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alas, we cannot at this point eliminate the possibility it was a woman who killed him. The coroner, who is a woman by the way, said she will do a post-mortem examination in the morning. I’ll attend that. Sometimes there are surprises.”
    “Such as?”
    “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the pastor was an opium eater or a drinker or had syphilis.”
    Amy looked at him in amazement. “Is that likely?”
    “Believe me, anything is likely.”
    She gave him a slightly teasing smile. “Are you becoming cynical, Will?”
    “Perhaps. I’d like to believe Mr. Howard was as good a man as everybody says he was, but if that’s true how can we explain such a tragedy?”
    “Ah, we’re back to the inscrutable nature of God’s intention, are we?”
    “That sounds awfully much as if I’m becoming boringly predictable.”
    “Not at all. Not predictable, just forever questioning.” Her eyes held his for a moment. “You’ve been in the presence of too much human misery, Will. You can’t take the sorrows of the world on your shoulders.”
    Murdoch grabbed at his own neck. “Heck, I thought all that stiffness was from too much riding on my wheel.”
    Amy pushed back her chair and stood up. “I should go to bed. I am tireder than I realized.”
    And that was that. Without more ado, she picked up her candleholder.
    “I wish you good night.”
    To delay her, he said, “How were your pupils today?”
    “Let me say, I felt as if I were trying to hold down twenty balloons all at the same time. It’s a wonder we didn’t float away.”
    She left and Murdoch groaned to himself. Why had he made light of her remark when she was trying to be kind? What a boor she must think him. He reached for his pipe and tobacco pouch, although he didn’t usually smoke in the kitchen. He tamped down the tobacco in the bowl of his Powhatan and struck a match.
    He supposed it was true what she’d said about him. He still went to mass but less and less frequently, and he was often restless when the priest delivered his homily, which was usually about some doctrinal issue that Murdoch couldn’t completely accept. Amy made no secret of her atheism, although she was obliged to attend church if she wanted to keep her job. She had opted to go to the Presbyterian church on King Street. “If I have to spend two hours of my precious Sunday going to an institution I don’t believe in, I might as well get a good sermon out of it and the Presbyterians are the best as far as I’m concerned.”
    Murdoch had considered inviting her to come to mass with him, just so she could see what it was like, but he knew all too well what she’d think of Father Fair and all the crossing and genuflecting that went on.
    He sat for a long time thinking about things – or, more specifically, love and the human heart.

Chapter Nine
    I NSPECTOR B RACKENREID was in the irascible frame of mind that was so typical of him these days, it would have been something to remark on if he had been otherwise. Murdoch was standing in front of his desk waiting for permission to sit down. Sometimes, the inspector was petty enough to make his officers stand for an unnecessarily long period.
    “I’ll give you Dewhurst and Birney. You’ve got Crabtree and Fyfer already. As long as nobody’s shirking their duty, that’ll be enough, don’t you think, Murdoch?”
    “Nobody will shirk, sir. They’re good officers. But I’d be glad of any constables we can spare from other duties. As you no doubt noticed in this morning’s papers, the city is quite caught up with the crime. I’m sure the chief constable would like us to make the case our top priority.”
    Brackenreid looked as if he wanted to argue the point, but he didn’t have the energy. He rubbed his temples.
    “Ach. I feel as if there’s some malevolent little devil in my head, playing a tune on an anvil.”
    Murdoch knew exactly what that devil was. He could smell it from where he stood.
    “Perhaps a strong cup of tea will help,