Page 82 of Evidence of Evil
“Does Dr. Laing get called often to the Nialls?” he asked casually.
Murray grimaced. “All the time. They must be a household of hypochondriacs. Poor old Laing barely gets a night’s decent sleep.”
“Even now?” Solomon said. “Since Miss Niall’s death?”
Constance was staring at him over Murray’s head. The doctor’s fingers paused in the act of tying off the bandage. “Actually, not so much. She must have been the worst offender. Or should I say the sickest.”
Constance’s eyes widened. Was she following Solomon’s groping for the truth? Thiswasthe truth. It slotted everything into place.
Laing had either deliberately ignored the state of Frances’s lungs at the autopsy or been too upset by his lover’s death, or by his own act of violence, to realize that Murray would see the evidence better than he.
“What are the visible signs of asphyxiation?” Constance asked.
Murray rose and stared at her. “If you are talking about Miss Niall, there were none.” He frowned. “Except perhaps those tiny brown spots on her eyelids, but Laing’s opinion was that they were not distinct enough to—”
“Why did you attend Sarah Phelps?” Solomon interrupted, for his mind was racing. Lainghadinterfered with the autopsy report, just enough to prevent any certainty. Murray was observant and smart, but Laing was the man of experience and decision. “I thought she insisted on Dr. Laing.”
“Laing was too busy, but I was worried about her and went myself. She didn’t summon either of us.” Murray looked bewildered, turning back and forth between Solomon and Constance. “Why are you…?”
Laing had not been too busy to see Sarah. He had been afraid to go near her because she knew… The same reason she had not asked for him.
A footfall sounded beyond the door to the hallway. Everyone looked toward it, and Solomon forgot to breathe. He should have got Constance out of there as soon as the truth hit him. She wasin no condition to face a murderer, to run… Their only hope was that Laing did not suspect they knew.
In the sudden tension, he risked a glance at Constance, willing her to understand.Not Murray. Laing. Their eyes met for barely an instant of silent communication, but he saw that she was already with him. She knew.
The door was pushed open with a creak of unoiled hinges, and Dr. Laing stepped into the kitchen. No monster of murder and lies, just an overworked medical man with rumpled hair and shadows beneath his eyes, still fully dressed as though he had been working.
He smiled amiably. “What a lot of chatter for the small hours. It’s after midnight, you know. Are we having a feast?”
“Cup of tea?” Murray offered. “Mrs. Grey sprained her ankle.”
The two doctors were on good terms, Solomon saw. Did that matter? Was Murray an ally, deliberately covering for Laing? Did he know what Laing had done? The cottage was not large. They could not help but be aware when each other went out, when someone visited…
Focus.
“Bad luck, ma’am,” Laing was saying, concern on his face that was surely genuine. “But you should have sent a servant for one of us to come to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t even hear your conveyance arrive.”
“Oh, we don’t have one,” Constance said. “We were out walking when I foolishly turned my ankle.”
“Walking in the dark is unwise, even in the country. Rabbit holes, poacher traps, and all sorts of obstacles that you can’t see or would even think about coming from the city. You must have fallen close by.”
“Up toward Fairfield Grange,” she said with a lightness Solomon knew was forced, though he doubted the doctors wouldnotice. “My husband carried me here, though I told him not to disturb you.”
“Mr. Grey was quite right,” Laing said, taking the last available chair at the table. “To walk on it without support would have been much more damaging. As it is, you should rest it as much as possible for the next few days. You should not, for example, walk home. Murray, if you harness old Betsy to the gig, I shall drive Mrs. Grey back to The Willows.”
Oh no, you won’t. Solomon summoned a smile, the kind of meaningless yet implacable expression he normally reserved for business meetings. “I confess the use of your gig would be welcome, but there is no need to disturb either of you. I can harness it myself and have one of Maule’s people return it immediately.”
“First light will do, won’t it?” Murray said with a quick glance at Laing. “That way, you and I can get a tad more well-earned rest.”
“Well, I’m glad you are awake enough to think more sensibly than I,” Laing said with a tired smile.
Murray reached for an old coat hanging from a hook on the back door, struggled into it, and lit a spill from the lamp before choosing the shabbier lantern beneath the table, the one that had not come from the Grange.
“You must remember to takethatone back to the Nialls,” he said, tapping the bulbous lamp.
“I doubt they’ll miss it,” Constance said. “They have lots of them.”
It was a mistake.
