Fires of London (The Francis Bacon Mysteries) by Janice Law Read Free Book Online Page A

to catastrophe. Here was another proof of the precariousness, if not the malice, of the universe. “The batteries died a few blocks from The Pond. Check them, you’ll see.”
    “It was a black night,” he said. “You’d have been in territory you know well then?” His precision instrument sounded confidential now. “The Pond, the vicinity of the park?”
    “Where I believe I’ve seen you.” I stared back to assure him that, although in much physical distress, I was not afraid.
    Something flickered behind his small, shadowed eyes, and his hand shot out and grabbed the front of my shirt. He brought his face close to mine and there could be no mistake: This was the dark silhouette from the park. “Be careful, Mr. Bacon. No matter how this ends, your life is so irregular an immorality prosecution is ever a possibility. Remember that.”
    I said it was the sort of thing that would stick in my mind.
    He looked as if he would like to strike me, but he released my shirt and fell back on sarcasm and insinuation. “So you just happened to fall over him.”
    “I fell over him, dropping my torch, which was useless anyway.” Another interruption for energetic wheezing. “In the darkness, it was quite horrible and the shock played up my asthma.”
    “And then?” He was able to suggest the deepest skepticism in the fewest words.
    “I felt around in the dark and realized I’d stumbled on a man lying dead.”
    “How could you be sure?”
    “When I checked the pulse in his neck, I discovered that he had the most terrible wound.” I forbore to mention my recollection of Damien or to reveal that he had haunted my dreams.
    “Getting the blood on your hands that was noticed at The Pond.”
    “He might have been alive,” I said. “He might have been helped.”
    “You could be charged, you know,” the inspector said.
    “On what possible grounds?”
    He shrugged heavily and remained silent, provoking me to speak. A trick, that.
    “I certainly should have given my name, but if I’d had anything to do with the man’s death, why would I have reported it? Besides, I’d only just left my ARP post.”
    “Unfortunately for you, the victim had not been dead long. The timing would be close. Very close, so you would do well to take this seriously.”
    “I took last night seriously and I’m barely breathing.”
    “You might be risking your life daily like the RAF boys.”
    “Ah,” I said. I knew where this was leading. “Damien Hiller wasn’t worth a toss, but lose an airman—Was he perhaps a pilot?”
    He leaned forward eagerly, quick as a snake: “How would you know that if you hadn’t a light?”
    “I felt the insignia.”
    “A difficult explanation to believe,” he said with some satisfaction. “But you’ll understand the ramifications, the pressure on the investigation for quick results. You’d do, you know. People are as often convicted for what they are as for what they’ve done. In your case, ‘gentleman’s companion,’ large sums lost at gambling—”
    “What about ‘public acts of immorality’?” I asked angrily. “Are you putting those on the docket as well?”
    His hand shot out again and connected with the side of my face, knocking me off the chair onto the floor. “Things could go hard with you,” he said, standing up, and I would have been hit again but for the appearance of Handsome with the amber eyes. Inspector Mordren looked up, unclenched his fists, reassumed—hypocrite toad that he was—his air of calm and control. I glanced in the speckled mirror behind the sink and saw Handsome shake his head. The inspector frowned, waving his hand in dismissal. I got myself off the floor and back onto the chair. Clearly they hadn’t found the pot of gold or the rainbow’s end or anything that suggested I spent my off hours on homicide. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms. I had a tin hat and a badge and a military exemption. Unless they thought to check under the lunch dishes,