"Lestrade."
The man in question turned around just in time for Adams to shove a crumpled envelope at him. Lestrade fumbled to catch it purely out of reflex, not entirely certain what was being passed on to him. He eyed his fellow inspector warily.
"What is this?"
Adams rolled his eyes at the younger man. "Smith said to take up a collection. Said you shelled out your own money to feed those children yesterday." Lestrade looked away, his face reddening. Adams continued as if unaware of the other man's discomfort. "This should help offset the cost. Don't even think about refusing. You'll offend Smith and Johnson both if you try."
"They're not worried about offending me, though, are they?" Lestrade muttered the question darkly, but the other man still heard it. Adams resisted the urge to laugh; the smaller man clearly felt disadvantaged enough already.
"One day, when you're older and wiser and faced with your own fresh-faced inspector badly in need of looking after, perhaps you'll find it in your heart to forgive them." Adams suggested wryly. "In the meantime, just try not to take it too personally. Smith's heart is quite often bigger than his brain."
With that Adams left, offering the other man a chance to pull himself together.
Lestrade stood still for a moment, debating himself internally, before shoving the envelope into his jacket pocket and making his way back toward his office. He needed to review his notes from the day before and see if there were anything he had overlooked. He also needed to check in with Smith and try to figure out what to do with Miss Gardener's children until they either found someone who could take them or were forced into an alternative.
He had to admit that it was unlikely he would find any family willing to take them in. The woman had been unmarried, living in a squalid apartment with two children born out of wedlock. In Lestrade's experience, a young unmarried woman did not live alone if there were any other options available.
As if summoned, Inspector Smith himself appeared in Lestrade's doorway. The man rapped briskly on the open door as he invited himself inside, offering Lestrade a smile the younger man did not return.
"The Mrs. is insisting that the Gardener children need taken in hand-and that she's willing to do so until you find a family member willing to take them." Smith informed the other inspector. Neither man felt the need to comment on the likelihood of Lestrade actually finding anyone. "She insisted on scrubbing both of them down before dinner last night, and she was combing the little girl's curls when I left this morning. I hope that's all right-though if it isn't, I don't know what to tell you, Lestrade. She has her mind pretty well made up on the matter."
"That'll be fine," Lestrade could not quite hide his relief. "Thank you."
Smith shrugged. "By the way, you don't happen to be missing a pocket-watch, do you?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral. Lestrade shrugged.
"It isn't missing."
"Then you know the little girl has it?" Smith was curious. Lestrade shrugged again, but did not seem surprised. He also did not elaborate. Smith did not press him. "Let me know if you need anything else from the children."
Lestrade nodded as the older man excused himself. Alone in his office, he pulled out his notes on the case so far and began looking through them, trying to see if he had missed anything.
Inspector Johnson found him still in his office around noon.
"Oh, good. You're still here," the man Lestrade had been paired with his first couple of weeks as an inspector leaned in through the door frame. "Come on. My only suspect in a case I'm working finally came out of hiding, and I need someone who can handle himself in case things get nasty."
Lestrade tucked his notebook into his jacket and stood, and Johnson explained. "Smith and Adams went out this morning-something about missing jewels-or I'd ask one of them. He's supposed to be making an appearance at that tavern down by Market Street-his brother was shot in the back of the head, and he's my only lead, but the man vanished nearly a week ago, with no one able to offer the slightest suggestion of where he was."
"No one able?" Lestrade repeated, his brow furrowing. Johnson sighed.
"No one able. No one willing. It doesn't really matter which," he admitted. "The point is, someone finally let something slip, and given that the man in question is supposed to be over six foot tall and nearly solid muscle, I'd rather take someone along in case things get violent."
He looked at the shorter man and nearly reconsidered, but Johnson had learned early on that Lestrade was more than capable of handling himself in a fight. No, if the suspect gave them any trouble, he would appreciate having the younger inspector with him.
When he had initially decided to bring Lestrade along, Johnson had somehow managed to forget that while the man was more than capable in a fight, he was a terrible conversationalist. It was a fact the more experienced inspector was suddenly reminded of as the two men settled into a corner to wait for his suspect to put in an appearance; Lestrade had not said two words since leaving the Yard, and he did not look at all as if he intended to change that.
Johnson bit back a sigh as he leaned back in his seat. From their current position they could see every angle of the tavern's serving area and both entrances; a third door led to a kitchen, storage rooms, etc. There was no need to keep any sort of watch in the back. If Lewis showed up, it would be as a patron, and they would find him here, in the main room.
"Try not to look so official." Johnson grumbled at Lestrade, who stared back at him without comment. "Or at least, not so uncomfortable."
Lestrade turned his gaze on the drink he had ordered, but made no move to touch it, and Johnson wondered why he had thought it was a good idea to bring the young man along on a stake-out of sorts; Lestrade did not blend in.
"Adjusting to your new position?" Johnson, asked, in a desperate attempt to make the two of them look like two friends out for a drink rather than two policemen looking for someone. Lestrade raised his eyes once again to stare at his companion.
"Yes," At least he had not added, sir. Johnson was thankful for that much. He did not offer to elaborate, however, which forced Johnson to cast about for a new topic.
"How's your sister?" he asked, and Lestrade nearly flinched.
"Fine," the other man ground out. Taking a deep breath, he added, "She's made some friends. She says they've been going out walking in the afternoons."
Johnson appreciated the effort. Lestrade was not generally one for small talk, and he did not care to discuss his family at all. The fact that he had given more than a one-word answer meant he was trying.
"Hopefully with some sort of chaperone, I hope." Johnson replied. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the man, his expression something the other inspector could not quite read.
"One of the ladies' brother accompanies them, as I understand it." Lestrade offered.
"Have you met him?" Johnson wondered aloud. Lestrade's expression blanked. He was pushing too far, and the younger man did not appreciate it.
"Not yet."
They left it at that. Johnson tried to think of something else to talk about-anything else, really, and kept coming up empty. The awkward silence between them grew.
"Is that him?" Lestrade asked abruptly, his voice low, nodding toward the entrance. Slowly Johnson turned to look.
"It is," he confirmed. Lestrade considered the large man that had just entered the tavern for a moment before turning back to his fellow inspector.
"What was your plan?"
"To talk to him." Johnson replied, eyeing the man as he crossed the room to sit down at the bar. Lewis was a large man, well over six feet tall, and heavily muscled. He also did not look like a man used to being crossed. Johnson wondered briefly if he should have waited and brought more than just Lestrade along for back-up.
Too late now. Johnson stood and crossed the room, coming to stand at the bar beside Lewis. Turning to face the man, the inspector introduced himself.
"Mr. Lewis? I'm Inspector Johnson, with Scotland Yard. We're investigating the death of your brother, and need to ask you a few questions."
Lewis set down his mug and turned to eye the inspector standing before him. "Oh?" he grunted. "Well you can ask. Don't know how much good it'll do."
Johnson cleared his throat. "Actually, we'd like you to come down to the station, so we can talk freely, Mr. Lewis."
The other man chuckled and picked up his drink. "Now that, Inspector, I'm afraid I'm going to have to decline." Johnson sighed.
"It wasn't a request," he insisted. Lewis laughed again.
"Oh, I know." Lewis grinned at him smugly. "You think I killed him, and you want to take me down to Scotland Yard and ask your questions, and then you think you're going to arrest me for it. Unfortunately for you, Inspector, it's just you down here by yourself, in a roomful of people not entirely on good terms with the police. So I'm afraid you're going to have to leave here empty-handed."
Johnson shrugged even as his heart started pounding in his chest. "I was hoping you'd cooperate," he admitted, "and that we'd talk, and maybe find out we were wrong and that someone else killed your brother. But we can always just arrest you right here and now, and take you in for questioning in handcuffs."
Lewis laughed. Standing, he turned to leave only to find his path blocked. Staring down several inches, he took in the smartly dressed and significantly shorter inspector standing before him and snorted, disbelief etched across every inch of his face.
"Get out of my way, boy," he growled. Lestrade met his gaze evenly, though he had to tilt his head back to do so.
Without warning Lewis back-handed the young inspector. Lestrade staggered backwards, nearly tripping over a chair in the process. Lewis laughed again and promptly collapsed as Johnson hit him over the head with his truncheon.
"You all right there, Lestrade?" he asked, reaching for his cuffs. Lestrade straightened, digging in his pockets as he did so. Given the fact that his nose was currently gushing blood, Johnson hoped he was looking for a handkerchief.
Lestrade found the square of white cloth he was looking for and held it to his nose. The man did not look entirely steady on his feet. Lewis was strong enough that such a blow could easily have knocked the inspector off his feet.
Lestrade waved him off and headed for the front door, presumably to call for assistance in dealing with Johnson's currently unconscious suspect.
Lestrade's nose had, for the most part, stopped bleeding by the time he returned to Scotland Yard. Crane still stared at him as he reached the man's desk.
"What happened, Lestrade?" Crane ignored the fact that the inspector technically outranked him; both knew Lestrade was still too new to the position to do anything about it. "Pick a fight with someone bigger than you?" Crane looked thoughtful. "I suppose they're all bigger than you, though, aren't they?" The man broke into in grin, pleased with himself.
Lestrade shrugged as he tried to decide how best to respond. Simply ignoring the man did not seem to be working. "Most of them," he agreed after a moment's thought, choosing to simply answer the question as if he thought Crane actually wanted to know the answer.
Crane rolled his eyes, plainly not amused. "There's a constable waiting for you in your office," he snapped at the other man.
Lestrade left without another word, leaving the desk sergeant to glare at his retreating form as he made his way back to his office.
Constable Walker waited for him just outside his office, standing at attention beside the door. Lestrade wondered briefly how long the man had been standing there, but did not ask. "Come in," he said instead as he opened the door.
Walker followed him in, coming to stand in front of the man's desk. Lestrade himself took a seat and resisted the urge to wince as he leaned back to study the man. "Can I help you, Constable?" he asked. After a moment's consideration, he added, "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you," Walker sat down across from Lestrade with a sigh of relief, grateful for the chance to get off his feet, even for a few minutes. "I did some asking around, about the young lady that was murdered. Alice Gardener, you said?" Lestrade nodded absently as he reached for his notebook. "She kept to herself for the most part, it seemed. Nobody I talked to really had much to offer about the girl herself, but a few of the young urchins that spend most of their time in that area mentioned that she used to go out in the evenings, sometimes, and come back early morning, and that recently she stopped, but that a well-dressed gentleman had started coming around the building about a month or two back, and that he'd come about once a week, after dark, and leave the next morning."
Lestrade looked up. "Well-dressed? How well-dressed?" he asked.
"Not the upper class. But better off than anyone who lives on Ratcliffe Highway. Middle class, one of the boys seemed to think. Came in a cab. Left in the same way."
"Which means he would have had an agreement with the driver," Lestrade said thoughtfully.
"And likely had to pay him extra." Walker pointed out, in case the young man was not already aware. "It makes them nervous, driving down that way."
Lestrade frowned at his notebook. "Anything else?" he wanted to know. Walker shook his head.
"That's all. It's not much, I know."
"It's more than I had before." Lestrade admitted. "Thank you."
Walker sighed. "I'll keep an eye out, and let you know if anything else comes up." Both men knew it was unlikely. "Don't get up, Inspector. I'll see myself out."
Lestrade watched him go, then turned his attention back to the murder of Miss Gardener. He wondered if it were too soon to expect anything from Mr. Harris. It was unlikely the man would come down to the Yard-the man generally did not care for policemen, Lestrade, oddly enough, being the exception to the rule. Lestrade would have to go to him, but whether it would be better to go now or to wait until after his business closed the inspector was not entirely certain.
A stack of papers on the corner of the desk caught his eye, and Lestrade decided to wait to talk to Harris. He still had several reports that needed his attention.
Lestrade finished up the most pressing of his reports before leaving his office for the day. This task accomplished, he made his way to Willie's tavern, hoping to find Harris there and find out if the man had managed to anything about the silver comb.
He found Harris in his usual corner. The jeweler smiled and waved Lestrade amiably into the seat across from him. Lestrade obliged.
"I did some asking around, young man," Harris paused to take a drink before continuing. "It turns out one of my colleagues recognized the description of the comb you showed me. He remembered seeing a piece like that a few years back-maybe nine or ten. He was called into appraise a collection, not that particular piece, mind. That piece was a heirloom, just as you expected, but my colleague has a special fascination with silver pieces, and knowing as much, they showed it to him. He said it was finely wrought, worth a good bit of money, and a work of art besides." Harris grinned. "Old Merryweather tends to wax eloquent over a good piece of silver. Anyway, he was kind enough to check his records, and was able to find the client, and their current address."
Harris offered Lestrade a scrap of paper. Lestrade took it and glanced at it briefly before tucking it carefully into his jacket pocket with his notebook.
"Thank you," Lestrade said, and Harris waved him off.
"Now, young Lestrade, join me in a drink before you go off back to work." The older man insisted. Lestrade shook his head.
"I have to get home," he admitted. "But I appreciate the offer."
"Well, if you insist." Harris, predictably, was not offended. "Take care, young man."
Lestrade made it home just in time for dinner. His sister Kristina raised an eyebrow at him as he sat down at the table, her expression stern.
"Violet Walker and her brother Joseph will be joining us for dinner Saturday," she told him. "I already told them you'd be there, and that you were looking forward to meeting them."
Lestrade wondered if the woman could have come up with a more outrageous lie, then decided if this were that important to her, he might as well do his best not to embarrass her Saturday evening.
It also occurred to him to wonder why it was so important to her, but given the slight pink that suddenly colored her cheeks and the way she fidgeted with her napkin, he was suddenly unsure whether or not to ask, and equally uncertain whether he wanted to know.
"I'll do my best," he assured her, and was only slightly relieved when she relaxed.
By the time they finished eating she had returned almost to her usual self and was intent filling him in on the goings on of their neighbors: one of the family's cat had caught an unusually large rat and left it right outside their door. Lestrade listened with half an ear as he insisted on helping with the dishes, and little by little allowed himself to relax.