Part Nine – Foreshadowing
The coach rattled onto smoother stone, and for a time the detectives said nothing. IronClover's fog thinned near the higher streets, revealing banners strung across balconies and polished brass lamps burning bright against the gloom. Preparations for a wedding were underway.
Albert tapped ash from his cigarette into a tray fixed to the wall putting aside his newspaper, he had seen just what he needed for a break in the case.
"Valia Lulough," he murmured, eyes on the streaming ribbons fluttering above. "She was close to Jonathan Hanns, wasn't she? They attended same college, both families are also close amongst the council."
Raleigh snorted, puffing his pipe. "Puppy love, childish nonsense. Means nothing."
"Maybe," Albert said, his tone measured. "But where there's friendship, there's trust. And if Hanns does appear at the Lulough wedding, it's the perfect chance to gauge him. To see if he's still the broken boy everyone whispers about… or if there's more hiding beneath."
Raleigh shifted, his old bones creaking as much as the coach. "If he won't come to the police, the police will go to him and you're hoping the Council vultures will circle while we watch, eh? See who sharpens their beak first?"
Albert allowed himself a small smile. "It's an opportunity, Inspector. Every Council family will be there. The Madeiyas, the Eltons, the McCains, the Morokais… everyone. Tensions are already high with Hanns gone from his seat. If Jonathan intends to claim his father's place which is expected, alliances will start forming that very night. Friends, enemies, pretenders maybe even the murderer — they'll all show their hand."
"Or their fangs," Raleigh muttered, smoke curling from his lips.
Albert leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, the picture of calm confidence. "If the murders were politically motivated, if the attack wasn't random but calculated, the wedding is where the cracks will show.
That's when people slip. A stray word, a look too sharp, a smile too tight. We only need to be watching."
Raleigh's gaze hardened. "And what of the boy? Jonathan Hanns. If he's the key to this, are you prepared for what that means?"
The younger detective's steel-blue eyes gleamed in the lamplight. "Keys unlock doors, Inspector. Sometimes they open cages. Sometimes they open graves. Either way, I intend to turn it."
The coach jolted as it turned toward the northern quarter. Above them, the city's clock tower chimed, its deep brass toll echoing through the fog. The sound seemed to carry a promise, or a warning: soon, all paths would converge.
The wedding of Valia Lulough would not just unite two names in matrimony. It would draw out secrets, suspicions, and perhaps blood.