Page 64 of Disturbing the Dead
His maid suggested Sir Alastair avoided confrontation. Is that the behavior I’m seeing here? It would seem, though, that a man of Sir Alastair’s position would not flee before a group of women. He would simply tell them no, he would not speak to them, and please stop bothering him.
This behavior speaks of discomfort. Like a politician ducking a question on a policy he doesn’t really believe in, but he has to toe the party line.
Both Isla and Gray have noted that Sir Alastair seemed an odd choice to join the opposition against the Edinburgh Seven, much less take a leadership role.
Did he really believe these women posed a serious threat to the future of medicine?
Or was he toeing the party line?
Not just toeing it, but being pushed into the forefront of the charge.
And who would be the “party”? Who would be doing the pushing?
I make notes of all this. Then I say, “For your whereabouts when you were walking, do you have anyone who could provide an alibi?”
“Alibi?”
“Someone who might have seen you—perhaps you stopped to purchase something?”
“Ah.” She thinks. “Not between the time I left the house and went to speak to Sophia. At that time of night, I avoid being seen. Between Sophia and Emmett, I bought the bread and butter. After I left Emmett…” Her eyes roll upward. “I bought a newspaper with an article on the murder and later I stopped for a cup of tea in the New Town. I can provide addresses for all of those stops.”
“Thank you. I would also like to know where you went walking both times.”
“Certainly.”
“And then I will need your itinerary for the day before, between nine A.M. and four in the afternoon.”
She goes still. Then her gaze rises to mine. “I presume that is when Sir Alastair died?”
“Roughly, yes.”
“I was with the other ladies until noon. We met for a late breakfast and studied together. After that, I was studying at home.”
“Which your husband can verify?”
“Yes—No, actually, he cannot. He was in class. But I was at home. I returned around twelve thirty, after spending the morning at Buccleuch Place with the other ladies.”
Meaning her afternoon lacks a witnessed alibi. Would that give her time to kill Sir Alastair and wrap his body and encounter Selim in the tunnel after four? I’m not sure. Of course, I’m also not sure I consider her a viable suspect anyway.
Stopping Sir Alastair’s opposition would be, as she said, pointless. But the murder doesn’t seem to have been premeditated. Could Mrs. King have gone to speak to Sir Alastair at home, after he evaded Miss Jex-Blake? Killed him in the heat of the moment?
She showed a temper last night, and she is not a tiny woman. She could have done it after delivering those punches to knock him down and then leveraging the rope with that foot on his back. If I could drag Selim, she could as well.
“Thank you,” I say. Then I turn to Gray. “Do you have any questions to add, sir?”
“I do not. If you would like to take the rest of Mrs. King’s statement, I will leave you to that.”
TWENTY-ONE
McCreadie shows up in time for dinner, and he understandably grumbles over Mrs. King coming here instead of the police office. It’s a soft grumble, though, one laced with understanding for her distrust of the police. He will need to speak to her officially, but he’ll wait until he has any new questions. I’ve covered everything he’ll need for now, leaving him to pursue more viable leads.
McCreadie is investigating Sir Alastair’s business dealings, which are mostly related to his excavations. Sir Alastair does lecture at the university enough to earn him an office, but that’s mostly to honor his reputation rather than the amount of work he does there. It’s also about the university maintaining a link to someone who brings in important artifacts.
McCreadie gets the sense Sir Alastair treated the lectures the way some researchers do, where teaching students is a necessary evil rather than a calling. My dad genuinely loves what he does, but he became an English professor because he wants to share his passion, not because he needs the affiliation to support his research and provide a laboratory.
Sir Alastair strikes me as a scientist more akin to Gray than to my father. His Egyptology might have leaned into the arts—history more than medical science—but his passion was getting out into the field and making discoveries.
It wasn’t just lectures that got in the way of that. It was that damned filthy lucre. Gray is lucky there. His family’s wealth means he only needs to work a few days a week, maintaining his father’s undertaking business with no interest in growing it. Also, his own brand of research requires very little in the way of supplies. Cadavers aren’t what I’d call cheap, but I haven’t seen him purchase one since I got here. They’re brought by the police looking for answers. As long as Gray has time and equipment, he’s set.
