Lost Books and Old Bones

by Paige Shelton

  “Ugh. Gruesome.”

  “Yes. They said all their actions came from too much drink. There even came a time when they’d only be able to fall asleep after drinking too much, and they had to sleep with a light on. Their crimes haunted them, or so they said. That’s some good news.”

  We lingered at the display a bit longer, but I didn’t learn much more. I didn’t take the time to read all the articles propped upon the shelves, but this wasn’t a normal museum visit. I’d shown up unannounced, and I knew Joshua hadn’t carved out the time to be my tour guide all morning.

  As we were walking toward the museum doors, though, I had one more question for Joshua.

  “How did Burke and Hare kill their victims? What was their method?”

  “Ah, well, mostly by smothering them, or at least that was the conclusion. It was a good way to kill someone back then, because that method of murder couldn’t be easily determined. Many times, after Burke and Hare gave their victims too much to drink, Burke would lay atop their chests as Hare put his hands over their nose and mouth. A couple of terms were even invented for suffocation—‘burking,’ or ‘anatomy murder.’ I believe they killed in other ways too, but mostly suffocation. Do you know how Ms. Clacher was killed?”

  “Strangled, I think. I’m going to find out for sure. Hamlet said there were bruises on her neck.”

  “That would do it,” he said sadly. “Feel free to call and ask me anything, or share whatever you learn.” He pushed open the door for me.

  “I will let you know. Thank you for allowing me to interrupt your day. And, Joshua, don’t leave Edinburgh if you don’t have to. I know I’m being completely selfish, but I would miss you.”

  “I would miss you too. I’ll keep you up to date.”

  I hurried down the outside stairs and crossed the street to catch a bus that would take me down the Royal Mile.

  *

  “You’re the lass from America.” The police officer sitting at the reception desk peered over his reading glasses at me. I didn’t remember seeing him before.

  “I am,” I said. “Here to see…”

  “Let me guess, Winters?”

  “Yes.”

  “Your reputation precedes you, lass.” He picked up a handset and pushed a few buttons.

  “My reputation?”

  “Aye, we’ve made jokes about sending you all our old cold cases.” He smiled. I hoped the jokes were good-natured.

  “I’d take that job,” I said.

  Right before Christmas, Edwin had received a box of items on his front porch. He’d asked me to see if I could figure out who they belonged to. My explorations had taken me down a strange path that led to a killer back in the 1960s. I hadn’t meant to find a killer, but I was glad I had, because as a result at least one of his victims had received some peace, if there was such a thing. My experience made me think there was.

  Into the phone, the receptionist said, “Winters,” then pulled the phone away from his ear. “The lass from Kansas, is it?” I nodded, and he spoke back into the handpiece. “She’s here to see you. Uh-huh.” He looked at me again. “Another murder?”

  “Uhm. I’m afraid so.”

  “She’s done it again,” he said back into the phone. “Right, I’ll send her.” He hung up the phone. “Go on back. Winters said you’d know which room.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Good luck.”

  I did know where to go. I opened the door to the interview room and made my way inside, taking a seat in the chair that I’d sat in a few times now. Inspector Winters was there only a moment later.

  “Delaney?” he said as he closed the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. My relationship with Inspector Winters had had a rocky beginning. I’d been in Scotland only a few days when we first met after the murder of Edwin’s sister. In the midst of falling in love with this beautiful country and all of its people, I was also trying to figure out who to trust. Initially, Inspector Winters wasn’t someone I’d deemed trustworthy. So our transition into what had become a mostly unsuspicious friendship had been a welcome one. But we were still at the “mostly” level.

  “Nothing’s wrong. I mean … well, I wondered if you could answer a question.”

  “Aye?” He took a seat in the chair across from me. I was glad I didn’t see a twinkle of humor in his eyes, something I expected after the greeting I’d received from the receptionist, though murder never really is funny. “How’s everyone at the bookshop? After yesterday, I mean.”

  “We’ll be okay. I wasn’t sure … well, I thought you’d heard, but I just didn’t know what you know.”

  “I was informed early on.” He took out the notepad and pen he always carried in his shirt pocket and put them on the table. He didn’t lift the cover on the notepad, though, which made the meeting feel unofficial. “I’m kept apprised of some things, particularly when the bookshop is involved. It’s in my precinct, but I wasn’t in on the early investigation so I’m a wee bit on the fringe of everything here.”

  I nodded, though I was a tiny bit horrified that any police officer was apprised of the bookshop goings-on. And I really hoped it wasn’t because of me. “Have you talked to Inspector Pierce?”

  “Not yet. I was hoping to sometime today. Why?”

  “I just wondered. Have you heard if the way Mallory was killed has been determined?”

  “Aye. Suffocation. In fact, there was residue on her hair from what was probably a plastic bag. It’s not a secret. It’s been released. The media will have it for tonight’s and tomorrow’s news.”

  “That’s terrible,” I said. “Heartbreaking. Hamlet saw bruises on her neck.”

  “It wasn’t strangulation, it was suffocation, but the bruises could have occurred with the bag being held over her head.”

  “Oh.” I was glad I was sitting down as the room spun for a moment.

  “Aye. Was that your question?” He moved the notepad and pen closer together on the table, but he still didn’t lift the cover.

  “Yes … I wondered because. This is going to sound strange.”

  “Delaney, you telling me something strange is not unexpected.”

  “I know. All right. You’re aware of Burke and Hare?”

  Inspector Winters’ eyebrows went high. “Of course.”

  “I think there might be some strange connection,” I said.

  “Sounds strange, aye, but interesting too.” He lifted the cover of the notepad and held the pen at the ready.

  “Any chance you could keep a secret?”

  “No, typically it’s my job tae uncover things, not hide them.”

  “I know, but maybe you could keep a secret until you couldn’t? Keep something to yourself until you need to share the information. Until it’s necessary.”

  “No promises. Talk tae me, Delaney.”

  Since he hadn’t talked to Inspector Pierce, he still didn’t have confirmation that the warehouse existed. I wasn’t sure if Pierce would be obliged to tell him anyway, since it seemed not to have been involved in the murder. Inspector Winters had been asking me about the warehouse’s existence since we’d met. He’d first asked about it because it might have had something to do with Edwin’s sister’s murder. Over time, he’d asked because he was curious, and the legendary reputation made lots of people ask.

  “It’s about Edwin’s treasures. The warehouse,” I said.

  Now his eyes did light with a twinkle. “I’m listening.”

  ELEVEN

  Though I knew he’d been curious, I couldn’t be sure what Inspector Winters would ultimately think of the warehouse. It was a spectacle, sure, but had legend built it into something that it wasn’t, couldn’t ever be? I knew things were bound to change between Inspector Winters and me when I let him in on the secrets—and between him and my coworkers too—but all indications were that things were going in a good direction.

  “So, this is it?” Inspector Winters shone a
small flashlight at the red ornate door. The light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling and the small amount of daylight that crept in though the grimy windows hadn’t been enough illumination for him.

  “This is it,” I said.

  “The door at least lives up tae the reputation.”

  “Well, to coin a phrase, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

  I took the large blue skeleton key from my bag, gave Inspector Winters a small lift of my eyebrows, and inserted the key. I turned it to the left three times, unlatching the heavy bolts, and then pushed it open.

  I had made sure that Edwin was okay with my plan, and that whatever cleaning up that needed to be done had been done. The entire bookshop, the close included, was no longer a crime scene and was no longer off-limits, but Edwin had decided to remain closed for business.

  Surprisingly, my conversation with him had been rough at first, full of awkward pauses and “oh dear’s” but ultimately, he agreed with me that it would be good for Inspector Winters to know about the warehouse, for a couple of reasons. He’d become a friend to me and everyone at the bookshop. There was no need to keep the secret from someone in law enforcement who we also trusted so implicitly.

  And now a murder had occurred in a place that was a big part of our world, our home. The police needed to know as much about what might have led up to Mallory’s murder as we could supply. Though Inspector Pierce had seen the warehouse, Inspector Winters had a knowledge of the history of the shop and its people. Could that knowledge somehow help? We were about to find out.

  Bottom line—ultimately Edwin and I agreed that finding a killer was much more important than keeping the secret of the room filled with treasures.

  I could sense Inspector Winters’ excitement, though he cloaked it with a wide-eyed silence. I tried not to smile.

  I reached around, flipped up the light switch, and led the way inside.

  Inspector Winters stood inside the space, put his hands on his hips, and looked around. I moved to the desk and retrieved the treasure chest from inside the drawer.

  “This is unbelievable,” Inspector Winters said.

  “It doesn’t disappoint?” I asked.

  “It’s … not what I expected, but, no, it doesn’t disappoint. It’s a roomful of treasures, just like I’d heard.”

  “There are treasures in here, but there’s also some junk. Do you want a tour of some of the shelves?”

  He looked around again, slowly. “No, not right now. I want to know why you brought me to see it today.”

  “I don’t know if what I’m going to show you had anything to do with Mallory’s murder. Inspector Pierce knows about them too, but you know us. Maybe it would be good for you to know about this room. It was mentioned at the pub the night of the murder. I don’t know, there might be important connections.”

  “Okay.” Inspector Winters moved closer to the desk as his eyebrows came together.

  I gloved up and showed him the scalpels. I told him most of the details from my evening in the pub with the medical students and professor, emphasizing Dr. Eban’s curiosity about Edwin’s room, and the scalpels specifically. I told him about Dr. Eban’s reputation.

  “These are authentic?” he asked about the scalpels.

  “I think so, but I will need to do more research. I saw one at the Burke and Hare display at the museum, and it’s identical.”

  “Where did Edwin get them?”

  “Like many things in here, he’s not sure or he doesn’t remember. That’s part of the reason I was hired in the first place. More attention needed to be paid.”

  “It would help tae know where they came from.”

  “I wish we did know.”

  His eyebrows came together even more. “People used tae operate with these?”

  “It appears so.”

  “It’s a wonder any Scots survived the Black Plague. Twice. And then the medical experiments that finally led to the miracles that we have.” He shook his head. “Amazing.”

  “Survival of the fittest, I suppose. Will you look more closely at Dr. Eban, or tell Inspector Pierce to?”

  He glanced up at me. “It’s not my case, Delaney. It’s in my jurisdiction, but I wasn’t there with the first call, and that automatically gives me a disadvantage. I’ll talk to Pierce, but I’ve heard he’s not one tae play well with others. Be sure you tell him everything you’ve told me, and I’m sure he’s looking closely at Dr. Eban. I wouldn’t be surprised if he takes the scalpels.”

  I heard what he was talking around. He was surprised Inspector Pierce hadn’t already taken the scalpels, but he didn’t want to sound critical.

  I nodded. “I don’t think he trusts me, since I was with Mallory and she was killed near the shop. He doesn’t understand the history of the legend of this room. Between the scalpels, the books Sophie and Rena brought in—let me show them to you. We didn’t tell Inspector Pierce about the books yet, but I’m thinking we should now. Or, at least you should tell him. Maybe there’s something here that is a clue to Mallory’s killer, even if it’s just a peripheral clue.” I grabbed the box of books and put it on the desk. “You know about the skull that was found?”

  “I do.”

  “Well, everyone I’ve spoken to—not the police, though; Pierce hasn’t told me anything—thinks that the presence of a skull from the skull room at the university, a room that Dr. Eban is somehow in charge of, is either a clue or too obvious to be a clue. To me he seemed charming, but I’ve heard he’s odd. I just hope he’s not being overlooked. He’s so smart.”

  “As a rule, Delaney, the police do know that people might be smart enough tae try to fool us. I’m sure Pierce isn’t a gump.”

  “Gump?”

  Inspector Winters blinked. “Aye. A fool.”

  “You used a Scots word?”

  “I guess I did. My da uses them frequently.”

  I smiled. Inspector Winters rolled his eyes.

  “I like that word. I’m going to use it someday soon.”

  When I’d first arrived in Scotland, it seemed that many people felt a need to watch over me: my coworkers, my landlords, Tom to some extent, and Inspector Winters. He was close to my age, but I didn’t know him well personally. I knew he had a family, but it had never seemed right to ask about it. No matter that we’d become friends, or at least friendly toward each other—that personal/professional line still existed. I liked his smile and eye-roll; to me, it meant we were becoming even better friends.

  He’d also formed relationships with my coworkers. He didn’t trust Edwin, but I think he wanted to. He liked my boss, and he could see that Edwin’s heart was in the right place—even though it didn’t always appear so, and illegal activities occurred because of that place Edwin put his heart. It was as if our cautious affection for each other had a wall in between. But I sensed we were chipping away at it.

  “I met Dr. Eban’s wife,” I continued as I opened the box with the books.

  “Aye? How did that happen?”

  “I used these books as an excuse to talk to Dr. Eban, but he wasn’t in his office. I did meet his wife, Dr. Meg Carson, though.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That talking to her husband about the value of the books was a good idea. She said he knows about these sorts of things.”

  He nodded and I scooted the box toward him. “You can touch them.”

  As he lifted one book from the box, I felt a pull of urgency from the bookish voices, though they remained silent. My subconscious was working hard, if not effectively.

  “These are extraordinary. Strange, though. The pictures, they’re sketches, but they seem so real,” Inspector Winters said.

  “Hamlet hasn’t listed them for sale because Edwin was thinking about donating them to a medical school, maybe Edinburgh, which would be the natural choice, I think. He didn’t want to offend Sophie and Rena, though, so he thought we might wait until they were done with school, or at least until summer break. Not sure what we�
�ll do with them now except wait until Mallory’s murder is solved. The timing of them coming into the shop is strange and probably has nothing to do with Mallory. Still though, it’s strange.”

  “I agree. They’re old, aye?” Inspector Winters said.

  “They are. They’re both fascinating and gruesome, unless I suppose you’re planning on becoming a doctor.”

  “Oh.” Inspector Winters’ eyes got big as he looked at something that included blood and pus.

  “See what I mean?” I said.

  He turned the page, and we looked at a picture of a wartish boil on a leg. A picture of a man’s face stretched with concern or pain or both illustrated the top of the page.

  “Goodness,” Inspector Winters said.

  “I know. These were published in 1902. It’s a set of twenty-five books. Edwin bought every one of them.”

  “Did he pay well for them?”

  “Probably more than they’re worth.” I turned to another page that proved to be just as gruesome: a stomach incision.

  “They pack quite the punch.”

  “Think about the work that had to be put into these. Everything done by hand, one drawing at a time.”

  “I can’t imagine. I get impatient if I can’t find the proper emoji quickly enough.”

  I laughed. “Me too.” But I stopped immediately when I saw the expression on his face change. “What?”

  “Hang on.” He put the book back into the box and grabbed his mobile phone. He pushed a button and put it to his ear. “Aye, Winters here. Were some medical books stolen from the university in the last little while? No, I didn’t get the call, but I overheard someone talking—I can’t remember the details. No? See if you can track something down. Thank you.” He ended the call, but the perplexed looked on his face kept me silent a moment.

  “These are stolen?” I asked when he looked up at me.

  “I’m not sure what I’m remembering, Delaney, but … There must be something written down somewhere. A case number, or some notes. I’ll figure it out, but something about these books rings a bell.”