“Yes. It scared me, but I couldn’t tell you why. It just didn’t look natural. I kept it on the body so the doctor could look at it. I also made a note to bring it up to the chief, but when I got back to the office, the case was declared an accident and closed. The doctor assigned to look at the body was only to do a surface examination. And that was the last I heard of it, until you showed up today.”
Agent Anderson wrote down a few more notes, then capped his fountain pen. “Did you keep the glove? Is it in evidence?”
Price shrugged. “The doctor might know. He handled all Mr. Gilbert’s personal effects.”
Cole bit back a groan. No matter how scared this officer had been, why had he been reticent to catalog relevant evidence? He shoved his papers into his satchel then held out his hand to Price. “I appreciate your help today, Deputy Price. And for sharing these details.”
“Do you think he was murdered, sir?” Price shook Cole’s hand.
Cole picked a nonexistent piece of lint off his hat. How to answer? Especially when he was sure the two officers were hiding something. Best to tread carefully. “Hard to say. There is evidence that points to the conclusion your department came to. And evidence to the contrary. I hope to come to a solid conclusion in the next day or two.”
The officer tugged his helmet on, the Denver police emblem gleaming in the afternoon light streaming through the window. With a brief nod in Cole’s direction, he vacated the small interview room.
Cole stood in silence for a moment, his thoughts scattered in a dozen different ways. Cagey police officers. The glove of a mysterious lady.
Where had he heard that before?
No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was important.
Another case, maybe?
A long time ago...
Of course.
A man stabbed and left to the wildlife. With a white glove on his chest.
Cole sucked in a breath.
If his instincts were correct, this was a much bigger case than just Edwin Gilbert’s death.
Seven
“I want to be inspired to rise above these little mean things like jealousy and resentment.”
~Earl Douglass
SUNDAY, APRIL21, 1889•TRINITYMETHODISTEPISCOPALCHURCH
Oh, the joys of living amongst imbeciles.
Choosing her next prey should be easy enough. Especially from this crowd.
Watching the parishioners from her seat near the center, she kept her ears attuned to the chatter around her.
Whatever possessed people to believe in a higher being on Sundays and then act like heathens the rest of the week? Why not skip the performance and do what they wanted to do?
It’s not like they were nice to one another outside of this building. They weren’t even all that niceinsidethe building. But they put forth an effort toseemnice.
As if to prove her point, the women behind her were talking about the reverend’s wife and how horrid she looked in thecolor she’d chosen to wear that morning. Of note was the almost delight in their tones as they gossiped. Two men in front of her spoke about the disgrace of one of their fellow bankers who’d been discovered at a brothel. The glint in their eyes told her all she needed to know about their own indiscretions.
The group across the aisle were talking about how shallow the Sunday School lesson had been and why couldn’t their church hire decent help these days.
As if they understood their Bibles all that well. She knew what they did outside of this place.
If she wasn’t keeping up her own façade, she’d laugh at them right now. But this congregation had been useful to her over the years.
The best information was found here among the elite. In their place of so-called worship.
