“The Mastiff’s network regularly snatches women and girls from those coaches. It’s possible the letters this poor couple received were meant to strong-arm them into aiding and abetting those efforts,” Barnabus said.

“Or,” Fletcher said, “they saw something and were being warned to keep mum about it.”

Stone retained his usual expression of silent contemplation. He had a keen mind for solving puzzles but managed it without talking through the pieces. He sorted situations and decided on a course of action without discussion. Just as the Dread Master would.

“Did that energetic wife of yours have any insights about the reasons for resurrecting a badly burnt body?” Fletcher asked.

“She said a resurrection man plies his trade only if there’s profit in it, be that money or favors. Usually money.”

“So someone slapped down a bit o’ brass or winked off a debt for whoever did the digging? Something of that sort?” Fletcher asked.

Barnabus nodded. “And she said it wasn’t only the medical schools that paid money for bodies, which is why one that couldn’t be used for teaching or examining could still have value.”

Stone’s gaze returned to the ashen rubble of the burned building. “Could be whatever made the poor souls valuable after death is the same thing that got ’em killed to begin with.”

It was a direction, which was more than they’d had even a few days earlier.

“Piece it together,” Fletcher said, “and we might happen on a few clues to the Mastiff’s network.”

“Assuming he is, in fact, behind this,” Barnabus said. “He’s not the only coldhearted murderer in London.”

“Do you suppose we’ll have more answers after all this?” Fletcher asked. “Or simply more questions?”

If Barnabus had learned one thing in life, it was that no matter how many answers he found, there were always more questions. Always.

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Hope was a terrible tease.

Gemma had felt it creeping about, whispering promises she wasn’t certain it could keep. And, yet, she let herself believe the assurances that fickle friend dangled before her: that she was home and wanted and that everything would be different this time.

She and Baz had not wed out of love or attachment. Marrying her had been another in Baz’s long list of heroics. And yet he’d never treated her like some pitiful, helpless waif. He’d shown her kindness and respect. He’d held her when she was sorrowful or fearful. He’d even kissed her a few times, though nothing beyond a friendly salute. She’d not known him from Adam when they’d first crossed paths, and he’d’ve been hard-pressed to pick her out in a crowd for some time after. But he’d proven kind. More to the point, he’d proven safe. So few people did.