A Rip Through Time(46)

“Lincoln?”

His lips twitch. “You truly do not follow the news, do you? Yes, the assassination of Abraham Lincoln. That month, the most horrific deaths would not have made the front page. Then there is the issue of urbanization—”

He cuts himself short and pulls back with the faintest smile. “I will spare you that particular lecture.”

“No, please. Go on.” I meet his gaze. “I am interested.”

“Briefly, or we shall be here all day. While murder is hardly a new invention, it became far more commonplace in the city, where one might hope to escape justice in the way one could not in the country.”

“Where everyone knows everyone else’s business.”

“Yes. In the city, we are more anonymous. Some might also say that population density breeds apathy. Too many people to care about. When you look back at murder fifty years ago, each one was a public sensation. The appetite for details was insatiable. People could eat for months telling the story of how they once dined with the killer in a public house. If the victim died in a barn, that barn could be dismantled and sold for a king’s ransom, everyone wanting a piece. But as cities grew and murders multiplied…”

“People became jaded. They need stories that strike an emotional chord, whether it be horror or sympathy. The murder of Archie Evans is passionless and bloodless. It is getting some attention, because it is odd, but it will not inspire penny dreadfuls.”

He sets down his paper. “There is nothing in these. I feared as much, but I wished to be thorough. My task—our task—is to find clues that will help Detective McCreadie and, if I am fortunate, some of those clues will also prove useful for my studies.” He checks his pocket watch. “Speaking of Hugh, he is due for lunch to discuss the case, and if you’d be so kind as to serve the meal, you may join us and listen in.”



* * *



And as a special treat, little Catriona, you may join us after you’ve waited on us hand and foot.

Yes, once again, my back went up at that, but Gray isn’t a senior officer expecting a female detective to serve the coffee and doughnuts at a staff meeting. He’s a guy expecting his employee to do her job, while he also encourages her outside interests.

I’ve been part of only a few sting operations, and I find myself wishing I’d had more undercover experience to slide into this headspace. I am Catriona. I am a housemaid. I was hired to serve Gray’s meals, and I’m damn lucky he’s letting me join their lunchtime conversation.

He doesn’t make me sit in the corner with my servant’s lunch either. I am given a seat at the table and expected to fully share in their more sumptuous meal. I don’t miss Alice’s shocked face when she pops her head in, and I hate to even think what Mrs. Wallace will say.

As for the lunch conversation, while Gray might say his only interest in the case is forensic, that’s obviously not true. Nor does McCreadie treat him like a crime-scene tech. Lacking a detective partner, McCreadie bounces ideas and theories off his old friend.

I also get the impression Gray isn’t the only one who helps. When McCreadie walks in to lunch, his first question is “Where’s Isla?,” and when Gray says she is away, McCreadie can’t hide his disappointment.

The two men discuss the case. Isla has analyzed the water and believes it is from a tap. It’s definitely fresh water rather than salt, and the lack of foreign particles suggests it’s not from a body of standing water, like a puddle. They still aren’t sure what that means—my waterboarding hypothesis has obviously been dismissed.

Next McCreadie brings Gray up to speed on the day’s work. They’ve canvassed people living near the park where Evans was found. One person reported seeing a masked man in a black cape. Then there’s the guy who insists he saw a huge raven land and grow to human form.

“The young men Evans was living with still refuse to speak to me,” McCreadie says. “I am, apparently, the enemy.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a household of young radicals, all convinced the police only exist to deprive them of their rights.”

“Kids these days,” I mutter, too low for them to make out the words, but McCreadie glances over at the sound of my voice. “You agree with them, Catriona?”

“I agree that some people have sound reasons to fear the police, not only those who engage in criminal activity, but those who have been unjustly persecuted in the past. There are bullies in any organization, but police do have the ability to ruin a life, and some do.”

“Perhaps, but to tarnish me with that brush is unwarranted.”

I shrug. “Uncomfortable more than unwarranted. They don’t know you, but you don’t know their situation and their experiences with the law. If they are radicals, those experiences have likely been negative. Police are the enemy of protesters because they are often seen as enemy by police.”

“It sounds as if you have some experience with this.”

“I have never been what you would call a radical. I know some who are, though. Getting them to speak to you is going to take time you can ill afford when you only wish to question them. I would suggest you send in someone they will speak to. Perhaps me.”

Gray frowns. “Why would they speak to you?” He pauses. “Ah, yes. You alluded to knowing radicals.”