The Deathsniffer’s Assistant (The Faraday Files Book 1) (34 page)

“What do you want me to tell?”

“Whatever you have. Start with their debts. I’m very interested.”

Kolston sighed. The floor groaned in protest as he went to sit behind the desk once more. “Old Debts,” he said, and then looked consideringly at the papers all spread out before him. He shuffled through a stack, moved pages about, thumbed through another. “I could tell you there was nothing special about the val Darens’, but I like you, even though you think I’m a killer, so I’ll be honest.”

“That’s ever so sweet of you.”

Kolston cracked a smile. “I hear that sometimes.” He finally stopped mussing with his papers and leaned back in his chair. “Old Blood nobles are idiots,” he said. “Blasted chuckleheads, they are. Boil on the arse of society. We tell them they’re special from the day they’re born and they’re too puffed up with that to see they’re not. They shit and piss and bleed like all the rest of us do, and the only thing not getting categorized does for them is ensure they’re piss poor.” He rubbed two imaginary coins together between his thumb and forefinger and grinned. “All their money is vapour and mist, and it’s a creditor’s dream and nightmare both at the same time.”

“I do understand the principle of Old Debts.”

“Aye, you look like the sort of fine lady who puts things together quickly. Sure, course you do. Ain’t hard to figure out, eh? Well.” He straightened his hat. “You get the basic gist, then. Them idiots are always spending money they don’t have like it’s going out of style. There’s never been an Old Blood noble seen a price tag they didn’t like. Old Debts run in Old Blood, is how the saying goes, and any Tarl who knows the first thing about sumfinding can tell it to you. Now, though, here’s the thing about the val Darens.” He leaned forward, and Chris couldn’t help but do the same, leaning towards him, drawn in by the oily little man’s vulgar storytelling. “Every Old Blood family is leaking money. But the val Darens, now…the val Darens are
haemorrhaging
it.”

Olivia furrowed her brow, disappointed. “Yes,” she said. “Because of the Duke’s hobby.”

But Kolston was shaking his head. “No, Liv, I don’t think you’re getting what I’m saying. Vik could have had ten girls a year and bought every single one of them their own personal Floating Castle and still not been gushing out royals like he was. I juggle two dozen Old Debts and I could put all their expenses together and still not equal how much the val Darens spend in a year.”

“Hm.” When Chris looked over, Olivia was chewing her lip. “That’s interesting,” she admitted, and then fixed Kolston with a shrewd look. “It would be a good reason to kill him.”

Kolston gave an exaggerated sigh. “Now here I thought we were getting past that.”

“No, really,” Olivia said. She reached out and tapped the crumbled paper on his desk, the headline still easily readable. “Explain this, why don’t you? No neck wound or not, that’s much too similar to be a coincidence.”

Kolston shrugged. “You’re the Deathsniffer, not me,” he said. “Ask me to add ten digit numbers in my head and I’ll get back to you in half a wink but tell me to explain a murderer and I’m stumped.” He scratched his goatee. “I was there myself when they blackened old Lizzie val Frenton, so it sure weren’t her.” He peered searchingly at Olivia. “Don’t you have a notion?”

“I have a theory.”

“Already told you, lovely, it weren’t me.”

“I didn’t say that was the theory.”

Kolston leaned back in his chair, far enough that the front legs came off the ground and the floorboards moaned. “I got a theory of my own,” he said. “Theory is when Lowry goes to categorize somebody and nothing happens, they send the stupid ones to the church…and call the smart ones truthsniffers. Seems like you’re wrong at least as often as us mere mortals.”

Olivia giggled. “Don’t voice that theory too loudly, now. Lowry doesn’t like that sort of talk. Categorization is a flawless system, didn’t you know?”

“Funny time of year to be saying that,” Kolston said with a laugh of his own. “Try telling it to the blokes and misses who thought they was going to a fine party at a castle in the sky.”

Chris’s weaving slammed to a halt. His body tensed. Kolston might not know any better, but
Olivia
did. Let them banter over the val Daren case when Ana was dead. Fine. He didn’t have to like it, but he could keep his mouth shut and realize he was sensitive; he
knew
the girl. But the Floating Castle…no. That was too cruel of them.

He went so far as to move one of his feet, starting for the exit, but he forced himself calm. Olivia would not be pleased if he left. He still needed this job, for Rosemary.
You’d be just as well leaving this job for Rosemary,
something murmured.
Remember the note.

No. He trusted Miss Albany.

“Miss Faraday,” he said quietly. “The letters addressed to the Duchess…”

Olivia shot him a dark look. “
Yes
, Christopher,” she said sharply. “I realized.”

Kolston raised his eyebrows. “What’s this, now?”

Olivia’s disapproving glare lingered on Chris for a long moment, but then she sighed and reached back into the satchel she carried. “You don’t need to see this,” she said. “But since my assistant has seen fit to involve you, I can’t see the harm.” She pulled out the file Ana had given Chris and handed it to the creditor, who took it and opened the first page. A furrow appeared in his brow as he read it, and then he made a face and closed it.

“Letters from my office,” he said. “I don’t get it.”

Olivia reached across the desk and flipped the pages until she reached the first personal letter addressed to
Evie
. “This is more what I had in mind,” she said, and this time, Kolston’s expression deepened in interest as he read it.

“‘Your weapon may merely be your husband’s deep pockets,’” he read aloud, then whistled lowly. “Well, this explains a mystery that’s driven me off my nut in the last decade. Much obliged, Liv.” He licked his thumb and rubbed the signature at the base of the letter until it smudged. “HC,” he mused. “Who the bloody hell is HC?”

Olivia reached out and snatched the folder back, giving him an admonishing look. “We’re not sure,” she replied. “And we certainly wouldn’t tell it to a suspect who licks evidence.”

Kolston feigned hurt. “Still a suspect?” he mourned.

“I know better than to let my guard down around a man who oils his facial hair,” Olivia said with a knowing smile. She ran her fingers along the edge of his desk. “Do you have anything else useful for me?”

The creditor shrugged. “Might have. There’s another old saying amongst us sumfinders, you know. ‘If you want to know who a man wants to be, talk to his wife. If you want to know who a man really is, talk to his creditor.’ “ His eyes watched Olivia’s marching fingers hungrily. “I knew Vik better than most, I’d say.”

“And did that knowledge earn you any insight?”

“Might have,” Kolston said again.

Olivia’s fingers stilled, and slowly, she flattened her hand against the desk. Her head tilted and her brows knitted together, but a small smile was pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Are you getting at what I think you are?” she asked.

Kolton broke into a wide grin. “Might be,” he said with obvious savour.

“You realize I can come back here with my police supervisor and
make
you talk,” Olivia informed him tartly, her tiny smile never wavering. “I already had to do that with the Duke’s mistress. Officer Maris Dawson is a tiny ginger anvil, and she’ll make you feel
very
sheepish. Or worse, if I tell her about what you’re asking.”

“I ain’t asked for anything.” Kolston’s teeth and eyes glittered in identical delight.

“Wicked man,” Olivia said, and, with an exaggerated sigh, she reached into her satchel and pulled out a dainty, lacy billfold. Chris watched in utter shock as she opened it, pulled out a five royal note, and extended it out to the ratty little man in the oiled goatee and the tiny bowler hat.

“What are you doing?” he asked, unable to help himself, and they turned to look at him as if they’d forgotten he was there.

“Bribing the bloody swindler, obviously,” Olivia said, and Kolston reached out and snatched the note from her fingers. Chris could only stand with his mouth hanging open while the creditor examined the bill from all angles, and then swept his bowler hat off in a sitting bow before tucking it into his vest. “I hope that’s good enough and you didn’t just make my money disappear,” Olivia said, voice warm with mirth. “Or I might go and get my supervisor after all.”

“No worries, love,” Kolston replied, settling back again. He set his hat on one finger, hiding his hand like a lampshade, and twirled it about, studying it as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “Vik was a real scoundrel under all his maudlin posturing,” he said. “Weren’t nobody he could talk to about all them little butterflies he took a shining to, so he’d tell it to the one man who couldn’t ever judge him for it. Every one of them, he told me about, in enough detail to make your little assistant there blush all the way down to his baby toes. There were dozens of them, a new one every year, sometimes twice a year.”

“Do you always talk about obvious things before you get to the interesting part of your stories?” Olivia asked, eyes wide with innocence.

Kolston laughed. “Ruins the story if you just jump right in,” he said. “But for you, I guess, I can skip to the good part.” He smiled up at her. “Vik’s burned his way through a whole lot of girls, let me tell you …but there ain’t never been a one he was half so in love with as little Vanessa Caldwell.”

“Is that so?” Olivia asked, the innocent curiosity in her expression fading to practiced disinterest. She picked at the lace of her gloves. “She didn’t seem so enamoured with him.”

“He didn’t know it. He was always going on about her. He could talk a big game all he liked about purity and guilelessness and all that rubbish, but you’ve met his wife. Vik may be drawn to freshly fallen snow, but it’s the play of ice and fire that really captivated him. Vanessa had enough of that to put even Evelyn to shame. Hot and cold, perfect balance. Doubt she ever knew just how perfect she was, but the girl swept him right off his feet.”

“This is gossip,” Olivia droned, looking up from her gloves. “This isn’t useful. I’d like my five royals back, please.”

Kolston held up his hands, his hat used like a shield. “All right, all right, hold your horses there, lovey. I guess I’ll wreck all the tension and go right to the end, but you’re missing out. Everyone says I spin a good tale.” When Olivia’s expression didn’t change, he sighed. “Vik told me he was going to go out and get himself a divorce.”

Olivia’s features changed instantly. Her feigned indifference melted immediately, draining away and leaving eager fascination in its place. She put both her hands on the surface of Kolston’s desk and leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “To marry Vanessa Caldwell,” she said breathlessly.

“So he claimed.”

“But she’s just a lifeknitter with some aspirations to poetry. Sure, Evelyn North had no Old Bloodline to speak of, but her family was rich and well-regarded before the Floating Castle. The Duke couldn’t have been so stupid as to marry someone like that…”

Kolton raised an eyebrow. “Would he?” he asked. “I told you the Old Blood were stupid, didn’t I? It ain’t just about money.”

Olivia straightened. She shot Chris a triumphant smile, her eyes darting from the notebook to his face as if to say
are you getting this?
He nodded once in reply, and went back to weaving, unsure of what he thought of this development himself. “Well, Mister Kolston,” Olivia pronounced. “That’s very helpful information. Certainly worth five royals. Thank you.”

Kolston finally set his hat back on his head. He straightened it, looking up at Olivia with something that was nearly a leer. “Didn’t think you’d pay.”

Olivia returned his leer with a flash of playful half smile before turning about in a flounce of straight yellow hair and cleanly cut skirts. “It was presumptuous of you to even ask,” she said, starting for the door. Chris flipped the notebook shut and started after her, but bumped into her when she stopped to shoot one last look over her shoulder at the oily little man. “I like presumptuous,” she said. Her eyes said much more.

They were out in the busy banking district minutes later. Chris straightened his topcoat and ran a hand through his hair, feeling as though there were a thin coating of grease all over his body. “That man makes me feel as though I need a bath,” he muttered.

“Mm. Tell me about it,” Olivia purred, staring back at the old, old house, and the look on her face made it all the worse.