A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem (A Lady's Guide #1)(7)

It had taken every one of his years with the Yard to prove himself to those who doubted someone from his background could do the job, but he’d managed it.

And now, Wargrove would do his level best to make sure that this oversight of a key witness in one of the biggest cases Eversham had ever worked would be his downfall.

He would have liked to blame the omission entirely on Wargrove, but Eversham had never been one to shirk responsibility. He’d known damned well when he delegated such an important task to a shoddy investigator like Wargrove he was taking a risk. But with half of his men down with the ague, he’d had no choice. He only hoped Darrow would understand.

Careful not to let his colleague see his rising temper—any sign of upset on his part would only give the man satisfaction, which Eversham was determined not to give him—he said with a calm he didn’t feel, “I believe you took care of the interviews at The White Hart, didn’t you?”

If he’d hoped for a show of remorse, Eversham was to be sorely mistaken.

“It’s a poor craftsman who blames his tools, Eversham,” Wargrove said with mock disappointment. “I thought you were the one renowned for your famous deductive skills. Shouldn’t you have figured it out and directed your underlings accordingly?”

“Since when have you ever considered yourself anyone’s underling, Wargrove?” Eversham couldn’t help scoffing at the other man’s false humility.

Unable to take any more of Wargrove’s vitriol, Eversham rose from his desk. Turning to Ransom, who’d been watching the interplay between his superiors with wide eyes, he said, “Come with me. We’re going to speak with Lizzie Grainger before the rest of the papers get to her.” What he decidedly did not need was every bit of her encounter with the likely killer plastered across the front page of the afternoon editions before he’d had a chance to glean any new details from her.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, Eversham,” Wargrove said coolly. “I’ll be doing that in a bit. After you bring me up to date on the details of the case.”

Eversham felt alarm prickle at the nape of his neck. Before he could question Wargrove’s words, the man continued, “Darrow’s removed you from it altogether.”

“Don’t be absurd.” Eversham spoke before he could stop himself. “Darrow wouldn’t do that without informing me first.”

“Go and speak to him yourself if you don’t believe me.” Wargrove shrugged. “And when you’re done, I’ll need that update as quick as you can. There’s a lot of missed ground to cover here, and I’d expect you won’t want to delay justice for another minute.”

Eversham’s jaw ached from how hard he was clenching his teeth. Without a backward glance, he made for the stairs and Chief Superintendent Max Darrow’s office.

“It couldn’t be helped,” his super said even before Eversham could ask. Gesturing him toward a chair, Darrow sighed when Eversham chose to stand. “You know as well as I do that as soon as the people lose confidence in the Met’s handling of a case, there’s nothing we can do to restore it.”

“But, sir, I’m the only one who’s been on the Commandments case since the beginning.” Eversham tried not to sound aggrieved, but he’d never been taken off a case in his ten-plus years with the Yard. Not only was it a blow to his ego, but more importantly, if he was at fault, he deserved the chance to make things right.

“And that’s why it’s time for a pair of fresh eyes.” The older man’s bushy brows lowered. “I didn’t want to tell you this, but there have been some inquiries from not only members of Parliament but also the Home Office about this case. They want the Commandments Killer caught, and they aren’t willing to continue on with you at the head of the investigation.”

At that news, Eversham sat down heavily in the chair he’d earlier declined. He’d heard of other detectives falling victim to the ill winds of political pressure, but he’d naively never expected such a thing to befall him.

The pity in Darrow’s eyes was almost his undoing. “I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, son, but my job’s on the line here, too. You’ve had a good run. Better than most. Let’s see what Wargrove can do with it for the time being.”

“But Wargrove?” Eversham didn’t try to hide the disgust in his voice. He was no longer concerned about sounding petulant now that he knew there was no way to talk Darrow out of removing him from the case. “Sir, he’s the worst kind of investigator. Slipshod and at times dangerously incompetent.”

“That’s enough, Eversham,” Darrow snapped. “My mind is made up, and criticizing your fellows won’t keep you from demotion.”

He longed to tell Darrow that it had been Wargrove’s mistake that had led to the omission of Lizzie Grainger as a witness, but he knew casting blame now would only sound churlish.

There was nothing for it now but to slink off and lick his wounds.

“What do I do in the meantime?” Eversham asked, rising from his chair.

“There’s plenty to be done downstairs. Speak to Manton and ask if he’s got files that need sorting.”

If Darrow had spit in his face, Eversham could not have been more affronted.

And yet, there was nothing to do but take his medicine and wait for the storm to pass.