Chapter Fifteen #2
Gray stretches, putting his feet up beside mine on the ottoman.
“I suppose I feel as if I should have supported him, within limits. I think back on all those years that I struggled to keep on an assistant, barely daring to hope for one who cared what I was doing. And now, when an eager student contacts me, I do not even give him the time of day.”
“Because you already have the best assistant ever.”
“I really do.” He holds my gaze just long enough to make me blush. “You have spoiled me, and if I ever lost you…” He clears his throat and lifts his teacup, taking a drink before saying, “I am no longer interested in a merely decent pupil. I want a perfect one.”
“But would Nunn have been decent? Now, maybe after the first letter, if he’d seen his mistake and apologized…”
“I did actually read his second missive when it arrived, in case that was the situation. He did not realize his offense and, worse, pressed his point further.”
“Doubling down. Gotta love that.” I hold out the coffee urn and add more to his cup when he extends it. Then I warm up my own. “If, at some point, you want a process for gently encouraging future students, maybe you could conduct an examination in a surgical theater?”
“I have been asked to do that. Last week, in fact. I was mulling it over and planning to discuss it with you. It would not be for a murder investigation, of course, but for something like an accidental death, where the college has legally obtained the body for study.”
“I think it’d be a great idea. The college really needs to take advantage of having an expert in the city.”
His lips twitch. “You inflate my self-confidence at your peril, Mallory. You know that.”
I shrug. “If you start signing your correspondence ‘world’s foremost authority on forensic science,’ I’ll stick a pin in that ego. But you deserve more recognition than you’re getting.”
He smiles. “Thank you. I may have a very healthy sense of self-worth, but I will admit—between us only, of course—that there are times when I wonder whether my opinion of my professional skills is higher than it should be.”
“Like when Addington’s being an ass?”
He makes a face, as if he wants to say no, but then he nods. “Sometimes. Yes.”
“Your opinion of your skills is just fine. I’ll let you know if it isn’t.”
I glance toward the window, overlooking the mews.
“It will take a while,” Gray says.
I look at him.
“You are listening for a coach. Or the slap of the rear door. Some sound signifying Hugh’s return with the news that I may conduct the autopsy. It will take time. Hours, I would presume.”
“So I should go get some sleep?”
“Only if you wish to. I am awake and will remain so.”
“Same. So … can we talk about the case? The science side?”
He smiles. “Of course.”
“Is there any way Nellie’s body floated downstream and stopped in the bog? It would stop her, being shallow. I should have taken a better look around, but I was busy wondering where her body went.”
“It could have gone in about a quarter mile up. There is a bridge there, which would have prevented the corpse’s progress, had it fallen in before that.”
“And we don’t think she could have been pushed off the bridge, because the bruises indicate she was held under the water.”
“The bridge is much too low for a fatal fall. The water below is only about three feet deep. Unless she struck her head, she could have walked out. There was no head trauma. Also, yes, the bruises and the damage on her neck strongly indicate she was held under.”
I nod and take another sip of my coffee.
He continues, “The bog itself is deeper than usual, likely due to the recent rains. I noted the constables were in past their knees looking for her.”
“So two feet or so. She dies and sinks. She wouldn’t have had more than a foot of water above her, but it’s murky and full of vegetation, so no one saw her.
She would—however—be spotted as soon as she surfaced.
It’s been warm the last few days, which would accelerate decomposition, but we know it was only three days between Nellie last being seen and her body being found.
It’s possible she died sometime the next day, but also possible—very possible—that she died that first night. ”
“Night would be most likely. The area around the bog is not particularly busy, as you saw, but I cannot imagine anyone killing there during the day. It would still be too risky. The risk of being spotted is still too high.”
I set my coffee aside and pick up my pencil and notepad. “If she died the night after she left her job, that would make it forty-eight hours until she surfaced. Is that likely?”
“It’s not impossible, but we would need other conditions, such as extreme heat, for the body to decompose that quickly.
” He tilts his head. “If time of death becomes critical, I could experiment. Place something in the bog, held down, and see how long it takes to rise. But I would not say forty-eight hours.”
“Meaning we can reasonably assume she died the night she disappeared.” I tap my pencil on the pad. “She was known to go out regularly at night, but before bedtime. That night she left later … and all her belongings were gone.”
“Save that necklace.”
I nod. “I showed it to Isla, who says it’s old and decently made.
Not particularly valuable, but possibly an heirloom.
So did Nellie pack in a hurry, forgetting the hidden necklace?
Did she meet someone who killed her and took her belongings?
Or did she go out on her usual business and was killed … and then her belongings were taken?”
“By her killer?”
“Only if her killer is another maid. The beds are too close together for anyone to sneak in and clear it out while they slept. No, wait. Her belongings weren’t discovered missing until later that morning. So we have a gap there.”
“Where someone could have come in after the maids had woken and left.”
“Right,” I say. “They rise by six. It took hours for anyone to realize Nellie was gone. It’s a big house and her duties don’t include the breakfast service.
There’s time for someone—even an outsider—to get in and clear her things.
” I look at him. “We really need to know why she left in the evenings.”
“We do.”
“I just don’t know how to get that information. No one knew her well enough.”
“Hugh will find her next of kin. He could not throw his resources into it while she was only missing, but he can now.”
When I’m quiet, he says, “And I know that is not right. A young woman was missing under mysterious circumstances, and it is not a worthy case until she is dead. When it becomes a crime to be solved rather than a living person to be helped.”
“That’s the way it often is, but thank you for understanding why it made me uncomfortable. In this case, it would have already been too late to help her. Now, as for—”
The back door bangs shut on the level beneath ours.
Gray frowns. “That is too soon to be Hugh. Could it be Isla? Or Simon?”
Footsteps pound up the stairs.
“It sounds like Hugh,” I say, and my stomach sinks. He’s back too soon. Does that mean he didn’t even get higher up the ranks before someone shut him down?
McCreadie swings in the doorway. “You may conduct the autopsy, Duncan.”
“What?” I say.
His brows arch. “Is that the wrong answer?”
“No,” I say. “I just thought a quick response meant bad news.”
“I struck it lucky. Very lucky in fact, leading me to think I should take advantage of it and ask Isla—” He clears his throat.
“The case. Crichton has lost interest after hearing that another girl drowned by suicide in the same spot. He is happy to turn over the case to me, especially as something far more interesting has come in, involving the theft of jewels belonging to a duchess.”
“She misplaced them,” I say.
“Probably, but she is very lovely and very distraught, and Detective Crichton has declared it a case of extreme importance. The superintendent was at the station as well, along with the procurator fiscal, who are happy to let you autopsy the victim, Duncan … provided you do not bill the city for your services.”
“They want a freebie,” I mutter.
“Unfortunately yes.”
“I do not need the money,” Gray says.
“I know,” I say. “However, the correct way to do this is to offer to pay you, and then you can turn it down and say you consider it community service. But I’m being grumpy. The point is that we can proceed with the autopsy.”
“And the case,” McCreadie says.
“Okay, then. Let’s get moving. The sooner we have conclusive evidence, the sooner we—Hugh, I mean—has a case.”
McCreadie smiles at me. “The sooner we all have a case. My superiors are not the only ones who appreciate free help.”