indicated death by strangulation.
“My cousin—my cousin had the same indicators; I just didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time.”
Doyle nodded sadly. “Yes—you realized that her death was a murder, in hindsight. Who did it? D’you know?”
“Her father—my uncle. I had nothing concrete, but I just knew . I think she’d gotten old enough to threaten him with exposure, so he killed her.”
“Yes; I imagine so.” This was, unfortunately, not an unusual sequence of events, as they had discovered in this business. “Faith, Thomas; I am so sorry.” And at that moment, the world lost a very fine doctor but gained a very fine detective, instead. “You canno’ be so hard on yourself, Thomas Williams; you canno’ rescue everyone.”
The steady gaze met hers. “I can try.”
But her own gaze did not waiver. “Not this time—I swear to you on my mother’s soul that it wasn’t Acton; my bruises were hard-earned, they were, and my attacker paid a very steep price for them.”
He searched her eyes, then nodded. “Right then; I’ll say no more.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. “How on earth do you face him—your uncle, I mean?”
Her companion examined his hands again. “No longer necessary; he died last year—fell and drowned while crossing a stream on his property.”
This was not true, but she observed in a mild tone, “Now, there’s justice and irony shakin’ hands.”
“Sometimes it all works out.”
Another lie; but she already knew this—already knew why her scalp had been prickling and her intuition was practically beating her over the head to pay attention. Williams’s situation was similar to their working theory on the vigilante murders; there had been a trigger, just as Acton had speculated. A trigger made Williams recognize a murder in hindsight, and then he became a vigilante in his own way—probably with Acton’s help; two men who felt the justice system needed an occasional helping hand. She wondered whether Acton had experienced a similar trigger, one that had started him down his own path.
Suddenly certain, she told him, “I think we’re lookin’ for a vigilante who’s consumed with guilt instead of vengeance, just as you suggested. Might well be a case-worker, or someone on the defense team—someone who helped the murderers get off and then realized, somehow, that he’d truly mucked it up.”
He nodded. “All right; where do you want me to start?”
“Let me think about how to divide up the task; in the meantime, I need a favor.”
“You need only ask.”
She glanced at the time on her mobile. “I’m goin’ to meet a reluctant witness in the bookstore shortly, and I’d like you to cover the flank.”
This did not set well, and he was suddenly on high alert. “Is he dangerous? I’ll come in with you.”
“No—if you’re there he won’t speak, but I’d like an excuse to leave if it’s goin’ nowhere. Could you ping my mobile about twenty minutes after I go in? If I don’t answer, come and extricate me with some excuse.” She paused. “And please do not mention this to Acton.”
This remark caused no end of alarm, and he raised his brows. “Kath—”
She raised her own brows in response. “Oh—is this a problem? And here I thought you sincerely meant your fine speech of five minutes ago.” It was masterful, truly; she had him caught by his own promise.
“What is this about?” he asked heavily.
“Not sayin’. Are you in?”
“Of course.” He wasn’t happy about it, though.
She wasn’t afraid of her rescuer; she truly didn’t think he was a danger to her. But one never knew, and she couldn’t quite like the way he’d followed her around, yesterday. “That’s grand of you, Williams, and much appreciated,” she said cheerfully, and gathered up her things to go.
C HAPTER 13
O NCE IN THE BOOKSTORE, D OYLE MADE HER WAY TO THE RELIGION section, which was as deserted as the last time. Her rescuer held a
“My cousin—my cousin had the same indicators; I just didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time.”
Doyle nodded sadly. “Yes—you realized that her death was a murder, in hindsight. Who did it? D’you know?”
“Her father—my uncle. I had nothing concrete, but I just knew . I think she’d gotten old enough to threaten him with exposure, so he killed her.”
“Yes; I imagine so.” This was, unfortunately, not an unusual sequence of events, as they had discovered in this business. “Faith, Thomas; I am so sorry.” And at that moment, the world lost a very fine doctor but gained a very fine detective, instead. “You canno’ be so hard on yourself, Thomas Williams; you canno’ rescue everyone.”
The steady gaze met hers. “I can try.”
But her own gaze did not waiver. “Not this time—I swear to you on my mother’s soul that it wasn’t Acton; my bruises were hard-earned, they were, and my attacker paid a very steep price for them.”
He searched her eyes, then nodded. “Right then; I’ll say no more.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. “How on earth do you face him—your uncle, I mean?”
Her companion examined his hands again. “No longer necessary; he died last year—fell and drowned while crossing a stream on his property.”
This was not true, but she observed in a mild tone, “Now, there’s justice and irony shakin’ hands.”
“Sometimes it all works out.”
Another lie; but she already knew this—already knew why her scalp had been prickling and her intuition was practically beating her over the head to pay attention. Williams’s situation was similar to their working theory on the vigilante murders; there had been a trigger, just as Acton had speculated. A trigger made Williams recognize a murder in hindsight, and then he became a vigilante in his own way—probably with Acton’s help; two men who felt the justice system needed an occasional helping hand. She wondered whether Acton had experienced a similar trigger, one that had started him down his own path.
Suddenly certain, she told him, “I think we’re lookin’ for a vigilante who’s consumed with guilt instead of vengeance, just as you suggested. Might well be a case-worker, or someone on the defense team—someone who helped the murderers get off and then realized, somehow, that he’d truly mucked it up.”
He nodded. “All right; where do you want me to start?”
“Let me think about how to divide up the task; in the meantime, I need a favor.”
“You need only ask.”
She glanced at the time on her mobile. “I’m goin’ to meet a reluctant witness in the bookstore shortly, and I’d like you to cover the flank.”
This did not set well, and he was suddenly on high alert. “Is he dangerous? I’ll come in with you.”
“No—if you’re there he won’t speak, but I’d like an excuse to leave if it’s goin’ nowhere. Could you ping my mobile about twenty minutes after I go in? If I don’t answer, come and extricate me with some excuse.” She paused. “And please do not mention this to Acton.”
This remark caused no end of alarm, and he raised his brows. “Kath—”
She raised her own brows in response. “Oh—is this a problem? And here I thought you sincerely meant your fine speech of five minutes ago.” It was masterful, truly; she had him caught by his own promise.
“What is this about?” he asked heavily.
“Not sayin’. Are you in?”
“Of course.” He wasn’t happy about it, though.
She wasn’t afraid of her rescuer; she truly didn’t think he was a danger to her. But one never knew, and she couldn’t quite like the way he’d followed her around, yesterday. “That’s grand of you, Williams, and much appreciated,” she said cheerfully, and gathered up her things to go.
C HAPTER 13
O NCE IN THE BOOKSTORE, D OYLE MADE HER WAY TO THE RELIGION section, which was as deserted as the last time. Her rescuer held a
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