Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(61)

“Yes,” Reuben replied cautiously, “though he would not have learned of it for at least ten days at the earliest, usually three weeks.”



“How long would you say that Miss Hallcox had had this disease?”

“It was in the latter stages. We found evidence that the disease had progressed to her brain.”

“Then her prognosis was grave?”

“Very likely.”

“And anyone who was with her?”

“It would depend on whether or not they contracted the disease.”

Keats gut tightened. Where was this going?

“That night, were you aware that your assistant, Dr. Montrose, is a close friend of the prisoner?”

“I was aware that he knew Sergeant Keats. That, however, was not germane to my investigation. I am solely interested in physical evidence.”

“How admirable. Who summoned you to this investigation?”

“Chief Inspector Fisher.”

“Why not the Home Office coroner?”

“I do not know. I was summoned, and I performed my duties as required by law.”

“Were either you or Dr. Montrose left alone with the evidence at any time during the investigation?”

Reuben’s eyes narrowed. “No. We conducted the post-mortem together. We delivered the findings to Scotland Yard together.”

“No further questions.”

Wescomb rose. “Dr. Bishop, how long have you been a forensic pathologist?”

“Just about seven years.”

“How many cases have you handled?”

“I believe it stands at somewhere near sixty.”

“Have you ever compromised evidence either in favor of the prosecution or the defence?”

“Certainly not!”

“I didn’t think so. When did you learn that Sergeant Keats was a suspect in the Hallcox murder?”

“The following morning, when we delivered the post-mortem findings to Scotland Yard.”



“As to those hairs you found in Miss Hallcox’s bed, did you compare them to a sample taken from Sergeant Keats?”

“Yes. A sample was obtained from the hairbrush in his rooms.”

“Did any of them match as to color?”

“No, none of them matched any of the four types found in the sheets.”

“Four? I thought there were only three.”

“The fourth sample belonged to Miss Hallcox.”

“I see. What of any of the household staff?”

“The hairs match none of Miss Hallcox’s domestic staff.”

“That will be all, Doctor.”

~??~??~??~



“It’s your choice, guv,” the man offered.

As Clancy Moran saw it, it wasn’t really a choice, not with a knife pointing at his belly.

“What’s the old fox want with me?” he asked, trying to buy time.

“To talk,” was the quick reply. There were four men around him, counting the one with the blade. He could start a brawl, but they’d end it.

“Flaherty never wants to talk to nobody. He just cuts ’em up. Like Johnny Ahearn.”

The knife wielder’s eyes narrowed. “Well then, looks like you’re the next up, don’t it?”

Clancy tried to keep his muscles loose as he descended into the cellar beneath a chandlery. There’d be too many of Flaherty’s men around to escape, but at least he’d have the chance to snap the bastard’s neck before they stopped him. He chuckled at the thought, which earned him a baffled look from his escort. It was probably righteous he’d not received the sergeant’s award money. It didn’t look like it would have done him much good anyway.

“Knife,” the man demanded, putting out his hand. Clancy dug it out and dropped it into the outstretched palm. “Now the one in your boot.” Grudgingly, he obeyed.



The door creaked open at the bottom of the stairs and he was pushed through. As his eyes adjusted to the candlelight, his hope surged. There was only one man inside the room—the man he’d vowed to kill.

“Evenin’, Moran.” Flaherty gestured toward a barrel. “Rest yer feet. We need to talk.”

“I don’t talk to butchers.”

The blade appeared in Flaherty’s hand as if by magic. “And I don’t talk to fools. So what’s it gonna be?”

Clancy squared himself, ready for a fight. “Why’d ya do it? Johnny always watched yer back. Ya had no right to cut him like that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yer lyin’. I heard—”

“Ya heard wrong,” Flaherty insisted.

“Why should I believe ya?”

“Because Johnny was workin’ for me. He was tryin’ to find my daughter.”

Clancy rocked back. “So the rozzer had it right.”

“The little sergeant?”

“Yeah.”

“One of my men saw ya at the Spread Eagle. He said the two of ya were arguin’ over somethin’.”

“I was tryin’ to stop him from goin’ to Whitechapel. Figured he’d get nicked.”

“He didn’t do it, ya know,” Flaherty admitted. “He was in that alley with me.”