there were missing women and a brutal murderer running amok.
“Fine.” I swept my arm out. At least I hadn’t worn my favorite gloves today. “Let’s see what clues we can find in the trash.”
Two hours later police swarmed like angry bees around a hive. Thomas leaned against the pharmacy, arms crossed as he watched them collect the bloodied bedsheet. He had the decency of not uttering anything close to “I told you so,” which was good for his health. I was cold and miserable, and my mood plummeted along with the temperature. I shivered under the horsehair blanket an officer offered me, teeth chattering as snow continued to fall in drifts. Winds whipped down the streets, lifting stray hairs and raising gooseflesh.
General Inspector Hubbard exited the building, his expression more grim than when he’d first disappeared through the doors. I tried not to glare in his direction, though he was the reason I was standing outside in the freezing elements, instead of investigating the scene. Heaven forbid I witness a body in any sort of indecent state, such as dead.
He motioned for the officers to gather around. “Put everything back where you found it. There’s no sign of any wrongdoing here.” He met my gaze briefly, though I wasn’t surprised it didn’t linger on me long. He addressed Thomas. “It appears to be a…” His attention wavered, and I rolled my eyes. “There’s a space in the basement that appears to have been used as an abortion chamber.”
He puckered his lips, his entire expression turning sour. His tone implied it wasn’t the medical procedure but the women who’d seek such a service that bothered him. I immediately wished I could jab him with the tip of my cane.
“There were medical tools and bloodstained sheets. No signs of murder. No bodies.” He stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled. A carriage clattered to a stop in front of us and he opened the door, ushering us in. “Perhaps it’s best if you stick to studying the bodies we discover from now on. It’s better to not waste either of our time. We won’t come on a fool’s errand again. Especially not for a pair who seem to only be after fame.”
“Pardon me?” Thomas asked, sounding too confused to be angry.
“Oh, I’ve heard of you two.” The general inspector sneered. “And that doctor you’re with. Thought you could come here and start that Jack the Ripper nonsense in my city, did you?” He jabbed his hand at the open carriage, his look free from any politeness. “I don’t want to see you making any further problems. Have I made myself clear? One more slipup, and I’ll have you both in custody.”
Thomas and I glanced at each other. There was no point in arguing with this man—he’d already made up his mind about who we were, no matter that it couldn’t be further from the truth. With nothing left to say, Thomas helped me into the carriage.
It seemed we now had one more complication to add to our never-ending tally.
THIRTY-EIGHT
BE MINE
GRANDMAMA’S ESTATE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS
14 FEBRUARY 1889
I was in such a miserable state after our encounter with the general inspector that I hardly noticed the food on my plate. I stabbed at my vegetables, lost in my darkening mood. Thomas and I sat alone in the large dining room while Uncle sequestered himself away in his new makeshift basement laboratory, setting up his tools in a manner that pleased him.
We’d offered our assistance, but the feral look in his eyes had us back up the stairs in an instant. It was best to leave him to his work, lest he start tossing scalpels and bone saws about, disturbed by the intrusion.
I brought the fork to my mouth, still no closer to paying attention to my meal. I grabbed for my wineglass instead, taking a small sip and hoping my expression didn’t turn as sour as the drink. Thomas sighed from across the table. I flicked my attention to him, not quite understanding the look on his face.
“Are you well?” I asked, unable to discern if he was sad or ill. Perhaps he was both. I looked at him, really looked, and saw smudges of darkness under his eyes. A haggardness that edged his beautiful features. I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t been sleeping well. “What is it?”
He set his cutlery down, then folded his hands together as if in prayer. Perhaps he was requesting assistance from our Heavenly Father. “I hate when you’re