Read Online Inspector of the Dead by David Morrell - Free Book Online Page B

mother had taken in the morning. Their village had existed for only a short time. Most of the cottages were still being built, stacks of bricks and lumber standing next to skeletal frames. The village’s owner, a property developer, had bought this parcel of land four miles from St. John’s Wood, the northwestern extremity of London, in anticipation of London’s expansion.
    “Maybe she stopped at a neighbor’s,” their father said.
    He walked to a nearby cottage.
    Colin and Emma held Ruth’s hand while they watched their father knock on a door and speak to someone. As the crimson sun touched the horizon, he walked farther along, reached another door, and spoke to someone else. They had lived in the village for only ten days and didn’t know anyone, but all the people were laborers the same as their father, and even though Colin’s family was Irish, they hadn’t encountered any hostility.
    Frowning harder, their father returned and hugged them, saying, “Let’s put supper on the table. She’ll be along any time now.”
    But Colin couldn’t help noticing that his father’s hands were unsteady when he picked at his few potatoes, then divided them among the children.
    “Colin, watch your sisters.” In the chill of evening, he put on a coat. “I’ll soon be back.”
    In fact, it was long after dark when he returned. But their mother wasn’t with him, and their father now looked afraid as he tucked them into the stacked cots that he had made for them, next to the narrow bed that he and their mother shared.
    “What do you think happened to her?” Emma asked.
    “I don’t know,” their father answered. “It got so dark that I had to stop looking. In the morning, I’ll try again.”
    “Let’s say a prayer for Mama,” little Ruth said.
    Their mother had set out for St. John’s Wood with a basket of her knitting. What she was able to accomplish with needles and yarn was amazingly intricate, colorful patterns that created wonder. If not for their mother’s skills, Colin and his sisters wouldn’t have had warm gloves, caps, and scarves in winter. She had gone to St. John’s Wood to sell three jumpers. Someone had told her that there was a merchant who would buy them, and with the coins she was paid, she had hoped to purchase meat for several meals.
    But St. John’s Wood was only an hour’s walk away.
    In the morning, after their father made certain that Colin and his sisters had bread and cheese on the table, he opened the door to continue his search.
    He paused in surprise at what was before him.
    Colin, who followed, saw a constable approaching.
    “Are you Ross O’Brien?” the constable asked.
    “I am.”
    The Irish accent made the constable study him harder. “Is Caitlin O’Brien your wife?”
    “She is.” Colin’s father stepped forward. “Why? Has something happened to her?”
    “You could say that.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “She’s been arrested.”

FOUR
The Crystal Palace
    T he cold breeze was welcome, clearing the odor of death from Ryan’s nostrils as he and Becker stepped from the house. They faced the clamor of what seemed a hundred people pushing against each other, jostling to get as close as they could, complaining when someone shoved ahead of them. Most of the crowd consisted of footmen in breeches and knee-length coats or else maids and kitchen staff in aprons. They couldn’t have left their places of employment without permission, so their lords and ladies had presumably sent them to determine the nature of the commotion. With so much of interest happening, and with the responsibility of reporting every detail, the onlookers seemed indifferent to the increasingly cold weather.
    Surveying them, Ryan felt a shock of recognition. “Can that be Emily?”
    “And good God, that’s her father!” Becker said.
    Somehow De Quincey had managed to squirm through the mass in front of the house. The force of so many people pressed the little man against the iron railing.