The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Fifteen

Trinket's eyes darted to Booker whose gaze was fixed on the dead frog. His stare was distant and disconnected, his every breath quick and shallow. He looked like he was either going to throw the frog across the street or fall to his knees and cry.

"Thank you, Constable," Trinket said as she placed a hand on Booker's shoulder, squeezing it tight to remind him where he was.

"I had a feeling it was connected to you two," Jewkes said. His expression softened as he eyed Booker. "What's this all about, Larkin?"

Letting out a short sigh, Booker lowered his hand and met the officer's gaze. "If I ever figure it out, I'll be sure to let you know. So long as I don't think you'll arrest me over it."

He gave a tight smile that made Jewkes furrow his brow. "Try not to get yourself killed, Larkin."

"You worried about me, Jewkes?"

"I'd hate to be the one hauling your body down into the icebox. And Lord knows who'd be willing to perform your autopsy."

"Your concern is heartwarming, Constable. But I believe we should be on our way." Booker held up the frog, its legs dangling over his hand. "Wouldn't want this to rot. Thank you again."

Taking hold of Trinket's arm, he steered her in the direction of home. They didn't speak a word all the way back, and as Trinket set the lock, Booker continued to stare at the frog.

"Are you going to dissect it?" she asked, leaning against the door.

"What's the use? I doubt I'll find anything new. Waste of time."

"Why would Benedict waste your time?"

He sighed and closed his fingers around the frog. "He wouldn't. Which means there's something I'm missing. I just don't know what."

They stood in silence for a moment longer before Trinket cleared her throat. "If you're not going to open it up, then perhaps I should go out and get Daphne some new boots."

"I'll come along. Just let me—"

"No, I'll be fine." She took a step towards him, putting an arm around his waist and leaning her chin against his shoulder. "Go have a cup of tea. Or two. Try to settle down. You're so wound up lately."

She patted his arm and gave it a squeeze before heading back out the door. "Be careful," he called after her. "Lord knows what sort of dead body might show up next."

Trinket let out a long breath as she made her way down the road again. As she walked, she thought about the pattern of events that had occurred the past few days. It seemed the bodies were alternating between human and frog, which meant the next one would most likely be human. What number would it bear? And would it, too, be missing fingers?

That was an odd little detail that didn't make sense. Scales was investigating the bodies like they were, and based on the way the Mice were quarreling, she'd bet he had several of them assisting him. So it couldn't be the Mice cutting off the fingers. It had to be the person leaving the bodies.

It had to be Benedict.

But why? What sense did it make to lead the police into believing the Dead Mice were involved? To keep them from prying? Was there something Benedict didn't want them to discover?

That look of frustration on Booker's face was still fresh in Trinket's mind. A raw bitterness clawed at her throat, her stomach tied in angry knots. How dare Benedict do this to Booker? This game was driving his friend mad, making him question his worth and accomplishments. It was despicable. And she had half a mind to tell Benedict just that.