“Sir?” It’s Findlay, hurrying over to McCreadie. “I spotted the doctor’s coach around the corner.”
“Good lad,” McCreadie says. “You have keen eyes.”
Findlay glances down and bobs his head. Then he sneaks a look at me as we move away from the body.
“It doesn’t bother you, Miss Catriona?” he asks. “Looking at that?”
“It doesn’t if I remind myself the examination is necessary to find her killer,” I say.
“I suppose so.” He glances back at the corpse and swallows. “I have never seen one so brutalized.”
“This is an extreme case,” McCreadie says. “There is no shame in finding it difficult to look upon her.”
“Try not to think of the body as a person,” I say. “You’ll need to, when you investigate her death, but for now, put that aside if you can.”
Findlay peers at me intently, obviously not expecting these words from Catriona, and I’m wondering whether I went too far when Gray says, “Catriona is very astute. The object behind us is a piece of evidence. The person within is gone. You honor that person by solving her murder, and you needn’t worry about causing insult by examining her remains.”
Gray and McCreadie move away to speak, leaving me with Findlay.
“I heard about your attack Wednesday night,” he says. “I know Detective McCreadie doubted you at first, but he said the feather proves it. I wanted to say that I am sorry, and I hope you are all right.”
“I am, thank you.” I look at the crowd and then back at him. “I am sorry for how I treated you. You’re a good police officer.”
He goes still, and I realize he might think I’m mocking him.
I grimace. “That sounded patronizing. I apologize. I mean it honestly. You’re a good officer, and I endangered that, and I’m sorry. If anything ever comes of what I did, I will take the blame. I’ll tell Detective McCreadie I stole your notes and that’s how I came by the information.”
His gaze moves away as he says, gruffly, “It was my mistake.”
“No, I will fix it, if need be. I mean that, and I am not saying so in hopes of renewing our attachment.”Dear God, no.“I am only trying to make amends.”
I scan the crowd again. “If I may pass on a bit of advice, take note of faces in the crowd. The killer could be here.”
He considers that, again watching me intently. “You have a gift for this. Perhaps more than I.”
Is that jealousy? It doesn’t sound like it. Just an observation.
I shrug. “I have traveled in the circles of criminals. I know their minds. It’s just another way to do detective work. It seems to me that the killer wishes to call attention to himself, first with a bizarre murder and now a horrific one. If that is the case, might he not be here to see his handiwork admired?”
When he doesn’t answer, I say, “It was only a suggestion. After all, I am but a housemaid.”
McCreadie walks over with Gray.
“I thought of taking note of the crowd,” Findlay says to McCreadie. “Being such a gruesome murder, is it possible the killer might be here, watching our horror?”
McCreadie smiles. “That is a capital idea, Colin. Yes, please do that.”
Findlay nods his thanks to me and moves into the crowd.
A coach drawn by two horses clatters down the lane, and as we look up, McCreadie grumbles. “Trust Addington to insist on bringing his coach where it obviously cannot fit.”
Itdoesfit, but only by driving all the foot traffic into side streets and alleyways, the displaced shaking their fists at the passing driver.
“Even if his driver can get in,” I say, “how is he going to get out again?”
“Easy,” McCreadie says. “Addington will expect us to move the body and clear away the crime scene so that he may continue down the lane.”
I try not to blink in horror. A crime scene is about to be destroyed so the coroner can visit in his personal coach.