Quicksilver - Amanda Quick [14]
Caleb raised his brows. “Your work?”
“I cannot take the credit. I suspect the wife. I found the body when I explored the basement beneath the mansion.”
“What the devil were you doing in Hollister’s basement?” Gabe asked.
“That is where my investigation led me,” Owen said a little too smoothly. “What the press will not be aware of is that Hollister preyed on young prostitutes for years. He lured them into his carriage and took them to the basement beneath his mansion, where he raped and murdered them. There is no telling how many he killed. While I was on the premises, I found another girl who was still alive. I took her to the charity house in Elm Street.”
“I have seen nothing in the papers about missing streetwalkers,” Caleb said.
“That is because the press rarely notices when girls go missing,” Owen said. “Prostitutes are forever vanishing from the streets. Sometimes they turn up in the river, sometimes they simply disappear. But unless the death is a particularly bloody one, the public has no interest. Hollister was careful to dispose of the bodies so that they did not draw attention.”
Gabe thought about that. “You say Hollister was a talent?”
“Yes, I’m sure of it, possibly a glass-reader.”
“That is why your investigation led you to his basement,” Caleb said, mentally assembling the pieces of the puzzle. “Was he the one who murdered the glass-readers?”
“No, but there is some connection between Hollister and the murders of the glass-readers,” Owen said. “My investigation is ongoing.”
“That does not tell us a great deal,” Gabe said without inflection.
“I can give you one or two other interesting facts. I came across a rather dangerous psychical weapon disguised as a clockwork curiosity in the Hollister mansion. There may be other such devices out there.”
Caleb groaned. “I had hoped that the crystal guns that gave us so much trouble in the course of a recent case were the end of our problems with paranormal weaponry.”
“Evidently not,” Owen said. “I can also tell you that the link between Hollister’s death and the deaths of the glass-readers runs through the Leybrook Institute.”
Irritation flashed through Caleb. “That damned Institute is rife with charlatans and frauds.”
“When you consider the matter closely,” Gabe said, “it is the ideal place for a true psychical killer to conceal himself.”
“A genuine talent hidden among the fakes.” Caleb sighed. “Very clever.”
“It’s called hiding in plain sight,” Owen said. “The monsters are very good at that.”
It seemed to Caleb that there was a new chill in the atmosphere. It was not coming from the river or the fog that shrouded the warehouse. It emanated from Owen Sweetwater’s aura. We are doing business with a very dangerous man, he thought.
“It seems you were right, Caleb,” Gabe said. “But then, you generally are when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Caleb did not respond. There was nothing to say. He was almost always right when it came to seeing patterns. He was especially skilled at noting the dark evidence that indicated crimes that had been committed by villains endowed with psychical talent. But no one was right one hundred percent of the time. Deep inside, he lived with the knowledge that someday he would miscalculate and innocents might die. It was the theme of his darkest dreams.
He frowned at Owen. “How do you intend to proceed?”
Owen shrugged, as if the question had an obvious answer.
“I will identify the killer and remove him,” he said. “I will then, of course, send you a bill for services rendered.”
Gabe leaned back against a large, empty wooden cask and folded his arms. “A simple plan.”
“I have always found that they work best,” Owen said. “Now, then, I am rather busy at the moment. If there is nothing else, I trust you will excuse me.”
He turned and walked away through the deep shadows at the back of the warehouse.