Page 45 of Disturbing the Dead
“All right. Tell her it was Detective McCreadie again. I need to speak to her urgently, and if she does not present herself at my police office by nightfall, I will be forced to send men here to bring her to the office, which will be most embarrassing.”
“Y-yes, sir. At the police office by sundown. Where is that?”
McCreadie gives directions. Then we leave.
We’re barely outside when a young constable runs up.
“Sir,” he says. “Detective Crichton is looking for you.”
In a time before cell phones—or even police radios—the communication system in the police force is rather astounding. It helps that Edinburgh is, in this time, not an overly large city. If someone needs McCreadie, the word will go out, along with what neighborhood he might be in. Officers will keep an eye out while doing their regular duties, and if they spot him, they’ll pass on the message.
When the constable leaves, I tell McCreadie about the envelopes and pull them out.
“Now you’re stuffing evidence in your pockets?” he teases.
“You and Dr. Gray are terrible influences. Should I have left them there?”
“No, you are correct in taking them. If the envelopes are important, the Kings would have moved them in case we returned to make a more thorough search. At worst, we can put them back later.”
I try not to cringe at that. Then I ask his thoughts on Florence King as we walk.
“Before Lord Muir insisted, I did not consider her a viable suspect,” he says. “I am still not convinced she is. However, I do not like this running-off business. Even if it is her custom, it is suspicious.”
“Particularly as she does it when she is troubled.”
“Hmm.”
“Do you want these?” I ask, holding out the envelopes.
“No, take them to Duncan. Examine them there, and I will come around when I am able.”
FIFTEEN
I enter the town house through the back door, and I’m still removing my outdoor boots when feet tap on the stairs. The steps are too light to be Gray’s, and even too light for Isla. Too quick for Mrs. Wallace. Too heavy for Alice. Then who…?
Lorna pokes her head around the corner. Ah, right. New maid.
“Miss Mallory,” she says, and I don’t correct her. If she’s not ready to call me by my given name, this is close enough. “Dr. Gray said to send you down to his offices when you return, and Mrs. Ballantyne said you are to have lunch with her and that Dr. Gray may attend if he insists.” She lowers her voice. “I think she was teasing about that.”
I smile. “She was.”
“She said you will discuss the case over luncheon, so you are to bring your notes. But first, you must attend to Dr. Gray.” She puts a hand out. “I will brush those for you.”
I hesitate until I realize she means my boots. Usually I am the one brushing off everyone’s boots, including my own. But that is a housemaid’s job, I remind myself, and I am no longer a housemaid. Still, even when we had other temporary maids, none of them had offered to clean my boots.
“I will brush them later,” I say, “but I do appreciate the offer.”
“May I bring you tea?” she asks.
Huh. None of the other maids offered that either. I could get used to this.
I check my pocket watch. “It is almost time for Dr. Gray’s morning tea and biscuits. I will have some with him. Thank you.”
She half curtsies. “I will bring them down.”
I put on my indoor boots and head downstairs. Gray is in his laboratory, looking down at the body of Sir Alastair.
“Is he saying anything interesting?” I ask.
