Private Dicks (38 page)

Jamie turns their conversation to other things as they finish off their tea, politics and the charity work Father Hartgrove is involved with. When the tea is gone, Jamie pulls himself up with his crutches.

"I will come to visit again soon," he promises as Father Hartgrove sees him to the door. Father Hartgrove only smiles and embraces him.

Jamie tries to collect himself as he hails a cab, setting out to send a telegram to Mr. Burton and his mysterious employer:

Be advised: to my knowledge, Hallingsworth is innocent. I plan on proceeding with my own investigations.

Griffith.

Jamie then hails another cab to take him back to the station, where he continues on to Cambridge once more. He has a lot to think about pertaining to the case.

On the train, Jamie can indulge in a great deal of uninterrupted thinking. He has long been almost completely certain of Hallingsworth's innocence in the matter of Professor Brown's death. He had been considering the possibility that Brown had been killed for political reasons, whatever those might be; however, in light of the information Percy and Father Hartgrove had supplied him with, Jamie is beginning to wonder if Professor Brown could have been killed for something entirely different.

He turns the idea over in his mind.

What if the Professor's death had nothing to do with his work on classified government projects at the college? What if it had nothing to do with the college at all, but was instead linked to the fortune that could be made in cotton textiles?

Cotton was quickly replacing linen as the favored cloth for garments, not just in Britain, but all over the world. Those within the cotton industry were keenly aware of this. Jamie very much doubted the late Professor Brown had had any interest in cotton mills, but he had stood to inherit a large number of them, all of which would have been in the position to be bought cheaply at his death.

Jamie stares out of the window at the countryside rushing by. At the moment, the idea was a theory based on the facts available, but without hard evidence. Jamie turns over all the possibilities he can think of about ways to proceed.

By the time the train pulls into Cambridge Station, Jamie has come to the conclusion that he needs to talk to Hallingsworth and tell him the truth about why he was at the college in the first place. Jamie disembarks the train feeling very tired; he's not looking forward to Hallingsworth's reaction in the slightest.

He doesn't actually get a chance to speak with Hallingsworth privately until the following evening. The next day, Hallingsworth, despite his injuries, is up early as ever working in the laboratory. Hallingsworth had worked straight through the day with his student, Taylor, who was the mind behind envisioning the underwater ship. It isn't until after they've eaten supper and are settled in the sitting room with drinks that Jamie even has the opportunity to broach the subject.

"There is something I must discuss with you," he tells Hallingsworth, who looks up from where he's settled on the settee. Jamie grips the cut glass tumbler which holds his whiskey tightly and braces himself.

"Oh?" Hallingsworth sounds vaguely curious, and for once, he is not distracted by the never-ending engineering plans.

"I have not been completely honest with you," Jamie begins, taking a sip of whisky. He stares at the Persian carpet on the floor, tracing its intricate patterns with his eyes. "In fact, I haven't been completely honest about a great many things; for instance, why I took this position in the first place."

He chances a glance up at Hallingsworth who doesn't say anything, but watches him intently.

Jamie takes a deep breath and gets straight to the point. "I interviewed for and took this job because I was hired to. In fact, I was hired to investigate you. I'm a private investigator, you see, and my client suspected you were involved with Professor Brown's death."

Jamie looks back up at Hallingsworth again, but he can't read the expression on the other man's face. His palms have started to sweat and he grasps his glass more firmly. "I suspect they came to me because they thought I would be able to prey upon your sympathetic nature in order to secure this position." He takes another breath, surprised at the pain that lodges in his chest. "Needless to say, I do not suspect you of the crime." He falls silent and chances a glance up at Hallingsworth.

Hallingsworth closes his eyes and rubs his hands across the part of his face not covered by the bandage. "I had hoped—" he cuts himself off and looks away from Jamie, shaking his head once. "I must assure you that I did not hire you out of pity."

Jamie can hear the anger and disappointment in his voice and clutches at the glass again. "I am sorry."

Hallingsworth laughs softly. "For what? You were doing what men in your profession do, and you knew nothing about me at the beginning of this." He closes his eyes again, suddenly looking very tired.

It takes all of Jamie's restraint not to reach out to him. "I have regretted lying to you," he says softly. "I have never felt ashamed for misleading a suspect before, but with you—" He stops himself quickly, fearing he's revealed too much. "I would not blame you if you wished to have nothing more to do with me."

Hallingsworth stands suddenly and paces to the fireplace, forcing Jamie to turn his chair in a full circle to follow him.

"You said you no longer suspect me," Hallingsworth states without looking back at Jamie. "What has convinced you so completely of my innocence?"

Jamie stares at the strong lines of Hallingsworth's back and wishes he could see his face. "You have no motive to commit such a crime," he points out. "No evidence points to your involvement, and my understanding of your character leads me to believe that you did not kill Professor Brown."

"Have they found the weapon yet?" Hallingsworth asks, turning back toward him.

Jamie blinks. "Not to my knowledge." Not that he believes his client would tell him in any case.

Hallingsworth seems to slump. "That is a pity."

Jamie scrutinizes his face for a moment. "Why?"

"Because I do not believe a normal gun was used. If someone was to try to get within range of shooting Professor Brown in his office, they would have been seen. His office is quite high off the ground, so they would not have been able to access it by means of the window, and his secretary swears he was alone all evening. She has no reason to lie and in no way gained from his death, quite the contrary in fact. Furthermore, no one heard a shot, not his secretary or those students, faculty and staff working in the building surrounding it."

Jamie nods, having been told some of this information by Mr. Burton—although not all of this, he thinks sourly.

"I have theorized that whoever killed Professor Brown did so with a totally new kind of weapon: a long range rifle that can shoot in complete silence."

Jamie studies Hallingsworth for a long moment. He looks grave, but earnest, and Jamie comes to a decision. "I think I would like to see the outside of Professor Brown's office," he tells Hallingsworth, setting aside his glass.

Hallingsworth only nods and collects his hat and coat. Jamie had purposefully tried not to show too much interest in the scene of Professor Brown's death to maintain his cover, but that is no longer a concern. Hallingsworth leads the way through the halls and darkened courtyards lit by gas lamps.

They end up in a square courtyard surrounded by walkways and buildings, and Hallingsworth points to one darkened window high up in one of the massive stone buildings.

Jamie circles his chair around as he studies the surrounding buildings. He tries to imagine himself as the marksman, picking a place that would give good cover, but also a good shot at the window, and all of his options seem impossibly far. Only for modern weapons, Jamie reminds himself; if Hallingsworth is right, this could be something entirely new.

"If you were to have such a weapon as the one you imagined, where would you shoot from?" Jamie asks, turning to Hallingsworth, who is also studying the surround buildings.

"That one." Hallingsworth points to a spot on the opposite rooftop partially protected by a chimney and Jamie is pleased to see it's the spot he'd also picked. "What do we do now?" Hallingsworth asks.

"Now I contact my client," Jamie tells him, turning back, "and we try to track down the weapon." He glances up at Hallingsworth in the semi-darkness. "If such a weapon has been made, how would you find out about it?"

Hallingsworth considers for a moment. "I can think of a few acquaintances I can contact about the possibility of a new rifle prototype."

"Right then." Jamie turns back and heads towards his rooms, his mind on work, with Hallingsworth following close behind him.

"Can I ask what your real name is?" Hallingsworth says after a few moments of silence.

The question brings Jamie out of his musings on the case and back to the reality of what had transpired between them that evening. He looks up at Hallingsworth, who is watching him with an unusually serious look on his face. It's strange, Jamie thinks. He would never consider Hallingsworth to be a jovial man per se, but having him this quiet and drawn feels somehow wrong.

"Griffith," he tells him at last, "James Nicholas Griffith." He hesitates, surprised at his sudden need to tell Hallingsworth more about himself, to let him in even closer than this. "I was born in Manchester, but I've lived a good deal of my life in London. I was raised by a priest, Father Hartgrove." He bites his lip and turns his chair away from Hallingsworth to stop himself from babbling further.

"Thank you," Hallingsworth says quietly from behind him. "If you'd excuse me, I suspect you have things to attend to this evening, and I have some telegrams to write."

He turns and heads off towards his own rooms, and Jamie can't help watching him go before turning back and letting himself into his own little room with a sigh.

The next morning, Jamie makes his way to the laboratory. He pauses his chair in the doorway, feeling out of place; he doesn't have to continuing playing at being Hallingsworth's assistant any longer, but he finds he still wants to be there.

Hallingsworth looks up from papers he'd been going through; his jacket is, of course, tossed on the chair beside him, his sleeves rolled up and his cravat on top of his jacket. He sets down the teacup he's been holding and Jamie wheels himself closer to the table, smiling tentatively. Hallingsworth smiles back before continuing to flip through a stack of correspondence.

"The Queen has written that she very much enjoys the steam powered lifts that were installed in the palace," Hallingsworth tells him and Jamie blinks over his teacup, confused. Hallingsworth looks up, meeting Jamie's uncomprehending eyes. "I invented the steam powered lift," Hallingsworth clarified and Jamie smiles at him.

"That's wonderful then."

"I also heard back from some of the colleagues I contacted." Hallingsworth sets the mail aside and sits at the table, picking back up his teacup. "None of them have heard of such a rifle, but several are interested in the concept."

Jamie shakes his head.

"What do we do now?" Hallingsworth asks.

"We wait, and you do whatever work you have planned for today." Jamie smiles at him, cradling his own teacup. "And I finish organizing those papers I started on yesterday."

"You don't have to do that, you know," Hallingsworth tells him.

Jamie shakes his head. "I want to do it."

He smiles at Hallingsworth, who smiles back, that slow sweet smile Jamie has only seen a few times. They just look at each other over the breakfast table until Jamie feels his cheeks heat and he looks away. Hallingsworth gets up after a moment or so and wanders over to one of the other work tables and starts going through plans.

Jamie takes his tea and moves to one of the other tables where he'd started organizing papers and sketches the day before. He can't help glancing over at Hallingsworth every so often. Telling him the truth has made Jamie feel acutely aware of his own feelings towards Hallingsworth. Jamie can't help, but let his eyes linger on Hallingsworth's broad shoulders or the way the muscles in his arms move as he writes. His eyes skim along the close-cropped sideburns that seem to cup Hallingsworth jaw line and he shivers a little. Hallingsworth frowns down at the engineering plan he's been sketching, absently nibbling at the end of his pencil, and Jamie has to look away.

Their day passes quietly together, and when Jamie gets back to his room to dress for supper, he finds a letter from Mr. Burton. He frowns as he opens it. It has been too short a time since his last letter to his employer, so this must be a response to his earlier telegram.

You had your instruction in regards to Professor Hallingsworth when you took this case.

I will reemphasize for you that Professor Hallingsworth's political beliefs are extremely radical and dangerous. It would be doing this country a great service if he were put away. Do not focus your investigations elsewhere. I assure you we are looking into all reasonable and plausible possibilities. Focus on securing Professor Hallingsworth's guilt.

W.A.Burton

By the time he gets to the end of the exceedingly terse letter, Jamie is so angry his hands are shaking. A wave of shame follows the anger. Jamie swears that he will never again let himself fall so low as to allow people to think him capable of framing an innocent person. He lights the letter on fire, dropping the smoldering remains into the ashtray on the desk.

"Ha-Griffith!"

Jamie turns his chair around as Hallingsworth bursts into his room. He holds up a telegram, waving it at Jamie.

"This is from Professor Greenway in Glasgow who says that he has heard of such a weapon being worked on by a French inventor in Paris," Hallingsworth tells him excitedly. "He has given me the name and address of this gentleman, and I have already sent off a telegram to him."

"That's fantastic." Jamie grins and Hallingsworth smiles right back.

He makes a small movement towards Jamie and, for a moment, Jamie thinks that Hallingsworth might embrace him. Hallingsworth's hands drop to his sides and he smiles instead, and Jamie brushes aside the slight pang of disappointment.