“Just curious. I see the Toffees still have the game tied.” He nodded at the television when it was clear she had no idea what he was talking about.
“Oh. Right. I have it on more for background noise.”
He gave a benign smile, thanked her for her help, then left.
The moment she closed the door and turned the lock, Dex stepped out of the office, shoving Trevor in front of him, forcing the boy to the couch. Dex looked at the table, gave her an accusing glare, as she took a seat next to her son. “You gave him the book?”
“What was I supposed to do? He came here precisely because Mrs. Beckett saw me take it.”
“You were supposed to get rid of him.”
“I did. If you’d let me answer the house phone once in a while, I might have taken her call and been forewarned that she was sending him here. How was I supposed to know that’s what he was after?”
“Not that we need it,” he said, looking at Trevor. “You seemed to figure things out. Tell me what’s in that journal?”
When Trevor didn’t answer, Dex pointed his gun at him.
Slowly, she reached over, placing her hand on Trevor’s, feeling his fingers trembling beneath hers. “Trev,” she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze as she took a steadying breath. “Tell him what he wants to know.”
“They— They found a boy who they thought might have seen the train robbery.”
“Keep talking,” Dex said. “What else did you read?”
36
JOURNAL OF JONATHON PAYTON, 5TH VISCOUNT WELLSWICK
1906
I refused to think that my Cousin Reginald was part of the train robbery, certain that the boy was mistaken, and that Isaac Bell’s detective skills were lacking. And yet, there we were in his hotel with a child who insisted that my cousin was the very man who had killed the detective and the two train engineers. As much as I wanted to leave those premises, the only way to prove my cousin’s innocence was to assist Mr. Bell in his investigation. Clinging to my certain belief, I was relieved when Bell suggested he must find a way to view the ledgers at the orphanage without drawing attention . . .
“We need to create a distraction,” Isaac said. “Get the headmaster’s attention so that I can go in and examine the books.”
“I can help,” came a small voice from the next room.
Isaac and I looked over at the boy, Toby, who was now sitting up in the bed. He seemed to have a bit more color about his cheeks, I hoped from eating a good meal and not from any illness.
“How?” Isaac asked.
“I can show you how to get in.” When Isaac turned his full attention to the boy, he added, “I’ve run away before, trying to find my mum. You can say you found me and were bringing me back.”
That’s exactly what we did, but not before Isaac instructed Toby and me on what to say and do at our arrival, warning us that we had no way of knowing if the headmaster was involved. If he was part of the plot, we couldn’t walk in and simply ask to see the books without arousing his suspicion.
At the orphanage, we left Isaac to find the way in through the back while I took the boy through the front door, asking to see the headmaster. The gray-haired man didn’t question Toby’s running away. Merely tousled the boy’s head. “Off with you. To your lessons.” His smile seemed forced. “Very kind of you to go out of your way to bring young—” He looked over at Toby, as though suddenly forgetting his name—assuming he ever knew it. He cleared his throat and smiled. “Yes, well, we were quite worried when we discovered him gone.”
A loud thump came from the floor above us. The headmaster’s eyes narrowed as he looked up at the ceiling. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“I’d like to see the classroom,” I said quickly.
“Another time, perhaps.” A second thump above us was even louder than the first. “I have work to do. And, apparently, rats to ferret out.”
I froze. The truth was, I’d never stood up to anyone. Not my father, not Reginald, not anyone. But I pictured Isaac in the midst of burgling the office, his warning about the headmaster echoing in my head. When the man started to move past me, I stepped in front of him. “I— I did not give you leave.”
Surprise, then suspicion, clouded his eyes. “I doubt your father would approve of this intrusion.”
It was a tactic Reginald had often used, invoking my father’s name. Even now, my instinct was to back down, apologize, just as I’d always done—lest word get back. “Intrusion?” I said, trying to sound offended. And though I knew I’d never be able to withstand the challenge, should he decide to call my bluff, I added, “Shall we go fetch my father to ask?”
The man’s brows went up. Surprisingly, though, he turned and led me down the hall, opening the door to the classroom himself.