Chapter Ten

McCreadie is busy verifying Selim's alibi. That leaves Gray and me on crime-scene investigation, and we now have two crime scenes to investigate. We start with the one in the tunnel.

"This is most unusual," Gray says as I lead him in after returning to my earlier tunnel-traversing wardrobe tweaks.

"The kids don't know the original purpose," I say. "How old would the houses here be?"

"Not old enough to have a network of secret tunnels beneath them. Those are generally for escape in a time of war or persecution. That would not apply to wealthy New Town families."

"The rich are only persecuted in their own minds."

I get a soft laugh from him for that.

"True," he says. "Every time there is talk of reform, the wealthy do indeed rise up, decrying their persecuted state. Somehow, though, I don't think they were constructing tunnels to escape mobs of the poor."

"Nah, they already did that by building the New Town. Keep the rabble safely across the Mound. What about other reasons for escape tunnels? When would the last battle have been on Scottish soil? Culloden?"

His expression turns somber as he nods. "Yes, and while the Jacobites certainly had tunnels and such, Culloden predated the New Town by twenty years."

"Are subbasements normal around here?"

"In some homes, yes. That is a question to add to the list. Do the other houses in this row have them? And if not, why does Sir Alastair's?"

"They needed a subbasement to get deep enough to build a tunnel. How long has Sir Alastair lived here?"

"It was his childhood home. I am not certain how long it was in the family before that."

"The tunnels have been here long enough for some to cave in," I say.

"Did they cave in? Or were they false starts? Attempts that went through unstable ground?"

"Good point," I say. "And good questions, which may or may not have anything to do with our case. Though it does seem young Mr. Awad encountered our killer."

"If he is not the killer himself."

"I am considering that," I say as I pause to peer into a shallow side-corridor. "We'll need to verify his timeline. Just because he was knocked out doesn't mean he wasn't the killer. Or aiding and abetting the killer. At this point, the suspect list covers just about everyone."

"Even me?"

"You already admitted to having a grudge against the deceased."

"It was not a grudge," Gray says. "He was simply one of several who refused to admit me after I dug up a body without permission."

"Because you dug up a body? Or because you were bonking his sister?"

Behind me, Gray makes a strangled noise.

I glance back. "You weren't bonking her?"

"I… I am not familiar with the word."

"Oh, I'm sure you can figure it out."

I resume walking as Gray clears his throat.

"Yes, I had a relationship with his sister," he says. "I was young, and she was recently widowed, and it was…"

"Consensual and mutually beneficial. No judgment here. The point is that Sir Alastair seems to have judged plenty. What his widowed sister did with her days—and nights—was none of his business, but he made it his business and unfairly blamed you. While it's probably not a motive for murder, I'll still need to be sure you didn't sneak off on Isla this afternoon and murder him."

"I know you are joking, but I suddenly find myself frantically trying to recall whether Isla can confirm my whereabouts the entire time we were gone."

I glance back again. "I am joking. As for Sir Alastair's widowed sister, I'm very sorry if that was part of the reason you were refused your license."

"It played a role, I suspect. I was young and less discreet than I should have been."

"On that note, I should take advantage of this conversation to mention something even more awkward that I've been keeping from you."

"Please tell me it is something that casts you in an equally embarrassing light."

"An affair between consenting adults isn't cause for embarrassment, Gray. And my confession is actually about that."

"You've… had an affair? While here?"

"Seriously? When would I have the time? Like I've said before, that is not on my list of coveted Victorian experiences. The affair is yours. Was yours, I mean. Catriona had a letter in her room that she'd intercepted. It was for you."

"A letter… for me?"

"From a Lady Inglis. I think Catriona stole it from the incoming mail, opened it, and thought it might come in handy, if she ever needed to hold something over your head. I'm sorry."

"She found proof of an affair between a bachelor and a widow? I expected Catriona would have higher standards for extortion material."

"It was… Er, so, I apologize in advance. I only read enough to figure out what it was. It seems Lady Inglis wanted to woo you back with, er, detailed descriptions of what you were, umm, missing. After your breakup."

Another of those strangled noises.

"I really didn't read more than a line or two," I say quickly, without looking back at him. "And I'm sorry I saw that much. I hated reading your mail, however inadvertently, and I hated holding on to it, but I couldn't figure out how to return it without you realizing Catriona had it. Super awkward. So I'm leaping on a vaguely adjacent conversation to confess and promise it back."

I turn back to the tunnel, and we walk in silence until Gray says, "Yes, this is exceptionally embarrassing. For both of us. I am sorry you had to find that. But you may dispose of it."

"I really should give it back—"

"I would rather you didn't. I will be happier not knowing what was in it… and what parts you might have read."

"Nothing scandalous. I could just tell more was coming and closed it fast."

"Hmm. Well, still, if you would burn it, I would appreciate that. It would only be the reminder of a mistake…" He inhales. "Let us leave it at that, as I am certain you are as eager to drop this conversation as I am."

"Yep."

"Burn it. Please."

"Done. And, would you look at that. We've reached the spot where we found Mr. Awad. Never thought we'd get here, did you?"

He lets out a soft chuckle. "It was a very long walk."

"Shit!" I turn toward him. "Mr. Awad said he ducked into another passageway and then presumably the killer hid in this one to ambush him. That means the one where Mr. Awad hid would be the way we just came."

"We passed one a few feet back."

We retreat to it, and I bend with the lantern, remembering at the last second that this flips up my skirts at the back, and I need to adjust. There are clear footprints in the silt and soil. The central part of the tunnel is too rocky to show prints, but the dirt is softer here because no one comes into this short passage, which is collapsed after about two meters.

Gray sketches the footprint while I do some makeshift measurements using tape I commandeered from a sewing kit. That's all we find in here. A few footprints, some clear and some scuffed, matching Selim's story that he ducked in here to spook the children.

"The presumed killer was loaded down with a bundle of bones," I say. "Did he have a light?"

Gray takes the lantern and extinguishes it, plunging us into blackness. "I would say yes."

"He had a light, and Mr. Awad must have had at least a match. We'll need to ask. Mr. Awad would have put his light out. Can you ignite that again please and walk down the tunnel? I want to test what I'd see."

"Pass me matches, and I will light it again."

When I don't answer, Gray says, "I am teasing, Mallory." He lights the lantern. "I saw you put down the matches after you lit it. You need to take them with you, in case it goes out."

He backs down the hall. I stand where it seems Selim did, according to the footprints. The problem with our test, of course, is that we don't know what kind of light the intruder had or how they were carrying it, but it wouldn't have been anything larger than a lantern, and Gray gamely emulates how he might hold that with an armful of bundled body parts.

He carries the lantern in the hand closest to me. That would be the left hand, and odds are the person was right-handed, but it provides maximum illumination from my angle.

At maximum illumination, with the lantern in his left hand, angled to shine brightest, all I can see is Gray's sleeve, left shoulder and left hip. Even when I try to look up toward his face, the shadows hide it. I have an impression of a dark-clothed figure carrying an armload of something. As Selim said, I could better describe that armload than the figure itself. I couldn't guess at gender, skin color, hair color, or anything else.

We try the experiment with the lantern in his other hand, in case the reduced illumination actually makes it easier to see more of Gray. It doesn't. I take the lantern and test it with Gray watching.

"I can tell you are in a dress," he says, "and that it is greenish blue. If you had your crinolines on, I would be able to tell you were a woman by the shape."

"But not a maid wearing lesser skirts. Or a lady who'd removed them."

"Yes. And if you were wearing a cloak, the only part of you I might see is your hand. We will have to ask Mr. Awad about that."

"Right. Seeing the hand would suggest skin tone and possibly sex. Unless it's gloved."

"Which could still suggest sex, depending on the glove. Otherwise, his claim that he saw mostly the bundle of supposed sticks is supported by the evidence."

I take one last look around, but there's nothing else to see here. It was mostly about confirming that Selim's story was, at least, plausible. Now it's back to the other caved-in partial tunnel, where he'd been left.

The marks in the dirt here also support his story. Again, the middle is too trodden to pick out footsteps, but at the entrance to the side tunnel, drag marks show where his unconscious body had been moved from where he fell in the main tunnel.

"The question then," I say, "is how strong does one need to be to drag a person Mr. Awad's size." I eye Gray. "You're slightly bigger than he is, so back at the house, I need to see whether I can drag you the right distance."

"The conditions will be different." Gray lowered himself to one knee. "To replicate them as closely as possible, you must drag me here. In the other direction, of course, to avoid disturbing the initial marks."

"I am not dragging you along the floor in your party best, Gray. Mrs. Wallace would kill you."

"Not if I blame you."

I sputter. "Blame me? What did I do, knock you down and drag you?"

"Exactly so. As she has long feared, you intended to do something nefarious with me, knocked me down and dragged me through the muck. I escaped, luckily."

"You joke, but she might actually believe that."

Gray is already lying on his back.

"For science," he says, and lifts his hand for me to grab.

I could argue that Selim's attacker probably dragged him by his jacket, but if it was a woman, she'd have struggled to bend that far in a corset. She really would need to drag him by the arms. I grab and heave. It's not easy, but the dirt seems to help, and I can indeed drag him the correct distance.

"Someone my strength could do it," I say. "With rest breaks, someone slightly smaller could also do it. It would also be easier if I were wearing my maid corset, being less restrictive. Again, then, if the culprit is a woman, it's unlikely to be someone like Lady Christie… unless she switched out her usual corset."

Gray gets up and dusts himself off as I begin taking a closer look for footprints. He joins me, but soon says, "There are far too many."

"Yep," I say. "From Michael running in there, and then me, and then Hugh, and then you…"

I don't grumble about that. We'd found someone in distress—no one was thinking about preserving the scene, and even if I had thought of it, I'd have put Selim first. Otherwise I might have been investigating another murder instead of an assault.

"I'll sketch the imprints I can make out," I say.

He plucks the paper from my hand.

"Hey, my sketches are fine," I say. "It's my handwriting that's the problem."

"It is your handwriting that is the greater problem."

"Are you insulting my manual dexterity? I'll have you know that I have a seventy-words-a-minute typing speed, even on a cell phone."

"I am sure that is impressive," he says. "However, having nothing that requires those skills in this world, I would suggest you practice more with a pen and pencil. I will sketch the prints. You will measure them."

"Yes, sir."

As we do that, we look for other signs of trace evidence in the tunnel. I find a few hairs, and I do take them, but I suspect they belong to Selim, having come from approximately where his head was lying.

Once that's done, we continue on down the tunnel. There isn't much farther to go before we reach a rusted ladder. Gray examines it.

"Old," he says. "We shall need someone to take a better look, but I would say this ladder predates the current residents."

I'd agree. Even in these damp conditions, it wouldn't rust so badly in a decade or two.

"I will ascend first," Gray says. "As you will have difficulty in those—"

I grab the ladder. He sighs behind me.

"I was merely being chivalrous," he says.

"By leaving me below, in a dark tunnel frequented by killers? You just wanted to be first up the ladder."

Once I start climbing, I realize he actually had a point. Even without the cage, my dress is not meant for climbing. Also, I'm wearing crotchless underwear. All bloomers in this time are crotchless, and when I feel that tickle of air, I'm reminded of it… and the fact Gray is below me. Luckily, he's too much of a gentleman to look up my skirts.

With far too much effort, I reach the top. It's a hatch with no sign of a handle, so I give it a shove and it pops open. An oath erupts from above as the hatch clatters open. I look up to see two men in constable uniforms. One I recognize as Iain, a young Highlander who has helped us before. As I climb from the hatch, the other officer gapes at me, and I realize I might not be exactly what he expects to see emerging from a subterranean lair.

Iain grins as he leaps forward to help me out. "Greetings, Miss Mallory."

"Greetings to you as well," I say. "Lovely evening for a tunnel crawl, is it not?"

His grin grows, and he lifts the lantern to survey me. "That's a fine dress you're wearing this evening, Miss Mallory."

I twirl my skirts. "Isn't it just? I had it specially made for fleeing through filthy tunnels. The color goes so well with dirt."

His companion's gaze glides over me, and I realize my joke could be taken for flirting. Damn it. Back in my time, colleagues would know I was goofing around. Here, in Catriona's body, with guys who are not actually my colleagues, it's a very different thing. Hell, as Catriona, I only need to breathe deeply, and my heaving bosom can be interpreted as flirtation.

I glance back at the hatch. "Dr. Gray. There you are. Took you a while, sir."

"I have no idea why," he grumbles. "It is not as if there was someone above me, with dirty boots, clods falling on my head." He gives himself a shake and looks around. "I presume Hugh sent you, Iain?"

"He did." Iain lifts a satchel and a suitcase. "Came to fetch Mr. Awad's bags."

"They were right here then? Where he said he left them?"

"They were."

"All right. If you can return those, Miss Mallory and I will take a look around. We will close the hatch when we are done and come around the street way."

"You… may want to shake some of the dirt from your clothing before you do."

Gray sighs. "Of course. Thank you, gentlemen."