“The police need this information as soon as possible,” Gaylord said.
I held up my phone. “I left a message.”
“No, we’ll need to do more,” Gaylord said.
“I can call Inspector Winters,” I said.
“I’ll take you tae him,” Tom said as he stood.
Bridget and Gaylord wanted to go with us, but Tom told them to meet us there. We told Rosie and Hector our plans and left, still in a hurry.
Bridget didn’t even notice that Edwin was already gone.
THIRTY-FOUR
Inspector Winters would talk to me only with my attorney present. We all pretended Gaylord was my attorney, though even Inspector Winters figured out there was a conflict of representation. Neither Inspector Winters nor Gaylord cared. They just wanted things done as correctly as possible by then, and they were both glad an attorney was in the room, perhaps as just another witness.
After I told the entire story again, Inspector Winters dismissed us, with assurances that he’d take care of everything.
Bridget was disappointed that Gaylord wouldn’t let me tell her anything new that had come up in the conversation in the interview room. Nothing new had, anyway. Tom gave Gaylord his car keys and told him to make sure Bridget got to where she needed to go, that he’d get the car back later, and that he and I were walking to Grassmarket.
But we didn’t go straight back.
“We’re taking some time,” Tom said. “We don’t have tae talk, just walk is fine. Time tae clear your head, take a breath.”
Before long, we’d taken a path toward the library, and decided to stop by and see if Artair was there.
I didn’t realize how long it had been since we’d walked the city streets and just chatted about normal things, but it had been long enough that the moments passed by quickly and infused me with a sense of calm and peacefulness that had been missing for a few days at least. Edinburgh had become home. Leaving someday was something I chose not to think about very often, but my time with Tom, while perfect for the most part, sometimes left me sad about a potential future when we had to live in different cities. In different countries.
But today, I was walking, hand in hand, cobalt eyes smiling at me frequently, with my very own pub owner. For a few moments, I’d just focus on that. And maybe think about how good he looked in a kilt.
We found Artair right inside the library doors. He greeted us with happy surprise, and I knew immediately our calm moments were over again.
“I’ve found a wee bit, Delaney, but not much. Come to my office,” he said.
“I didn’t know you had an office,” I said. “You’re usually working on something in specific areas of the building.”
Inspector Winters had commanded me not to tell even one more person what I’d told him. I didn’t think Artair counted, but Tom sent me a small head shake. I wouldn’t tell Artair anything. For now.
“Ye’ll have tae forgive the mess, but, aye, I have an office.”
I expected something hidden, like the subbasements or Joshua’s small office in the museum, but Artair’s office was down a hallway and set in between other matching rooms. It seemed too businesslike for the larger-than-life library.
I might have bet that the inside of it held more books than the library itself.
“Oh my!” I said. Stacks of books teetered everywhere: floor, desk, shelves, couch. A book labyrinth.
“I know. I’ve a million projects,” Artair said. “Make your way tae a couple chairs and I’ll gather the things.”
Tom and I sat on one side of the desk just as Artair slid a short stack of papers in between us all.
“I found a picture of Lily,” Artair said as he pulled it from a small pile. “I didn’t find much, but, aye, here’s a picture.”
I took it and didn’t say I’d seen it just a short time earlier; it was the picture with the man in the cap, the infamous Dr. Glenn. The picture must have been circulated at one time.
“That’s a clear picture. I wonder what happened to her. Such a sad story,” I said.
“Aye,” Tom said.
“I thought this picture was interesting too,” Artair said.
He slid a copied piece of paper my direction, and I looked at Tom. It wasn’t fair that Artair was doing all this work, yet couldn’t be told of the recent developments. But Tom shook his head again.
In the picture, Doctors Eban, Glenn, and Clacher were younger, standing together, laughing, probably making a toast if the shot glasses were any indication. Dr. Carson was there too. She had her arm crooked in Dr. Glenn’s, her admiring full smile aimed his direction.
Rosie had said they’d spent time together at Dr. Glenn’s flat.
I read the caption: “Medical school personnel and their families enjoying a warmer than normal summer day.” It was from a picnic or some outside gathering, something casual.
“That’s all I found,” Artair said. “I wish there were more.”
“No, this is great. Thank you, Artair.” I fell into thought. Was there something important about the past relationship between Meg Carson and Jack Glenn?
“Lad, come help me carry up some boxes from the other side of the library. I couldn’t find a cart and you’re here now.”
I barely noticed them leaving, but when I realized I was alone, I stood and walked around some book stacks to get to the arched, paned window. Even the windows in Scotland were architecturally interesting. And the views. The current one looked out to George Square, the patch of short trees and green grass that students passed through, the space Lola had seemed to look at suspiciously when I first ran into her on campus.
There was no sun out today. No rain at the moment, but some clouds threatened at least a drizzle. The green area was populated only by moving pedestrians. I didn’t spot anyone relaxing or chatting.
But I did see something strange. Or I thought I did.
