by J. E. Keep
Despite their arguing, despite their animosity, there was one thing she was certain of. He would never leave a body for her to find.
Gregory’s eyes went wide, and the mild-mannered professor strode towards her at such a pace, “Wh-what?” He stammered then stepped around her towards the door and peered out before looking back to her, “If this is some kind of joke, Eva,” he began, his words trailing off.
“I would never,” she shook her head, sympathy pouring through her for the older man. “This really doesn’t look good for either of us though...”
He, however, looked beyond the cool rationality of her part. Instead he went to the door, “You can’t be sure,” and opened it up, heading out into the night.
“Sinclair!” she spoke loudly, not following directly after him. Instead she stayed inside, hidden by the door. The last thing she needed was for both of them to be caught around her lover’s corpse.
She watched the man head on up the trail, looking about frantically and taking much longer to find her body without aid of knowing where exactly it was. When finally he came to her, he ran over, kneeling down in the snow and checking her for vital signs.
She couldn’t hear anything from where she was but when the glass doors of the library opened up and one of the maids looked out, she could imagine the sound as the woman covered her mouth and backtracked into the manor looking horrified.
Eva’s heart beat loudly in her chest, and she knew she had to get out of here, unseen. She couldn’t remember if anyone had seen her enter the library, all those hours ago. The champagne had been making her less cautious, after all, but she felt certain no one knew she was out there. The thoughts of police interviewing her, of asking where she had been and what she had seen...
She snapped herself out of her fears. She had seen nothing. She had heard nothing. She just needed to find some way to make this seem less suspect.
Despite her attempts to compose herself, the whole situation was too much. Seeing the dead body of her lover’s wife, the prospect of being exposed and having her reputation—and doubtlessly her career—ruined while saying nothing of potential jail time, muddled her thoughts far too much.
Before she could think up something, she saw guests were coming out the back exits to stare at the two Sinclair’s, and as more and more of them ran back inside she knew police must have already been informed.
The room still stank of sex, and Sinclair had only just begun to tidy up. Her wide eyes were frantic as she stared across the scene, seeing her dismal future begin to play out in front of her. Her heart was racing as she watched the guests gawk, and she knew there was no way out. Not here. Not for her.
How much did they know? Had they noticed her missing? Panic had settled in, and she could feel herself begin to hyperventilate, unmoving against the wall of the smaller house.
When she managed to get herself together next, she saw out the window that Sinclair with the aid of another was ushering the people inside the manor. The distraction brought her a moment of clarity and she realized that the path led by a copse of trees that wound by the side of the manor itself, perhaps able to give her some cover.
It was risky, but then, so was staying in the house. She had no thoughts in her mind but finding a way to clear herself—and hopefully Sinclair—from such a horrific ordeal. It was only for the briefest moment that a thought ran through her mind of the conversation she had so recently with the older man, but she pushed it aside. She would handle all else once she was properly extricated from the situation.
Sliding open the door, she was grateful that she wore so much dark clothing. Her dress, the jacket, her stockings and hat all blended easily into the night as she tried to escape her doom.
The moment she left the guest house she could hear the wail of the sirens coming from the other side of the manor. The downside—for her predicament—of this occurring in the wealthiest neighbourhood of the whole of Stocktun was that the police were exceptionally prompt. Though with her daze she had no idea how long she’d been wallowing in the guest house to begin with.
Skulking through the trees she managed to avoid nearing the windows and doors of the back of the manor, and heard nobody approaching. As she began to pass the side of the building so successfully she was stopped abruptly by a very tall and broad man.
With a heavy hand touching upon her shoulder, she looked up and saw a ruggedly handsome blonde man, with eyes so bright an emerald she could make it out even in the dark of night. Dressed in a trench coat he spoke down to her with a deep voice, “Are you lost, miss?”
Chapter 5
Her eyes looked so wide and panicked, her hand going to his chest. “I drank too much and when I woke up, I was here... I’m so cold,” she shivered, her face dropping down and allowing her hat to cover her face. “I’m so ashamed. I couldn’t stand for my parents to find out! Please don’t tell them!”
The tall man, with his working class suit and tie beneath that jacket, gave her a look over then took hold of her shoulder. “C’mon,” he said in a friendly manner, guiding her around the side of the building towards the front. “This is not the night to be wandering around this party drunk, miss,” he said as she could see the lights of the police cars and the mass of people moving about, most of them leaving as she was.
“What’s happened?” she asked, as if suddenly aware of what was happening, her eyes looking up at him and flushing brightly, “Is something wrong?”
Obviously much older than her, likely in his thirties, the trench coated man took her through the police, the officers paying him no heed except for one who nodded to him familiarly. Looking down to her he asked, “What’s your name, miss? I’m Max,” he introduced, “detective Max Eisen.”
“Eva,” she said meekly, seeming as though the lights and the people were all too much for her, “I’m Eva. I’m... I’m a student at Clarford. What’s... why is there a detective here?”
In the bright lights of the front of the manor he looked her over again, “You have a ride, Eva?” He asked congenially, “Or should I have one of the officers escort you back to your place? I’m afraid there’s been a terrible incident here, and we’ll be investigating.”
“I... No, I don’t have a ride,” she shook her head, her wavy hair bouncing off her temples. She wanted to say something to help Sinclair, but she could think of nothing that wouldn’t implicate her. “I would really appreciate that.”
Nodding to her he gestured to one of the officers who went and got in his car. “Just tell the officer where you live, alright? He’ll take you on there,” he gave her a warm smile. “What’s your last name anyhow, Eva?” The tall blonde man radiated a degree of warmth and friendliness, seeming rather sensitive to her position—her perceived position—as a young student overwrought at some high society party.
“Perkins,” she murmured as she slid herself into the backseat of the police car, feeling her entire body tense, “Eva Perkins, detective.”
With a nod he patted the officer on the shoulder, “Take Miss Perkin’s home, Jim. She lives out by Clarford I imagine,” he gave her a warm smile. “Don’t worry, just try and avoid these things in the future, huh?” he cautioned before shutting the door for her.
She would, without a doubt, be trying to avoid dead bodies and implications beyond her reasoning in the future.
Giving Jim her address, she looked sullen, though it could have easily been passed off as regret. Though there was regret there as well. She had never wanted this, not for herself, not for Sinclair. To think of both of their careers going up in smoke, and hers having not even started yet.
Chapter 6
Despite the stress of the evening Eva slept solidly that night. When the next day began not even a good night’s rest could wipe away the worry however, and the realization that she had an appointment to meet with Dr. Turing later in the day struck her.
She was not in the mood to entertain, especially not in the mood to discuss pharmacology. The thought filled her with
dread and loathing, and her footsteps were heavy as she went to grab the paper. Surely there wouldn’t be anything in it yet, but the high society news always did seem to be the first thing on those grubby reporter’s minds.
Her fears were shown true, however, for when she opened up the front page of the paper—left in the kitchen by the old lady for her—she saw the headline, “Murder at Sheaworth Heights?” The article was very preliminary, vying for sensationalism from little information. Though she gleaned a few things from the paper: Gregory was taken in for questioning, and there was at least suspected foul play, though police were making no statement just yet.
She felt like her limbs were heavy weights, and she thought about all that had happened. She was absolutely certain that Sinclair wasn’t the killer, though that did little good for either of them. Her word as his mistress would hardly be convincing, after all. She took the paper up to her room and tossed it on top of the stack of books, beginning to boil some water.
The thought sprang to her mind unbidden that perhaps Mrs. Sinclair had found out about her husband’s proclivities, and offed herself. How long had she been lying there in the snow? She didn’t recall seeing her before entering the guest house, and if she had been there, she would have. Besides, someone would have noticed such a prolonged absence of the gracious host.
She mused so long that the sound of the kettle boiling shocked her, and she realized quickly that she should reschedule with Turing. Certainly she was of no use to anyone today, and she’d hate to accidentally give away more information of last night.
Getting the kettle she heard the sound of knocking at her door from downstairs.
She dreaded it, and with a sleepy, sullen gaze she went back down, her dressing robe pulled around her tightly. A knot formed deep within the pit of her stomach as she pulled open the door.
Standing there before her was the detective from last night. A hat on this time, he had his thick dark trench coat on over a grey suit and black tie. With the stubble upon his face it looked like he hadn’t had a chance to clean up and rest since she last saw him, but he looked ruggedly handsome and alert none the less. “Miss Perkin’s?” he said, “Max Eisen. Was wondering if we could have a talk.”
She felt herself flush, unable to contain it as she nodded, pulling her robe around her full figure more modestly. “Absolutely,” she nodded, motioning up the stairs. “I recall detectives usually have coffee, but I’m afraid I only have tea. The kettle just boiled, though,” she murmured, sounding groggy.
Stepping on inside he tipped his hat to her cordially. “Sorry if I caught you unprepared,” he said, referring to her still being in her dressing robe. “I’ll try not to take much of your time, I just wanted to check up on you while I was here,” he said, heading up into her parlor as invited.
“I’m a little bit worse for the wear,” she sighed as she followed him up, quickly making some tea for him as well. “Though I can’t say I expected a detective on my doorstep this morning, even after your kindness last night.” She smiled a little, her large eyes working over his tired face, “I did have the grace to remember you.”
Smiling warmly to her and nodding his head once more he pulled a bundle from underneath his arm. The roughness added to his firm jawline had the effect of making the handsome, tan blonde look more attractive. He had to be in his thirties, much older than her by far, and when he extended the dark offering she could see a wedding band on his finger, “You left this at the party, I understand. Wanted to return it to you.”
She accepted it back graciously, hugging the coat to her large chest as she sighed, “I feel like I should be apologizing to you for my recklessness. I’m not usually like that.” Shaking her head, she put the coat into her closet, and settled down in the chair, raising her teacup to her lips and blowing on it. The paper was still on the table, and she couldn’t help but glance over at it before returning her gaze to his face.
Accepting her offer of tea he sat down across from her and took off his hat. “I don’t suppose it is,” he said, “being a student of a prestigious school like Clarford, one doesn’t usually get there by being careless,” he said. Sipping the drink and looking around casually.
“I guess my nerves got the better of me,” she sighed. “I’ll be graduating from my program soon, and the pressure... well, that’s nothing that would interest you,” she laughed herself off. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe. There’s plenty of untoward people out there.”
Nodding to her slowly he said, “There certainly are. Though I wouldn’t have expected so right here on this campus, of all places,” he remarked before sipping his tea again.
She shrugged her shoulders as she finished her tea. She was quite the fast drinker, and she hated the way her hands were shaking. “When I was growing up, people used to leave their doors unlocked. Things are changing.”
Nodding to her in understanding he took another sip and then laid his own cup and saucer down, not close to finished, “Did you happen to see anything of note last night at the party?” The man was nearly so large as Allen, though at least ten years his senior of course.
She shook her head, her eyes falling to the paper, “Nothing that could explain that, no. After dinner, however, I’m afraid most of my night was a blur.”
Nodding slowly he shrugged his shoulders, “I only ask because I know a few of your compatriots from the university were there that you likely know. So I was wondering if you saw them, and if they were up to anything suspicious.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she thought, then shook her head, “I spoke with a lawyer and, of course, Doctor Sinclair. He had invited me after all. I can’t recall who else was there, however. Which other professors attended?”
He paused a moment and studied her before saying, “Doesn’t matter, just some people from your department. But if you didn’t see them there even, it hardly matters.” He rose up and took his hat in hand once more, smiling kindly, “Thank you for the tea, miss Perkin’s.”
“You don’t think it could have been Doctor Sinclair, do you?” she asked as she stood, true concern coming through for the man. “I could scarcely imagine him hurting a fly, let alone the mother of his children.”
Nodding slowly he began to make his way towards the door, “I’ve heard that,” he said, then gave her a shrug. “Hard to say, miss Perkin’s,” he remarked in his gravelly voice, made so much darker by his lack of rest. “You don’t happen to know of any reason why someone would have it in for Mr. or Mrs. Sinclair, do you?”
“I don’t know Mrs. Sinclair well, so I can’t speak to that. And, well, the Professor is cutting edge in his field, and obviously well to do, though I don’t understand why anyone would take anger for him out on an innocent woman,” she shook her head, following after the detective. “Is... Is Doctor Sinclair still being held?”
Opening the door and pausing before heading down the steps he shook his head regretfully, “He’s a prime suspect of course. The husband always is,” with a shrug of his shoulders he said, “only time will tell how this all pans out then, miss Perkin’s. Thanks for your kindness,” he said, donning his hat and then tipping it to her again.
“If... If you need anything, I only wish to be of help. And If I hear of anything, I will let you know,” she smiled, but behind the chocolate coloured eyes, her minds were reeling. Who else was there? Why hadn’t she seen them?
Worse yet, had they seen her?
Reaching into his pocket he smiled and pulled out a card, handing it to her, “Here you go, miss. If you think of anything, do let me know, will you? I only wish to see this all resolved as soon as possible, for the good of everyone involved.”
“Me too...” she agreed with a sigh. At least Martin will be happy. Likely he’d be getting more classes to teach. She looked so defeated as she took the detective’s card, slipping it into her robe and inadvertently tugging it open just a tad before she gasped, a blush coming over her form. “You look like you could use some sleep. Your wif
e likely misses you.”
The motion didn’t go unnoticed, for how could any man ignore a glimpse of her generous breasts? It obviously captured his attention for he had to hesitate before speaking. Clearing his throat, “I could,” he said in that hard, gravelly voice of his, “it was nice seeing you again, miss Perkin’s. Do take care, won't you? This campus may not be as safe as we once thought,” he said, turning and heading to the downstairs door.
Shutting the door behind him she took in a deep breath. Settling into her chair, she once more read over the sensationalistic paper and began to pen a note to Doctor Turing. She was going to reschedule, but perhaps that would be seen as suspicious. Perhaps he was there.
Crumpling it up, she endeavoured to get ready once more. Her outfit was by far more low key than usual, even closing in on frumpy—in her mind. The long skirt and the fitted blouse did little to show off her figure, though it was nearly impossible to hide the curvaceous body. Pinning back her hair and placing her hat atop it, she sucked in a deep breath and made her way out.
Chapter 7
With a background in medicine as well as psychology, Samuel Turing’s office was not with the other professors in her department. He had a special place with an adjoining room for working with patients. So when she arrived at his office, the man wasn’t there but in the other room. As she knocked on his door he came out and locked the hallway door into his lab, “Ah, miss Perkin’s,” he said, and that hawkish man actually had a rare smile on his face. “Timely as usual,” he said, coming over and opening the door to his office, letting her in.
The office itself was fairly large, though it seemed less so with all the clutter. Stacks of papers and books everywhere, and a couch similar to the one in Russell’s office made the place seem especially crowded.