Tea and ginger biscuits appeared in the library where Christian, Letitia, and Tristan gathered; the “no females beyond the front parlor” rule was long dead. While Letitia poured, Christian outlined for Tristan what they’d learned from Justin and Hermione, how the events on the night of the murder now appeared, and briefly detailed their meeting with Dalziel.
He’d barely finished when a familiar heavy knock sounded on the front door. A moment later Gasthorpe entered to announce, “Mr. Dalziel.”
A misnomer if ever there was one; they may not know his name, yet of one thing they were certain—Dalziel was one of them.
He walked in, his eyes briefly meeting theirs. He exchanged nods with Letitia, accepted a cup and saucer from her, then she handed the rest of the cups around and they sat and got down to business.
Dalziel spoke first. “I contacted the Bow Street magistrate in charge of the case. He and his minions are convinced Justin did the deed. A warrant for his arrest has indeed been sworn, and a runner, Barton, has been assigned to hunt him down.”
Letitia grimaced but didn’t comment—to the relief of all three men.
Christian quickly, succinctly, listed the facts they knew, establishing the likelihood that Randall was killed by someone he knew, most likely a friend, who’d visited the study between Letitia leaving it and Justin entering.
“It sounds as if he expected his killer.” Tristan glanced at Letitia. “Just to cover the obvious, have you checked his diary?”
Letitia shook her head. “He didn’t keep one.”
Christian frowned. “Not at all? No address book even?”
“Nothing. I don’t know how he managed, but he kept all that sort of thing in his head.”
Dalziel raised his brows. “Not so hard if you don’t have many friends.”
“He must have had some,” Christian said. “We need to learn who.”
“We need to make a list.” Tristan rose and, taking his cup, went to sit at the library desk. He pulled out a sheet of paper, checked the pen, then dipped it in the ink pot. “Friends.” He wrote. “Need to identify.” He looked down at his handiwork. “I’ll ask around the clubs. Given I’m in no way connected with the Vaux, I might learn more than you.” He looked at Christian.
“I’ll see what I can learn via other avenues,” Dalziel put in.
Tristan and Christian exchanged a glance, but forebore to ask what other avenues their ex-commander had in mind.
“With any luck,” Letitia said, “once he’s had time to think of it, Justin might, by the time he reaches here, have remembered something more.”
“That covers the direct approach,” Dalziel said. “For the indirect, what do we know of Randall himself—his background, family?” He looked at Letitia.
She met his gaze. A long moment passed, then she pulled a face. “You’re not going to believe it—in hindsight it seems quite amazing—but I know of no family. None. As for his background…” She raised a helpless hand. “I know our man of business looked into his financial state before our marriage, but other than that…he was educated, well-presented, was established in our circles, was wealthy and personable enough.” She paused, sipped. “I suppose we saw no reason to look further.”
“So…” Dalziel’s voice had grown softer—more intent. “No family known, no school, no university, no connections known.” He raised his brows, met Christian’s gaze. “Our man becomes more and more of a mystery.”
Tristan had been frowning. “Place of birth?”
Letitia shook her head. “Not even that.” She paused, then added, “I can’t even tell you which county he hailed from—he never said, never even dropped a clue that I recall.”
Dalziel looked at Tristan, who obediently dipped the pen and started writing. “So we’ve lots more to learn about Randall’s personal background.” He switched his gaze to Letitia. “What about his financial background? He was wealthy, so where did his money come from? Was he involved in any schemes—investments, developments? You mentioned your family’s man of business had checked earlier.”
She nodded. “I’m sure he’ll have some of those answers, at least as things were eight years ago.”
Christian caught Dalziel’s eye. “If we want to investigate Randall’s finances we should use Montague.”
Dalziel nodded.
“Heathcote Montague,” Letitia stated, “and his father before him, have always handled the Vaux family affairs—it was he who looked into Randall’s financial state.”
“Perfect.” Dalziel set down his empty cup. “We can rely on Montague to ferret out whatever there is to find in Randall’s financial dealings.”
Tristan was busily scribbling. Christian said, “I’ll go and see Montague.”
“I’ll come, too.” Letitia reached for a ginger biscuit. “He’ll want my permission before he speaks of Vaux family business.”