THIRTY-SEVEN
I lied to Isla. Well, half a lie. I do plan to search Findlay’s apartment. I’m just not waiting until morning.
Part of that is to avoid taking her. I can’t afford to be locked in a battle of wills I might not win. More importantly, I am on a schedule here, and I have no damned idea what that schedule is.
The killer is now copying the murders of Jack the Ripper. He’s taken victim one, and he’ll take victim two exactly the right number of days later. The bastard is nothing if not precise. I hear the relentlesstick-tickof that clock, which would be so much more helpful if I could see its damned face.
Was it two days between the first and second Ripper murders? Five days? A week? I have racked my brain for this information and found nothing. I do know that the next murder will be worse. They will all be worse. The clock is ticking, and there’s a bomb on the other end of it, and I cannot sleep knowing another innocent woman might die.
I argue with the impulse. Isn’t there another way? I stabbed the killer twice. Why not test that with Findlay? Find an excuse to grab his arm and see if he flinches. In a penny dreadful, that would be the solution, but in real life, it’s not good enough. I can use those stab wounds as proof—maybe to convince McCreadie—but I need more first.
Would it not be better to search Findlay’s apartment tomorrow while he is at work? He isn’t known for going out in the evenings. Yes, but that’sFindlay, not the imposter, who will be hunting for his next victim, whether he kills her tonight or not.
But if he is planning to take a victim tonight, I’ll already be too late to stop him. True, but what if it’s tomorrow night? I have no idea how long it’ll take to convince McCreadie that his constable is a murderer.
In the end, there’s no reasoning with myself. All that is drowned out by the ticking of the clock. I must try to get answers tonight, so that whether I’m right or wrong, I can plow forward to the next step first thing tomorrow.
I don’t wait for late night. I move my coat behind a bush outside the rear door. Then I read in my room until darkness fully falls before I slip downstairs.
I’m on the steps, passing the second level, when a door opens.
“Catriona?”
It’s Gray.
“Apologies if I disturbed you, sir. I know it is late. I was peckish and thought I might see if Mrs. Wallace left anything in the kitchen.”
“Excellent idea,” he says, stepping into the stairwell. “I quite forgot to ask for a biscuit before she went up to bed. We shall raid the pantry together.”
I hesitate, but before I can think up an excuse, he’s passing me. I follow him down into the kitchen. Once there, he heads straight for a small wooden box. He opens it and deflates.
“Sir?” I say. “There is a bit of leftover cake here.”
He turns so sharply you’d think I’d discovered a book on sixteenth-century fingerprinting techniques, and I have to bite back a smile as I hold out the plate. He takes it and then pauses, looks down at it, and opens a drawer.
“We’ll divide it,” he says.
“That isn’t necessary, sir.”
He finds a knife and then hesitates again over the slice of cake, as if trapped between the desire to be fair and the desire to eat the whole thing.
I take the knife from him, murmuring, “If I may.”
I cut off less than a quarter for myself. “That is all I require. I will leave you to your evening—”
“Not yet. Eat your cake, Catriona. I wish to speak to you.”
When I pause, his brows knit. Then a look of horror passes through his dark eyes. “If you think I am attempting anything untoward, I assure you—”
“No, no. You give me no concern on that front, Dr. Gray.”
And that’s a damn shame.
The thought comes unbidden, and I shove it back with as much horror as he just felt. Still, I can’t deny just a prickle of regret that Gray looks at me and sees only his teenage housemaid, while I look at him, leaning against the countertop, nibbling his cake, hair tumbling over his forehead, collar unbuttoned, ink spotting one cheek…
I sigh to myself and then I straighten.
Before I can speak, he says, “Good. I know it is awkward to have me seek your company, when you are a young lady in my employ, but you need never worry on that count. What I wish to discuss is the case.”