Page 36 of Method of Revenge
“I’m just about to lock up and leave for the evening. My uncle is already gone,” she said, though unnecessarily. He hadn’t come to see Claude.
“Of course. I won’t keep you. I just wanted to inform you that the description of the John Doe you sent over yesterday has already proved successful. He’s been identified as a man missing from Clerkenwell, a Mr. Norrell. I’m told his family should be here tomorrow to view and claim his body.”
The John Doe had fallen to the very recesses of her mind over the last twenty-four hours.
“That is wonderful news,” Leo said, then rethought her words. “Not that Mr. Norrell would think so, but I am glad his family will know what happened to him.”
When Mr. Norrell had been found dead in an alley, his pockets had been empty. Anything that could identify him had already been stolen by street vagrants. Claude determined the cause of death had been a heart attack, as he’d found large blood clots in the ventricles of the man’s heart, with no apparent signs of trauma.
“If you’re leaving for the evening, allow me to flag a cab for you,” Constable Murray offered.
“That’s not necessary. I live close enough, and I usually walk.”
“At this hour? It’s getting dark. Please, allow me to escort you.”
She hadn’t been expecting the offer, and her initial reaction was to refuse it. “It isn’t a dangerous route.”
“I’ll simply walk several paces behind you if you say no, so you may as well accept.”
She was uncertain if she should feel annoyed or warmed by his insistence as she went inside to gather her things and the folder of complaints, then put out the gasoliers. He was grinningvictoriously when she stepped back outside and locked the lobby door.
“Don’t look so smug,” she warned. “It isn’t becoming.”
Constable Murray laughed good-naturedly. It wasn’t a sound she was accustomed to, not when her world orbited around a morgue and Scotland Yard. Jasper most certainly didn’t laugh. In fact, she tried to imagine what it might sound like coming from his throat and failed.
They started out into the chilly March evening, and the constable fell into step beside her.
“I’m curious, Miss Spencer, as to how much longer you plan to work with your uncle.”
She slowed, a suspicion spiraling in alongside his question. Had he read the article about her?
“Why do you ask?”
“He is…growing older,” he replied, sounding as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Might you be thinking about what happens after he retires from the profession?”
It seemed the topic was on everyone’s minds as of late. Hers, Jasper’s, Claude’s, the Chief Coroner’s, and now, Constable Murray’s. She gave him the same answer she had given Jasper the previous night, that she might consider employment at a funeral service.
He peered at her quizzically. “You enjoy working with the dead.”
It was a statement, not a question. The article had insinuated as much too.
“I don’t know if enjoyment is a factor,” she replied tightly. “But I’m not ashamed to say it doesn’t bother me.”
She’d already said as much at their dinner the week before. He could only be asking again because of that blasted article.
“You don’t mind the sights?” he asked. “The smells?”
Leo came to a stop, and he halted a step or two after her. “Constable Murray,” she began. “I have seen the newspaper article, and it seems you have as well.”
He appeared contrite as he clasped his hands behind his back. “I thought it was well-done.”
She huffed and began walking again, this time at a faster clip. “It was an invasion of privacy! The author did not ask for permission to write about me, and now, all of London knows that I am a strange young woman working in a morgue.”
He caught up to her. “Not at all. I think you are fascinating.”
Slowing again, she peered at him, unsure if she should believe the compliment. But he did look and sound sincere.
The few times an officer from Scotland Yard had shown her any interest, she would soon learn it was her peculiar work that intrigued him. After she and Constable Murray had dined at the chophouse, she’d started to think perhaps that wasn’t the reason for his interest. She didn’t wish to be proven wrong.
