Lost Books and Old Bones

by Paige Shelton

  “Hi. Yes. I called.”

  “I’ve been busy. What can I do for you?”

  I looked around. “Can I come in there?”

  At first I thought he’d say no, but he didn’t. “Come on in.”

  It was a closet of a police station with two facing desks that left a narrow vertical pathway in between them. Beyond was probably a storage closet and maybe a toilet, but the focal point was unquestionably the coffee machine perched on a chrome cart with wheels that probably had to be moved from one side to the other when someone needed to get into the supply closet or the toilet.

  “Have a seat.” Inspector Pierce nodded to the one ragged chair that wasn’t behind one of the desks. “Coffee?”

  “Thanks.”

  I took a seat and wondered what to do with my knees. I would have to swerve them out of the way if Inspector Pierce sat at the nearby desk. Scotland seemed to specialize in indoor tight spaces.

  Inspector Pierce handed me the coffee and then sat at the desk across from me, so I didn’t have to scrunch my knees at all.

  “What’s going on, Delaney?” he asked.

  “Have you … Did you know?” I took a deep breath. “Did you know that Mallory used to be roommates with Lola, a woman who lives in the same apartment building?”

  “Yes, we did. Why?”

  “I don’t know. I just hoped you knew.”

  He nodded.

  “Friday night at the pub, I saw a gray-haired man…”

  “Delaney…”

  “No, please listen.”

  “All right.”

  I told Inspector Pierce about the wonky sensation I’d gotten when I saw the gray-haired man, and then I told him that I’d heard that Dr. Glenn now had gray hair. He became more interested in what I had to say.

  “I don’t understand. You looked him up?”

  “More than that, I’ve heard about him a couple of times now.”

  “Right. Well, it’s feasible that he has gray hair, but we don’t have a current picture, of course. You think that was him at the pub?”

  “I’m not sure. But, did Sophie and Rena call you in the last half hour?”

  “I’ve been on the phone, talking to the police in Inverness, learning about their experiences with Glenn.” He looked at his mobile. “I see your calls.” He turned his attention back to the phone on his desk, lifting the handpiece and then punching some numbers. “Yes, Rena called. Asked me to call her back.”

  “You might want to go see them in person.”

  “What’s up?”

  “I was just at their flat, and they told me something. Do you want me to tell you or do you want to talk to them in person?”

  “I think you should tell me whatever is on your mind.”

  I told him what they’d said, everything. He was less doubtful than I’d predicted he would be.

  “I need to get to their flat, Delaney.” He stood up. “Is there anything else?”

  “No.”

  Though he was in a hurry, he did thank me for the information. Nonetheless, we were out of the office with the blue door in record time. I watched him drive away in an unmarked car that was parked on the street. I hoped he was about to zero in on a killer.

  As I made my way back to The Cracked Spine, I pulled out my phone and called Conn Clacher. I didn’t get the answers from Sophie and Rena he was looking for, but I wasn’t going to tell him about Mallory and Dr. Glenn. Hopefully I could say something that would stop him from creating another scene.

  Or doing something even worse.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  “He was a lovely man … Weel, tae me, he was. That’s what I ken of him, until he went sae coorse.” Rosie lifted Hector to her lap as I looked at her with raised eyebrows. My translator, Hamlet, was in class. “Och. Coorse means bad, wicked.” I nodded. “I feel terrible saying such things now, but he was kind tae me. We were friendly neighbors is all, not friends. I didnae have one deep conversation with the man or his lovely wife or wee daughter; neither did Paulie. If Dr. Glenn was putting on an act, something tae hide his evil side, he was guid at it.”

  I’d completely forgotten to ask Inspector Pierce if he’d learned anything new regarding the scalpels. However, I’d called Inspector Winters and filled him in on everything, including Rosie’s connection to Dr. Glenn. He’d been grateful for the update, and in just as much of a hurry to follow up on all the new information as Pierce had been. I’d also left a message for Conn. I hoped he’d call me back soon. I hoped he wasn’t making bad decisions.

  “Any sense of if Dr. Glenn would ever come back to town?” I asked.

  “Do I think he kil’t that poor lass?”

  I shrugged.

  She tapped her lips with her finger as she thought. Hector whined from his position on her lap. “I didnae ken.”

  “Do you think you’d recognize him?”

  “Aye. He’s a tall man, and he always had a tilt tae his head. I don’t think he could do anything aboot it.” She cocked her head slightly. “I’d recognize his figure tae be sure.”

  The police should maybe be looking for a tall man with a funny tilt to his head, possibly with gray hair. I guessed that narrowed it down a little bit, but not much.

  I sighed and was glad to have the distraction of the front doorbell jingle.

  “Joshua, hello!” I said.

  Joshua bowed as he said, “Ladies.”

  He greeted Rosie with a hug and a box of cookies and Hector with an ear scratch and a jerky dog treat. They would have both been happy to see him anyway, but hugs and treats were always appreciated.

  I directed him to the back table as he declined Rosie’s offer of coffee or tea.

  “What’s up?” I asked, having sensed immediately that he hadn’t come by only for a social visit.

  He glanced in the direction of the front desk. I didn’t tell him that Rosie wouldn’t be listening, because she probably would be.

  “I found something on old scalpels,” he said quietly. “You tried to be sly about asking me about them, but you weren’t. I decided to see if I could find anything else out.”

  “Well, thanks for seeing through my act. What did you find?”

  “Did you already know that some scalpels were stolen from the university?”

  “No, when?”

  “The museum gets special communication from the local police,” he began. “Well, it’s more that if artifacts, or things that might be suspected to be valuable in a historical way, I suppose, get reported as stolen or lost, we, and other museums probably, receive a communication. So we’re on the lookout.”

  “That’s interesting, and makes sense.”

  “Sometimes inquiries alone are supposed to be reported back to the police.” His eyebrows came together.

  “You had to report me, didn’t you?”

  He half-smiled. “I would never do that.”

  “But you were supposed to?”

  “I was, but when you asked, I hadn’t remembered where the old report was yet.”

  “I’m sorry to put you in that position. I didn’t even think about it.”

  “Please don’t be concerned about that. I wanted to let you know, though, before you went around talking to other museums about the scalpels.” He looked at me, and I told him I hadn’t. He seemed relieved. “Anyway, when you told me about them, a memory of something I’d read once did ping in the back of my mind, but I knew it was from some old documents. I had to dig a little to find the report from almost eleven years ago, mind you, that mentioned that scalpels were on a stolen items list from the university.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper.

  “This is a copy of the report, complete with pictures,” he said.

  The two pictures at the top of the page held familiar items: scalpels and two display cases.

  The report was brief but descriptive:

  “Missing from the University of Edinburgh medical school: a set of scalpels (circa 1828 or th
ereabouts) alleged to have been used by Dr. Robert Knox, the doctor to whom murderers William Burke and William Hare sold their victims. The scalpels were owned by the university. Dr. Bryon Eban had been given charge of the artifacts and he had displayed them in a case outside his classroom. There are two locks on the case. The glass was broken. The scalpels were the only items taken. They fold with a circular hinge and have blue handles. They look like a barber’s razor. Only one of the two cases on display was stolen.”

  “The police need this report,” I said.

  “Sure, if you think so.”

  “I do.” I looked at the report again. “This was right before Dr. Glenn murdered everyone.”

  “Excuse me?” Joshua said. “Dr. Glenn?”

  “You know who I’m talking about?”

  “Of course, but how did he become a part of this?”

  I didn’t tell him the truth. I just said that the police had brought up Glenn’s name, mostly because of his connection to Dr. Eban. Joshua was very doubtful of the possibility that the killer had resurfaced.

  “That can’t be,” he said. “He hasn’t come back … Wait, I thought he’d died. No, that was just a rumor. Or something. No, that just doesn’t sound right. I think it’s a stretch to think Dr. Glenn has come back to town with murder on his mind.”

  “Where is he then? Where has he been?”

  Joshua struggled through some thoughts. His eyebrows moved and his lips pursed shut tight. One eye squinted, and then the other. “I guess I wouldn’t know, but … the thing the police need to know is what might have been his relationship with the victim. Why would Mallory have known him well enough to, for whatever reason, be in that close with him? That’s what they need to look at, and at the relationship between the Clachers and the Glenns, maybe back then too. For sure back then.”

  “I agree, and I think they’re looking at all of the relationships.” I hoped I was better hiding what I knew about Mallory and Dr. Glenn than I had been with the scalpels.

  “But still, Glenn coming back to kill? How terrible. This needs more research. Maybe check old newspaper articles. At a library?”

  I knew someone who could help. Artair would microfiche an afternoon away with me anytime I wanted. But I also knew someone at a newspaper, and though I didn’t expect us to ever be best friends, I had come to see her side of things a little more.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Joshua, what about some missing books in your records? Have you received any notice that some books from the medical school were taken? Published in the early 1900s, hand-drawn, gruesome sketches?”

  “Recently or a while ago?”

  “Recently, I think. Look, there, I did it again. Now you need to report me for two things.”

  “Never,” Joshua said. “I think you’re giving me the rebellion I was never allowed to have. I don’t know about any books, though. I’ll have to check.”

  “Your parents won’t be pleased with me.”

  “They’ll never have to know.”

  As we moved toward the front door, Joshua bid Rosie and a sleepy Hector goodbye. I followed behind and enjoyed the warmish spring breeze that came inside as he walked out, but he didn’t get far.

  “Oh, oops,” he said as his foot hit something.

  An open shoebox was on the ground, impossible for whoever walked out of the shop first to have missed it.

  “What in the world?” I said.

  Though Grassmarket was a busy place, there were not-so-busy moments too, particularly along our small stretch of the sidewalk. This was, fortunately, one of those moments. We didn’t have to get out of anyone’s way as we crouched and peered inside the box.

  “Uh-oh,” I said.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he said,

  “It looks like a jawbone to me. Don’t touch it.” I pulled out my phone and silently debated who to call first.

  “I’m not planning on touching it. Do you think it’s human?”

  “I would bet so, but we’d need an expert to tell us.”

  I found Inspector Pierce’s number first, but immediately after I talked to him, I called Inspector Winters again. I knew they’d both be here quickly.

  “Someone will be here soon,” I said.

  “Looks like someone already has,” Joshua said as he looked up and around.

  From our crouching vantage point and with the cars parked on the street in front of us, at that instant it seemed like we were the only two people left in the world.

  Well, us and what remained of the person in the box.

  TWENTY-SIX

  They hadn’t met in person, but had talked over the phone. Apparently, Inspector Pierce had only recently joined the precinct. I was surprised, but I introduced them and they went to work, Inspector Winters taking on the role of assisting Inspector Pierce in whatever ways he instructed.

  I hadn’t put much forethought into what they might do with the jawbone, but it turned out to be a really big deal. Not as many people showed up as had with the murder, but crime scene people in their white coveralls and a forensic pathologist arrived not long after the police inspectors and other officers. Joshua was excused to go after he gave a brief statement. In his statement, he didn’t include sharing the scalpel discovery he’d made as his reason for stopping by the shop. I didn’t ask him not to mention the scalpels, but I was glad I didn’t have to explain to the police why I’d been asking the brilliant young man from the museum about things perhaps pertinent to the murder. An officer took Joshua’s phone number, but dismissed him quickly.

  When they were inside the shop and it was crowded with more people than usual, I was curious enough about the pathologist that I moved close and listened in as she talked to Inspector Pierce.

  “I’d go with human jawbone,” she said.

  “Can you guess anything more about it? Age, how long it’s been exposed, et cetera?” Inspector Pierce asked.

  “No. I’ll take it back to the lab for some tests, but it’s not a recently … exposed bone. It’s been some time. It wouldn’t be the color it is if it came from someone recently deceased,” she said.

  “Did it come from the skull room at the university?”

  “I don’t see a marking, but the jawbone isn’t the area that’s usually marked.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Inspector Pierce said.

  Just another day in an old bookshop in Edinburgh.

  “We don’t have anything but the bone,” Inspector Winters said as he came from the back corner of the shop where he’d been talking to a crime scene tech and sidled up next to me as I tried to look like I wasn’t eavesdropping. “You’re sure you didn’t see anything, anyone who you might suspect of leaving such a thing behind?”

  “One hundred percent. Rosie didn’t either, and she and Hector were up front the whole time,” I said. “I didn’t see anyone carrying the box, but I’m not sure it would have registered as suspicious anyway.”

  “I don’t know the brand of shoe the shoebox is from, but they will, of course, try to look that direction too. Do you know the brand?”

  “I’ve never seen it before.”

  “I have,” Rosie piped up as she joined us too. “It’s a women’s shoe line, not expensive, easy tae find in most department stores.”

  “So someone might have grabbed one of their own shoeboxes, put a jawbone in it, and then dropped it in front of the shop? At least I’d use someone else’s shoebox,” I said.

  “You’d be surprised,” Inspector Winters said. “People don’t think these things through sometimes. In fact, it’s very hard tae get away with a crime. Between cameras and criminals’ egos, we usually catch the bad guy.”

  I looked at him and remembered. “Inspector Pierce said he was going to try to get some CC cameras around here, in the close at least.”

  “I heard him complaining that it hadn’t happened yet,” Inspector Winters said.

  “Darn it.”

  The bell above the door jingled.

  “Oh boy,”
I said quietly when I saw Bridget Carr leaning in.

  “She’s an annoying lass,” Rosie said. Hector agreed.

  “Who’s that?” Inspector Winters asked.

  “Bridget Carr. She’s a reporter,”

  “The one who wrote the article about you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want me tae send her away?”

  “No. Actually, I want to talk to her. Excuse me.”

  I guided her out of the bookshop and around one of the crime scene technicians who seemed to be doing nothing more than standing in the space where the box had been. We walked to the corner, away from most of the activity.

  “Delaney,” Bridget said with a sly smile. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

  “How’s that?”

  “Bones. Someone’s leaving bones all around the city. That’s an odd turn of events, don’t you think? And, remember when I told you all about the bones supposedly buried over there in the close? What about that plaster-like piece I found?”

  “This just happened. I wasn’t holding out, and this doesn’t feel like ‘all around the city.’” I held up my hand to stop her next argument. “Bridget, I’m bothered by this, and I agree with you that it’s strange. What do you want to know?”

  I’d surprised her. She wasn’t expecting my cooperation. She worked to recover. “Look, I’m all about the story. ALL about it. It’s what makes me a decent reporter but a less-than-ideal friend.” She blinked at me. “I wish you’d called me.”

  “The police have been here. They were the first ones I called.” I paused. “But I see your side a little. I understand you want a story.”

  “You see my side?” she said doubtfully.

  “I do,” I said convincingly.

  “Okay,” she said, seemingly at a loss for any other response.

  I continued, “I don’t know about bones all over the city. I know that there was part of a jawbone, human, in a shoebox right over there,” I nodded toward the crime scene tech who was keeping his position, “and I called the police. Finding a bone in a shoebox is weird. I would have called the police even if a murder hadn’t occurred near the shop.”

  “Just a jawbone in a shoebox? No other bones in there?” she asked, her demeanor snapping back to professional.