Murder in Old London

Epilogue

Part One: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-2bd

Part Two: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-058

Part Three: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-de1

Part Four: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-c50

Part Five: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-4cb

Part Six: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-cfa

Part Seven: https://paulleone.substack.com/p/murder-in-old-london-db2

Cat’s cards flew from one hand to another in front of a jaded audience of fellow constables in The Maiden & Drake.

“Brilliant trick,” Baumann said before turning back to the sports page on his mobile. The others were even less impressed.

“You’re just envious of my skill,” Cat said. But, conceding defeat, she put the deck back in the box and slipped it back into the pocket of her jacket. Then she raised her glass and took a drink, remembering both the clink of the handcuffs around Boaz’s wrist and the look of murderous anger on his face. She liked to imagine at least part of it was being arrested by women.

“Miserable oaf,” she said.

“That’s no way to speak of your partner.”

Cat turned and grinned at the unexpected but welcome sight of Keziah descending into a den of iniquity such as this. “Keziah Carter! I didn’t ever imagine I’d see you willingly enter into a public house such as the Saint and Serpent,” Cat said. “A veritable epicenter of inebriation and outright iniquity. And yet, here you are, shorn of your constabulary vestments.” Sure enough, Keziah was wearing a denim Genoa jacket and trousers, as well as a plain cotton shirt. No make-up and, aside from a wooden cross on a leather cord, no jewelry either. A sharp contrast to Cat and her expensive jacket, shoes and perfume.

The younger detective shrugged. “If it helps at all, I won’t drink.”

“My equanimity is fully restored.” Cat raised her glass. “Cheers, partner.”

Keziah smiled, understanding and appreciating the unspoken acceptance. “Cheers.”

“How does it feel to have solved your first murder investigation?”

“Vaguely satisfying.”

Cat laughed and took another drink. “You’re beginning to sound like me now. God help you.”

Keziah smiled faintly. “I could do worse.”

“Without doubt.” Cat took another sip of the mediocre specimen of Neapolitan wine. Her own wine cellar had better, but one endured for the sake of camaraderie. “You did quite well, though. I mean it.” She thumped her palm on the bar just loudly enough to attract the attention of the other nearby constables. “Oyez, oyez, oyez. Gentlemen – and Baumann – lend my your ears. I present to ye Keziah Tabitha Carter, lately bestowed with the honour of apprehending a murderer most foul. Shall we admit her into the noble ranks of the Order of the Elite Investigators? What say ye?”

The pub echoed with a chorus of “Aye!”, claps and cheers.

“You may raise, Dame Keziah,” Cat said to Keziah after tapping her on the shoulder with an unopened straw. My God, she thought, she’s actually blushing a little. Or I’ve had too much to drink. Either one was a possibility here. “But I do mean it. It wasn’t a murder overflowing with evidence, but you solved it all the same.”

“We did, yes.”

Cat laughed. “I’ll be happy to take my share of credit with the chief inspector, the sheriff and His Majesty himself. But it’s your name at the top of the file. Have a seat, Detective Constable. The next drink is on me.”

“I don’t drink.”

Cat shrugged, sipped, smiled. “Then you can watch me drink and, when the time comes, pour me into a taxi.”

“I said I could do worse, but that’s not really what I meant.”

Cat laughed and clapped her on the shoulder. “You’ll do alright, Keziah, you’ll do alright indeed...”