Luke wondered if that was what had gotten his otherwise usually calm and unflappable colleague in such a temper. He opened the broadsheet. Immediately his gaze landed on the small article on the bottom right corner of the front page.
Pickpockets Strike Again at the Hare and Hounds
“Damn, so they are hassling passengers at the coaching offices now are they?”
“Not in my patch,” Barnaby growled. “Everyone else is either working at Trent’s or looking into Sayers’ activities of late. You, Marcus, and Jeb are the only men available. Get me one of those pick-pockets. I don’t care which one. I don’t care how you do it, but I want one of those little urchins in this house and questioned as quickly as you can.”
“I have been out several times but they seem to have gone to ground,” Luke replied. He and Marcus had taken turns making themselves available at all the pick-pocket’s known stomping grounds but hadn’t seen any of them even once since he had chased them out of the park.
“Any sign of the older ones?”
Marcus snorted. “I saw them a few nights ago but at a distance, and they were gone as quickly as they appeared, the damned slippery toe-rags.”
“Ages?” Barnaby asked. He had just returned from meeting with his good friend, Ben McArthur, in Braintree, and was disturbed to have to add the disappearance of Elizabeth Pendlebury to his list of ongoing investigations. He had yet to catch up on what had been happening while he had been away, but his rapid-fire questions didn’t appear to bother his colleagues who replied readily with answers that reassured him.
“The oldest of them was in his late teens or early twenties. They are real thugs. Definitely not the young urchins Luke came across in the park.”
“I wonder if that was why the younger group were there so early,” Luke mused.
“Maybe,” Barnaby replied. “Until we get our hands on one though, we cannot be sure.”
“Any more information on the woman who found the corpse?” Marcus asked around a mouthful of food.
Luke shook his head. “She vanished just as quickly as she appeared. She said she hailed from Camden, but I have been there the last two days and have not seen any sign of her at all, so doubt she was being honest with me. When I asked her for her address she claimed not to know it.”
Marcus snorted; a sentiment to which Luke wholeheartedly agreed. It irked him more than he cared to admit to have lost her, but there was nothing he could do about it except hop
e that she resurfaced at some point. He turned his attention back to the broadsheet for a moment, noted the location of the ticket office, and left the table.
“I will go and see if I can spot them,” he announced quietly and lifted his jacket off the hook beside the door.
“Keep an eye out for the woman too,” Barnaby drawled thoughtfully.
Luke paused with one hand on the latch. “You think she might be there?” It irked him to be more hopeful than he thought he would be.
Barnaby nodded. “You never know.”
Luke had to agree with him and stared blankly at the door while he considered that. After several moments of thoughtful silence he let himself out into the crisp morning air.
An hour later, he sauntered casually down the street, a walking cane clenched tightly in his hand. Wandering casually in and out of the other pedestrians, he scoured the street ahead of him for any sign of his colleague, Marcus, who had followed him out of the house and was also in the area somewhere. It didn’t take long to find one of several young children loitering somewhat too casually in the area. His eyes met Marcus’ across the street. His colleague nodded imperceptibly and continued his own preamble down the street in the opposite direction without pause.
Before Luke could cross the road he caught sight of a small boy, about eleven years old, as grubby as he was malnourished, busy in the process of helping himself to a barrow man’s fruit. At first Luke ignored him. He couldn’t see the others yet but suspected that the lad’s friends were not too far away. It was a shame that Marcus had already passed because he now daren’t draw attention to himself by looking for his colleague and signalling him. The boy’s shifty gaze was already scanning the area while his hands foraged for stolen goodies. He would almost certainly see anything Luke did that was unusual in any way.
Braced for a run, Luke purposely kept his gaze averted as he carefully removed his gleaming fob-watch. He stared down at the watch face far longer than was necessary before he carefully re-pocketed it. He didn’t need to look up to know the young thief was watching him. He could feel those feral eyes boring holes into his hands; studying his every movement and assessing the value of the treasure. Satisfied that enough of a display had been made, Luke walked past the fruit thief and made his way toward the end of the road. Mentally, he began to count as he wondered just how far he would get before someone stepped forward with a distraction of some kind.
When he reached the end of the road without issue, he cursed bitterly and wondered what to do next. He wasn’t likely to get another chance like this one. The pick-pockets were so close he could positively smell them. The last thing he wanted to do was lose them now. If he turned out of the road they could conceivably turn their attention to someone else. He needed them to target him and get close enough for him to collar one of them. He glanced around, ostensibly looking for traffic, and spied the familiar sight of his colleague stalking jauntily down the opposite side of the street. Relieved that help was at hand, Luke cross the road and nodded at Marcus.
“’ere, you dropped this mister,” a small voice suddenly piped up from beside him.
Luke frowned at the young tearaway in the same manner he had seen many an arrogant fop do with urchins who dared to approach and made a point of putting his hand on his fob-watch pocket to stop the thief from helping himself - or herself. It was hard to tell which it was. The younger’s hair was a tangled mess of cots and soot, and the clothing was so ill-fitting and unkempt that it practically shrouded him – or her. He almost smiled when he watched the child glance furtively at his hand, but kept his face a mask of disgust as he noted another child approach causally from his right. The slow way the lad crept forward was more than enough to warn Luke that he was about to be mugged, but the pick-pockets hadn’t counted on who their opponent was this time.
“It isn’t mine,” Luke growled. He eyed the penny dispassionately as he wondered just whose pocket that had come out of because he rather suspected that it hadn’t been the lad’s. “Keep it,” he shrugged as he skirted around the miscreant and continued to walk toward Marcus, who was watching the interplay with interest. Determined not to make this particular hit easy for any pick-pocket, Luke increased his pace, aware that Barnaby had now crossed the road and was heading toward them.
“But, sir, I saw it fall out of your pocket,” the youngster persisted, oblivious to the danger nearby.
“I told you I don’t want it, now go away,” Luke growled, without taking his eyes off the path ahead. He knew he hadn’t got anything in his pockets other than an old fob watch that didn’t even have a face on it, but the pick-pockets didn’t know that. Everything he wanted to keep was in the upper pocket of his waistcoat, secreted in an inner pocket deep within the lining that no pick-pocket could get to. He had spent a fortune on the damned outfit, but it was worth the expense if he managed to get his hands on one of the little thieves now creeping out of the side-streets to support their small partner-in-crime.
“Please, sir,” an older boy suddenly piped up. “Give us some money for food.”