Page 8 of Method of Revenge
She was coming off the first flight of narrow stairs into a busy corridor of offices and turning for the next flight when she heard her name called through the commotion.
“Miss Spencer?”
A strange cinch and swirl of her stomach accompanied the voice. She took her foot from the bottommost step and turned to find a young, uniformed officer smiling at her.
“Constable Murray,” she said, feeling distinctly timid. She hadn’t stopped to consider that she might see him this morning.
For a few weeks now, she’d been providing detailed descriptions of John and Jane Does that came into the morgue forThePolice Gazette, which Constable Murray edited and organized. The daily digest was distributed to the stations in every division, listing details of stolen goods and wanted criminals, the descriptions of both oftentimes accompanied by drawings. That way, officers in one part of London could keep an eye out for those wanted in connection to a crime committed in another area. TheGazettehad been a constant presence in the Inspector’s home. Leo used to enjoy reading older copies bound for Mrs. Zhao’s kitchen stove, then questioning the Inspector about which cases had been solved.
When Constable Murray approached the morgue with the idea of running descriptions of unidentified bodies to help the divisions solve missing persons cases or murder investigations, she’d thought it would be a brilliant addition. The idea had come too late to help Jasper with his Jane Doe case, but Leo was excited by the prospect of helping to identify future unclaimed bodies. Ever since January’s investigation with Jasper, she’d longed to be useful in some way for other cases. Typing postmortems and inquest reports was serviceable, of course, but rather dull and monotonous.
After bringing several descriptions to theGazetteoffice at the Yard, she’d found Constable Elias Murray to be affable and good-natured in addition to somewhat handsome. Still, she’d been bowled over a little more than a week ago when he’d invited her to a chophouse one evening.
Leo stepped toward the officer now, awkwardly holding the paper-wrapped Chelsea buns in her hands. She and the constable pressed against the wall of the corridor so as not to cause a logjam in the crush of foot traffic.
“I don’t have a description for you today,” she said after another tongue-tied moment.
“That’s quite all right. I just wanted to say hello.” Heat infused his cheeks. With his pale Scottish complexion, complete with ginger hair and freckles, that was easily done.
“I see,” she said, eager to be on her way to the matron’s floor. The buns were losing their warmth. “Hello.”
Constable Murray laughed, his cheeks still a bit flushed. “I enjoyed spending time with you last week. I wondered if you might like to dine out again soon.”
She was not so startled this time. Only somewhat baffled and slightly wary. The officers here usually viewed her as an oddity. Indecent, even, since ‘decent’ ladies did not work in morgues.
“Oh. Again?” She cringed at her inept response.
He coughed, looking even more amused now. “Only if you’d like to, of course.”
“I would,” she said quickly. “Forgive me, I just wasn’t sure if you would ask. The last time we shared a meal, I spoke more about autopsies than is deemed polite.”
At this he belted out a laugh, and Leo jumped.
“I thought it was scintillating dinner conversation. Far more interesting than anything having to do with the weather or fashion or politics,” he said, then dipped his head in a departing nod. “I’ll call on you later this week.”
She bid him a good day, relieved to retreat to the stairs and climb to the matron’s floor. The odd jumble of her nerves kept her frowning as she joined Dita in the empty duty room.
“Oh, good, I’m famished,” her friend said, reaching for one of the Chelsea buns. She pulled back at Leo’s expression. “Gracious, you look like a thunder cloud. What has you so upset?”
She wiped the frown from her lips and decided it might be time to tell Dita about Constable Murray. Dita listened, rapt, as they ate their buns, her eyes growing round with delight.
“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”
Leo shrugged. “I’m not sure anything will come of it.”
Dita arched a brow. “Do you want it to?”
“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.” She hadn’t come here to discuss Elias Murray. “I’m more interested in hearing if you’ve been able to remember anything else about last night.”
Dita sighed and bit into her bun. “Not really.”
“What about Andrew Carter, the husband? He must have left the table before Mrs. Carter began convulsing since he didn’t return until after she was already dead?—”
Dita held up her hand. “Leo, please, you know I can’t stomach talking about dead bodies, especially while I eat.”
She apologized and then sealed her lips. Dita’s sensibilities were exactly what hers ought to have been, she supposed, but the topic of death and corpses had never fazed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to pretend that they did.
They finished eating, Dita sending Leo annoyed glances as she chewed. Finally, she swallowed her last bite and sat back in the chair. “All right, you may start with your questions. Though I can’t promise I won’t still feel ill. It was an awful sight, seeing that poor woman dead on the floor. She’s probably younger than we are, and it must have been so painful for her…”
