Free The Scottish Play Murder by Anne Rutherford

forward again and said, “Mistress Thornton, I think I may have an idea that will make both of us happy.”
    Her eyes narrowed. “Go on, Constable.” She could certainly guess what he was about to say, and held hope she was wrong.
    “You appear ever frustrated with how crime is addressed in this district. You can’t seem to accept the limitations of my office.”
    “Crime is not addressed in this district, and that is my frustration.”
    “So you see my point.”
    She was certain she didn’t, but knew he would never understand why, so she declined to reply.
    He continued. “In other areas of London, a shout of ‘thief!’ will bring on a chase by ordinary passersby that results in the arrest of a culprit. Here in Southwark it only empties the street and leaves the victim alone in his distress.”
    “Sometimes. As I have mentioned, Southwark doesn’t compare to Whitefriars, where honest men dare not even go.”
    “Most times, I assure you, the rats scurry in Southwark. So, Mistress Thornton, I propose a plan to you. If you are so desirous of arrests and investigations, then let you do them yourself.”
    “Me? Go looking for criminals? I’m a woman.”
    “Why not you? You’re a woman who knows everyone in Southwark and yet are connected to the palace in ways I am not. You’ve shown a talent for deduction. Your conclusions regarding the death of William Wainwright last month were spot-on. Your observations were acute, and your logic flawless. Furthermore, your energy in pressing the matter was nearly intolerable.”
    Never mind that she’d at first thought William’s accidental death a murder and had been quite wrong. But he had a point. She had solved the thing without any help from Pepper. “I doubt I could do that again. The death last month happened at the theatre; the facts of it were right under my nose. And I was highly motivated to prove my son had not killed William.”
    Pepper shrugged and sat back. “Then don’t do it again, as you please. It matters not to me whether the Spaniard’s murderer is ever found. Southwark is better off without foreign rubbish dirtying our streets; I would as soon search down the killer to reward him as to prosecute him.” He reached for his bottle once more, saying, “Unless there’s something else you wish to address, I’m sure you know where the door is and can find your way out.” He poured himself some more brandy, and sipped on it, now ignoring her as if she’d already left.
    Suzanne didn’t move. She stood there, thinking. The way he’d put it, the idea intrigued her. Could she find the killer herself? Would men talk to her who wouldn’t talk to Pepper? Maybe they would. She’d lived in Southwark since before Piers was born, and knew nearly everyone in it on one level or another. They all knew her, at the very least for her new prominence as the woman who had saved and restored the Globe Theatre. She could do it.
    A thrill rose in her. The sound of voices in the anteroom told her Pepper’s drinking companions had arrived, but suddenly she didn’t want to leave. Instead she drew a chair nearer to the desk and sat in it. She leaned forward and said in an intense whisper, “Promise me, then, Pepper, that when I find the murderer you’ll arrest him.”
    “Only if I can be assured of a conviction. The magistrate hates to bring people to trial and then have the culprit go free.”
    “I would never present a proof that wasn’t sound.”
    “Done.” He held out a hand for her to shake on the agreement, then waved her off. “Go now. I have other business to attend to.”
    Suzanne complied, and her mind leapt to what questions she would ask and of whom. She barely noticed the two men she passed on the way out of Pepper’s office.

Chapter Five

    S uzanne went directly to the theatre, seeking Arturo to interrogate him again, this time more directly and with greater purpose. She needed to know more about the altercation between Ramsay and the Spaniard.