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Jeffers had the evidence bag for the ring they’d found at the scene.
“What are you doing?” Anne demanded.
“Here you go, Spencer.” Jeffers tossed the bag onto the table. “You try that pretty little ring on, and we’ll let you come down to the morgue with us for a good up-close look at our vic.”
William stared at the ring uncertainly.
“You don’t have to do that,” Anne said. “Jeffers, we can’t make him do that.”
“He can choose to do it,” Jeffers said.
“It’s coercion.”
“He said he wanted to help. We’re not forcing him to do anything.” Jeffers crossed his arms and shrugged. “Go ahead. Help.”
Anne opened her mouth to argue policy once more, but William was opening the bag. He took the ring, examined it for a moment, and then slipped it on.
Chapter Six
It didn’t fit.
The damned ring that William had been worried about for days now didn’t fit. It wasn’t even close. He gave it a push, just for show, as he looked that weasel Jeffers in the eye.
“Looks like I’m not your Cinderella. Hate to disappoint.”
“It’s too small,” Anne muttered. William tried not to be too disappointed with her tone. She’d clearly believed that William had been involved in this murder somehow.
“So what? He could’ve gained weight,” Jeffers said.
“Excuse you. Rude,” William objected.
“No, he hasn’t,” Anne argued. “He lost weight in prison. An alarming amount.”
William’s brows shot up. She looked at him and shrugged, as if to say, “You obviously did. You could slice me in half with your cheekbones.”
“That’s settled then. It’s not even circumstantial evidence,” Anne said. “It’s just a ring that looked like your ring.”
“A ring that looks a lot like my ring.” William handed it back to Anne. “Honestly, mine’s probably slipped off in my hotel room somewhere. I reckon I could give you the name of the jeweler who made mine, but we’re talking about a shop in 1970s London. Might not exist anymore. People buy everything online these days though so it could’ve come from anywhere.”
“I don’t think it could possibly be a coincidence that it looks exactly like yours.” Anne sealed the ring in the evidence bag. “I’ll have to think about it more. For now, though, you’re coming with us, right?”
She looked at Jeffers, who had a fairly constipated look about him, but he nodded anyway. What could the man do? William’s alibi checked out. The ring didn’t fit. That last part seemed a good bit of luck since William had been genuinely concerned seeing the picture of it. Up close though, he could tell that the engraving of the fleur-de-lis wasn’t as intricate as his own, and it was too newly made. William had been rubbing his thumb over that pattern since he was nineteen years old.
William felt three feet taller, though he already towered over his little Anne and her lapdog Jeffers. He didn’t know how the latter would be able to explain how he’d dragged a local entrepreneur through the station in handcuffs and then escorted him down to look at evidence. William was just disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to see the fallout.
Once there, Jeffers led the way inside. There were several people in the morgue, including a dusky skinned man with a thick beard, thick hair on top of his head, large eyes, and an easy grin. He talked to the others in attendance around a table littered with takeout.
“Hey, Sutton. Thought you got lost,” he said easily. William raised a brow, but he approved, in general. The man sounded English, possibly from Essex.
“Or dead,” one of the young women joked.
“Cute.” Anne pointed to William. “This is William Spencer. He’s working with us on the investigation. This is Dr. Dev Shaw. He’s the head of this department.”
“And these are my minions!” he said cheerfully and gave William a wave. Then, to Anne and Jeffers, “You got the report, yes?”
“We got it, but we wanted to do a second check over the body, if you don’t mind. Testing out a theory,” Anne said.
Dr. Shaw didn’t seem offended. He shrugged and led the way into the morgue. It was unnervingly cold in there but, of course, it would be.
