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His lips quirk a little. “Two spinsters, sadly unable to find husbands, forced to live out their lives, just the two of them. Yes, that is quite how it is in this time. It is one of the few things women have easier than men. If two bachelor friends live together, everyone suspects they are homosexuals, even if they are not. Two women?”
“The poor old dears. At least they have each other.”
“Precisely, and to answer your question, yes, that is what Annis and Sarah could do, particularly now that Annis is widowed. It does not mean I think shehasmurdered Gordon, but it provides motivation.”
Gray and I stand in silence at the poison-garden fence. Then his head jerks up.
“Oh!” he says. “I quite forgot why I came in such a rush. Bloody hell. Hugh will be waiting and…” He shakes it off. “Come. Simon has watered Folly, and the coach is the fastest way there.”
“The fastest way where?”
“To the police office. A woman was caught sneaking into the Burns house this morning to fetch clothing.”
“Ah. Mrs. Burns, I presume.”
“Yes.” A dramatic pause. “ThefirstMrs. Burns.”
THIRTY-ONE
We’re at McCreadie’s police office. It’s in the higher-income end of the district where the Burnses live—which is why it caught the case. The lead detective—Crichton—is also the asshole who took the lead on the raven killer case after McCreadie worked the first murder.
Okay, I can’t say for sure that the lead detective is an asshole. I’ve never met him. I have seen him speak, though, pompously addressing the press, and I’ve certainly heard Gray’s opinion of him. McCreadie is more circumspect, and I give him full credit for that.
I won’t say McCreadie only cares about solving the case. That’d be disingenuous. Like me, McCreadie is ambitious. But like me, he’s decided that the best way to get ahead is to do the work and prove himself. While it’s not the fastest ladder up, it is the steadiest.
McCreadie is the kind of guy that senior officers love to bring on their team, because he works hard and lets them take the credit. That means he’s the first to be pulled onto a high-profile case, which suits him just fine.
When we enter the station, Crichton is nowhere to be found. Thankfully, he’s off doing actual case work. While I’d offered to try convincing Addington to let us exhume Burns, Detective Crichton has taken on the task. He has acknowledged that Addington is wrong about it being arsenic, and while he’s not certain about this “thallium nonsense,” the arsenic error should be enough to get the body exhumed. Whether Addington agrees is a whole other matter, and it will likely need to go over his head,which will be awkward. If Detective Crichton is handling that, then he’s doing exactly what I’d want from my superior officer—to tackle the political wrangling while I pursue leads.
On the way to the police office, I explained what we found at Ware’s office. Simon has dropped us off outside the back door, and Gray ushers me into a room where McCreadie is waiting. I quickly bring him up to date.
“So of our four victims,” McCreadie says, “we have a gravedigger, a solicitor who worked with funerary clients, and an earl who invested in the funerary business. I like that a lot better than the ‘murderous wives’ theory.”
“Agreed,” Gray says. “Though if this Cyrus Morris fellow saw Annis at Mr. Ware’s office, a new theory may not clear her of suspicion.”
“It will shift the motive from personal to professional, while making her responsible for more than her husband’s death.” McCreadie glances at me. “Do you see something there that I am missing? A reason Annis would murder a gravedigger and a salesman?”
“No,” I say. “But we’d need to link Burns to the other three to know whatanyone’smotive could be. I know he got himself in hot water with some shady deals, and I know the funerary business can be shady, apologies to Dr. Gray.”
“None needed,” Gray murmurs. “I am well aware of the problems in my profession. It is too easy to take advantage of the grieving.”
“Do you have copies of the legal cases against Burns?” I ask McCreadie.
“They were delivered this morning. I was already going to suggest that you speak to the first Mrs. Burns alone, as you seem to put women at ease. Why don’t you do that while Duncan and I read through the legal cases?”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The first Mrs. Burns still goes by that name. The marriage might have been illegal, but her children deserve their father’s surname as a shield of legitimacy in a world that requires it.
Gray said Mrs. Burns was discovered sneaking into her former spouse’s apartment. More accurately, she had not “snuck” but walked straight in, under the guise of being a neighbor fetching a pot that the second Mrs.Burns had borrowed. She’d been caught gathering clothing and then claimed it was hers, stolen by her former husband for his new wife.
The first Mrs. Burns—Clara—is being held in a tiny room, not unlike the sort where I’ve interviewed witnesses and suspects. I enter carrying a tray with a teapot.
“Mrs. Burns, ma’am?” I say.
The woman at the table looks about forty, which I’ve come to realize for the Victorian poor means she’s probably closer to thirty. She’s trim and pleasant looking with gray-streaked dark hair and a smile that is both kind and wry, as if she’s nothing more than a wee bit embarrassed at being taken into police custody.
“I’m Mallory,” I say. “I have been asked to bring you tea and sit with you until Detective McCreadie is finished with his business.”
