Page 34 of Disturbing the Dead
“Just Dr. Gray questioning my knowledge of geographic etymologies.”
“He is terrible for that, isn’t he? And while I do hate to interrupt such an important discussion, I believe I have located the murder weapon.”
We move so fast we bash into each other. Gray waves for me to go first, which is the proper gentlemanly behavior, though as always, he hesitates before gesturing, as if it takes effort to relinquish the lead.
McCreadie steers us to a rear corner. “I have left it in situ.”
A length of rope lies in the gap between a desk and the wall. It hasn’t been hidden as much as discarded. Oh, I’m sure the killer wouldn’t have left it lying in the middle of the room. That would raise suspicions that might have ruined the fun of having us open a mummy to reveal their victim. Still, there’s no need to truly hide the murder weapon, in a world that isn’t examining fibers or blood yet. Taking the weapon increases the chances of being caught with it.
“May I borrow your pencil?” I ask Gray.
“If you intend to use it for fishing that rope from in there, I believe we have already established your poor manual dexterity.” He moves in front of me and bends. “May I get a light?”
McCreadie fetches a lantern, and Gray shines it into the narrow space.
“Is there anything other than hair that I could be in danger of dislodging?” he asks me.
I shake my head. “I doubt we could even get fingerprints off it. Mostly, we’d be looking for hair, but if it’s the murder weapon, any hair would likely belong to Sir Alastair.”
He nods and still takes great care extracting the rope before lifting it with the pencil and gingerly putting it onto the desk as if it’s a venomous snake.
Using the lantern, Gray examines it. “That looks like blood. There was an abrasion on Sir Alastair’s neck where the rope dug in deep. I can check whether the burns seem to match this particular length of rope. I would presume it does.”
“Yep, in this time, there’d be no point in planting a fake murder weapon. Well, not really much point in my time either, given the science for matching weapons to wounds, but that doesn’t keep people from trying it.”
“So the police get smarter and the criminals do not?” McCreadie says. When I glance his way, he says, “Humor me, Mallory. Tell me that something gets easier.”
“The police absolutely get smarter,” I say. “And, if anything, the criminals get dumber. That’s why they let women on the force, you know. The job gets so easy, even women can do it.”
I get a smile from McCreadie for that one.
“What would you be able to test for on this rope?” McCreadie asks.
“The fabled DNA, yes?” Gray says. “From the blood, and also the skin shed by the victim and possibly even shed by the culprit. Unless they wear gloves.”
“Which they will not,” McCreadie says. “Because criminals are all much less intelligent in the future. Mallory has promised it, and I believe it.”
“Then ask her to tell you about the town called Chicken because no one could spell ‘ptarmigan.’ At least someone will believe that tall tale.”
“Hey, can you spell ‘ptarmigan’?” I say.
“I do not even know what a ptarmigan is, and I am quite certain you are making up that, too.”
“Actually, she’s not,” McCreadie says. “It’s a type of grouse found in very cold regions. Do not ask me to spell it, though I am pleased to know something you do not, Duncan.”
“You know much that I do not. Most of it useless trivia, but occasionally your repertoire includes bits of practical information.”
McCreadie makes a rude gesture, paired with a smile. They’ve been friends since they were children, and I envy them that. I have plenty of college friends and colleague friends, but I lost track of ones from my childhood, as we so often do in our world, where being Facebook friends seems enough.
I move to look closer at the rope. Then I start circling the room.
“Uh-oh,” McCreadie says. “Mallory is prowling. While we are making light, she is making connections.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” I say.
I spot a couple of crates under a table. Packing crates. I’d briefly noted them earlier, but I hadn’t paid much attention because they weren’t big enough to hold the mummy, and that’s what I’d been looking for. Now, gloves on, I bend to tug one out… and yep, still wearing an evening-gown-laced corset. McCreadie gallantly comes over to pull one out for me.
“Packing materials,” I say. “For transporting artifacts. Including…” I point at a length of hemp.
