I said, “There’s your suspect.”
Constable Alte-Jungfer gaped at me. “A woman did this?”
“Unless a man somehow got inside the house and up here past my husband’s men and a dozen Apprentices, this was done by someone already inside.” I considered the matter. “No one saw her leave?”
“None of the Apprentices say so. They claim they were in the laboratory downstairs.”
“So either they murdered him together,” I said, “or she simply walked past everyone after committing the deed herself.” I turned to survey the room. The windows were locked from the inside; no scuff marks were to be seen. And this was the second floor. “Check for damage to the outside, just to be sure. But that maid — if so she be — is the one you’re after.”
The Constables nodded.
I threaded past them and down the stairs to the parlor. The Apprentices stood when I entered. “Good day, sirs. My condolences upon your loss.”
The men murmured their thanks, faces downcast.
“As our Inventor is his kin, my husband has declared this a Family matter. He’s tasked me with speaking to you.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I’d decided to make it so. “We’ll learn who did this.”
Relief crossed the men’s faces.
“Please sit. I must ask about your maid. Who is she? What did she look like? When was she hired, and who checked her references?”
As the men began to speak, the story unfolded:
The woman called herself Miss Nola Rank. The maid before had fallen ill and died. The death had been sudden and unexpected, but she was an older woman, and no real investigation had been made.
Miss Nola had been recommended to Inventor Call by someone he knew on Market Center. She was around forty, dark of skin with pale blue eyes, like Inventor Call.
Like many in this city, particularly Spadros quadrant.
Miss Nola had been a good maid and a better cook. And no one saw her go.
“Thank you, sirs,” I said, “You’ve been most helpful.”
I went to the front hall, where a young Constable stood. “I’d like to speak with the Inventor now.”
“But —” He looked upstairs, to where Constable Alte-Jungfer stood on the landing.
The man said, “I’ll show you the way.”
He came down the stairs and led me to what looked like it had once been a study, but had been turned into a small meeting room. The room held a rectangular table with fourteen straight-backed armless chairs around it.
Monte sat upon a sofa at the near end, head in his hands. He’d been cleaned up, and had fresh clothing on, yet his cheeks were streaked with tears. He leapt to his feet when I entered. “Have you learned anything? No one will speak to me.”
“I have, sir. Come, let’s sit.”
We sat, the Constable pulling over a chair for me.
I said, “Tell me about your maid.”
Monte had little to add, other than that the woman seemed to always be listening at doors. “I told Inventor Call about it, but he seemed to pay it no mind.”
“Any idea as to where he hired her?”
“Miss Anna knew the woman. She’d worked as a maid for one of the hospitals.” He frowned. “In Spadros, I believe. In any case, she got moved onto their distribution warehouse on the island. That’s how they met, or so the Inventor said. Miss Nola came in one day curious as to the medicaments, and they struck up a friendship.”
This had to have been planned: Anna Goren could befriend a rock.
Could this Nola Rank have killed her as well? The knives looked remarkably similar. I turned to the Constable. “There’s a case just like this on Market Center. Anna Goren, the Inventor’s betrothed. You must contact the Constable on that case, check the fingerprints and any evidence —”
“But how do you —?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m telling you, these cases are related.”
An instant of anger flashed past his eyes. The Constable took a step back. “If you say so, mum.”
“I do.” I took a deep breath, feeling shaky, recalling Anna’s dead face. She’d been surprised, too. “Have them ask about any women in the area the night of her death.”
“I will, mum.” He went to the door, called to someone. A younger Constable came to the door. They had a hushed discussion.
While they spoke, Monte said, “Do you think she did this?”
I sighed. “It’s likely.”
“But why? There was no reason to kill him.”
There was too much coincidence, them both asking to see me urgently then being found dead, presumably by the same hand. “Did he mention any news? Anything he felt excited to share?”
“He did, at our last meeting. Yesterday. He said that from all the evidence, a piling lay under the Cathedral.”
In all the years I’d lived there, I’d never seen anything to suggest that. “Did he say where?”
The younger Constable left, and the older one returned to his chair.
“No,” Monte said. “But he said he had new findings which corroborated that.”
Constable Alte-Jungfer leaned forward. “What findings?”
“I don’t know. When we were talking, he held up a notebook —”
Anna’s notebook? Had he deciphered it?
“— that he said proved it.”
I said, “Did you get a look at it? What did it say?”
“It was old, brown leather. What little I saw looked like symbols, but he had a whole other notebook — a new one, bound in green board — full to the brim.”
“We must find it.” I turned to the Constable, dread rising within me. “My guess is she came for those notebooks. Perhaps he tried to stop her, and died for it.”
Constable Alte-Jungfer strode into the front hall, leaving the door open, and spoke loudly. “Has anyone seen a brown leather notebook? It would be old. And a new green cardboard one. Stop everything else: I want them found, now.”
I left Monte to his misery and joined the search. The officers stopped for tea, and then for dinner. But search as we might, neither one of the notebooks was ever found.
* * *
It was late by the time I returned to Spadros Manor. Tony met me at the door. “Come tell me everything.”
We went to his study and sat before the fire.
I said, “Where were you?”
Tony gave a quick shake of his head. “A problem with the Business that Ten couldn’t solve. Fortunately, those are few and far between.”
The maids brought us water, but I really wanted a drink. “I believe Inventor Call and Anna Goren were both murdered by the same person. And for the same reason: to quash their discoveries about the Magma Steam Generator.”
Tony blinked. “What discoveries?”
“That’s what no one knows. The Inventor told his Senior Apprentice he’d deciphered Anna’s notebook, and that it confirmed an idea he had. Something about a piling like ours, you know, the one under Spadros Manor. But instead ... below the Cathedral?” I shook my head. “If there is one, I’ve never seen it. Nor even a door to it.”
“How strange,” Tony said. “This only proves it must be true. Why else kill to stop it from being known?”
He had a point.
“I don’t understand,” said Tony. “Why would you not want something like that to be known? What harm could it do?”
“I have no idea.”
He took my hand. “How are you feeling?”
“A little tired. Nothing that sleep won’t cure.”
“No, I mean about today.”
I shrugged. “This death was just like Anna’s. I keep seeing her face. She knew the person who killed her, and the blow surprised her.”
Tony shook his head. “I’m sorry now that I let you see it.”
“No, don’t be. I’m glad you did.” I squeezed his hand. “That Constable was insufferable. It made me glad to see him have to give me my due.”
Tony chuckled. “I suppose that would be gratifying.”
“And your support means a great deal.”
Tony’s cheeks colored as he smiled to himself.
“I promise I will see these women, every one. These ones who feel slighted by me.” I sighed. “Their stories are heartbreaking. The fault for their suffering is entirely mine. Yet I never meant to hurt anyone.”
“I know.” He stroked my fingers with his thumb. “Do what you can.” He looked up at me. “Unless you’re ready to seclude yourself? Surely they’d understand if you did.”
I was barely six months from my last bleeding, hardly the time to laze about all day.
But it’d been only a spot, not a real bleeding. Had I already been with child, even then?
I counted back. Over seven months, it’d been, from the day Tony and I lay together that afternoon in my apartments. “No, I’d rather be able to go where I like.”
Tony surveyed me. “Everyone thinks I’m mad.”
“Let them think so. Let them think us both mad. Who cares?” I patted my belly. “It’s growing, and I feel happier moving about. Will they gain an heir by confining us to their ideas?” At Tony’s face, I snorted. “Of course not. So pay them no mind.”
* * *
The morning’s edition of the Bridges Daily had its tallest headline yet:
MURDER!
SPADROS INVENTOR SLAIN
Family and police join to capture villainous maid
Spadros Inventor Maxim Call was found dead in his home yesterday afternoon, the result of a vicious attack. A maid recently hired by the Inventor is the chief suspect, and has fled the area. As this is an ongoing investigation, further details have not been released.
Inventor Call is kin to the Spadros Patriarch. Spadros quadrant pledges every resource in hunting down this murderess and bringing her to justice.
The entire front page was covered with the usual trappings after a noted man’s death: a photo of Inventor Call in his younger days, a long listing of his deeds and accomplishments. Various speculations and comments by the city, the other Inventors.
The whole thing seemed terribly sad.
Tony had been right: there had to be something important in the Cathedral, other than its obvious value on its own. But what would be so important as to kill — twice — to prevent it from being known?