Lost Books and Old Bones

by Paige Shelton

  “We probably need to get this to Inspector Pierce,” I said. “They can do the proper procedures to find an IP address and track down whoever sent this to Birk, as well as put an age to the skull. Not to mention match it to the jawbone, maybe try to test for DNA.”

  Of course these mysteries were all connected. Someone just had to figure out how.

  Joshua escorted us out of the museum. “I’ll let you know if any notices come in, Delaney.”

  “Thank you. I really hope we don’t have William Hare’s skull.” I looked at the box in Edwin’s hands.

  Joshua smiled. “Oh, I think it would be pretty cool.”

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Inspector Pierce was intrigued by the rest of the skull (we assumed now that the jaw piece and the rest of the skull did belong together), but he was mostly intrigued by Birk. He asked Edwin and me to leave the small blue-windowed police station, today much more crowded with three other officers, so he could gather information from Birk alone. My boss and I roamed up toward the castle and back down again just as Birk was being dismissed.

  He said that he had agreed to allow the police inside his house and to give them full access to his email account, but that was about it.

  Edwin dropped me off at The Cracked Spine and asked me to let Rosie know that he was taking Birk home and would be in later. I found her and Hector sitting at the back table as Hamlet was making stacks of books for her to peruse. I told them about the morning’s adventures as I scratched behind Hector’s ears. They continued to sort and stack.

  “Have you remembered anything else about Dr. Glenn?” I asked Rosie.

  “Not much, lass.”

  “I can’t believe Rosie bought the scalpels at a murderer’s jumble sale,” Hamlet said. He set a book on top of a stack, and a cloud of dust puffed all the way to his nose. I expected him to sneeze, but he didn’t.

  “I’m going to go grab my laptop. I’ll be right back,” I said.

  As I climbed the stairs, I realized I hadn’t seen Hamlet since the morning he’d discovered Mallory’s body. School must be taking lots of his time. I missed spending time with him. His intelligent college-age perspective was always refreshing.

  The dark side was cold, as usual. I hurried to the warehouse, unlocked the door like an old pro, and then flipped the lights on inside.

  Surprisingly, my laptop sat open on a side table. I usually shut it down and closed it at the end of every day. I’d told Edwin the password in case he needed something from it, but he’d protested, saying that my laptop was not to be seen by any other eyes, his included.

  It had been a long time since I’d actually done any real work in the warehouse, but a swipe over the mouse pad and the computer came to life. I hadn’t even turned it off—since when? Again, I didn’t know. I saw that I had twenty-seven new emails. Not a big deal, but this was a computer I used strictly for work, and even with some intermittent junk I usually received only about five new emails a day. Had it been that long since I’d checked?

  I clicked on the in-box. A few of the emails were nothing unusual, but six were from Dr. Eban.

  The first one from him asked what I’d been doing in his anatomy theater, and had I come to talk to him about the books. The other five seemed to grow increasingly agitated about me having been there. He went from curious at first, to angry, to accusatory, saying that “my friend” and I must be friends with the Clacher clan, and what was going on, did I know anything about Mallory’s murder? I read through the emails again. I realized that the threats I sensed were more a part of the tone in my head than the words he used.

  I had tried to be open-minded, maybe even like him a little bit. I’d tried to think that maybe his students thought he was odd mostly because of his position of power. But now, in a way, I got what they’d been saying. He was unquestionably odd, though in a way that was still hard to define. Hopefully, he wasn’t murderous, too.

  These emails would mean nothing to the police, wouldn’t lead to a killer, I was sure. I didn’t delete them, but I didn’t respond, either. I might at some point, but not right now.

  I unplugged the laptop and carried it back over to the other side. Rosie and I moved to the front desk, where there was more room.

  “I’m just going to ask some questions. Maybe I can prompt some memories,” I said.

  “Aye.”

  “Do you know if Dr. Glenn ever had a man over to his place by the name of Dr. Eban? He’s from the university.”

  “No, Delaney, I wouldnae know his visitors. I might know some faces, but I didnae tak tent. There were always people in and oot of the flat, though. They were social.”

  “I don’t know what ‘tak tent’ means,” Hamlet said from the back corner.

  “‘Pay attention,’” Rosie said.

  I searched on my computer for a picture of Dr. Eban. The first one I found was his university staff picture.

  “Aye, I’ve seen him before,” Rosie said, “probably at Dr. Glenn’s hoose. A younger version. He was with others, though. I cannae be sure of the specifics, but, aye, he’s familiar, and striking, with such sharp features.”

  I searched again and found Dr. Carson’s picture. “Does she look familiar?”

  Rosie’s eyebrows came together. “Aye. She was there many times, but by herself. I was under the impression that she and Dr. Glenn were … weel, I just wasnae sure. She had the exact same hair back then, but only beginning to gray and almost the identical cut.”

  “You thought Dr. Glenn and Dr. Carson were having an affair?” I asked.

  Rosie’s mouth pinched tight. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy gossip, or “blether,” as she called it; she just liked to make sure it contained more truth than speculation before she indulged too deeply.

  “It was a thought I had,” she said. “It would have been impossible tae be certain.”

  “You saw her there, though? Maybe by herself and when Dr. Glenn’s wife wasn’t home?”

  “I did. I think.”

  “Did you tell the police?”

  “When? Why?”

  Dr. Glenn and his wife had been gone from Edinburgh for about three months when he’d killed her. Rosie had moved away from their neighboring flat shortly after Paulie died, which was around the same time. She’d been in mourning. Why wouldn’t the police have tracked her down and talked to her about her onetime neighbors? And she would never have thought to go talk to them, because she’d been so grief-stricken. It was impossible to know at this point.

  “Right,” I said. “Why would you? Affairs aren’t illegal.”

  Still, it was important information now. Maybe. Dr. Glenn’s relationship with both Dr. Eban and Dr. Carson, and maybe even with Mallory’s father—away from the university—must be somehow important.

  I searched online for any sort of written information regarding a connection between Dr. Glenn, Boris Clacher, Dr. Eban, and Dr. Carson. There were connections, though not as many involving Dr. Glenn as the others. Most were because of the medical school and the sorts of things and events that medical school people attended. I couldn’t find much of anything, and I wished I got along better with Bridget. Not everything was online, and old newspapers were a good source. I’d have to check with Artair.

  “I’m going to call Inspector Winters,” I said absently.

  “Tae tell him aboot what I might have seen?”

  “Yes. In fact, I’m going to see if he can stop by and talk to us. That okay?”

  “Certainly.”

  *

  It was rare that Inspector Winters didn’t spend at least a moment wondering where I was going with something I wanted to tell him. Or questioning its importance. As a police officer, he was supposed to doubt and question. I didn’t take it personally.

  However, this time he was all ears, and focused eyes.

  “You saw them together?” he said to Rosie.

  “No, I saw her go inside when I knew he was there too and his wife wasnae. I saw it more than one time, which ma
kes me sound nosy. Meebe I am a wee bit, but I remember thinking it was odd and then not wanting tae know more. None of my business.”

  “More than a few times, though?” Inspector Winters said.

  “Aye. Many, many times.”

  I confessed my visit to the Anatomical Theatre with Elias. He hadn’t heard anything about Conn’s behavior or about the two of us being there, but he did mention that I should be telling all of this to Inspector Pierce, and that I should also show him the emails from Dr. Eban.

  I didn’t disagree, but I didn’t make any sort of quick move to give the other inspector a call.

  I did show Inspector Winters the emails from Dr. Eban. His interpretation was different from mine. He thought that if I was going to intrude on a class, I might need to expect some questions regarding that intrusion. However, he did think everything had the potential to be pertinent to the murder until it proved not to be.

  After I felt like we’d told him everything we could and he said he’d find Pierce, I walked him to the door.

  “What’s so interesting about all of this?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure, lass,” he said with a rare friendly smile. “But it might prove tae be helpful. I’ll talk tae Inspector Pierce, but no guarantee that he won’t want tae talk tae you too.”

  “I understand. I would have called him if…”

  “If you thought you were onto something important.”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “No. I’m happy tae have been a sounding board, but, yes, don’t hesitate tae tell Pierce everything.”

  “Will do. Thank you.”

  “You know, this is a great bookshop,” Inspector Winters said as he hesitated leaving.

  “I do know.”

  “Maybe stick around here and do some work for a wee bit?”

  He was still smiling, so I smiled back. “I’ll give it a try.”

  He hurried away up Grassmarket Square. I didn’t see his vehicle, and I wondered if he’d parked around a corner or if he’d walked the whole way from the bottom of the Royal Mile.

  As I was looking out the window, and just after I lost sight of Inspector Winters, I caught sight of someone else, and he was headed this direction.

  “What is it?” Rosie said as she moved next to me. “Ye made a curious noise.”

  “That’s Mallory’s father, and I think he’s coming here.” I knew what he looked like mostly because we’d just been looking at pictures of him and his colleagues.

  “Aye? Weel, I’ll get some coffee. He’ll likely be here tae see either you or Edwin. I’ll ring Edwin and let him know.”

  Rosie handed Hector to me and took off for the dark side.

  I watched as Boris Clacher, his eyes still wide with grief, looked up and saw me at the window.

  There was no mistaking the nod and the small lifting of fingers in a wave. He was coming here.

  Hector and I met him at the door.

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Thank you,” he said to Rosie as he took the steaming mug and then sipped from it. “That’s very good.”

  “Ye’re welcome. Are ye hungry?”

  “No, not at all, thank you.”

  From the second he’d walked inside, Boris Clacher had been sweet and polite. Did he have to work to not live up to the harsh consonants in his name and his intimidating height and wide shoulders?

  “Delaney Nichols?” he’d said as he came in. He’d petted Hector and smiled sadly.

  “That’s me.”

  “Pleasure tae meet you, lass. I wonder if you have a minute of time I could steal from you?”

  I’d directed him to the chairs we’d left at the front desk just as Rosie had crossed over from the dark side, carrying mugs of coffee. I introduced everyone.

  “Lad, I’ve seen you around the university,” Boris said to Hamlet.

  “Aye, I’m a student.”

  Boris surveyed him a long moment. “I remember. I saw one of your presentations, for a biology course, I believe. Your professor had high regard for your mind and wanted me tae encourage you tae consider medical school, but ye’re studying literature?”

  “Aye.”

  “I see. Think about it. Ye can still go tae medical school with a literature degree. Ye’ve studied much of the science, I know. It’s all hard work, mind, but there are some who are suited. I believe, based upon what I’ve heard, that you’re suited.”

  “Thank you. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “We’re very sorry for your loss,” I said after I picked up a mug and he turned his attention back to me.

  “Thank you.” He sniffed and seemed to hold his head higher as he fended off emotions. “I’ve come tae talk tae you a wee bit about my daughter. Is that all right?”

  “Of course, but I didn’t know her well. I’d just met her … recently,” I said.

  This was going to be tough.

  “I know, but … Conn told me you talked tae some of her friends, Sophie and Rena.”

  “I did. I was hoping that Mallory had confided in them … perhaps about Dr. Eban.” I swallowed.

  “Aye. Conn’s a good brother, though a wee bit of an ox in a china chest. He shouldn’t have done what he did in Bryon’s class, but we were suspicious. Bryon Eban and I used tae be close friends many years ago, and I truly can’t imagine him hurting my daughter.”

  “I hope not.” I paused. “What happened to your friendship? Did you have a falling-out?”

  “Aye. A man named Glenn fooled us all and we’ve never recovered any trust for each other, but that’s another story. I came here tae ask you about Sophie and Rena. I’ve tried tae talk tae them, but they won’t respond.”

  “I’m afraid they didn’t tell me anything about Mallory and Dr. Eban.” I wasn’t going to tell him what they’d told me about Mallory and Dr. Glenn. I couldn’t do that to him. If he later learned about it, I hoped Mallory’s murder would be solved by then. I would apologize later if he ever learned I’d kept the information from him. It was just too bizarre, too big a pill to swallow.

  “Are they … are they nice women? Sophie and Rena?” he began.

  “I’ve only known them for a few months, but they’ve been very nice to me.”

  “I see.” He sipped his coffee and then set it on the desk. “At the risk of sounding terribly snobbish, what can you tell me about their time before medical school? Mallory mentioned them a few times, talked about how they’d come from tough circumstances in Glasgow. I didn’t ask her much about them.”

  “I’m afraid that’s all I really know myself, but I believe Rena had it the tougher of the two.”

  “I see.” He paused, as if considering whether or not to go on. He did. “I can’t find anything about them.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t have access tae their records at the school. There are privacy laws, and I’m not one of those given access tae student records of any sort. I have friends, of course, but I’m loath tae ask them right now. They would wonder why I was curious. I don’t want tae appear … paranoid, or as if I’m trying tae influence the women’s paths in medical school. Does that make sense?”

  “Yes.” Though I sensed he was more concerned about later questioning his own judgment during this time of grief than others judging him. “Why do you want to know more about them?”

  “Curiosity, I suppose. When they wouldn’t talk tae me, I wanted tae … Just curiosity.”

  “I do know that Rena’s father had some old medical school books … Would you excuse me a moment?”

  “Certainly,” he said to my back.

  I felt everyone’s eyes on me as I hurried up the stairs. I practically sprinted to the warehouse, dropping the key once as I fumbled it toward the lock.

  I took a breath and told myself to slow down. I unlocked the door and broke a cardinal rule by not locking it again as I went inside. I found the box of books and gathered the piece of paper at the bottom of the box that Rena had originally filled out.

  The
form was simple. Name, address, phone number, perceived value, desired amount. However, we also asked for a provenance when older books were involved. How far back could ownership be tracked?

  Rena had filled out the form, and in the box for the provenance she scribbled, “They were my dad’s. He doesn’t know who owned them before him, but he’s been the owner for at least ten years. Here’s his mobile.” She included a number.

  I hadn’t called to confirm the provenance. I was sure Hamlet hadn’t either, since I’d been the one who had worked with the women from the beginning, and I was waiting to hear what Edwin wanted to do with the books.

  The rule was that we always did our best to research the provenance of all books, and in my case, the provenance of everything I researched for Edwin.

  I had not done my job.

  I grabbed my phone from my pocket and dialed the number listed. I was taken directly to a recording that told me the number wasn’t in service.

  The unanswered phone number could be a glitch, or a misunderstanding. Maybe I was misreading a number.

  I put the paper back into the box, grabbed one of the books, and left the warehouse, making sure I locked the door behind me.

  I wasn’t in the same hurry as I went back over. Rosie and Hamlet sent me worried glances, and Boris Clacher knew something was wrong when he saw my face.

  “Lass?” he said.

  I showed him the book. “Do you think this might have come from the university?”

  “Maybe,” he said. “I know that Dr. Eban has a few collections.”

  “Have any books gone missing?” I asked.

  “Aye, actually. Maybe. Dr. Meg Carson, Dr. Eban’s wife, came tae my office not long ago and asked if I knew what happened tae one of our collections. I believe this was a book from that collection. I didn’t know of anything gone missing, but she mentioned she might call the police.”

  “How long ago?”

  “About a month or so, I think.”

  “I think you should go to the police with this information.”

  “And tell them what? About the books?” he asked.

  “Yes. Just trust me—it might help. Let me give you the inspector’s number.” I pulled up Inspector Pierce’s number on my phone and gave it to Boris. “I’ll call him too.”