Is this where he tortured Evans? Pretended he was taking his friend to his apartment and brought him here instead? It’s not as if Evans would know one town house basement from the next. He’d have followed Findlay right inside.
Once Gray is ready, I creep to the stairwell. I was careful before. Now I am ten times more cautious. The worst thing that could happen earlier was that he could have attacked me. Now he has Isla. If I screw up, she’ll pay the price.
I check the lock. It’s the same as the other one. I take the metal rods from my pocket to pick it. Then I pause at a thought, reach a gloved hand out, and turn the knob. The door opens.
Findlay didn’t lock it. Why would he? He managed to get Isla—possibly semiconscious—inside, and that would be a struggle when she’s as tall as he is. Bothering to latch the door afterward would be the last thing on his mind. I’m not sure he’d even see the point. Who’s going to come creeping around? Surely not his victim’s brother and housemaid?
I motion to Gray that the door is unlocked. He comes down the stairs. I don’t need to tell him to move quietly. He’d had that down pat when he crept into Findlay’s apartment, which makes me think he’s done more than help McCreadie with forensics.
I ease open the door so slowly it’s painful, and I swear Gray’s teeth grind in frustration. I strain to listen. A muffled voice sounds. Findlay’s muffled voice, which means it’s coming through a door or wall. I nod and open the door the rest of the way, and we slide inside.
As I shut the door behind us, Gray moves past me. I wildly wave for him to hold up, and to my relief, he does. I tiptoe over and, without me needing to say anything, he bends so I can speak into his ear.
“He’s talking to her,” I whisper. “That means she’s all right. We need to proceed with caution. We have time.”
Gray’s jaw sets. He doesn’t like that. This close to him, I feel both his fear and a coiled energy, a taut spring. He wants to charge in there and free his sister. Yet he knows I’m right, and so he only gives a curt nod.
I squint down the hall. The setup is the same as Findlay’s place, though since it’s a single-family dwelling, the basement seems to be mostly storage. Except his voice comes from our right, from what was the owner’s storage room in his apartment. Both doors along that wall are shut. Light emanates from the second one. I point it out for Gray and get another of those curt nods. He’s already noticed.
As we move, Findlay’s voice comes clearer.
“I’m going to ask you one more time, Isla,” he says. “What is your maid up to?”
Isla’s voice is weak but firm. “And I will say, one more time, that I have no idea. You know her better than I do. She is always up to something, is she not?”
“Who sent you to my rooms? Detective McCreadie? Your brother?”
“Neither. I found the address in Catriona’s room. I was concerned. As you know, she is a former thief, and I feared the address might indicate a future target.”
Silence. In that silence, though, I catch a small intake of breath, and my gut clenches. She isn’t volunteering these answers. He’s torturing her. Each time she doesn’t give him what he wants, he does something, and she’s stifling her cries.
The imposter continues, “McCreadie went to your house for tea. You discussed the case. He said it was only tea, but I know better. He brings Gray into his confidence. Uses him and takes the credit and keeps me out of it.”
“I am certain you could have joined us if you asked.”
“I did ask. He made excuses.”
To protect Findlay. Yes, McCreadie uses Gray’s help, but he’s not doing it to take credit. He’s doing it to avail himself of whatever resources will help solve a crime.
I remember that first night, when he’d been quick to send Findlay off with a coin for a pint. Giving him plausible deniability, should anyone in the department take issue with McCreadie bringing Gray into his investigation.
Did the real Findlay know he was being sidelined? Did he care? The imposter certainly does, because it meant he was kept out of the center of the investigation… into the crimes he was committing.
Findlay continues, “What did he talk about at tea?”
“The investigation.”
A sharp intake of breath then. Her sarcasm earned her a stronger punishment, and this time Gray hears it. His chin shoots up, eyes riveted to the door. As Isla catches her breath inside, Gray starts forward.
I grab his jacket, but he jerks free. I lunge and grab it and wrench him back. He wheels on me, face contorting in a snarl.
“Do you want to get your sister killed?” I whisper as I drag him farther from the door.
The look on his face is enough to make me tense for a blow. It’s a murderous look, as if I’m the one holding his sister hostage, threatening her life.
“I’m sorry, Duncan,” I whisper, abandoning my Catriona voice. “I’m sorry I can’t let you go to your sister. Findlay didn’t just try to strangle me. He murdered Archie Evans. Murdered Rose Wright. Tortured Evans. Mutilated Wright. If you throw open that door, he will hurt her. I will not let you throw open that door. Understand?”
He stares at me, the fury draining from his face, replaced by… Oh, hell, I’m not even sure what replaces it. I only know that in that moment, I am seeing not Catriona’s boss but the man within. I see him, and he sees me, and he blinks and then shakes his head, as if throwing it off.