Tapping his pen against the desk, Booker stared down at the notes he had taken. "So the victim likely came from Kineworth."

Kineworth. That's where Elysium was. The thought sent a chill through Trinket's veins. "And there was no blood in the alley where the body was found," she added.

"Right. So the victim must have been killed prior to the body being placed in the alley."

She crossed her legs and glanced up at the ceiling of the laboratory. "Why would he go all the way to Kineworth just to kill someone?"

"We don't know that he killed her." Booker met her eyes but looked away quickly. "Perhaps she was here visiting."

"Emma said she was poor, though."

"There are plenty of cheap ways to get from one place to another."

Trinket fidgeted in her seat. "All right, so where do we go from here?"

Sighing, Booker tossed his pen onto the desk and leaned back in his chair. "If we could get a glimpse of the body, perhaps we could learn more. But Jewkes is not the only one I need to get past this time. And they've pinned me as a suspect, making things all the more complicated. Maybe we should make a trip to Kineworth and look for information there."

Her chest tightened, and the flashbacks started.

A dark room.

Drug-induced sleep.

Ice-cold baths.

Electric shocks streaming through her body.

"I can't," she gasped, desperately trying to hold back a scream.

Booker's eyes flitted to her, and understanding seemed to dawn on his face. "Oh, right. No. No, I won't have that. If someone there recognized you and tried to drag you back to the asylum, I would have to set fire to the establishment."

The tension eased, replaced by a warm flutter. Had she proved herself so worthy an employee that he would resort to arson in order to keep her around?

"But maybe I can have my connections gather information. Or I could take a trip out there myself." His eyes wandered back to her, and he swallowed hard. "You're sure Scales only mentioned me? Nothing about you or anyone else?"

She knit her eyebrows together at the sudden change in subject. "Only Mr. Wotton. He said nothing about me. Why?"

"No reason, no reason at all." He rose to his feet and paced the length of the laboratory, examining each specimen on the shelf, his hands clasped behind his back. "I think I will set out to Kineworth to see what I can find. Tomorrow morning. I'll be back before dinner. We can sup at the Clocktower to go over what I learned."

Leaving her chair, Trinket joined him by the shelves. His focus was on the recently cleaned skull of the Wolf. Those disgusting insects had done their job well. There wasn't a speck of flesh or blood left on the gleaming white bone.

As it floated in the liquid-filled jar, its metal teeth caught the low light of the laboratory, illuminating its menacing grin. Memories of Booker's persistence and passion while hunting the creature played through her mind, and a smile tugged at her mouth. His enthusiasm was contagious. Though she still worried that his friend may not be the best influence on him, she couldn't help but want to see Booker succeed in his pursuits. And while she wasn't yet willing to risk exposure in Kineworth, she would do what she could for him here.

"That sounds like a splendid idea," she said.

He glanced over at her with a soft smile.

~

Booker left early the next morning, buying a ticket for the steam engine instead of taking a cab. He claimed that public transportation offered more opportunities to talk to people of interest. As soon as he was gone, Trinket readied herself to head out, donning one of the finer dresses he had bought for her and pinning up her braid. Then, as a final touch, she attached the small hat he had gotten her. After one last glimpse in the mirror, she took a deep breath and made her way downstairs.

During the night, she had wracked her brain trying to think of some way she could help Booker with his investigation. She couldn't go to Kineworth, and she couldn't charm people into confiding in her like he could. All she was good at was seeing things that others missed. If she could see the body of the dead woman, perhaps she would be able to pick up on a clue about who she was or how she had died.

And that's when she knew what she could do.

The air was cold, and Trinket wondered if it would snow later that night. Pulling on her fingerless gloves, she wrapped her arms around her chest and walked quickly towards the city center. She would have to be careful how she proceeded. One wrong word, one wrong move, and she could ruin everything.

She inhaled a shaky breath. Could she do this? It wasn't often that she took this sort of initiative, but she felt she needed to do her part as Booker's assistant. Hopefully she didn't just make more of a mess.

The police station looked very different in the daylight. Smaller, somehow, and far less intimidating. Rather than approach the door in the back, she made her way in through the front entrance. It was much brighter than the last time she had been inside. Sunshine streamed through the windows, and the whitewashed walls helped to illuminate the scene. There were quite a few desks set up on the wooden floors, topped with typewriters and piles of paper. Other than that, there was little to no decor.

Several police officers were milling about in their blue uniforms. One with a thin mustache approached her. "Can I help you, miss?"

She cleared her throat and dropped her hands to her sides. "I'm here to see Constable Jewkes," she said, keeping her voice low. The emptiness of the room made her worry that her words would echo off the bare walls.

The officer nodded and disappeared behind a door in the back. Trinket stood alone, gazing about the room. The tapping of a typewriter mixed with the ticking of a grandfather clock in the corner, a bizarre symphony of noise. She counted the seconds to keep herself occupied, but even so, she couldn't say how long the officer had been gone.

"Miss Trinket," Jewkes said as the young officer reappeared with him by his side. "A surprise seeing you here. No Larkin?"

She shook her head. "I came alone."

"Is all well?"

She hesitated and glanced at the young officer. Jewkes nodded sharply, signaling for him to leave. He did so, and Trinket leaned her head closer to Jewkes, saying in a hushed voice, "I'm here regarding what you spoke to me about earlier. About Mr. Larkin and the corpse."

Jewkes' eyebrows shot up, and he blinked twice as if he had not expected her to speak those words. He started to head over to one of the desks. "Well, I'd be more than happy, to—"

"No."

He stopped and turned back to her.

She cleared her throat and glanced down at her feet. "Not here. Somewhere more private perhaps?"

Narrowing his eyes, he considered her for a moment before giving a nod. "All right. Let's head out back then."

He led her to the door he had come through earlier, leaving behind the deafening sounds of the typewriter and clock. The hallway looked familiar, even in the light. They were not too far from the mortuary.

"I've been thinking about what you said to me," Trinket continued. "I am well aware that Mr. Larkin involves himself in less than moral activities."

"That's no news to me. Or anyone else in the city."

"The thing is, I worry that his fascination with the bizarre may have taken a turn for the macabre."

Jewkes leaned against the wall opposite her and crossed his arms. "So you do think he's capable of murder?"

She nodded solemnly. "I see people come and go. I even assist him at times. However, with so many folks about, it can be hard to keep track of them all. It is possible that some of them never leave his surgical table."

"Do you have any evidence to back this up?"

"Well, the knacker was at his home recently."

"Knacker?"

"Yes. Mr. Larkin gave him something bloody and heavy in a canvas bag."

"And you think it may have been a human body?"

Widening her eyes, she allowed her lower lip to tremble slightly before biting down on it. "I do."

"So what do you want me to do? Go search through the knacker's collection to see if I can't find a finger or a foot?"

"No, but I may be able to help in another way."

"Really? How's that?"

"Since I was young, I've been a very observant person. I remember faces quite well. If I were able to see this dead woman you found in the alley, I could tell you if she had been one of Mr. Larkin's patients."

Jewkes stared at her for a long while, and she resisted swallowing the thick knot that had formed in her throat. Finally, he heaved a sigh and pushed himself off the wall. "Very well, I'll let you take a look at her. Come along."

Trinket's shoulders sagged in relief, and she quickly followed after him as he guided her to the mortuary.

The wooden steps creaked as she and Jewkes made their way down into the icy basement. White sheets covered the bodies laid upon tables throughout the room. As they passed by them, she couldn't help but wonder if the Lipstick Woman was still there or if they had tossed her body into a communal grave. Though she was relieved that the horrible woman was gone and could no longer hurt her, she would have felt even better if her corpse were miles away.

Miles and miles and miles and biles of viles and miles and piles—

Jewkes stopped in front of one of the gurneys. Trinket stood beside him and took a deep breath. She had to concentrate. This was her one chance to discover any telling signs on the corpse. She could not let this opportunity go to waste.

"I must warn you, Miss Trinket, this isn't a pretty sight," Jewkes said as he gripped the edge of the sheet.

She had to stifle a laugh. If only he knew the sights she had seen. "I'll try to keep from screaming."

Shrugging, he pulled the sheet away to reveal the dead woman. Focusing hard, Trinket took in every inch of her.

Pale skin, stiff limbs. But this was all normal for a corpse. Not her fingers, though. Up close, it was clear they didn't only look like bird talons—they were bird talons. Someone had sewn them onto the woman's body. Trinket could see where the bird part met with the human part, the distinction between the two different types of flesh obvious. The stitches were neat and tiny, very similar to Booker's handiwork.

Coincidence? No wonder you two get along. Birds of a feather murder together.

Pushing the voices aside, she searched for some sign of how the woman had died. But no matter how hard she looked, she couldn't find anything. No knife wound, no bullet wound—nothing.

"So? Do you recognize her?" Jewkes asked.

Trinket took one last look at the woman's body. Nothing. There was no sign of how she had been killed. "No," she said, shaking her head and turning to him. "I've never seen this woman in the house. I'm sorry."

Heaving a heavy sigh, Jewkes covered the corpse again. "I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean she isn't one of his victims. I'm sure he conducts most of his dirty work under the cover of night."

She nearly laughed. While this was often true, she was usually involved in his dirty work. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Come on, we shouldn't stay down here too long. You'll catch a cold."

He led her back up the stairs and into the hallway. Trinket's skin began to thaw as soon as they left the mortuary, but there was still a chill inside of her. Rubbing her arms to chase it away, she followed Jewkes back into the front room. Before he opened the door, he paused and turned to her.

"Miss Trinket, please don't hesitate to come to me with any more information," he said. "I know Larkin is a maniacal psychopath, but I promise that if you cooperate with me, I will make sure you are kept safe."

Maniacal psychopath?

Does he know who he's talking to?

"I thank you, Constable Jewkes," she said.

With a nod, he pushed the door open. The other constables looked up as they walked to the main entrance. The young officer from earlier dashed in front of them to open the door.

"Stay safe, Miss Trinket," Jewkes said. "These city streets are merciless. Just like the scoundrels who roam them."

"Well, thank goodness we have fine, upright men like yourself to protect us. Have a good day, Constable."

Stepping into the busy street, she headed back in the direction of home. She glanced up at the sky and caught a glimpse of the sun from behind the clouds. It would be hours before Booker got home. Picking up her pace, she went over the image of the dead woman again and again, trying to catch any details she might have missed. Any little thing to give Booker. To help him.

Anything to be of some use to him.

~

She sat alone at a table in the Clocktower. It was far less crowded than it had been the previous night. Still, those who were present were just as intoxicated and obnoxious as that crowd had been.

She watched as a large man with a bowler hat and a cigar hanging out of his mouth pulled a serving girl into his lap. The ale she had been carrying slopped all over her bodice, and though she gasped and twisted away, he would not let her go. He laughed loudly and attempted to cop a feel as he wiped at the stain.

Something moved in Trinket's peripheral. There was a rat sitting on the table, staring up at her with its beady little eyes.

She took a deep breath. Don't react. Just wait. Wait and observe.

Its whiskers twitched, and its wet nose quivered. It wouldn't be surprising if there were rats roaming about this cesspit, but she could never assume that anything she saw was really there.

"Can I get you something, miss?"

Her attention snapped to the serving girl who had approached the table. The girl made no comment about the rat, only waited expectantly.

Trinket glanced at the animal one last time before turning back to the serving girl and forcing a smile. "No. Not just yet. I'm waiting for someone."

Nodding, the girl went off to her other customers, and Trinket returned her attention to the rat. The creature shook its head and ran its little paws over its face. She blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and leaned her chin against her hand. At least she had some company, imaginary or otherwise.

The door at the main entrance opened. Trinket watched as a man in a top hat and a wool overcoat covered in snowflakes entered. He brushed the flakes off and tucked his walking stick under his arm. Scanning the room, his eyes fell on her, and he smiled. She couldn't keep a smile from tugging at the corners of her own mouth.

"Well, I must say I'm a bit surprised you beat me here," Booker said as he took the seat opposite her.

"I take it Gin intercepted you at the station?"

He removed his hat and placed it on the table, right next to the rat. Trinket watched as the animal nibbled on the brim.

Booker eyed her carefully. "Everything all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "Just a rat," she said softly, making sure no one around her could hear.

He nodded his understanding and proceeded to remove his gloves. "Yes, Gin did. As I said, I was surprised you were so eager to come here. I didn't think this establishment was really your cup of tea."

"No, it's not, but I thought that by meeting here right away, we wouldn't have to waste time that could be better spent in conversation."

Leaning forward, he grinned teasingly. "You missed me so much after only one day?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You flatter yourself, Mr. Larkin."

"Well, can you blame me? I am a genius after all."

"Did you find out anything about the dead woman?"

He leaned back again, his flirtatious expression dissolving into slight frustration. "Only the basics. I managed to find Emma's aunt's old house and from there discovered where the dead woman lived."

"And?"

"Her name was Elmira Gielgud. She was twenty-four years old, unmarried, and homeless. She worked in a matchstick factory and made additional money through night work on the street. Her health was unstable, and she indulged in poor quality opium to escape from her sorrows."

"Has anyone reported her as missing?"

Booker rested an elbow against the table, his arm nearly bumping the rat's tail. "That's the strange part. When I asked around, most folks had lost contact with her. They said she would often hole up with a customer for days on end, so it wasn't that unusual. But after a week or so of not hearing from her, they wondered if she hadn't dropped dead. I went to the police, but they had no information. Then I approached the gravekeeper and asked if he had picked up anyone who matched her description. However, he was incredibly evasive and refused to give me a straight answer. I finally gave up and headed home."

"Well, if she was a night flower on the street, I suppose it's not that strange that no one knows what became of her."

"True. I was just hoping for more of a lead."

He let out a long sigh and ran his hands through his messy, dark hair. Clearing her throat, Trinket nonchalantly fingered his top hat, ignoring the squeaks of objection coming from the rat. "Perhaps my information could be of use."

Pausing with his hands still in his hair, Booker set his gaze on her. "Your information? You found information?"

She nodded, trying to hide the excitement building in her chest. "This morning. I talked to Jewkes."

Now she had his attention. Leaning forward again, he raised his eyebrows. "You got information from Jewkes? How?"

"I told him I might be able to identify the woman as one of your patients, thus incriminating you as the murderer."

A grin spread across his face. "Throwing me to the wolves. Clever. So?"

"He brought me down to the mortuary to see the body."

He gripped the edge of the table. "And?"

She hesitated, realizing how little she had actually found out. The idea of disappointing him somehow made her reluctant to tell him. "Well, it wasn't much—"

"Anything you saw is helpful, Trinket. You see things others don't."

She gave him a less than amused look.

"Not in that sense. You're observant. More observant than anyone I've met. Your skills are very valuable to me."

His praise sent warmth throughout her body, and she straightened her posture. "Well, the fingers were certainly not a birth defect. They were stitched onto her. Fine stitching, too. Almost as nice as yours."

"So someone with surgical skills. Go on."

"I tried to find some sort of clue as to how she died, but there was nothing. No knife wounds, no bullet holes. The only things out of place were her fingers."

"Hmm, strange. Could it have been poison? An overdose of ether?"

"I wouldn't know what to look for to determine that."

"It would likely take an autopsy to find out for sure."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Booker smiled at her. "Not at all, my dear. You are the best assistant I could have hoped for."

The warmth that came from his earlier praise returned. She cleared her throat and averted her eyes. "Shall we eat? You must be famished after all your investigating."

"Yes, I've been hankering for the slop the Clocktower calls food."

He gave her one more grin, and she could not keep a smile of her own from spreading across her face.

~

The snow was coming down in thick flurries as they made their way home later that night. Her arm entwined with Booker's, Trinket couldn't help but remember when they had met only several months earlier. It had been snowing then, too. Never would she have pictured herself as being in the employment of such an eccentric but brilliant doctor. At that time, she hadn't pictured any sort of a future for herself. She hadn't even planned on being alive past that night.

You should have died then. Done the world a favor. Paid for your sins.

You don't deserve to be here.

"You seem deep in thought," Booker said. "What's on your mind?"

Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes as she looked up at him. "Death."

He chuckled softly. "This is why we work so well together, my dear."

Not wanting to admit her true thoughts, she forced a smile and turned her eyes forward. Something moved up ahead in the dark. Squinting past the flurries, she noticed that there was a large object hanging from a lamp post. It swayed in the wind, the post creaking under its weight.

Tugging on Booker's sleeve, she nodded in the direction of the strange sight. "Do you see that?" she whispered.

He followed her gesture and clenched his jaw. "I do."

Quickening their steps, they stationed themselves beneath the lamp post. Holding her breath, she tightened her grip on Booker's arm. In the light, they could now see clearly the large object that had been strung up with a rope.

It was a body.