River of Bones Read online

  Warren must have sensed that I didn’t quite know what to say to him, so he swiftly changed the topic. ‘Oh, and my dear twin sister told me to remind you that your telephone will be installed tomorrow morning at eight.’

  I groaned. ‘I completely forgot about that!’ I didn’t look forward to a telephone in the house. The thing was loud and would probably ring at least twice a week. But Hattie was worried. She’d be having twins and her biggest nightmare was that her labour would be short and intense, and her babies would shoot out into the night before I even made it to her home. Or worse, they’d get stuck and die. And so she insisted that the telephone company connect our house. And she’d insisted on paying for it.

  Voices trickled down the corridor. That of a young woman and…Quinn? I stood when Margery arrived with two guests. A girl I didn’t know was followed closely by Quinn, who carried his daughter in his arms. Líadáin — decked out in white frills — was sucking at her fist, her eyes wide and bright.

  The young woman looked at Quinn and he back at her, each waiting for the other to speak first.

  ‘Did you come for the tutor post?’ I asked.

  She bounced on her heels. ‘Yes, I did! I wanted to come earlier this morning, but Father wouldn’t permit it.’ She clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘I mean…at first, he didn’t, but then he agreed. I know sign language, numbers, letters, and cooking. Annie Lowell is my name.’

  Margery eyed her warily.

  ‘I should be leaving.’ Warren stood and frowned at Líadáin in Quinn’s arms. I could only guess what was going through his mind.

  Quinn stilled. The two men measured one another for a cold moment. They had a brief and unpleasant history. To escape an arranged marriage, Warren had pretended he’d been shot in the face by the Railway Strangler. It was Quinn who’d instantly seen through the charade. Warren’s influential father pulled a few strings so that only a fine had to be paid, rather than a prison sentence served for obstructing an ongoing police investigation. And after all was said and done, Warren’s father had cut his son’s access to the enormous family purse.

  There was no love lost between Warren and Quinn.

  I cleared my throat. ‘I’ll probably telephone you,’ I said to Warren, and to the girl, ‘The children are reading in the garden. I want you to meet them.’

  ‘Should I return tomorrow?’ Quinn asked.

  ‘No. This won’t take long. Would you like to stay for dinner?’

  ‘I don’t want to inconvenience you.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ Margery said from behind him as she showed a somewhat perplexed Warren to the door.

  * * *

  I introduced Miss Lowell to Klara and Arthur, then retreated to the porch to watch from a distance. Margery had placed cups, tea, milk, and sliced apples on the table. Líadáin slobbered on a piece of fruit, but wouldn’t be confined to Quinn’s lap. He carried her down the steps and set her on the grass.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me bringing her. Billy and Miss Hacker had a rough night, and they were sleeping when I left.’

  ‘Bring her any time you like. Miss Hacker and Billy are welcome, too.’ I supposed she didn’t get out much. Young mothers from the lower classes rarely ventured far from than the block they lived on. Many saw no point experiencing more than just the four walls of their home, and the shops and hawkers in the neighbourhood.

  ‘I try not to encourage her,’ Quinn replied.

  ‘You think she still fancies you?’

  He looked up and tilted his head. ‘Is that so unlikely?’

  I opened my mouth and clicked it shut. At first, I didn’t understand what he was getting at, but slowly it dawned on me. He thought the scar on the side of his face made him look repulsive.

  ‘Yes,’ I said truthfully.

  His expression emptied.

  ‘I haven’t sensed anything like that from her. But I could never quite relate to the rules of attraction, so I’m not the best person to ask. But I can imagine that she…’ Damn, I should have just kept my mouth shut.

  ‘Feels obliged?’

  ‘No, I’m pretty sure Miss Hacker doesn’t function that way. If, as you say, she wants more from you than just employment, it’s because of what she observes. She sees that you are a loving father to Líadáin, and concludes that her son would find a good father in you, and she a good husband.’

  His ears reddened as a smile flitted across his face. ‘You treat everything like a scientific experiment.’

  Prickling ran up my arms. I shifted my gaze away from his. ‘Have you had any luck with your investigation?’

  He produced a soft grunt, and told me about the orphanages, almshouses, and children’s asylums he and Boyle had telephoned and visited. Several dozen children of Arthur’s age were missing, but no one seemed bothered by it. The children were unruly, disliked school, and tolerated the switch for a few days of freedom.

  ‘They might eventually be reported missing if no one has seen them for a week or two,’ he said. ‘Or they won’t be reported at all, and their cot will be given to another child. For our boy, though, this is all irrelevant because there are no deaf children missing. But I was thinking… Would you mind taking the boy with you next time you go to Wards Six and Seven? Someone there might recognise him.’

  ‘I’m reluctant to expose him to anything that’ll remind him of his past. I know it’s counterproductive. But it’s just that—’

  ‘You want to protect him.’

  ‘Yes. But I know I can’t. We need to know what happened. Klara gave him a name today. Arthur. From the legend.’

  ‘King Arthur?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is she supposed to be eating that?’ Quinn dashed toward his daughter who was conveying a wriggling earthworm to her mouth. She cried when he pried it from her grasp.

  I broke out laughing. ‘I knew she’d be completely engrossed with the garden. Klara tasted worms, beetles, spiders, and whatever flower she could find. I made sure there are no poisonous plants growing here. So of course she went after a hornet. I nearly got cardiac arrest.’

  Startled, he could only blink. ‘I’ve seen my share of blood and guts, but watching my child get hurt is a brand new level of pain.’

  ‘Paternal instincts are terrifying.’

  ‘They are. Which brings me back to the boy. We are trying to keep him out of the newspapers. So if anyone comes asking, you don’t know anything.’ He brushed soil and bits of grass off his daughter’s face, and turned, his expression darkening. ‘The preliminary report stated that three faint scratches were found at the back of the corpse’s head. They would match the fingernails of a small hand. The scratches were only visible after they cut the hair away from the head wound and reconstructed the flaps of skin. It’s quite possible that the boy scratched him at some point. He might have been holding Arthur in his arms just before he died. The boy saw something. I’m quite sure.’

  ‘He saw the man was pushed.’ I told Quinn what Arthur had conveyed to me with his hand signals — the chase and then the fall of one man as the other watched. Silence fell as we spotted Annie Lowell leaving Klara and Arthur by the old apple tree where they sat reading a book. Had she known what Quinn and I were talking about, she wouldn’t have looked so cheerful.

  The evening sun bounced off her ruddy cheeks and chestnut hair as she clapped her hands reaching us. ‘The children are adorable! But I must have misread the advertisement. Someone has already taught Arthur sign language.’

  ‘Are you saying that he knows sign language?’ I was baffled.

  She bobbed her head. ‘He signed “thank you” and “friend.” But I don’t know how much he understood of what I signed to him. He is very timid.’

  ‘Odd. A teacher from the school for deaf children said Arthur doesn’t know sign language at all.’

  ‘Ah.’ She picked at her sleeves and said no more.

  Quinn opened his mouth, but I shook my head at him. ‘Our tea is getting cold. Join us for a moment, Miss Lowell.’

  8

  Annie Lowell promised to return the following day. Humming a ditty, she clanked the garden gate shut and marched up along Savin Hill Avenue.

  Líadáin was sitting on Quinn’s lap, soaking saliva into a muffin. A corner of his mouth curled. ‘You offered a tutor post to a filly.’

  I grinned. ‘Yes. She’s exactly what I was looking for. Kind-hearted, funny, and a most unlikely person to discipline the children.’

  He frowned at that. ‘An unusual approach.’

  I pushed a slice of apple into Líadáin’s grasping hand. ‘You disapprove? Would you use the switch on her? Wasn’t it you who said that watching your own child get hurt is a brand new level of pain?’

  His posture stiffed as his expression went from thoughtful to angry to decisive. ‘I know what violence does to a man. I will not do that to my child.’ His gaze slid from his daughter to Klara and Arthur, who’d given up reading and were rolling sideways down the gentle slope of the garden. ‘Or any child, actually.’

  I felt his eyes on me then. Unsure what to do with my hands or my face, I took a sip of tea.

  ‘Is that a weakness?’ he asked softly. ‘You know more about parenting than I. Isn’t a father supposed to discipline his children?’

  I set my cup into my lap and stared down at it. ‘You once told me that you used to be a pit fighter. Would you consider it honourable for a man to beat up another half his size?’

  ‘Of course not!’

  ‘There’s your answer. If you ask me for parenting advice I can only tell you this: don’t listen to parenting advice.’

  He guffawed. Líadáin’s spit out her mushed apple, threw back her head, and laughed at her father.

  ‘Listen to your heart. You love your daughter, and she loves and trusts you. No matter how brilliant a father you are, you can be assured that she’ll do stupid and reckless things that’ll make your heart stop.’

  ‘If that ain’t the truth. Klara! You and Arthur, go wash your hands and face. Dinner’s on the table in ten minutes!’ Margery hollered through the kitchen window.

  Quinn sat up straighter. ‘We keep getting distracted.’

  ‘We are horrible detectives. Tell me more about the preliminary report.’

  He did. There was nothing I didn’t already know, but we needed to summarise the findings and go through them, poking for holes, and finding many new questions among the few answers we had: The man had fallen from a great height and died on impact. Arthur had seen a struggle and possibly a chase of the dead man by another person. The scratches on the back of the man’s head could have been caused by Arthur. I’d ask him about it. It was established that Arthur and the man had known one another, and were possibly friends. But a lot remained unclear.

  ‘It keeps bothering me,’ Quinn said, combing his fingers through Líadáin’s hair. ‘Why hide the body for a week in the summer heat, and then move it? And why dump it by the river when the tide had just gone out? Why leave perfect footprints and a body in plain sight?’

  ‘Haste? Panic? You can’t expect them to plan and think like you.’

  ‘Hum. Let’s assume for a moment that they planned for the body to be taken away by the tide. They checked the tide schedule for Boston harbour. And then they missed it by an hour or more? It makes no sense. But then…people who kill in a passion, who don’t plan or even think straight, are the ones we catch. The murderers who calmly plot a killing — those are the ones we never find. The question remains — was this killing done on the spur of the moment, or was it an impulse or an accident? The evidence suggests it wasn’t planned. To me, this looks like the perpetrators panicked and couldn’t decide what do with the body. I don’t think they planned any of this.’

  ‘Can you tell from stride length and boot size and depth of the footprints that they were men?’ I asked

  He shook his head. ‘No, not with any certainty. Not all women are dainty little things, and not all men are big brutes.’

  ‘I always like to disprove hypotheses. So let’s assume they planned everything. Meticulously. They planned the killing, and they planned how to get rid of the body. But then…something happened. Something unforeseen.’ I scratched my head. ‘Along the way, they made a mistake. Reading tide tables is simple, I doubt they misread them.’

  I felt Quinn’s piercing gaze on me. The tiny hairs on my arms rose in answer.

  He said, ‘Did they misread them or were they held up on the way?’ He trailed off, his eyes narrowing. Líadáin slammed both hands flat on the table and sent the plate in front of her flying. With a deft flick of his hand, Quinn caught it.

  ‘The skipping stones,’ I murmured as he stood and began rocking his wriggly daughter. ‘She’s probably hungry. I’ll ask Margery to bring porridge.’

  ‘No, she’s tired and wants Miss Hacker. I’ll take my leave. We can continue our discussion tomorrow.’

  ‘If it’s all right with you, I can feed her. Klara weaned herself when Arthur arrived because she doesn’t want him to think she’s a baby. So I have a…um…surplus of milk at the moment.’

  Quinn stopped in his tracks. Líadáin began to cry. ‘You would…her…’ He’d got stuck on the work “breastfeed.”

  Feigning indifference, I produced a shrug. ‘I’m a mammal, she’s a mammal.’

  Blood rose to his ears, but he took a step closer and handed me his daughter. As he sat back down and made a point of looking out onto the garden, I unbuttoned my shirt and offered Líadáin a breast. I hoped this would calm her down enough to fall asleep. ‘It might be as simple as a broken watch,’ I ventured.

  Quinn huffed. ‘It might be as simple as that. It was still dark when they got rid of the body. They might not have seen that the tide wasn’t coming in, but going out already.’

  ‘Nor have they seen that they were leaving footprints. But they must have felt their boots sinking into the mud.’

  ‘The skipping stones.’ His gaze strayed to me and quickly averted again. Women breastfeeding in public was a common enough sight, but for some reason my doing it was making Quinn uncomfortable. He’d had no such qualms with Miss Hacker nursing his daughter and her own son in their sitting room.

  He cleared his throat. ‘They were skipping stones by the sea or the river. I wish we could limit that to a single location.’

  ‘We can limit it somewhat. Caddisfly larvae need fresh water.’

  ‘A river or lake, then. Good. Next, we need to know where Arthur comes from and if that’s where he met the man and witnessed his death. Will you ask the boy?’

  ‘I can’t guarantee an answer,’ I said softly so as not to disturb Líadáin. Her small fist kneading my shirt grew slack and settled against my breastbone. Her eyes fluttered shut. ‘There you go, dear one.’

  The clomp-clomp of Margery’s shoes made Líadáin twitch. Luckily, it didn’t wake her. ‘Would you like to take dinner here, or later in the sitting room?’ she asked.

  ‘Can you bring it out, please?’

  She paused for a moment as she spotted Líadáin attached to my breast. Only as she left did I notice that Quinn was eerily quiet. I scanned his profile. A muscle in his jaw rippled. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said softly.

  He didn’t look at me. ‘What are you sorry for?’ His voice was gruff.

  ‘This makes you sad. It reminds you of your wife.’ Nine months earlier, Quinn’s wife had leapt from their third-floor window, planning to take their daughter down with her. Quinn had managed to save Líadáin, but only barely.

  ‘Don’t apologise. Líadáin reminds me of Ailis every day. It’s just that…’ He shook his head once. I waited. Behind us in the house, Zachary and Margery talked about Mr and Mrs Cratchitt’s brood of many children, and what kind of cake to bake for Klara’s birthday.

  ‘You are still worried about her third birthday,’ Quinn said, his eyes narrowed to a spot on my thigh where I hid my holster. ‘You had a tailor conceal an opening in your clothing so you can reach your revolver at any times?’

  I nodded. ‘Zach carries one as well. There’s always at least one armed person around Klara.’

  ‘You are a study in contrasts,’ he murmured, and then with insistence, ‘When does she turn three?’

  ‘In a week.’

  ‘I’ll be here. Will you be safe after that?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Explain it to me.’

  I pulled my shirt closed, and softly rocked Líadáin as I collected my thoughts. ‘Moran, the man who threatened to take her from me when she turns three, is in Europe. He’s under surveillance and I receive weekly wires on his location. The detective following him has identified nearly of all Moran’s henchmen. Soon, he’ll be arrested, and his men with him. The problem, though, is…my late husband’s family. I contacted them, but never received an answer.’

  ‘I don’t understand. Why are they a problem?’

  ‘Three years ago, they paid Moran to kidnap Klara and kill me. There’s no proof of that as long as Moran is at large. Moran has lost credibility with them and it seems they’ve turned away from him, but I need to be certain that he’s not working for them anymore. And that they aren’t employing some other killer to get what they want.’

  ‘Do they know where you live?’

  I shook my head. I hoped they didn’t know, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Quinn’s gaze grew unfocused. His brow fell into creases. ‘Do you have a photograph of him?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘I’ll need a copy. If the detective you talked about loses him, or if you find out he’s coming here, I’ll show his face to…acquaintances. He won’t set foot in Boston.’

  I wasn’t sure I was ready to trust him with my safety but nodded anyway.

  Quinn folded his hands on his lap and changed the topic. ‘A more detailed description of the dead man will be published in the papers tomorrow morning. I hope someone comes forward to identify him.’