The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Seven

Booker left early the next morning, buying a ticket for the steam engine instead of taking a cab. He claimed that public transportation offered more opportunities to talk to people of interest. As soon as he was gone, Trinket readied herself to head out, donning one of the finer dresses he had bought for her and pinning up her braid. Then, as a final touch, she attached the small hat he had gotten her. After one last glimpse in the mirror, she took a deep breath and made her way downstairs.

During the night, she had wracked her brain trying to think of some way she could help Booker with his investigation. She couldn't go to Kineworth, and she couldn't charm people into confiding in her like he could. All she was good at was seeing things that others missed. If she could see the body of the dead woman, perhaps she would be able to pick up on a clue about who she was or how she had died.

And that's when she knew what she could do.

The air was cold, and Trinket wondered if it would snow later that night. Pulling on her fingerless gloves, she wrapped her arms around her chest and walked quickly towards the city center. She would have to be careful how she proceeded. One wrong word, one wrong move, and she could ruin everything.

She inhaled a shaky breath. Could she do this? It wasn't often that she took this sort of initiative, but she felt she needed to do her part as Booker's assistant. Hopefully she didn't just make more of a mess.

The police station looked very different in the daylight. Smaller, somehow, and far less intimidating. Rather than approach the door in the back, she made her way in through the front entrance. It was much brighter than the last time she had been inside. Sunshine streamed through the windows, and the whitewashed walls helped to illuminate the scene. There were quite a few desks set up on the wooden floors, topped with typewriters and piles of paper. Other than that, there was little to no decor.

Several police officers were milling about in their blue uniforms. One with a thin mustache approached her. "Can I help you, miss?"

She cleared her throat and dropped her hands to her sides. "I'm here to see Constable Jewkes," she said, keeping her voice low. The emptiness of the room made her worry that her words would echo off the bare walls.

The officer nodded and disappeared behind a door in the back. Trinket stood alone, gazing about the room. The tapping of a typewriter mixed with the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner, a bizarre symphony of noise. She counted the seconds to keep herself occupied, but even so, she couldn't say how long the officer had been gone.

"Miss Trinket," Jewkes said as the young officer reappeared with him by his side. "A surprise seeing you here. No Larkin?"

She shook her head. "I came alone."

"Is all well?"

She hesitated and glanced at the young officer. Jewkes nodded sharply, signaling for him to leave. He did so, and Trinket leaned her head closer to Jewkes, saying in a hushed voice, "I'm here regarding what you spoke to me about earlier. About Mr. Larkin and the corpse."

Jewkes' eyebrows shot up, and he blinked twice as if he had not expected her to speak those words. He started to head over to one of the desks. "Well, I'd be more than happy, to—"

"No."

He stopped and turned back to her.

She cleared her throat and glanced down at her feet. "Not here. Somewhere more private perhaps?"

Narrowing his eyes, he considered her for a moment before giving a nod. "All right. Let's head out back then."

He led her to the door he had come through earlier, leaving behind the deafening sounds of the typewriter and clock. The hallway looked familiar, even in the light. They were not too far from the mortuary.