A Rip Through Time(62)

“Are you sure you want to go with him?” he asks. “You don’t need to. You might find this cell more to your liking.”

His gaze cuts in Gray’s direction.

“I would like to leave with Dr. Gray, please,” I say.

“Well, then, come on out. I hear some girls fancy that sort of thing. Got a bit of the ghoul about you, too, I’ll wager?” His gaze goes to the blood on my dress. “Take care the doctor does not run out of corpses to practice on. You’d make a pretty little cadaver for carving.”

I expect Gray to say something. That underestimates how accustomed he is to this treatment and how well he’s learned the futility of rising to the bait. His expression remains neutral, as if the constable is bidding me a pleasant farewell.

When I join Gray, he doesn’t even look my way. Just turns on his heel to go.

“Uh-uh,” the constable says. “We still have some papers to be signed. You’ll wait in there.” He points to another room.

Gray heads through the open doorway, crosses the room, and stops at the other side of it, ignoring the chairs and standing ramrod straight.

When the constable is gone, I say, “I did ask for Detective McCreadie, sir. I hoped he could resolve this.”

“He did.” Gray’s words are brittle and sharp, his gaze on the door. “He convinced them that, as you had been attacked before, carrying a knife in the area was a reasonable precaution. The fact that the man fled made it a very difficult case, and the procurator fiscal chose not to pursue it.”

“I think it was the raven killer, sir. He was dressed in black, from a mask to a cape. He had a piece of rope like the one found with the first victim. When we fought, he dropped a peacock feather. He took it before he left.”

I expect this to get his attention. I’ll see a ripple of life beneath the ice, his interest snagged. Instead, his look is long and it’s careful, and when he pulls back, his mouth sets.

“You think I’m lying,” I say. “Because I was there when Detective McCreadie said a witness described a black cape, and I saw the rope in your laboratory.”

“At this moment, it doesn’t matter what I think. The point is that you are free. The police contacted Detective McCreadie, who convinced them not to lay charges.”

“Then he left without having them release me?”

“He tried. They insisted I come and take charge of you myself.”

My mouth opens. Then I snap it shut.

I’m sorry. That’s what I want to say. I am so sorry, Duncan.

In that moment, he’s not “Gray” or even “Dr. Gray.” That’s Catriona’s boss. This is the first time I see Gray as a person undefined by his role in my life. It’s like the first time you see a teacher outside school, struck by the shock of realizing they exist outside that relationship.

This is a man who has been humiliated because of me. Humiliated in front of the very people he’s trying to help, who demanded his presence so they could sneer at him and mock him.

As a cop, I’ve had the experience of trying to help someone who doesn’t want help from “my kind.” But this would be so much worse, because in my case, I know they have cause not to trust a police officer. Here, Gray’s tormentors just think he’s creepy and weird, and anyone who has been bullied in school knows exactly how that feels.

Gray has grown up with this. Because he’s illegitimate. Because he’s not white. One might think his life has already inured him to humiliation. It hasn’t. I saw that in the practiced hardening of his fortifications.

He pursues his life’s work in spite of the sneers and mockery. At some point, he said “To hell with public opinion” and decided to do whatever he wants. I can admire the hell out of him for that, but I can never make the mistake of thinking the sneers and mockery don’t hurt.

“I’m sorry,” I say finally, because I can’t not say it.

The moment I do, his chin jerks up, mouth tightening more as he says, stiffly, “It is of no matter.”

They will change their tune. I want to tell him that. I want to tell him that thousands of future detectives will appreciate the work done by him and others. Thousands of innocent people will walk free because of it. Hundreds of thousands of victims will find justice because of it.

“It’ll get better,” I murmur under my breath.

He glances over sharply, frowning, but I don’t think he heard my words. He’s just on edge and heard my voice and expects mockery. I square my shoulders and open my mouth to say I think he’s doing amazing work, as little as my opinion will matter.

Before I can speak, the constable reappears, smirking. “That’s all done. Now just follow me. I’m going to take you the long way around. Wouldn’t want you getting too close to the dead room. Might see something you like.”

Gray’s mouth tightens. I keep hoping for a clever rejoinder. I know he’s capable of them. But he chooses stony silence as his defense, and all I can do is follow him out.





TWENTY-TWO


After being paraded past the basement offices, we come up a back set of stairs and then need to walk past the main-floor offices. Everyone comes to look. Gray walks with his gaze forward, and I hurry along at his side. When he stops short, I follow his gaze to see a familiar figure sitting in the front reception room.