certainly knew the look of a fresh bullet-hole in plaster, when she saw one. "Ah," she said quietly. "Someone must be taking an interest in the case."
* * *
A little before noon, Garrett marked time in the antechamber outside the Mayor's office, grateful at least for the chance to shed her soaked oilcloth. Although the rain had stopped falling and the clouds had thinned shortly before Don Sebastien took his leave, the afternoon promised a continuing overcast.
Blood and mud still smirched the hem of her walking dress, and it might have been politic to return to her rooms and change. However, his Lordship, Peter Eliot, Mayor of New Amsterdam, had made it known that he expected to see her with all deliberate speed, and far be it from her to think of preserving the man's prized Persian carpets under such circumstances. Garrett swallowed a pleased smile.
By the watch pinned to her bodice, she'd been waiting at least twenty minutes before the door opened and the Mayor's confidential secretary—a well-made young man with dark blue eyes, whom she noted appreciatively—gestured her in. Garrett smiled; she'd taken the opportunity to rifle his desk while he was away, and had one of his visiting cards slipped inside the cuff of her glove. Simon LeMarque, M.Th.S. Another sorcerer. And French. How interesting. The Mayor must be more worried about the Duke and me than he admits. Although, given the number of times he's tried to—embarrass—us both, I shouldn't be surprised.
She swept past Simon LeMarque, holding her soiled dress well aside, and glided to a halt before Peter Eliot's enormous mahogany desk. The Mayor didn't trouble himself to look up from the papers that occupied his attention, and Garrett gave her sodden skirts an extra shake to settle them. "Your Lordship."
Eliot glanced up. "I understand there was some trouble in the city this morning, Detective."
"Crown Investigator, sir," she answered. "And yes."
He nodded judiciously, setting his papers aside. "Have you identified a suspect yet? I'm under pressure from the press, you understand. The gruesome aspect of the murder. . .."
You blithering idiot, I've been at the crime scene for six hours. I've barely begun my investigation, and you know it. But he isn't a blithering idiot, and I'd better remember that. "Respectfully, sir, because of the possibly—probably—arcane nature of the crime, it's a Crown matter now. You shall have to address the press's inquiries to the Duke's office."
"I'd hate to have them jump to the conclusion that the Duke's officers are impeding a murder investigation."
Ah. The threat made manifest. "The Duke is quite capable of handling his own public affairs, your Lordship."
Eliot smiled, uncoiling from his desk. He was a long, narrow man, grey hair thinning at the top, waistcoat tight across the small bulge of his paunch. Probably not much older or taller than the intensely annoying Don Sebastien. Despite her professional dislike for the so-called Great Detective, Garrett found herself comparing the Mayor unfavorably to the Spanish aristocrat. "Ah, yes, the Duke. Has he taken an interest, then?" Garrett didn't miss the jeweled-serpent glitter in the man's eyes.
She knew she was one of Richard's—the Duke's—biggest political weaknesses. And she suspected the Mayor knew as well, or at least suspected. But he cannot prove a thing, and that is the important part. And my service record is impeccable, for all I am a woman.
"I have yet to speak to him regarding the case, sir. Usually he prefers not to be involved until the evidence is more complete, and in any eventuality, I have not yet even had time to write up my notes. But you appreciate that I can discuss nothing relating to a Crown investigation with anyone who is not in my chain of command." And here in the god-forsaken West, my chain of command begins and ends with the Duke. You have no power over me.
Well, other than the power to endlessly complicate my life. With the exception of Garrett and the city Guard, New Amsterdam's law enforcement reported to the office of the Mayor. And Garrett desperately needed to keep her access to the resources of the Colonial Police.
"And I know you like to keep a very personal hand on your investigations, Detective. . .Crown Investigator."
Familiar ice stiffened Garrett's spine, and she let it freeze her professional smile on her face. "Surely, sir, I have no idea what you might be insinuating."
"Ah, of course not. You will keep me apprised?"
And that's what this is about. An offer to betray Richard for a