A Rip Through Time(104)

“Oh?”

She leans against the counter. “A criminal officer came by last week to warn us that there might be trouble on a certain day. He had the patrols coming past all evening, and my husband and my father slept in the shop here. It would not be the first time we have had trouble. We have been here since before I was born, and still some do not welcome us.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“We are welcome in this neighborhood, because people know us, and they bought toys from us when they were wee bairns themselves. Yet trouble still finds its way from the outside. We have learned to guard ourselves, but this time the police did their jobs. They found young men loitering about, intent on trouble, and they gave them a fright.”

“Good.”

She smiles. “Very good. We were most pleased.”

I double-check, confirming that the date the police were concerned about is the one on Evans’s note. It is.

“I do appreciate that you brought us this information.” She waves around the shop. “Please, take something with our thanks. Anything you like.”

I shake my head. “Thank you, but I am only glad the danger was averted.”

“Are there no bairns in your life who would like a toy?” she coaxes.

“No,” I say. “No children…” I’m idly looking around the shop when my gaze falls on a wooden box.

“Ah.” She smiles. “For yourself, perhaps?” She takes the box from the shelf. It’s simply constructed but the polished wood shines. When I open the lid, the box plays a tune I don’t recognize. On the inside of the lid there’s a tin plate showing a girl with a parasol walking over a footbridge.

“Not for me,” I say, “but there’s a parlormaid in the house where I work.”

“You are in service then? What a kind thing to do for a wee working girl.” She starts wrapping the box before I can protest. I still try, but she says, “I insist. It is worth less than the dolls.”

I’m not so sure about that, but I let her wrap it and hand it to me.

“May I ask one more thing?” I say. “If I were to come into information like this again, I would like to take it to the proper authorities. I hesitated to go to the police because, as you say, they do not always trouble themselves with such concerns. It seems this particular criminal officer is different. Might I have his name?”

She beams. “Certainly. It is Detective McCreadie.”



* * *



Detective McCreadie, who’d been coming to Gray’s town house that night I was attacked, and then turned away, as if he’d forgotten something. Or as if he’d spotted me, followed me into the Old Town, and attacked me.

While there are a few questions I’ll want answered by our criminal officer friend, I don’t spend more than two seconds seriously considering him for the role of killer.

No matter how much I know about Catriona, I struggle to fully inhabit her. The only reason anyone buys my act is that blow-to-the-head excuse. The imposter-killer might have tortured Evans for background on his new body’s life, but there’s a limit to how well he’ll be able to fool friends. Gray and Isla have known Hugh McCreadie since they were children together. They’ve been close friends for most of their lives. I cannot imagine the imposter would be able to pull that off.

There’s another link, though. The one that sent me to the toy store. The clue I’d seen, floating over the investigation, apparently meaningless until, with a jolt, it’d taken on meaning.

What had McCreadie said about Evans that first night, when Gray was working over his body? That Evans worked the crime beat. The only thing it meant at the time was that it explained how McCreadie knew him. But when I’d considered who Evans might be sharing those addresses with, the answer had been “the police.” That would explain why the date had passed and the shop seemed fine.

If Evans worked the crime beat, he would talk to police, and I knew he’d had contact with McCreadie.

From what I know of McCreadie, he’s a good cop. If he got hold of that list of targets, he’d do the right thing to warn them. That’s why I went to the shop. To see whether I was right that whoever got that list—McCreadie or a colleague of his—had notified the toy-shop owners, who could tell me which police officers were involved.

I have that answer. With it, the obvious suspect is McCreadie himself. Obvious, however, does not mean “only,” and I have a much better idea who got the names and passed them on to McCreadie.

I slip in the rear door of the town house. That means circling the block to come in through the mews, but then I can creep up to the second floor, adjust my attire, and ease in with hopes of still being on time—

The clock strikes the quarter hour. Okay, I’m fifteen minutes late. Damn it, I need a pocket watch. Inside, teacups tickle against china saucers. I walk to the drawing room and curtsy in the doorway.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” I say. “I had an errand to run, and I had hoped to be back before tea. I will apologize to Alice and Mrs. Wallace for needing to serve in my stead.”

“Oh, come and sit down,” Isla says. “I explained to Mrs. Wallace that I had sent you on an errand, and Alice seemed quite happy to serve tea in return for a heaping plate from the tray.”

I set my package on a nearby table. “I have a gift for her as well, from the toy shop.”