Carcel reached inside his heavy coat once more.
"And that's not all," Carcel continued. His deep voice broke the quiet of the room.
Delaney tensed. She pulled her hands into her lap, twisting her fingers together. She was not sure her heart could take another massive shock today.
Carcel brought out a written confession. It was not a clean, elegant piece of parchment like the will. This paper was cheap, wrinkled, and stained with dirt and grease. It looked exactly like something that had been pulled from the dark, dangerous alleys of London's worst slums.
He held the dirty paper up so the orange light of the fireplace illuminated the hasty, uneven handwriting.
"Vance is a very thorough man," Carcel explained, his tone completely flat and deadly. "When Rowan asked us to look into the Oakridge case, Vance did not just look for paperwork. He looked for the people who were there on that rainy night twenty years ago. He looked for the man who prepared the carriage."
