The Custom House Murders (Captain Lacey Mysteries #15) - Ashley Gardner Page 0,42
a piece. “As I told you.”
“So you did.” He too made a neutral move, one that would coax out my queen while he set a trap.
“No matter the reason you brought me here, I would like you to leave Brewster alone,” I said. “He is not simply the man assigned to me—he is my friend.”
I might have also argued that Brewster had a wife who depended on him, but I decided not to bring up Mrs. Brewster. Creasey doubtless knew about her, but I did not want to put her in any more danger than she already might be.
“He is not your friend,” Creasey snapped. “He is as tangled in obligation to Denis as you are. A former pugilist and thief, who escaped the noose by the skin of his teeth. It is Denis’s influence that has kept him out of the dock all these years. He follows you at Denis’s command to pay off his debt.”
I forbore to point out that Denis had sacked Brewster, who now worked for me directly, but I chose not to. Either Creasey already knew this or he was fishing for information.
“Even so, Brewster does not deserve to be punished for Denis’s sins.”
Creasey’s brows went up. “So you admit Mr. Denis is a sinner? I am happy to see you are not misled by his smooth facade. Very well, I will tell my men to spare Mr. Brewster. Only him. I will be so kind to do so even if you refuse my proposal.”
“I take it you brought me here to ask me to work for you instead of Denis.” I slid my queen a few squares. If he did not block her, I could at least check his king in a few moves before I lost the queen. “I am afraid I must refuse. I will work for neither of you.”
“Captain.” Creasey not only blocked my queen with his rook but the position pinned my king without mercy. “You are wrong. You must work for one of us. You will not be allowed to continue otherwise. Check and mate.”
“Ah.” I peered at the board. “I did not see.”
When I lifted my head, Creasey was, as I’d guessed he would be, preening himself for besting me so easily. I laid my king on its side and rose.
“I apologize for my poor skills,” I said.
“Actually, you are a competent player, if a bit clumsy. I would be delighted for another game at another time.”
Implying I could depart without hindrance. “Perhaps.”
Creasey climbed to his feet. Although I topped him by many inches, he did not seem in the least intimidated by my height. He rested his hands on the tabletop.
“I will take this perhaps to mean you will return. I look forward to it. Good afternoon.”
I bowed. “Good afternoon.”
I took up my stick and walked to the door, trying not to hurry. I wanted Creasey to believe me calm and composed, though my heart was beating rapidly and sweat beaded on my forehead. I expected any moment to feel a knife slide through my ribs or at least one of the toughs to give me a beating to remember him by.
“Captain.”
I’d reached the door. I opened it, pretending to ignore the two ruffians stationed on either side of it as I turned back. “Mr. Creasey?”
“You intrigue me.” His momentary triumph at winning the game had passed, and the steel in his eyes returned. “But do not take too long to decide where your loyalties will lie. When I strike, I do not miss.”
He closed his mouth, finished. I gave Creasey a cool nod, as though merely taking in his words, turned, and left him.
His men followed me through the upper floor, down the stairs, through the warehouse, and out into the lane. As soon as I stepped to the cobblestones, they shot back into the house, slammed the door behind me, and threw home the bolt.
I dragged in breaths of London’s clammy air, stinking of the river, dead fish, tar, and heavy smoke. It was perfume after the confines of Creasey’s office, with its scent of exotic wood overlaid with a miasma of evil.
A HAND GRABBED me as I emerged from the lane. It was attached to Brewster, who dragged me aside, the crowd before the Custom House parting for us.
“Explain to me why the bloody hell ye went into that devil’s lair without waiting for me,” he yelled into my face. “Why ye went in at all. Ye should have made use of your handy