He said that he had agreed to allow the police inside his house and to give them full access to his email account, but that was about it.
Edwin dropped me off at The Cracked Spine and asked me to let Rosie know that he was taking Birk home and would be in later. I found her and Hector sitting at the back table as Hamlet was making stacks of books for her to peruse. I told them about the morning’s adventures as I scratched behind Hector’s ears. They continued to sort and stack.
“Have you remembered anything else about Dr. Glenn?” I asked Rosie.
“Not much, lass.”
“I can’t believe Rosie bought the scalpels at a murderer’s jumble sale,” Hamlet said. He set a book on top of a stack, and a cloud of dust puffed all the way to his nose. I expected him to sneeze, but he didn’t.
“I’m going to go grab my laptop. I’ll be right back,” I said.
As I climbed the stairs, I realized I hadn’t seen Hamlet since the morning he’d discovered Mallory’s body. School must be taking lots of his time. I missed spending time with him. His intelligent college-age perspective was always refreshing.
The dark side was cold, as usual. I hurried to the warehouse, unlocked the door like an old pro, and then flipped the lights on inside.
Surprisingly, my laptop sat open on a side table. I usually shut it down and closed it at the end of every day. I’d told Edwin the password in case he needed something from it, but he’d protested, saying that my laptop was not to be seen by any other eyes, his included.
It had been a long time since I’d actually done any real work in the warehouse, but a swipe over the mouse pad and the computer came to life. I hadn’t even turned it off—since when? Again, I didn’t know. I saw that I had twenty-seven new emails. Not a big deal, but this was a computer I used strictly for work, and even with some intermittent junk I usually received only about five new emails a day. Had it been that long since I’d checked?
I clicked on the in-box. A few of the emails were nothing unusual, but six were from Dr. Eban.
The first one from him asked what I’d been doing in his anatomy theater, and had I come to talk to him about the books. The other five seemed to grow increasingly agitated about me having been there. He went from curious at first, to angry, to accusatory, saying that “my friend” and I must be friends with the Clacher clan, and what was going on, did I know anything about Mallory’s murder? I read through the emails again. I realized that the threats I sensed were more a part of the tone in my head than the words he used.
I had tried to be open-minded, maybe even like him a little bit. I’d tried to think that maybe his students thought he was odd mostly because of his position of power. But now, in a way, I got what they’d been saying. He was unquestionably odd, though in a way that was still hard to define. Hopefully, he wasn’t murderous, too.
These emails would mean nothing to the police, wouldn’t lead to a killer, I was sure. I didn’t delete them, but I didn’t respond, either. I might at some point, but not right now.
I unplugged the laptop and carried it back over to the other side. Rosie and I moved to the front desk, where there was more room.
“I’m just going to ask some questions. Maybe I can prompt some memories,” I said.
“Aye.”
“Do you know if Dr. Glenn ever had a man over to his place by the name of Dr. Eban? He’s from the university.”
“No, Delaney, I wouldnae know his visitors. I might know some faces, but I didnae tak tent. There were always people in and oot of the flat, though. They were social.”
“I don’t know what ‘tak tent’ means,” Hamlet said from the back corner.
“‘Pay attention,’” Rosie said.
I searched on my computer for a picture of Dr. Eban. The first one I found was his university staff picture.
“Aye, I’ve seen him before,” Rosie said, “probably at Dr. Glenn’s hoose. A younger version. He was with others, though. I cannae be sure of the specifics, but, aye, he’s familiar, and striking, with such sharp features.”
I searched again and found Dr. Carson’s picture. “Does she look familiar?”
Rosie’s eyebrows came together. “Aye. She was there many times, but by herself. I was under the impression that she and Dr. Glenn were … weel, I just wasnae sure. She had the exact same hair back then, but only beginning to gray and almost the identical cut.”
“You thought Dr. Glenn and Dr. Carson were having an affair?” I asked.
Rosie’s mouth pinched tight. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy gossip, or “blether,” as she called it; she just liked to make sure it contained more truth than speculation before she indulged too deeply.
“It was a thought I had,” she said. “It would have been impossible tae be certain.”
“You saw her there, though? Maybe by herself and when Dr. Glenn’s wife wasn’t home?”
“I did. I think.”
“Did you tell the police?”
“When? Why?”
Dr. Glenn and his wife had been gone from Edinburgh for about three months when he’d killed her. Rosie had moved away from their neighboring flat shortly after Paulie died, which was around the same time. She’d been in mourning. Why wouldn’t the police have tracked her down and talked to her about her onetime neighbors? And she would never have thought to go talk to them, because she’d been so grief-stricken. It was impossible to know at this point.
“Right,” I said. “Why would you?
