A Rip Through Time(69)

Right. The case. The fact that the killer they’re looking for may be a twenty-first-century serial killer. The fact that I can’t tell them that. I can’t even tell Isla until I’m certain I’m right.

But if he is a modern killer, then there is no way in hell, as a law-enforcement officer, I can just continue to play at being a housemaid. He won’t screw up by leaving evidence behind. Hell, they couldn’t use most of the evidence he might leave. This guy would have a hundred and fifty years of knowledge in his back pocket. Just flip through Netflix and you can find more information on serial killers than the most dedicated Victorian could dig up. All the ways other killers have gotten away with it. All the ways they’ve been caught.

“I would like to work for Dr. Gray when that’s possible,” I say. “Something tells me he won’t be eager to have me back after last night.”

“Leave that to me,” she says.



* * *



Isla goes to speak to her brother. I’m still not quite sure what their situation is. The fact that Gray is quick to hand her money for cab fare suggests she’s not a wealthy widow. On the other hand, the fact she teases him about it says she’s not destitute either.

The basic arrangement seems to be what I presumed from the start. I’m guessing Gray isn’t exactly on the hunt for an eligible future Mrs. Gray. Isla is widowed and childless, and has returned to the family home to keep house for her brother. Therefore, whatever his own feelings about me right now, if she says she doesn’t want to fire me, that’s ultimately her call.

When she returns, she motions me into the library.

“He’ll come around,” Isla says as she closes the door behind me.

I take my bucket and brush to the fireplace, so I can work while we talk.

“Please don’t do that,” she says.

“The fireplace needs cleaning, and Alice doesn’t need any extra chores.”

She continues to hover, but I wave her away and say, “So I’m right. Dr. Gray isn’t happy with me. Is it because he was dragged down to the police station? That was humiliating.”

She sighs and sinks into the chair behind the desk. “Duncan would not blame you for that. The problem is that while my brother can be single-minded, he does raise his head now and then to analyze the world around him. You were attacked twice in a similar manner. The first could be misfortune. A second time, though?”

“It seems like proof that I’m involved in criminal activities that could endanger his household, including you.”

“He says you claimed your attacker is the killer they’ve been seeking.”

I stop scrubbing the soot. “He thinks I’m lying.”

“Was it the same person?”

“Yes.”

She leans forward. “Who randomly attacked the housemaid helping to catch him? I may enjoy a rousing melodrama, where every person and event is linked by pure coincidence, but that is fiction.”

“I agree. This is not coincidence. I told Dr. Gray about the peacock feather, which disappeared. I didn’t tell him about the paper, because it also disappeared. The killer took both.”

“Paper?”

“I went into that alley and saw a bundle of rags, meant to look like a fallen child. On top of it was a piece of paper with ‘Catriona’ written in block letters. That was supposed to startle me. Throw me off balance and let him attack me. I had the feeling I’d been followed that night, and I think that wasn’t paranoia. The killer targeted me.”

She frowns. “Targeted you? Or Catriona?”

“Catriona. Presumably because she’s Dr. Gray’s housemaid, and Dr. Gray works with Detective McCreadie. Do I love this theory? Nope. But I know my attacker was the raven killer, and he knew who he was attacking—Catriona, maid to Dr. Gray.”

I set down my scrub brush and continue, “The only other possibility is that whoever attacked me was impersonating the raven killer. What he wore matched what a possible witness reported seeing, but I’ll need to go over the newspaper and broadsides and pamphlets again and see whether that made it into a newspaper, which would explain how a copycat killer would have known what to wear.”

“I can send Simon to fetch the latest papers for you.”

“I’d appreciate that. As for the peacock feather, it fits. For Evans, it was a messenger pigeon or stool pigeon. For Catriona, the proud and vain peacock.”

“Is it possible—?” Isla begins.

Mrs. Wallace taps at the door. When Isla calls a greeting, she opens it and says, “Caller for you, ma’am. A messenger from Mr. Bruce with a chemist request.”

Isla tells the housekeeper to bring the messenger into the drawing room. Then she turns to me. “Poor timing, but duty calls. I would like to speak on this more after Simon brings us the papers. Perhaps this is how we might investigate the case, you and I together.”

“The women shut out by the men, proceeding on their own?”

“As they often must.”



* * *



It’s early evening when Alice brings a message that Dr. Gray requires my assistance in the funerary parlor, and I nearly drop my broom and race for the stairs. I’m down there in two minutes flat to find the business dark and empty. Apparently, the assistance required is that the place needs cleaning, as I’ve neglected to do so in the last few days.