“Dognapping.” She jots the word down. “I like that.”
“He may also have wandered away to die.” I pause. “The dog. Not the watchman.”
She gives me a hard look. “Bobby has not gone to die. If you do discover him dead, he perished in the act of saving a small child.”
“But no small child was saved.”
“Because the child never realized the danger. However, a witness, who is humble and shy and wishes to remain anonymous, clearly saw the dog bump the child before the horse hit him. Then, being a small dog, the horse and coach driver never noticed poor Bobby, and he ended up in a ditch, forgotten, until you found him.”
I open my mouth to argue, but a look from Gray stops me. When it comes to the chronicles, we have veto power, and so this is a battle we can wage later, if needed.
“Possibility one.” Jack lifts her paper. “The day watchman did the deed. Possibility two, Bobby perished in an act of bravery. Possibility three . . .”
I shake my head. “That’s not how we work. We need evidence before we hammer out theories. We’ve considered both a natural death and a devious watchman, because we know Bobby was ailing and the watchman disliked him. More theories require more evidence, which is going to require more interviews.”
“Did you examine the scene of the crime?” she asks.
“We only found a spot on the gravestone, where Bobby scratched ‘Help! I have been stolen by Sam P. McKay!’ but . . .” I shrug. “I have no idea what that means.”
At her sigh, I say, “We examined the spot where he usually sleeps, but if he was taken, the dognapper left no evidence. I’m not sure what kind of evidence there could be.”
“Blood.”
“It rained yesterday. All day. Rained some the day before, too. But we still looked at the grave and the surrounding area. Nothing. It really will come down to interviews. There are regulars in the kirkyard. The woman who brought us the case is reluctant to introduce us to any, but I think I can figure it out myself. I’ll do that tomorrow.”
“Or you could just ask me.”
I frown at her. “Ask you what?”
She sighs. “Who the ‘Bobby enthusiasts’ are. I know one.”
My brows shoot up. “You do?”
She gives me a haughty look. “I was Edinburgh’s foremost reporter of criminal activities.”
“You gave yourself that title.”
“Advertising. And there is always truth in advertising.”
“Oh? Tell that to the fellow who tried to sell me a rat-fur muff claiming it was beaver straight from the wilds of Canada.”
“I was Edinburgh’s foremost reporter of criminal activities. As such, I know people, which I have said many times. You simply have not needed to take me up on the offer, as you have been off chasing cases in the Highlands without me.” She peers at me. “I am trying not to take that personally.”
“You did help me with the printer one. The blackmail case.”
“Which you would not allow me to report on to protect the lady in question. So you owe me this one.” She taps her paper.
“I believe you mentioned a contact?” Gray says. He’s been quietly letting us natter, but now it’s time to steer this conversation back on track.
“I did,” Jack says. “She is my primary contact in Greyfriars.” A hard look at me. “Because, as a reporter of criminal activity, I would naturally have cultivated a contact there. I will introduce you to her tonight.”
Chapter Seven
Gray is not delighted to be heading out again. No, strike that. He is not delighted at the prospect of me heading out with Jack, alone, at night, to the Old Town. I don’t think he fully trusts her yet. Early in our acquaintance, she disappeared during a case. I understand why—she’d been taken captive, and that trauma made her want to get as far away as possible, even if it meant leaving us in the lurch without a victim to back up our story.
Gray struggles with the idea that someone as confident as Jack would flee. I get it, though. Jack has affected a persona that protects her as well as Gray’s own armor protects him. She had been traumatized, and she’d fled before anyone saw how much it affected her.
If I’m going out at night, Gray wants to be there. Jack argues that his presence will change the tenor of the interview, and her contact won’t talk to us. I solve the problem by giving Gray permission to do what he’d likely have done anyway—shadow me to watch my back. We had problems with that early on. If Gray didn’t shadow me himself, he sent Simon. We’ve agreed that it won’t happen again but . . . Well, I suspect Gray would have just found some personal business that required him to cross the Mound tonight.
