The Experimental Murders (Elysium #2)

Chapter Five

 For Booker, waiting meant scouring the streets every morning and night in search of a mutilated corpse. He woke Trinket before the sun rose and dragged her out well past midnight. She had to wonder at his ability to function with so little sleep, considering he spent most of his hours at home tinkering in the laboratory.

Several days passed since the first corpse appeared, and Trinket found herself hoping that another would be discovered so that Booker would stop waking her up at such ungodly hours. However, she knew that as soon as one turned up, her late-night excursions would not cease. Things would only become more complicated. And more dangerous.

As she stumbled through the city center in a sleep-deprived state, Jewkes' accusations played over in her head. She didn't want to believe that Booker was a murderer. Though she had only spent a short time in his household, she had grown rather fond of him as both an employer and something like a friend. It was true that during her first few weeks with him she had wondered whether he was capable of such atrocities against mankind, but as she'd gotten to know him, she was convinced there was goodness in him that he was trying to keep hidden. Why, she had no idea. There was no guessing why people hid the things they did. He may be just as curious as to why she refused to give him her actual name.

Kaaaaaatheriiiiiiine.

A shudder ran through her as the voices mocked her. She pushed them aside and focused on her errands. With all of their late nights, she and Booker were quickly running out of tea, so that was at the top of her shopping list.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a man banging on the door of the flower shop. She slowed her pace and watched as he peered into the windows of the empty shop and swore under his breath. Mr. Wotton, the man who had been renting the building, was nowhere to be seen. Had he slipped away in the middle of the night?

"Not too clever if he thinks he can just disappear."

Trinket jumped at the oily, charming voice beside her. It belonged to a well-groomed, well-dressed man leaning on a fancy walking stick. He turned his eyes to her and gave a smile that was something between a sneer and a grin, but not quite a smirk.

Scales.

He adjusted his stance and returned his attention to the shop. "He believes he can protect his girls by sending them away to family. But he's underestimated us. We know all and we see all."

The man banging on the shop door finally gave up and stormed off, muttering a string of curses. Scales gave a deep chuckle and turned to Trinket. The hairs on her arms stood on end, and her muscles tensed, ready to flee at the first sign of danger. There was no telling what the vicious right-hand man of the Dead Mice gang was capable of.

"Two-forty-three Belmont Street, Ravenwallow," Scales said. "A quaint one-story building, shared by two families. They have a little dog the girls like to play with in the garden out back, although there's not much of a garden right now with all the snow. However, their kindly grandfather has shoveled a path so that they can frolic to their hearts' desire."

Trinket bristled. How had this man gotten such detailed information so quickly?

With that sneering grin, he leaned in close and whispered, "I know all and I see all, thus, I win all. Best remind your employer of that fact."

Raising his eyebrows, he tipped his hat at her and tossed his walking stick into the air, catching it expertly and sauntering away.

She released a long breath, finally able to breathe again. Swallowing hard, she turned back to the empty flower shop and recalled the bloodcurdling sounds she had heard that night she and Booker were hiding in the same abandoned building in which Scales was torturing Mr. Wotton. A missing finger seemed tame now that she knew Scales better. What horrors did he have in store for Mr. Wotton's poor children? He had already killed their mother. He would not hesitate to harm them.