My soft sigh was inevitable. More than anywhere, this was home to me, and not just because of a leisurely childhood. This place rooted us Raleighs.
The forensic department was downstairs in what used to be one of the wine vaults. The arching brick walls and ceiling had been cleaned and painted a uniform white, with utility tube lights running the length of every section. White-coated technicians sat quietly at long benches, working away on tests involving an inordinate amount of chemistry lab glassware.
Rebecca Raleigh Stothard, the family’s chief forensic scientist, came out of her office to greet me. Well into her second century, and a handsome woman, her chestnut hair was only just starting to lighten towards grey. She’d delivered an extensive series of lectures during my investigatory course, and my attendance had been absolute, not entirely due to what she was saying.
I was given a demure peck on the cheek, then she stepped back, still holding both of my hands, and looked me up and down. ‘You’re like a fine wine, Edward,’ she said teasingly. ‘Maturing nicely. One decade soon, I might just risk a taste.’
‘That much anticipation could prove fatal to a man.’
‘How’s Myriam?’
‘Fine.’
Her eyes flashed with amusement. ‘A father again. How devilsome you are. We never had boys like you in my time.’
‘Please. We’re still very much in your time.’
I’d forgotten how enjoyable it was to be in her company. She was so much more easy-going than dear old Francis. However, her humour faded after we sat down in her little office.
‘We received the last shipment of samples from the Oxford police this morning,’ she said. ‘I’ve allocated our best people to analyse them.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Has there been any progress?’
‘The police are doing their damnedest, but they’ve still got very little to go on at this point. That’s why I’m hoping your laboratory can come up with something for me, something they missed.’
‘Don’t place all your hopes on us. The Oxford police are good. We only found one additional fact that wasn’t in their laboratory report.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Carter Osborne Kenyon and Christine Jayne Lockett were imbibing a little more than wine and spirits that evening.’
‘Oh?’
‘They both had traces of cocaine in their blood. We ran the test twice, there’s no mistake.’
‘How much?’
‘Not enough for a drug-induced killing spree, if that’s what you’re thinking. They were simply having a decadent end to their evening. I gather she’s some sort of artist?’
‘Yes.’
‘Narcotic use is fairly common amongst the more Bohemian sects, and increasing.’
‘I see. Anything else?’
‘Not a thing.’
I put my attache case on my knees, and flicked the locks back. ‘I may have something for you.’ I pulled the bag containing the cigar butt from its compartment. ‘I found this in the Westhay Club, I think it’s Antony Caesar Pitt’s. Is there any way you can tell me for sure?’
‘Pitt’s? I thought his alibi had been confirmed?’
‘The police interviewed three people, including the manager of the Westhay, who all swear he was in there playing cards with them.’
‘And you don’t believe them?’
‘I’ve been to the Westhay, I’ve seen the manager and the other players. They’re not the most reliable people in the world, and they were under a lot of pressure to confirm whether he was there or not. My problem is that if he was there that evening the police will thank them for their statement and their honesty and let them go. If he wasn’t, there could be consequences they’d rather avoid. I know that sounds somewhat paranoid, but he really is the only one of the friends who had anything like a motive. In his case, the proof has to be absolute. I’d be betraying my responsibility if I accepted anything less.’
She took the bag from me, and squinted at the remains of the cigar which it contained.
‘It was still damp with saliva the following morning,’ I told her. ‘If it is his, then I’m prepared to accept he was in that club.’
‘I’m sorry, Edward, we have no test that can produce those sort of results. I can’t even give you a blood type from a saliva sample.’
‘Damn!’
‘Not yet, but one of my people is already confident he can determine if someone has been drinking from a chemical reaction with their breath. It should deter those wretched cab drivers from having one over the eight before they take to the roads if they know the police can prove they were drunk on the spot. Ever seen a carriage accident? It’s not nice. I imagine a car crash is even worse.’
‘I’m being slow this morning. The relevance being?’
‘You won’t give up. None of us will, because Justin was a Raleigh, and he deserves to rest with the knowledge that we will not forget him, no matter how much things change. And change they surely do. Look at me, born into an age of leisured women, at least those of my breeding and status. Life was supposed to be a succession of grand balls interspersed with trips to the opera and holidays in provincial spa towns. Now I have to go out and earn my keep.’
I grinned. ‘No you don’t.’
‘For Mary’s sake, Edward; I had seventeen fine and healthy children before my ovaries were thankfully exhausted in my late nineties. I need something else to do after all that child rearing. And, my dear, I always hated opera. This, however, I enjoy to the full. I think it still shocks Mummy that I’m out here on the scientific frontier. But it does give me certain insights. Come with me.’
I followed her along the length of the forensic department. The end wall was hidden behind a large freestanding chamber made from a dulled metal. A single door was set in the middle, fastened with a heavy latch mechanism. As we drew closer I could hear an electrical engine thrumming incessantly. Other harmonics infiltrated the air, betraying the presence of pumps and gears.
‘Our freezer,’ Rebecca announced with chirpy amusement.
She took a thick fur coat from a peg on the wall outside the chamber, and handed me another.
‘You’ll need it,’ she told me. ‘It’s colder than these fridges which the big grocery stores are starting to use. A lot colder.’
Rebecca told the truth. A curtain of freezing white fog tumbled out when she opened the door. The interior was given over to dozens of shelves, with every square inch covered in a skin of hard white ice. A variety of jars, bags, and sealed glass dishes were stacked up. I peered at their contents with mild curiosity before hurriedly looking away. Somehow, scientific slivers of human organs are even more repellent than the entirety of flesh.
‘What is this?’ I asked.
‘Our family’s insurance policy. Forensic pathology shares this freezer with the medical division. Every biological unknown we’ve encountered is in here. One day we’ll have answers for all of it.’
‘And one day the Borgias will leave the Vatican,’ I said automatically.
Rebecca placed the bag on a high shelf, and gave me a confident smile. ‘You’ll be back.’
TWO
MANHATTAN CITY AD 1853
