SIXTEEN #2
Calum winced. Graham would be livid at the very suggestion that a ship’s captain, of all people, might lie to the police.
“Besides,” Clare went on, “it’s a sworn statement. Maybe the captain would lie for a friend, but half the crew have signed statements, too.” She passed over a pile of papers.
Calum examined them, but they didn’t recycle the same words and phrases in a way that would suggest they had been compelled to write them. And if half the crew had written them, that meant half hadn’t, which further suggested they hadn’t been coerced.
Calum threw the letter onto a scratched oak desk.
“She told me she’s happy her husband’s dead.
She gets the children without having to share them in a divorce, she gets his money—who else has motive like that?
” It was a strong alibi. A very strong alibi.
Almost as if she knew she’d need one, but there was no way she could have been breakfasting with colleagues in Ardstede just a few hours after murdering her husband in Mossburgh.
“Someone who doesn’t have an alibi placing them in another country?” Clare said.
Calum glowered at the letter as though it had personally offended him.
He stalked into his office and threw a thought at the fire, sending it roaring to life.
It was irrational for him to be annoyed, he knew that.
It was never good when a copper became emotionally invested in being right, whether that was about having the right suspect or who was trustworthy.
And that was the problem. Until he’d learnt that Aly had been lying to him, he’d been looking forward to seeing her that evening. He needed to close the case before he started to care about her, and to do that, he needed a viable suspect.
There was a knock at the door and Clare poked her head in. “There’s a lad here to see you,” she said. “Says he’s Burgess Edzan’s secretary.”
Calum asked her to show him in and a moment later Lewis appeared, shutting the door behind him.
“If you’re looking for my sister, you’ll have better luck at my house than my office.” Calum kept his voice flat.
Lewis’s eyebrows drew together. “Why would I be looking for your sister?”
“I understand the two of you are rather cosy, writing letters about me.” Calum clenched his jaw.
“It’s not like that.”
“Isn’t it?” Calum snapped.
“We’re worried about you.” Lewis reached for Calum, then let his hand drop. “Both of us.”
Calum straightened the papers on his desk. “Well, you needn’t be. I’m doing just fine. Aside from the fact that Sorcha has now apparently moved into my spare room.”
“Aye, you’re doing just fine,” Lewis snarled. “Care to explain why you’re so very interested in a few missing people, then?”
Calum’s chest tightened. “I— I can’t.”
“Look, I understand that you can’t.” Lewis rubbed a hand over his face. “I respect that. But something is eating away at you and the only person you trust is Sorcha. I had to write to her.”
Calum’s ribs constricted further around his heart. He didn’t want to be having this conversation, and it was his own fault it had started to begin with. “Well, that’s not what you came here for, is it? Have you any news?”
With a look of relief on his face, Lewis dug a hand into the pocket of his frock coat and pulled out a piece of paper, passing it over.
Calum pressed his lips together as he examined the letter.
The paper was good stock, and it was made out to Burgess Edzan in a sweeping copperplate.
He turned it over to see a broken red wax seal.
It was impossible to make out the mutilated insignia with any kind of certainty, but it appeared to be some kind of animal head.
Calum frowned. As far as he knew, none of the guilds or merchant families used an animal head as a seal.
He unfolded the letter, his skin turning cold when he read it.
Dear Burgess Edzan,
By now I’m sure you’ve noticed the absence of certain important documents, but do not fear; as long as you vote in favour of the bill that extends harsher penalties to criminals, those documents will be returned to you. If you vote against or abstain, their contents will go to The Times.
So that was what Edzan had been hiding when she’d said she couldn’t think of a reason to harm Gibson.
Had she known that he, too, had received a threatening letter?
Everything about this one was different from Gibson’s, from the quality of the paper to the tone of the letter, which suggested two unrelated letters—or one competent blackmailer.
“Do you know anything about this bill?” he asked. “Harsher penalties for criminals?” He hadn’t seen anything about it in the papers, and it was the sort of thing that would usually make the front page. Politicians always wanted to crow about how they were going to punish criminals.
“I don’t know much.” Lewis leant over, resting his hip against the desk. “What I do know is the burgesses have been holding secret meetings with a member of the public. They’re not even allowing burgesses’ staff in, let alone leaving any records or taking minutes.”
Calum’s stomach dropped. “That’s—where did you hear that?”
“I’ve witnessed them,” Lewis said, his voice quiet.
“Well, sort of. There must be some kind of sound-blocking spells up because I’ve never heard a thing when I’ve tried eavesdropping on the meetings, but I have been able to notice they’ve been having meetings with one person regularly over the last several months. ”
“Legally they can hold private meetings, but the debates and votes have to be public. How—how is that even enforceable?” He turned to Lewis, his own confusion wrought on Lewis’s features.
Lewis shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the copper.”
Calum considered that, rolling the fringe on his kilt between his fingers. “There has to be a record somewhere, otherwise how would we know to enforce it?”
“I think . . . I think what they’re doing is setting up all the legislation without public scrutiny, and then they’ll pass the laws and it’ll take time for the courts to untangle it all.” He tilted his head towards Calum. “Time when your lot are going to be enforcing whatever this is.”
Calum’s insides turned to ice. “They can’t hold that vote until there’s a by-election in Gibson’s ward, can they?”
“No. I heard they’re hoping to do that by Hogmanay.” He frowned. “You don’t think Gibson was killed because of that, do you?”
Calum leant back in his chair, collecting his thoughts before speaking.
“I don’t think he’d have been killed to delay the vote.
If you wanted to stop it going through, you’d kill the person who’s been pushing for it, whoever that is.
And I don’t think he’d have been killed because he was going to vote against it, either.
We already know that whoever is behind this is happy to blackmail and threaten burgesses, and they only need eight votes.
” He picked up a pen and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk, his hand shaking so much it took him two tries.
“Can you describe the person who’s been having these meetings? ”
“I saw him, but I didn’t get a good look. I remember he had brown hair and brown eyes, and was about average height.” He frowned, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m sorry, that’s a terrible description.”
Calum didn’t try to disagree as he recorded Lewis’s paltry report. “Anything else?” Lewis had an eye for faces. It was one of the skills that made him so good at his job. “Any distinguishing features?”
“I only saw him for a second. But he was—beautiful. The kind of face that just makes your heart ache.”
Calum suppressed a sigh. It wasn’t the best description, but it was a start. He flipped over the paper again. As with the blackmail letter Gibson had received, there was no return address or postmark. “And do you know if he’s the one who delivered this?”
“No, it wasn’t him. It was a woman.”
“Did you see her?” Calum asked.
Lewis nodded. “Aye. We were working in Edzan’s office at her house that day, and it has a good view of her front steps.
So of course when I heard the chap at the door, I had a peek through the curtains.
The lassie who delivered the letter was slender, a fair bit shorter than Edzan, with curly ginger hair and dark blue eyes.
She had quite a pointed chin. Oh, and she had some scarring, just here.
” He brushed his fingers over his right cheekbone.
“Very faint, but visible in the sunlight.”
Calum’s stomach plummeted. He couldn’t have described Aly better himself.