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“SOMEONE NAMED DOCTOR Evans is in the cold room, sir.” The desk sergeant greeted Winston. “He said he would start when you arrive. And there is a gentleman in the interview room. Mr. Rupert.”
Winston knocked on the heavy oak desk twice as he walked by. “Thank you. I’ll see Mr. Rupert first.” As he pushed open the door to the small room, Rupert stood.
“Detective. I understand you have need of my assistance.”
Winston motioned for him to sit. “I do, I’m afraid. I appreciate you arriving so quickly.” He weighed whether to comment on the man’s premature visit to Louella Chase to tell her about the body in False Creek. Rupert was still a suspect. His sensitivity was not something Winston needed to be overly concerned with. “I’ve just come from speaking with Mrs. Chase. It wasn’t necessary for you to tell her we suspected it is her husband.”
Rupert held up his hands in defence. “Surely a wife deserves to know.”
“Of course,” Winston agreed. “But I’d have preferred to wait to notify her until we knew for certain.”
“Oh, it’s Eddie.”
The back of Winston’s neck prickled. “How do you know?”
“Where else would he be, if not dead? As I told you, he loves his wife. And he’s committed to his work.”
“About that, Mr. Rupert. Chase was considering leaving the railway. Did you know that?”
Rupert batted at the air as if to dismiss the question. “Eddie was prone to exaggeration. He’d never leave.”
“I’ve seen evidence that suggests otherwise. He had rented space for a shop. And found another man to work with him. Mr. Huntington. Did you know him as well?”
Rupert shrugged. “We live in a small city, Detective. It’s easy enough to know most of its men.”
Winston decided to change his approach. “Can you show me the soles of your shoes, Mr. Rupert?”
Confusion clouded the man’s face, but he leaned over and unlaced a shoe. “Surely this is unusual, Detective?”
“I thought I’d noticed some metal shavings on your shoes.” He tapped the shoe against the table. Rupert leaned forward as a small pile of dirt and shavings formed. “Show me a man whose shoes aren’t dirty in this city. With all this rain, it is a rather muddy place.”
“True, but I’m particularly interested in these. I saw the same ones recently, near another body.”
“Huntington’s? At the foundry?”
Rupert certainly retained the details. Winston nodded. “Have you been to the foundry recently?”
“Of course. I was checking on a business matter.”
“The foundry performs work for the railway?”
“I think you’ll find—and I’m surprised you don’t already know this, Detective Winston—that most businesses in this city perform work for the railway. We own this town. On any given day, I visit one or two businesses for some reason or other. To answer your question, I was at the foundry recently, yes.” As he spoke, Rupert’s neck reddened.
Undeterred, Winston continued. “Let me ask you another question about Huntington. Were you aware that he was also romantically interested in a woman working for you? Jane Stewart?”
Anger—or was it shame?—flashed across Rupert’s face. “Jane? A passing fancy, I’m sure. She is attractive, of course. But from what I knew about Huntington, he wouldn’t sacrifice his status for her. Or rather, his mother wouldn’t let him do such a thing.”
“Neither would she let him leave his position at the law firm?”
Rupert’s expression softened into a knowing smile. “Exactly.”
Winston brought his face closer to Rupert’s. “How did you feel about losing two maids—first Louella Chase, then Jane Stewart—to men you know?”
Rupert straightened in his chair and tugged on his sleeves before answering. “It is a sign of the changing times. But as I say, I’m not sure Huntington was serious about Jane.”
“And losing Chase to work with Huntington?”
Rupert stiffened, pushing his palms into the table. “Detective, make your point. Are you suggesting I killed these men? Because they loved women beneath their station? And because they wanted to leave respectable positions?” He sat back in his chair, scoffing. “Killing a man, let alone two, it’s not something I’m inclined to do, and certainly not over who they love.”
Melodia Spectre’s words echoed in Winston’s mind. They died for love.
“I’d have come around to supporting their venture, no matter how foolish it might have been.” Rupert’s voice was calm. “And why would I have killed them weeks apart?”
Winston had no explanation for the time passing between the deaths. It suggested a strategic approach rather than a murder fuelled by anger or impulse. If Melodia was correct, and love was the reason for the deaths, the killings required a passion he did not sense in the man before him. Winston leaned forward to challenge Rupert. “Did you also love these women?”
Rupert flushed. “Did I fancy a quick kiss with Louella before she married Eddie?” He tilted his head. “What man wouldn’t? But no, I did not love her. At the time, I couldn’t bring myself to believe Eddie was willing to abandon his family for her, but I supported him.” He flicked the table. “As for Miss Stewart, had she married Huntington, we would have found another maid. It’s easy enough to do.” He chewed his lip. “Louella will no doubt need to start working again. Perhaps I should offer her a place.”
Winston forced his face to remain neutral as he stood. Rupert was not the killer. “Doctor Evans is ready with the body.”
IDENTIFYING A BODY is a moment one is unlikely to forget, Winston reflected as he watched Rupert crumble at the sight of his friend on the table in the cold room. His own fingers sought the rock in his pocket. Would his search for his brother end in being called upon to identify Ellis’s body? His stomach sank at the idea.
After the identification, Winston walked Rupert to the station entrance. The man simply nodded a goodbye as he left.
Outside the cold room, Winston asked Miller, “Have you observed a post-mortem before?”
Miller gulped. “Not yet, sir.”
“They’re unpleasant. You’ll see a person as few others have opportunity to see them.” Winston winced, recalling one of the more gruesome occasions. “And sometimes as nobody has. Don’t be ashamed if you need to leave.” Colour drained from Miller’s face as Winston squared his shoulders. “Let’s go.”
The light from the lone electric lamp on the wall struggled to reach the corners of the windowless room. Surely air and natural light would do much to improve the conditions of the space. Winston made a note to ask his uncle if there was a more suitable room for medical examinations.
The body rested on a low table in the centre of the room, draped in a clean white cloth. Doctor Evans stood at a small desk beside the table arranging surgical tools. “Detective. Constable. Will anyone else join us?”
“It’s just us. Have you started?”
“I was about to.” Evans began palpating the body, humming as he worked. Even the sound of Evans’ hands sliding, pressing, squeezing along Chase’s skin sent a coil of shivers from Winston’s toes up to his legs. He shifted his position, only to shift back again when he caught the light glinting off the doctor’s tools. The sourness of the room assaulted his nostrils, forcing him to breathe through his mouth.
Beside him, Miller let a faint groan escape. “Miller, perhaps we should see about tracking down Huntington’s body. Will you be long, Doctor Evans?” asked Winston.
The doctor shook his head. “Neither of you needs to stay. I’ll inspect the body, measure the organs, examine him for cause of death.”
“Measure the organs?” Miller’s pale face matched his quiet voice.
“Of course.” Evans lifted an arm, peering closely at the skin. “If he drowned, there will be fluid in the lungs. If he didn’t—if he was dead before he reached the water—no fluid.”
“What about puncture marks? Will you look out for those, here?” Winston pointed to his own arm.
Evans nodded. “I can. I’ll give you a full report in a couple of hours. I’ve set aside the engagement I had this afternoon.”
Winston ushered Miller from the room, fighting the urge to hold his own nose. He filled his lungs with the cleaner air of the hallway and smoothed the front of his suit.
“While we wait, you can examine the coat we found. I will learn what I can about where Huntington’s body has gone. Let’s meet back here in two hours’ time.”
TWO HOURS LATER, WINSTON and Miller leaned against the wall outside the examination room waiting for Doctor Evans. Even separated by a door, the sharpness that had driven Winston from the cold room earlier wrapped itself around them. Miller stared at his shoes and breathed through his mouth.
“Did you find Huntington, sir?”
Miller’s question sat heavily on Winston. “His mother refuses to speak to me. I am not even certain she is home, Miller. McClure had no warning the body would be removed. The men who took it were from the cemetery, apparently, and had a letter signed by Mrs. Huntington. Although it was highly unusual, McClure felt he had to release it. The letter said that upon reflection, she had decided to bury her son privately, without ceremony.”
Miller looked dumbfounded.
“Yes, it’s highly unusual. But there it is.” Winston raked his hands through his hair. “I’ve sent another constable to the cemetery, but he hasn’t yet returned. Losing Huntington’s body makes this post-mortem even more important.” He pushed himself from the wall. “What did you learn about that coat?”
Miller bit his lip. “Very little, sir. It smelled—” He cleared his throat at the memory. “It had been rolled in manure. Why would someone do that? I had to change my uniform.”
“No doubt to keep people away.” Winston fought a smirk. “Was there a tailor’s label?”
“Sharp’s, sir.”
Winston puzzled over this news. Sharp wasn’t out of the picture. Would the tailor sully a garment of his own creation to get away with a crime? “Another thread for us to unravel, Miller. Well done.”
The pair straightened at the sound of the opening door and greeted Doctor Evans. He smiled and stepped back to let them into the examination room, closing the door behind them.
“Chase looked well cared for, or rather showed no signs of physical harm. Two tiny marks inside each arm—the ones you asked me to look for, Detective—were the only signs of injury.”
Winston nodded. There was no satisfaction in the confirmation.
“It looks like someone used it as an injection site,” continued Evans. “Though I cannot tell you what was injected. I can tell you this man died before reaching the water. I would see foaming” Evans paused, watching Miller sway slightly. “He shows no sign of water in his lungs.”
“Did you look in his lungs?”
Evans shook his head. “The mouth and nose were enough for me to determine this.”
Winston stepped closer to the body, despite the flip in his stomach. “If there was no sign of drowning, could the injection have caused his death?”
“Possibly. The right amount of the right poison injected into the blood would be fatal. I can test for arsenic, but it is typically ingested rather than injected, so I doubt it is that.” He looked at the body. “Would you like me to perform such a test?”
“Yes, please, Doctor. Can you test for other poisons?” Winston asked.
“I’m afraid that is beyond my current skill and beyond current science, Detective.” Evans held his palms up in defeat.
Winston pinched the bridge of his nose. It was hardly fair to be disappointed when Evans had agreed to look at Chase with little experience, and with no notice. “Would you expect another doctor to reach a similar conclusion? About Chase not drowning?”
Doctor Evans rubbed his palms together. “Yes, but someone with more experience might see something more.”
“Any signs of a struggle?” Miller stood tall now, having recovered his balance.
“The only mark of note is the minor bruising I mentioned, just around the puncture wounds, the possible injection sites on the arms.”
Miller and Winston exchanged glances.
“Doctor, these injections, would they be intentional?” Winston asked.
“I have no way to tell. Self-administering an injection would be difficult, assuming you had the means. Few people own a syringe.”
“Who would have one?”
“A physician. Or a nurse. I cannot think of anyone else.”
“And are they easy to acquire?”
“I order them through a catalogue.” Evans shrugged. “I imagine anyone could request one.”
Winston changed course. “And how long was the body in the water, do you think?”
Evans rested his hand on Chase’s head. “Maybe a few minutes. No more than thirty, I’d say.”
Winston extended his hand to shake the doctor’s. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”
“You’re welcome. I will send over my written report tomorrow. And if I may say, I rather enjoyed my part in your investigations.”
“That’s good to hear.”
Evans replaced the drape over Chase’s body while Miller and Winston waited at the door. As they filed out of the room, Winston turned to Evans. “Does this kind of work interest you?”
“When we met, Detective, I explained that my practice has focused on the living. After today, I see we can learn much from the deceased. Perhaps I can make myself available to both the living and the dead.”
Winston smiled. “I will speak with the chief constable about it. Having another available doctor will prove helpful.”
The men exchanged pleasantries and Miller escorted Doctor Evans to the station entrance. Winston walked toward the chief constable’s office, doing sums in his head. Hiring Evans would be equivalent to the cost of two constables. The chief constable had been advocating a more visible police presence. Winston would propose a compromise to his uncle: employ Evans part time and hire one additional constable.
WINSTON KNOCKED ON the door to Chief Philpott’s office, then pushed it open. His uncle sat at his large desk, reviewing documents with a tumbler of an amber liquid in his hand. “Sir, may I brief you on the cases?”
Chief Constable Philpott looked up, his full moustache matching the droop of his mouth. He tipped his head toward the empty chair in front of the desk. “Yes, sit down.” He waited for Winston to settle. “What news, Jack?”
“The doctor just finished his examination.”
“How is Doctor Cole?”
Winston cleared his throat. “Another doctor. Nathaniel Evans. New to town.”
“Oh, was Cole busy?”
Winston shook his head. “Cole is too close to the victims. Doctor Evans is impartial.”
The chief constable straightened in his chair. “What did the man say? Is he up to Cole’s standards?”
“I would like to see if Doctor Cole reaches the same conclusion that Doctor Evans reached.”
“For what purpose?”
Winston needed to be careful about broaching his concerns. The chief constable considered Doctor Cole a friend. “I’m interested in comparing Doctor Cole’s findings to the conclusions Doctor Evans has reached.” Winston pressed his back into the chair. “And while we’re on the subject, Doctor Cole is frequently busy with his practice. It may be useful to have another physician available to the constabulary for such times.”
Philpott stood, unease pinching his features. “Very well. I hope you find this new doctor works well. Though do continue to use Cole. He’s a good man.”
“I understand, sir.” Winston pushed himself from the chair. He offered silent thanks that his uncle did not ask any further questions. But for the first time, he wondered whether the chief possessed the instincts a police officer should, dismissing the idea almost as soon as it formed.