White Hart on the night Betsy Creamer disappeared, Mr. Eversham.” The chagrin on Paul Ransom’s babyish face revealed all. “I don’t know how this Grainger woman could have been missed.”
Ransom might not know how it had happened, but Eversham did.
He should never have trusted Adolphus Wargrove to conduct the interviews with the employees at the chophouse. He’d known his fellow detective liked to cut corners, but he hadn’t believed Dolph would be so sloppy with a case. It was well known within the Yard that his colleague also harbored jealousy over Eversham’s successes over the years, but to go so far as endangering lives in an effort to ensure this case went unsolved was too much.
As if conjured by Eversham’s thoughts, the man himself strode in.
“Bad break, yer lordship.” Wargrove’s grin belied his words. “How can you have missed such an important witness?”
The nickname was one that the other man had bestowed upon Eversham as soon as he’d learned that Eversham’s father, a country vicar, was a baronet’s son. Never mind that the family had long ago disowned the elder Eversham for marrying beneath him. Or that Andrew Eversham had never even met his grandfather or any of his extended family. He’d managed to dispel most of the suspicion from his fellow officers and underlings at the Yard through careful police work and success in some of the more complex cases he’d been trusted with. And yet, Dolph Wargrove, who only saw Eversham’s successes through the lens of his own failures, never missed an opportunity to remind Eversham that he didn’t quite fit in among his colleagues.
It had taken every one of his years with the Yard to prove himself to those who doubted someone from his background could do the job, but he’d managed it.
And now, Wargrove would do his level best to make sure that this oversight of a key witness in one of the biggest cases Eversham had ever worked would be his downfall.
He would have liked to blame the omission entirely on Wargrove, but Eversham had never been one to shirk responsibility. He’d known damned well when he delegated such an important task to a shoddy investigator like Wargrove he was taking a risk. But with half of his men down with the ague, he’d had no choice. He only hoped Darrow would understand.
Careful not to let his colleague see his rising temper—any sign of upset on his part would only give the man satisfaction, which Eversham was determined not to give him—he said with a calm he didn’t feel, “I believe you took care of the interviews at The White Hart, didn’t you?”
If he’d hoped for a show of remorse, Eversham was to be sorely mistaken.
“It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools, Eversham,” Wargrove said with mock disappointment. “I thought you were the one renowned for your famous deductive skills. Shouldn’t you have figured it out and directed your underlings accordingly?”
“Since when have you ever considered yourself anyone’s underling, Wargrove?” Eversham couldn’t help scoffing at the other man’s false humility.
Unable to take any more of Wargrove’s vitriol, Eversham rose from his desk. Turning to Ransom, who’d been watching the interplay between his superiors with wide eyes, he said, “Come with me. We’re going to speak with Lizzie Grainger before the rest of the papers get to her.” What he decidedly did not need was every bit of her encounter with the likely killer plastered across the front page of the afternoon editions before he’d had a chance to glean any new details from her.
“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Eversham,” Wargrove said coolly. “I’ll be doing that in a bit. After you bring me up to date on the details of the case.”
Eversham felt alarm prickle at the nape of his neck. Before he could question Wargrove’s words, the man continued, “Darrow’s removed you from it altogether.”
“Don’t be absurd.” Eversham spoke before he could stop himself. “Darrow wouldn’t do that without informing me first.”
“Go and speak to him yourself if you don’t believe me.” Wargrove shrugged. “And when you’re done, I’ll need that update as quick as you can. There’s a lot of missed ground to cover here, and I’d expect you won’t want to delay justice for another minute.”
Eversham’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Without a backward glance, he made for the stairs and Chief Superintendent Max Darrow’s office.
“It couldn’t be helped,” his super said even before Eversham could ask. Gesturing him toward a chair, Darrow sighed when Eversham