(In honor of NaNoWriMo, I thought I’d post a scene from my as-yet-untitled WIP I’m writing for fun this month. This is a first draft that has had only a single-pass edit for typos, so it’s a bit rough, but part of the joy of NaNo’ing is roughing it. — Lynn)
Doyle finally tired of pacing, yanked out the chair on the other side of the table and dropped in it. After he gave me that cool, flint-edged stare he’d inherited from his Grandda, he asked, “Why did you do it, Kit?”
I gave him my full statement in four words. “I didn’t kill him.” Of course I had; I had spent all week planning it and all night running about trying to do it. Murder had turned out to be an exhausting business. “Is that what this is about, then? You’ve got the wrong—”
“They’ll send you to the gallows.” Beneath his rage was something more I hadn’t expected to see: regret.
“I doubt it. They hardly ever hang women.” A cramp in my right shoulder made me adjust the drape of my arms around the back of the chair. The chain between my shackles jingled. “You’ve no body, no witnesses. How could I have done him, what with me being such a young, helpless female and all?”
He bent to one side, took something from his case and placed it on the table between us. A small, flat square, carefully swaddled in soft black cloth. He didn’t have to unwrap it to show me what it was.
I stared at it, fascinated. Not such a rare thing as it had been before the Empire had permitted it, but surely too expensive for the likes of Tommy Doyle. “You’ve glass.”
“Aye, I’ve glass.” He braced his hands on the table and leaned over it. “Why did you kill him?”
It had to be a trick, the glass blank, the threat empty. Unless— “Show it to me.”
Tom unwrapped the cloth, exposing the plate inside.
Silverblack mottled the slick surface with splotches and lines. They formed the reverse image of a long pier, a tall woman and the monster she was straddling. When the tints were made from it, they’d show the finer details. The tears in her bodice. The blood on her mouth. The iron spike she was just about to thrust into the monster’s chest.
Damn me, he had it all on glass. “That’s not what it looks like.”
He picked up the ambrotype showing me killing Lucien Dredmore. “This is not you shoving a rail tie through the man’s chest, then.” Hot blue eyes shifted to the blood-soaked remains of my bodice. “And I suppose that’s not Dredmore’s blood all over your tits.”
“No.” Well, most of it wasn’t his blood. I hoped.
“You’ve a homicidal twin sister tucked away somewhere?”
“Sorry.” I grimaced. “Only child.”
Tom checked his pocket watch. “After you didn’t kill Dredmore, did someone else roll him in tarp and take him for a swim?”
“I don’t know.” Damn it, he was going to make me explain everything. “Tommy—”
“Inspector Doyle to the likes of you.”
“Inspector Doyle.” So much for the tender bud of that relationship. “I did not stab Lucien Dredmore in the heart or pitch his ass in the bay. I may have wanted to – I may have even dreamed about it now and then – but I am innocent of these charges being filed against me.”
“You’re lying.”
I smelled piss again and glanced down. No wonder the floor and the seat felt tacky; the one they’d brought in before me had disgraced himself. Maybe the Yard hadn’t cleaned it up very well in order to break down the resistance of other suspects. The stench was certainly working wonders on me.
“Kit.”
“Can’t you see what’s happening here?” No, he couldn’t, that much was obvious. “Think about it, Tommy. I hated the son of a bitch. Everyone knew it. They wanted him and me out of the way. One stone, two birds. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”
“So you’re being framed for Dredmore’s murder.”
I kept a straight face. “Yes.”
“There’s just one problem with that.”
“What?”
“I’m the one who took this, and the others.” He shoved the glass across the table at me. “I watched you kill him.” His blond brows formed a V over his bright blue eyes. “And I will testify.”
So he would, because that was the sort of man he was. If things had gone differently, Tommy and I might have been friends. Another thing to regret, but not enough to keep me from hanging myself. It didn’t matter. My life had ended two hours ago on the docks.
I had to finish this.
“I’ll say that we’ve slept together,” I said. “My barrister will use it to destroy your credibility.” Pain exploded across my face and my head snapped to one side as his swinging hand connected with my cheek. I spat some blood-streaked saliva on the floor and rolled the bottom of my jaw. “Very good, Inspector. Go on, hit me again. Use your fist this time. I deserve it, lying bitch that I am.” If I were very lucky, I might be able to goad him into breaking my neck.
“So you can use the bruises to discredit me?” He shook his head. “What happened, Kit? What did he do to you? How in God’s name did he drive you to murder? You were lovers.”
I laughed. “I’d rather bed a jackal.”
Doyle took something from his pocket and tossed it down in front of me. The last time I’d seen the old chain, I’d left it hanging from a bed post.
Now, looking at it and the dark stone hanging from it, I could hardly take in enough air to form words. “Where did you get this?”
“We recovered it,” he snapped. “We also have the tarp and the murder weapon. They’ll be tested. They’ll find his blood on them.”
“Where’s the body?” Without thinking I tried to stand, only to be jerked back as my shackles cut into my wrists. “Where is it?”
“The skips are stilling trawling,” he said, “but the tide’s coming in. We’ll have it soon enough, I imagine.”
The pendant changed everything. “I want a vicar.”
Outrage flagged his cheekbones red. “You don’t get—”
“I’ll confess,” I said quickly. “To all of it. Everything. In my own hand, if you like. After I speak to my vicar.”
He stared. “You’ve never been Church.”
I ran my tongue along the seam where my cheek met my gum line. “Remorse has converted me. It’s a miracle. Now, the vicar, if you please.”
