McCreadie glances at Gray, who has been quietly waiting. “Poor Duncan. Forced to put up with the two of us.”
“Nah, he likes it when there’s someone else for us to talk to. Then instead of us yammering at him and expecting responses, he can turn his mind to more important things.”
“What were you thinking about this time?” McCreadie asks him. “Wound identification? Blood splatter?”
“No, the building that we are about to visit, and what might be the best place to keep a dog, if one has roommates who could object. I noted a small shed to the rear. I believe it once housed chickens, but it seemed empty.”
“See?” I say. “This is why you and I chatter. So Duncan can think excellent thoughts. Let’s go check out the shed.”
As Gray noted, there is a small coop in the apartment courtyard. I’d seen it, but I hadn’t even recognized it as an outbuilding. To me, it looked like a pile of wood stacked against the wall. When I draw near, I can see that the wood—haphazard and rotting as it is—forms a small enclosure that stinks of chickens.
“I will stand guard,” McCreadie says. “Mallory? You may do the honors.”
“Some detective you are,” I say. “More worried about your fine coat than finding the truth.”
“Those are fighting words,” he says.
“Gonna fight me for the right to dive into a filthy coop?”
“Oh, no. I am on to your little scheme. You challenge me, and then ‘lose’ to me, but the real loser is the person who?—”
“Duncan,” I say as I leap into his path. “You are not going in there. Do you know who caught hell when you tore your last pair of trousers on a case? Not you.”
“I thought I might speed this along. I will handle Mrs. Wallace.”
“Nope.” I lift a hand. “I was just needling Hugh. I will examine the coop. Because I”—I look at McCreadie—“am a properly dedicated detective.”
Before they can argue, I’m at the makeshift coop, and the smell . . .
In this part of the Old Town, the very air is enough to turn my stomach. The fact I can actually smell the chicken coop proves just how bad it is.
I pull a handkerchief from my pocket and fashion a makeshift mask. Then when I dare to inhale again, I open the door on the tiny coop and?—
The smell rushes out, and I gag. When I rock back, Gray catches me.
“Allow me,” he says. “Please.”
“No, I’ve got it.”
McCreadie calls, “Do not get in the way of Mallory proving she is capable.”
“May I point out that I have been experimenting on decaying corpses for nearly a decade?” Gray says.
A young woman passing toward the rear door stops short and slowly turns our way.
“Doctor!” I call to her. “He’s a doctor!”
She hurries inside and firmly shuts the door behind her.
“Decaying corpses and infected wounds,” Gray says. “I can stomach the smell.”
“I know,” I say. “But Mrs. Wallace has had no reason to give me shit for three days and ten hours. Please, just let me have this.”
He sighs. “I will speak to Mrs.—”
“No. I have this. All of it.”
