Page 42 of Death at a Highland Wedding
“Criminal officers investigate crimes,” I say. “Like murder.”
Ross turns and gives a start on seeing me. Then he stares. Just stares until Gray clears his throat.
“That is my assistant, Miss Mitchell,” Gray says. “She is correct. Detective McCreadie has investigated… How many murders is it now, Hugh? Seven? Eight? With every killer successfully brought to justice.”
Ross’s eyes boggle, and I’m just about to think he understands what Gray is getting at when he says, “Seven or eight murders? No wonder my mother says Edinburgh is the devil’s playground.”
“The point,” Gray says, teeth snapping, “is that Detective McCreadie is very experienced at this, and will be glad to aid in your investigation. As will Miss Mitchell and I.”
“Aren’t you a doctor?” Ross says.
“Dr. Gray is a forensic scientist who works with the police,” McCreadie says. “He assists in all my cases and has gained great renown for his own detective work.”
“Ah.” Ross nods. “We all need a little help now and then, as my da alwayssays. I am sure you are a fine… criminal officer, sir, but I will not be needing your help. This isn’t one of your city murders. Things are different here.”
“Which I understand,” McCreadie says, and there’s an edge to his words that suggests he’s finally losing patience. “The case is yours. I am merely offering my services, as I knew the victim, and I do have some experience—”
“No need,” Ross says. “I will take it from here. Now, you said thatisthe dead body over there?”
As the young man steps in that direction, Gray gives a rumbling warning growl. McCreadie moves in front of Ross.
“That is the body,” McCreadie says. “Can I confirm that you have summoned the doctor?”
Ross frowns. “Why? You said he was dead.”
“A dead body requires a doctor to examine it,” McCreadie says.
“For what?” Ross sounds genuinely perplexed.
“To determine how the man died. For the investigation.”
“Oh, I’m sure I can tell that on my own. I see blood from here.”
Ross continues making his way toward the body.
“Call the doctor,” I say. “Or let Dr. Gray handle it.”
Ross turns and again, he just stares at me. Then he says, “Pardon me, miss?”
I walk over. “You have a dead body. A murder victim who is the dear friend of the man who owns this estate, which I am guessing is one of the biggest in your county.”
“Er, yes, the biggest actually, but—”
“The owner of this property will expect a proper investigation. Now, you may do things one way here and we do them another in the city, but if Mr. Cranston”—I nod toward Cranston—“is from the city and a childhood friend of Detective McCreadie’s, he will expect things done in a certain way, and if they are not, he will raise a fuss. Do you know what happens when men like Mr. Cranston raise a fuss?”
“Er…”
I step closer, and his breathing picks up as I lean in. “People like you and me lose our jobs. Now, if you don’t want to bother the local doctor—or pay his fees—then might I suggest you let Dr. Gray help you.”
Ross’s gaze shoots to Cranston.
I continue, “If you need to confirm this procedure with anyone, that is understandable. I presume you do not, though, as youarefirst constable.”
It’s a cheap shot, and in the twenty-first century, it’d get me in a heap of trouble. You can’t just walk into a small town and suggest the local police chief hire another coroner to investigate your friend’s murder. But we’re in a time before that system is well established. A time when there obviously is no coroner, just a country doctor who may have never had to deal with homicide before.
Ross straightens. “I do not see any reason to bother Dr. Rendall.”
“You should still mention it to him,” McCreadie says. “As a courtesy. In fact, you could leave the choice to him.”
