A Rip Through Time(98)

Catriona and Simon are friends. Probably also romantically involved, however casually, and the person most likely to murder a woman is her partner. Yet I struggle to imagine that from the young man I had tea with last night.

Except, if the killer jumped into Simon’s body, then that wasn’t Simon. I would have never met the real Simon.

If the killer knew Catriona and Simon had been friends—occasionally with benefits—he could play that role. And he would know it, if that was one of the tidbits he’d gotten from Archie Evans.

Simon claimed he didn’t know where Catriona sold her stolen goods, didn’t know anything about her past or her confederates. His excuse—that he kept out of that part of her life—made sense, but it could also be the modern killer covering for his gaps in Simon-knowledge.

Catriona had a knack for betraying her friends. Selling them out, as she had with Constable Findlay and, from what Davina said, many others.

Isla hires staff that have been in trouble with the law. Does that include Simon? I got that impression, and while I also got the impression he was trying to steer Catriona away from that life, I must remember that if Simon is the killer, then the Simon I know is not the one Catriona knew, and I can rely on nothing he said.

Could the killer become Simon? He’d need to know Edinburgh well enough to play coachman, but he’s presumably from here in the modern world and could figure it out. If he had any experience with horses, he could pull off caring for them and cleaning the stables as much as I could pull off being a maid. He lives over the stables and rarely comes in the house. Or this Simon rarely comes in … possibly because he’s minimizing interaction with people who know the real Simon.

If Simon is the killer, he’d definitely know I’d been helping with the case. He could easily have targeted me. Hell, he watched me leave the night I was attacked. I’d come out the back door and bumped into him dressed in dark colors.

I’d bumped into him last night, too, when he’d hidden in the library and jumped out at me. Jumped out to spook me? So he claimed, but what if I hadn’t fought him off? Had there been a length of rope in his pocket? Had he come into the house to kill me in my sleep? He does have a key.

What if Simon knew Evans, possibly through a mutual habit? Could Evans have been selling his information to Simon? Probably not. That’s the proverbial red herring. Evans was selling information to someone, for some purpose, and while hanging out with Simon, Simon had jotted down information on Catriona, using the paper Evans was carrying.

Catriona had betrayed Simon, and he wanted dirt on her. As her friend, he knew that dirt exists. Evans was a journalist. He could investigate Catriona. Except the situation intensified. Simon followed Catriona and saw her doing something, further betraying him. In a rage, Simon strangled her.

Then the killer from my world took over Simon’s body and made contact with Evans. The killer saw an information treasure trove, tortured Evan’s for everything he knew about Simon, and then killed him for his first victim.





THIRTY-FOUR


I think this through as we walk. Isla obviously has experience with people being lost in thought—both her brother and herself, I expect—and she recognizes the signs and leaves me to it.

“May I ask about Simon?” I say as we cut through Parliament Square. “Since you’ve been back from holidays, has he seemed any different to you?”

“Different?”

“Is he acting oddly? I’ve spoken to him a few times. He seems to be friends with Catriona.”

“He is.”

“More than friends, I think, which is awkward.”

Her brows crease. “More than friends, how?”

“Romantically involved, maybe? Or just fooling around together now and then. Friends with benefits, Victorian-style.”

I expect her to laugh at the term, but she frowns at me. “Simon?”

“Yes. That isn’t the impression you got? They must have hidden it. I guess they would. Premarital sex is verboten here, right?”

“Supposedly, but liaisons between grooms and maids are common. They would hardly flaunt it, but I very sincerely doubt there was any entanglement. Not with Simon.”

I thought she’d been going to say Catriona had other romantic interests, which I know she did. When she says Simon instead, that pulls me up short.

“Is he gay?” I ask.

Her brow furrows more. “He is quite a cheerful lad.”

“Wrong word. Queer?”

“Odd? No, not really.”

“Third time’s the charm. Homosexual?”

That has her flushing in a way “premarital sex” didn’t. She casts a quick glance around and lowers her voice as she steers me away from others. “I presume that is more acceptable in your world, and I am glad to hear it.”

I consider. “Has Oscar Wilde gone to trial yet?”

“Oscar who?”

“That answers my question. He’s one of the most famous writers of the Victorian era and another of my faves. When he starts writing, you should read his books and check out his plays. He’ll be tried and convicted of indecency, though. For homosexuality.”

She sighs. “And that is still in our future. Lovely. As for Simon…” She glances over. “Is this important?”

“Anything you can tell me about him is important.”