“Anyway,” he draws my attention back to the notes, “here’s where it gets interesting. When the brother was arrested, the police were running down the names on his list to build a case and came across Edith in her then-current alias, Harriet Walker. They dug a little further and found her husband had died only a few weeks earlier under suspicious circumstances, but before they could arrest her, she disappeared. It seemed her brother had already created her new identity but hadn’t listed it. I went back through all the death certificates and reports for the dead husbands, and although a couple of them were listed as deaths from unknown causes, most of them came back death by poisoning. Do you want to guess her poison of choice?”
“Arsenic?”
“Bingo.” He raises his brows. “And you know what poisoners are like, they find an MO and they stick to it like glue, even at the risk of getting caught. It’s like a compulsion.”
“Jesus Christ, that would make her a serial killer.” I sit back in my chair. “But why Delores?” I chew my lip, deep in thought.
“It’s possible she was just an easy target,” Sam replies. “Just because Edith stopped marrying her victims, doesn’t mean she went dormant. If you start looking, the bodies will probably start piling up.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come and work with me?” I ask. “I know they’d snap you up in a heartbeat.”
“No thanks.” He shakes his head. “I’m happy doing what I do. Like I said, this”—he nods at the file—“is only a very rough outline. There’s a lot more legwork on this case. It’s probably going to take quite some time to unravel all the details.”
“Thanks for this, Sam,” I say earnestly. “I’m seriously impressed.”
He shrugs. “You’d have got there eventually, I just sped up the process.”
“I need to call my partner.” I drain the last of my coffee and tidy all the paperwork back into the folder.
“Ah, the fiery, red-haired Detective Madeleine Wilkes.”
“Will you stop spying on me?” I roll my eyes. “If you want to know what’s going on in my life, pick up the phone and ask.”
“Can’t help it, force of habit.” His mouth twitches.
I push myself up from the table and pick up the folder. “Thank you again, Sam. I owe you.”
He stands as well. “Trust me, you don’t owe me a damn thing.”
“Okay, but at least let me buy you dinner soon and then you can meet Tristan.”
“It’s a deal.” His mouth curves.
“Well, I need to get going.” I tuck the folder under my arm. “We need to pull the original investigation into Edith Anderson, and we need to track down Maeve Landon and invite her to join us for a chat.”
“A chat?” Sam repeats in amusement.
“Did I say chat?” I reply. “I meant arrest her bony arse.”
“Mind if I tag along?” Sam grins. “I have no intention of joining the Met, but I’m curious to see how this all plays out.”
“By all means,” I offer. “Be my guest.”
19
“This is so freaking bizarre.” My hand lifts and my eyes are drawn to it as if I’m studying it.
“Dusty, do you mind?” I blow out an irritated breath. “I’m trying to read this.”
“I do not like this at all,” Dusty says, and even though I can’t see her, I can feel her pout on my lips.
“You and me both,” I answer. “But if you’d let me concentrate on this book, then we can figure out how to separate us and give me back sole ownership of my body as quickly as possible.”
“Urgh,” she says sulkily, “but that book is so boring, and it makes no sense at all.”
“Dusty,” I warn.
“Fine.” She throws up my hands dramatically and the book tumbles to the floor. “But I still don’t understand how we both ended up wedged in here. Honestly, it’s like when you’re a kid and you try to see how many of your friends you can squeeze into a photo booth.”
