Garrett Investigates Read Online Free PDF Page B

on point.
    He held it up. Garrett, after only a wide-eyed glance, lunged for the window to call out to the coachman again.
     
    ***
     
    The coach lurched heavily through packed streets, jostling and slewing so Cuan was obliged to wedge himself in the same corner he’d slept in and cling for dear life to the vertical rail beside the door.
    “St. Giles,” Garrett said, as the needle’s course plunged them along the roads that still described the path of London’s ancient walls. “We couldn’t have guessed much more wrong than Whitechapel.”
    Cuan gritted his teeth, grateful for missed meals, and held on until the carriage shook to a halt a mere three miles but nearly half an hour later.
    “We’re not the first,” Garrett said, pushing the curtain aside. She swung the door open as she stood and kicked the stairs down. One hand extended to whoever waited below, the other burdened with her carpet bag, she descended without regard for the railing. Cuan followed at slightly less breakneck speeds, though still in haste.
    As he fell into step beside her, she spoke without looking at him. “I’ve made up my mind to write you a letter of recommendation to Oxford.”
    He would have stammered thanks, but she silenced him with a wave. Full dark had fallen while they raced the breadth of the city proper, and the coal-oil stinking yellow fog rolled in. Despite streetlamps and carriage lanterns, everything had acquired an air of indistinctness, or unreality.
    However the transfer of information had taken place, five carriages clustered at the base of the pillar marking the intersection called the Seven Dials. Fifteen or twenty men milled among them, the bright edge of human chatter dulled by the fog. Along the perimeter of the lamplight loomed the vague-edged silhouettes of helmeted and uniformed officers, some clutching their truncheons like children clutch poppets.
    As Cuan found his footing, DI Bitner detached himself from the crowd and stumped over. That didn’t surprise Cuan, but he was a little taken aback to realize that the overcoated shape striding along in Bitner’s wake was Detective Superintendent Mattingly, second-in-command of CID. He hastened forward, intending to smooth over the introductions, but Garrett was already warmly greeting Mattingly.
    The Detective Superintendent seemed less enthusiastic, but he wasn’t giving her the brush-off, a friendliness which Cuan perceived to be the source of Bitner’s frown.
    “What have we got?” Garrett asked as Cuan drew up. Across the square, fog swirled around the pumping legs of Commander Lain, his silhouette unmistakable as he hurried to join them.
    Mattingly cast a searing look over his shoulder at the rookery as Lain inserted himself into the circle. “The Met have the rookery surrounded,” he said, nodding to the truncheon-wielding crew. “They’re not letting anyone pass.”
    “With all due respect, sir,” Cuan said, “he’s already in there. And if we’re talking about a jumping devil, well, a lot of peelers aren’t going to slow him down a bit.”
    Mattingly harrumphed through his moustache. “St. Giles is a warren, DS. We don’t have enough men to maintain a perimeter if we go in after him.”
    “We can go in,” Lain offered, gesturing to another carriage now drawing up, the arms of the Crown’s own emblazoned in gold on the black, glossy door.
    Cuan winced, but he hadn’t the rank to say what needed saying. Bitner, too, was swelling full of unpronounced arguments. Fortunately, Mattingly interceded.
    “Do you want to imagine the carnage we’d get if we sent a dozen stiff-limbed elderly sorcerers on a room by room search of that ?”
    Lain bridled, but Mattingly rolled right over him.
    “Even a wizard can be bashed over the head, sir, and they would be. No, thank you, Commander Lain. It would be a far superior use of your resources if your men would consent to be stationed among the bobbies. A stasis-wanding is our best chance to capture