The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

The Criminal One

 Booker pursed his lips together as he gazed down at the dead body before him. While the crowd gawked at the knife buried in the woman's chest, his eyes were drawn to her missing ring fingers. If he had to guess, he'd say the Mice had been at work here. They had a penchant for removing fingers when they tortured a person. He had treated more than one of their victims, replacing what had been lost with mechanical prosthetics. However, those individuals had been petty offenders, ones who owed small amounts of money or who had messed around with a member's current young woman.

Too bad for Adelaide. His creations could not fix her now. What she had done to incur their wrath to the point of murder, he didn't know. But she had always enjoyed flapping her gums. The more attention she got from her gossip, the more she talked. Something she said this time must have irked the gang.

It was a shame, too. She had been one of his best informants. Working at the Clocktower allowed her to pick up all sorts of valuable information, and her work on the side—on her back—gave her opportunities to speak to men when they were at their most vulnerable. More than one slip of the tongue during her night hours had gained him some very useful information.

But now that she was a cold corpse in an alley, he would have to look elsewhere for gossip. Granted, he still had Gin, but her youth kept her from gaining information the way Adelaide could. There were other night flowers about, though. He could always butter a few of them up.

"Out of the way, the lot of you," came a gruff voice from amidst the crowd.

Booker turned in time to see Jewkes emerge from the sea of onlookers, and he couldn't help but smile as the officer's face twisted into a grimace. "Good evening, Constable," Booker said, removing his hat and giving him a mocking bow.

"Of course you'd be here," Jewkes said.

"Well, I am a doctor."

The constable's eyes flitted to Adelaide's dead body. "I think this poor woman is beyond the help of a doctor." His gaze turned back to him. "Or are you simply returning to the scene of the crime?"

Booker raised his eyebrows. "Are you suggesting I'm a murderer, Constable?"

"I'm suggesting you're a butcher. I've seen your handiwork on the streets, Larkin. It's not natural."

"But you think losing body parts and being maimed for life is?"

"I think reveling in the removal of arms and legs is only one step away from relishing in taking a life."

"And you would know all about taking lives, wouldn't you, Constable?"

Jewkes' face fell, and Booker took that as a victory. "Get a move on, Larkin," the officer barked as he moved towards the corpse.

Casting the constable one final smirk over his shoulder, Booker left with the rest of the dispersing crowd. As he made his way to his original destination before having been sidetracked by the dead body of his top informant, someone caught his arm. He startled when he saw a rather pretty woman standing beside him, a playful smile on her lips.

"I hear you lost one of your connections," she said in a voice like smooth brandy.

Booker furrowed his brow. "What of it?"

The woman's mouth lifted on one side, and she tugged him towards the Clocktower, which was just in sight. "Let's talk over dinner."

"I prefer to dine alone," he said, trying to pull away from her.

Reaching into her bodice, she took out two shillings. "My treat," she said, rubbing the coins together and raising her eyebrows suggestively.

Hesitating, his eyes went from the money to the flirtatious woman standing before him. He had been on his way to the Clocktower as it was. It had been a month since he'd dismissed Song, and his only means of sustenance was the alehouse. And though this bold woman did make him a tad uneasy, he couldn't deny the curiosity she had evoked in him.