Twenty-One Days (Daniel Pitt #1)(70)

‘Why would she do that?’ he asked. ‘How could she get away with it? Ten years? That’s an awful lot . . .’

She turned away.

‘Wouldn’t people know?’ he asked. ‘Do you think it has anything to do with her death? That Graves found out . . .?’

‘Do you think it’s such a sin?’ she asked, looking not at him, but at the X-ray again. ‘She had children. She can’t have been that old.’

He looked at Miriam, bent over the magnifying glass again. He remembered what fford Croft had said about her studies, her intelligence, and that the authorities had not recognised her achievements, or given her degrees, even though she had passed all the examinations.

Nobody cared how old a man was in marriage, but a woman had to be young enough to bear healthy children, to be acceptable as a bride. That meant probably his own age, or less. Ebony had lied for a good reason. ‘But she was funny, charming, brave and clever, according to what Mercy Blackwell told me,’ he said aloud. ‘And beautiful, in her own way. Why should Graves care?’

‘I don’t think it had anything to do with it,’ she replied. Her loss of composure had been so slight perhaps he had only imagined it, because he had made an insensitive remark.

‘What then?’ he said. He was lost.

‘Remember the clothes, and the boots in particular?’

‘Yes.’

‘Those boots don’t fit her very well.’

‘What are you suggesting?’ There was only one idea on the edge of his mind, growing clearer all the time. He took a deep breath. ‘This isn’t Ebony Graves!’

Miriam looked at him, her eyes bright again, clear. She nodded. ‘Exactly. Which raises many questions. Who is she? And where is Ebony? Is she alive, or dead? And why did Sarah say it was her mother? Did she think it was? Did she ever really look at that terribly disfigured corpse enough to know who it was? And why was it dressed in Ebony’s clothes, and Ebony’s boots, which don’t fit her?’

‘And who killed her?’ Daniel added. ‘And why? “Why?” may answer all the rest.’

‘I think we had better go back to Graves’ house and ask a few more very probing questions.’ Miriam stood up straight and stared at Daniel. ‘Come with me. You must need these answers as much as I do. Graves might be telling the truth when he says he did not kill Ebony. But he may have killed somebody else.’

‘We’ll go on the early train tomorrow,’ he said.

‘Why not now?’ she asked impatiently. ‘There’s no time to waste!’

‘I’ve got something else to do this afternoon.’

She appeared startled. ‘Oh.’

Daniel realised how rude he had sounded. ‘Forgive me, I’m taking you for granted. It’s a rather delicate matter I need to attend to, and I’m not looking forward to it.’

Miriam smiled in sudden sympathy. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Do we need to bring any of this with us?’ He gestured towards her equipment.

‘No. But I need to pack this woman, whoever she is, in the ice chamber, and make sure I have all my notes. Now that we’re not leaving until morning, I can take my time.’

‘I’m going back to the office to report to Kitteridge and your father.’

‘What?’ Marcus fford Croft’s face filled with amazement and complete incredulity. ‘I hope this is not your idea of humour, Pitt?’ He blinked and shook his head, as if to clear it of delusions.

‘No, sir,’ Daniel said soberly. ‘Miss fford Croft found evidence—’

‘Miriam . . .’ fford Croft ran his hands through his hair and left it standing on end. ‘God have mercy! Have you told Kitteridge? I suppose you haven’t.’

‘I thought I should tell you first, sir.’

‘Yes, so you should. Well, you’d better go and tell him now!’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Daniel left immediately and went to look for Kitteridge. He found him in the library.

‘You look flustered,’ he observed, looking at Daniel curiously.

Daniel took a deep breath. ‘The body isn’t Ebony,’ he said bluntly. ‘We don’t know who it is.’

Kitteridge did not know whether to laugh or lose his temper. He decided to laugh. ‘God help us!’ he said with sincerity. ‘We are going to need it.’

The next morning, he met Miriam at the railway station. He thought he might have difficulty finding her because he had not arranged a particular place. Before Daniel had returned to chambers with the news, they had taken a long time to store the body properly, finish all the notes, and wash and put away every instrument that had been used or possibly contaminated. Even washing the floor of the pieces of burned hair and skin had been a large task. She would not leave it until the room was ready for the next autopsy she might perform. Probably it would be a tidy-up job, some detail left out of an earlier example of somebody else’s work. Perhaps something to prepare for an anatomy lecture at one of the universities. She did not complain, but Daniel saw in her face that she felt wounded only to be given low-level jobs.

He should have agreed a place to meet with her. He had been too tired, and overwhelmed. He thought now that under the central clock in the station would be a good place. Most people looked at the clock, at some time or other. He would have to hope the same thought would occur to her. He had been there less than five minutes, watching businessmen stride by with their rolled-up umbrellas in one hand, and newspapers in the other. Even though it was a bright May morning, most of them were wearing grey or black and, of course, pinstripes. Would he get to look like that, in ten or fifteen years? It was like a uniform, and there were certainly ranks: the commanders and the junior managers, corporals! And foot soldiers, except that they did not keep step and they were dressed in a variety of browns and greys.