Private Dicks (39 page)

"We can only wait for a reply then." Jamie waves his hand towards the door gesturing for Hallingsworth to precede him. "Shall we dine?"

"What if we were to go?" Hallingsworth asks and Jamie stares at him.

"Go where?"

"To Paris, to find this Doctor Bernard," Hallingsworth explains.

"What about your work?" Jamie asks. "What about your lectures?"

Hallingsworth shrugs. "I think this is more important than that. I'll pay our way. Besides," he smiles, "I am interested in seeing if Doctor Bernard has actually invented such a weapon."

Jamie shakes his head, but then smiles "Alright then."

"Good." Hallingsworth beams at him. "We'll leave tonight. Pack some bags."

"We have to eat first." Jamie points out, although he's already starting to collect things he will need. Hallingsworth grumbles at that, but doesn't argue and instead heads off to pack his own bags.

After packing and grabbing a quick meal, they board a train heading for the coast. It should seem strange to Jamie to be with Hallingsworth outside of the college, but it becomes natural very quickly. Jamie tries to ignore the little bit of warmth that flows through him every time he feels Hallingsworth's large hand settle on his back or help him from the steps of the train onto the platform. He's never traveled with a companion before. It's good to have someone to talk to over the long hours as the train rocks them closer together in their small compartment. He also finds he can tolerate the stares more when Hallingsworth is there, calm and unruffled.

Once they reach the coast, they board a steamer to take them across the Channel. Once aboard, Jamie learns that Hallingsworth suffers from acute seasickness, even on voyages as short as theirs. He spends most of their crossing helping the other man lie down and slowly sip a gin and tonic while Hallingsworth turns an alarming shade of green. Once they are disembarked and settled back on a train, Hallingsworth seems to revive nicely, even enough to start jotting down notes for plans he's working on.

By the time they reach Paris, Jamie is exhausted by the travel, but also excited. He's never been out of the country on a case before, but then he's never handled a case this large or complex.

It turns out Jamie's French is better than Hallingsworth's, so Hallingsworth searches through his case for Doctor Bernard's address while Jamie arranges a carriage for them. They make a brief stop to secure themselves lodging, then find themselves making their way down a narrow cobblestone lane to what they presume is Doctor Bernard's abode. Hallingsworth knocks and after several moments, the door is opened by a small gentleman with gray hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

"Excuse us, would you happen to be Doctor Bernard?" Jamie inquires in French.

The older man nods. "Yes, how can I help you?"

"We would like to speak with you," Jamie explains. Doctor Bernard stands back, allowing them in. His rooms are modest, but very clean, Jamie notes, as Doctor Bernard leads them into his sitting room.

Doctor Bernard perches on a chair and Jamie settles himself on the settee with Hallingsworth next to him.

"We've heard from Professor Greenway about a weapon you have been working on, a rifle that can shoot long, fire silently," Hallingsworth explains in slow, halting French.

Doctor Bernard's face lights up at that and he nods eagerly. "Yes, yes the rifle." He gets up and bustles out of the room, returning a few moments later carrying a stack of papers. He unrolls the papers on the table in front of the fireplace and both Jamie and Hallingsworth lean forward to see detailed plans and sketches of long barreled rifles.

"My father made guns," Doctor Bernard explains. "I have as well. I have dreamed of creating a new kind of gun." He touches one of the sketches with a certain amount of reverence. "I have been working on this concept my entire life, but it has only been in the last year that I have been able to make a prototype that works." He holds up one hand as Hallingsworth draws in breath to speak. "Oh it is not perfect yet, which is why I have not revealed it to the world, but it is almost there. Almost ready. And even so," He smiles and taps one of the newer sketches, "there has been a great deal of interest. In fact, an English businessman purchased the plans for this prototype."

Both Hallingsworth and Jamie stare at him at that. Jamie is the first to recover and take a breath. "And would that businessman's name, by any chance, be a Nicholas Kennedy, heir of the Kennedy textile company?"

Doctor Bernard beams at him, "Ah, so you know him!"

Hallingsworth and Jamie look at each other and then back at Doctor Bernard. Jamie clasps his hands together and leans towards the other man. "Doctor Bernard," he asks slowly, "would you be willing to come to England and testify at a trial?"

Hallingsworth is practically jubilant by the time they get back to the very modern hotel where they are staying. Jamie feels almost jubilant himself. He'd been right, after all, yet even as he basks in that knowledge, his mind is racing forward towards the next steps that must be taken.

He could contact the police, but he very much doubts they will listen to him, especially without a key witness and the only piece of hard evidence here in France instead of England. Although he iss loath to have anything more to do with the onerous Mr. Burton and his mystery client, convincing them of his argument seems to be the most logical way forward. Once settled into their rooms at the hotel, Jamie composes a telegram to Mr. Burton.

Have evidence that B. was murdered by order of Nicholas Kennedy. Doctor Bernard sold him plans for the murder weapon. Act immediately.

J. G.

He sends it with a deep feeling of trepidation.

The next morning while they are eating breakfast, he receives a reply:

We have been advised of the situation. We will contact Doctor Bernard. Return to England.

W.A.B.

Jamie folds the telegram in half, setting it next to his plate. There is really nothing more he can do at this point, he knows. Now they simply must wait. He looks up to find Hallingsworth watching him and smiles back rather sadly. "Let's go home. We've done everything we can do here."

Hallingsworth nods, turning back to his notebook and his sketches of underwater ships as Jamie picks back up his tea.

*~*~*

Jamie sits in Hallingsworth's laboratory several weeks later staring at Charles, the small scale model of the Computative Engine. It's quite late in the evening and the laboratory is deserted and the lamps extinguished, so the only light comes from the gas lamps outside filtering through the high windows.

Jamie's gaze takes in the rows of worktables along either wall scattered with papers, books and pieces of machinery. He idly folds and refolds a letter between his fingers. He's read it so many times that he doesn't have to unfold it to recite it.

Dear Mr. Griffith.

We thank you for the information you provided concerning Doctor Bernard and your theories on the circumstances surrounding the death of Professor Brown; however, for political reasons this case can be taken no further and no action will be taken against Mr. Nicholas Kennedy or any other member of the Kennedy family. We suggest that you keep what information you might have to yourself.

In regards to the services you were originally hired to perform, we have been informed that you have not completed them as instructed; therefore, we are sorry to inform you that no payment will be made.

Sincerely

William T. Miller

Jamie's gaze comes to rest on the Computative Engine again. He will be leaving Cambridge for London tomorrow. His things are already packed, though he has no idea what he will do when he gets home or what employment he will find.

Behind him, the door the laboratory opens and closes. He turns a little in his chair to see Hallingsworth make his way towards him. Hallingsworth leans against the work table next to Jamie, and for several minutes neither of them says anything.

"I heard from Professor Greenway that Doctor Bernard was removed from his house by French police several weeks ago and hasn't been seen or heard from since," Hallingsworth says quietly.

Jamie sighs, rubbing both hands across his face. "I was a fool," he says, "for thinking I could do this."

Hallingsworth stares at him a moment before leaning down and kissing him.

For a moment, Jamie is paralyzed by the surprise of warm, full lips pressed against his. He doesn't move, hardly even breathes, and Hallingsworth pulls back finally, looking terrified.

Jamie reaches up before Hallingsworth can speak, seizing him by the lapels of his jacket and pulling him down for another kiss. This time the kiss is slow and measured. Jamie presses his lips against Hallingsworth's, letting himself feel the warm softness of Hallingsworth's lips, the way his beard and sideburns brush against his jaw. Hallingsworth lets his lips part ever-so-slightly with a small sigh and Jamie delicately licks at the warm skin, then into the hot moistness of his mouth.

Hallingsworth tastes of coffee and smoke, with a hint of brandy underneath; warm, dark and rich. Their tongues touch and caress, and Jamie lets go of Hallingsworth's only when he stops being able to breathe. Even so, he can't resist taking that full bottom lip gently between his teeth and nibbling a little as they pull apart.

"I have a proposal for you," Hallingsworth says softly; Jamie loves the sight of his flushed cheeks and moist lips. Hallingsworth reaches out and takes Jamie's hand, and for a moment Jamie can't breathe with the enormity of it. Hallingsworth takes a breath, squeezing Jamie's fingers briefly.

"I have a small amount of money from my family which is distributed to me monthly," he says and Jamie blinks. This is not at all what he had expected. "The college pays me handsomely," Hallingsworth continues, "and allows me a budget for my research to do with as I see fit, so I have made up my mind to help you fund yourself as a private investigator using my family's money."

Jamie frowns and pulls his hand loose from Hallingsworth's grasp. "I can't take your money," he tells him sternly. "I am not in need of charity."

This time Hallingsworth blinks, looking truly affronted, "Not charity, dear fellow. I am suggesting a loan." He gives Jamie a long, measured look. "I expect you to pay it back in full, you understand."

Jamie stares at him for a long moment, then smiles and nods once. "A loan I can live with, Hallingsworth."

"Good." Hallingsworth takes his hand again.

Jamie looks down at where their fingers join. "And now I have a proposal for you," He says, looking up at Hallingsworth earnestly. "I know that you cannot move to London, and at the moment I cannot move to Cambridge." He takes a breath, looking back at their linked hands. "But nonetheless, I would like to try and be your companion." He dares a glance back up at Hallingsworth. "For as long as you'll have me."

Hallingsworth smiles one of those slow, sweet smiles Jamie has come to love and leans down and kisses him again.

"Good," Hallingsworth murmurs as they pull apart, "Because I would like to try and be your companion for a very long time indeed."

When Quinton Inwood found the first body in front of his father's agency, his father told him not to worry. It was a dangerous neighborhood after all. That explanation failed to encompass why the body had been dumped onto the stoop of their business, but Quinn was traumatized and willing to believe anything his father said. However, he did note the oddness of the silver cross hanging from the dead man's neck.

He recognized the man from around town: he worked around the docks, but unlike the rest of the workers, he was not one to cause trouble. He did his work and went home to his family, and Quinn knew that the man did not make enough money to purchase a cross such as the one hanging around his neck. He suggested as much to his father's assistant, Oswald, but Oz just shrugged and suggested, "Perhaps it was a gift."

Quinn was not sure he agreed, but he accepted the answer. Oz had a tendency to seek the best in people, and while it was a comfort most times, it was not conducive to solving a mystery. And in the opinion of the authorities, there was no mystery. They did not seem overly concerned with the man's death, and within a few days, there was someone new in his place at the docks. When Quinn went out to purchase food, he heard tell that the man had messed in dark magic and angered a demon. Considering the cross on his chest, Quinn had a hard time believing that theory, but chose to keep his silence. The best way to gather information sometimes was just by listening. His father had taught him that and since he considered his father among the most intuitive people he had ever met, he figured his father must have something right.

As he started back home, he was stopped by a gypsy. "I have no desire to hear my future," he informed her before she could attempt selling her wares.

"No interest in the future?" She sounded intrigued. "What an interesting boy you are."

"I believe the future is best experienced and not explained." Besides, only fools put their stock in fortunes told by the gypsies.

"Experienced, huh?" The gypsy considered his words. "What an intelligent boy you are. For being such an interesting human, you may ask one question. Just a bit of wisdom." She silenced him before he could open his mouth to argue. "If you have no desire to learn of the future, simply do not ask of it."

Quinn frowned as he thought over his question. "What would you say to a man that has found one dead man on his porch?"

"That man has bad luck," the gypsy responded.

Bad luck?
"What about a man with two dead men on his porch?"

"That man is being warned."

What sort of warning exactly?
"How about three dead men?"

The gypsy smiled, her teeth yellowed and rotting. "Take care, Quinton Inwood."

Quinn was halfway home before he remembered that he had not given the gypsy his name.