an investigator. He'd offered several smart suggestions to think about. And he was also fearless; a quality that Ichabod admired and envied ever since he'd observed it during their adventures together in Sleepy Hollow. Yet Stephen looked up to Ichabod.
Now the three of them sat together in the sitting room, as they usually did in the evenings, and analyzed the information that Ichabod had gathered that day, comparing it to the knowledge he already had and sifting through the discrepancies and contradictions, and the new questions that had formed in Ichabod's mind.
"Why would he choose to wear rags?" Ichabod mused aloud. "Why hide his identity?"
"Must there be a reason?" Katrina challenged. "Some things defy logic. If he's not in his right mind, as you believe, he may choose to wear rags for no reason whatsoever."
"True. But I don't think that's the case this time."
"Maybe he's hiding from someone specifically," Stephen suggested. Instead of occupying the armchair in the corner tonight he was sprawled on the sofa, close to the writing desk and present in the discussion.
Ichabod turned and gazed at him thoughtfully. "And his attire is a disguise. That isn't such a far-fetched idea. Someone searching for Mr. Geoffrey would be looking for a well-dressed man and they would not look twice at someone who appears to be a homeless beggar. Not to mention the fact that Mr. Geoffrey keeps his face absolutely filthy. All that dirt and grime obscures his features. His own mother would be hard pressed to identify him. The question is who is he hiding from?"
He turned back to his ledger and began to write.
"Mr. Latham," he said aloud as he wrote the name. "Remember I said that he appeared to be avoiding Mr. Latham when we went to the cemetery to exhume the body? Maybe they do know each other but for some reason Mr. Geoffrey is afraid of Mr. Latham."
"Well, you didn't like Mr. Latham when you first met him. Mr. Geoffrey may have good reason for being afraid of him. His disguise is effective anyway," Katrina laughed. "You said that Mr. Latham didn't look twice at him that day."
"No, he looked disgusted when he laid eyes on him…" Ichabod stopped suddenly, his eyes widening, his lips parting.
"What is it?"
"The clothes!" he exclaimed, nearly knocking his chair out from underneath himself in his excitement.
"They're a disguise…"
"Yes, yes, possibly," he interrupted impatiently. "But…don't you see? If those clothes that were on the dead man belonged to Mr. Geoffrey it means that he was the one who was carrying the Hartford newspaper with the obituary! He is the one who came to find me, to bring me the news that my father passed away!"
He began to write furiously in his ledger, speaking as he took notes.
"By a stroke of odd…fortune, for lack of a better word…this man Trent stole his clothing, including the coat in which that newspaper was stowed. I discovered the body and the newspaper, and I assumed that he…Mr. Trent…was from Hartford and had come to find me."
"Then Mr. Geoffrey wasn't lying when he said he had never met Mr. Trent before that night."
"So it would seem. I…I hadn't even thought about the newspaper…" he trailed off and shook his head again. "I don't believe it. Why didn't Mr. Geoffrey tell me? Even if he didn't want to say anything before…he looked dismayed when I confronted him in the court room yesterday about the newspaper, as if he was trapped. I suggested that it was proof that he knew the man from before and that he had been lying to me all along, at least on that point. He could have explained to me then that the man had robbed him and taken his clothes. But he didn't. He only told me that I had come to the wrong conclusion and wouldn't say anything more about it, instead passively offering to come quietly. Why?"
"Mr. Trent is the one that ended up dead," Stephen spoke again. "Maybe, instead of a third person becoming involved, Mr. Geoffrey somehow got the upper hand and killed him."
"Yes." Ichabod gazed at him with pride. "And that possible scenario gives Mr. Geoffrey very good reason to be afraid, and to hide even."
"But he made such an effort to make your acquaintance," Katrina remarked.
"Well, as we discussed last night people can be amused in the oddest ways sometimes. Maybe he was baiting me."
"Or maybe he was simply ambivalent, Ichabod. Let's say he somehow got the upper hand, as Stephen suggests, and killed Mr. Trent. If Mr. Trent was threatening him with a gun or a knife, Mr. Geoffrey may have killed him, either unintentionally or because he had no choice but to defend himself. On the one hand he doesn't want to be caught and imprisoned. But on the other hand maybe he's feeling terrible guilt over it."
Ichabod considered this. "So perhaps he does and does not want to be caught. And that is where his madness lies."
"And Mr. Trent is a random entity in all of this."
He nodded. "Yes. If there is any conspiracy or scheme, and I'm beginning to think that is less likely, it appears to be limited to my father, Mr. Geoffrey, Mr. Latham and the elusive Jonathan Drake."