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Detective Inspector Gideon Pierce was in his office bent over paperwork when Constable Thacker all but skidded into the room, a harried look on his youthful face.
“Pardon, sir. Chief wishes to speak to you.”
“Thank you, Thacker.”
Gideon returned his attention to his work, intending to finish off the last few lines of the report, but Thacker remained, looming at his office threshold.
“He asked that you report to his office immediately, sir.”
Gideon frowned at his fellow officer, noting his widened eyes and the glisten of sweat above his dark brows.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Gideon set his pen aside and stood.
“Wouldn’t tell me, sir, but there’s visitors from the Yard.”
Gideon gathered the pages of several reports into a neat pile. “I’ll be with them directly.”
Thacker gave him a nod and then departed.
Gideon shrugged into the suit coat he had hung on the back of his chair. Then he checked the knot of his tie before heading down the hall. As he reached the top of the stairs on the ascent up to Chief Inspector Douglas’s office, he felt an odd tension as another officer passed by and shot him a wide-eyed look.
He rapped once on his superior’s door and heard the man call out for him to enter. Inside, he found the modest office unusually crowded. Chief Douglas stood behind his desk and two gentlemen watched him as he crossed the threshold. One, Gideon recognized as a superintendent from Scotland Yard. The other, he recognized from sketches in the newspaper. Howard Vincent. A man he knew only by reputation.
Vincent had studied in Paris, learning from the Parisian police, and after the “Trial of the Detectives” scandal, in which senior officers had taken bribes from con men, he had been asked to reorganize and strengthen the new Criminal Investigation Division.
“Pierce, come in,” Chief Douglas gestured to the other two men. “You know Superintendent Mercer.”
Gideon approached, and he and the short, barrel-chested, brown-haired Mercer exchanged a nod and brief handshake.
“And Director Vincent.”
Gideon turned to Howard Vincent. The sketches in the newspaper had accurately portrayed his gray hair, bushy brows, and generous mustache, but they had failed to capture the keen sharpness of the man’s dark eyes.
“Inspector, I’ve read of your recent successes,” Director Vincent said, then gestured to a third chair arranged around the chief’s desk. “Shall we sit?”
Gideon settled into the indicated chair, his gut tight with anticipation, sensing that he was either about to receive a reprimand or a commendation.
Chief Douglas leaned forward and slid a pile of documents toward where Gideon sat at the edge of his desk.
The item on top was a newspaper clipping from that very morning. A young lady had gone missing from her home in Belgravia.
“A missing lady,” he murmured to himself.
He rarely investigated the disappearance of individuals, as most cases were resolved when the missing man or woman returned to their homes or families. In a case where foul play was suspected, an investigation was warranted and would likely commence with a constable taking a report and beginning inquiries.
Still, this young lady’s disappearance had occurred in B Division, which encompassed Westminster, Belgravia, and Pimlico, rather than Gideon’s usual territory in C Division, confined largely to St James’s, Piccadilly, and the fashionable streets surrounding them.
“I’m not sure I understand, sir,” Gideon said to Chief Douglas. “This matter is not within C Division.”
“It is not,” Superintendent Mercer said, “but is a matter of special interest to the prime minister.”
Gideon arched a brow in question.
“He is a longtime friend of the Delacourt family,” Chief Douglas put in.
“Mr. Disraeli asked that this matter be handled with delicacy and with the best of the Criminal Investigation Division,” Director Vincent explained.
“Your name came up in those discussions.” Superintendent Mercer studied Gideon, assessing him. “You have a record of successfully closing several recent cases that drew significant public interest expeditiously and with discretion.”
