Looking for what...?
There had been nothing of value in Dory’s room. Was there in the old woman’s flat perhaps?
It was doubtful, the way she dressed, and the glimpse I had of her flat that first day.
I sensed there was more in what he intended to say. There was that smile that also favoured his sister.
“Is it possible the constable who found her body made some note that could be important about the cause of death, or maybe some connection to what happened to my friend?” I inquired.
“Miss Montgomery...”
I heard it in his manner even before he spoke again.
“There are many crimes that take place across the city...” he kindly explained, yet I already knew what he was going to say.
“I’m told ye have some acquaintance with a former inspector with the Metropolitan Police in London. There are only so many of us who work the cases. But I will have a man follow up on what we know. Still, it will take time.”
A constable arrived and reminded him of a meeting with the Chief Inspector.
“If ye will forgive me, Miss Montgomery, a meeting I canna avoid. Although there are times I would prefer to.”
He left the office, his head angled toward the constable in some matter of conversation. I stood to follow, then glanced back at his desk.
The file lay where he left it, Meggy Adam’s name written on the file tab. I opened the folder and quickly scanned the report.
She was found late the day before at the old marketplace not far from the Close. A vendor by the name of Calvin Meeks, who sold farm produce and poultry to residents in the tenements and tavern owners of the Grassmarket, found her among a stack of empty crates.
He had not noticed her before, as the body had been hidden in a large crate behind the vendor stall. She had been stabbed to death.
Two nearby vendors were questioned as well. It did seem from the report that, while Meggy was a frequent visitor at market, she was not well-regarded among the vendors.
She was known to only ask for days-old produce and then refuse to pay for it because it was spoilt. One of the vendors, a woman by the name of Trudy McNamara, told the constable that Meggy was a known thief and had been caught pinching food several times, then stuffing it into the pocket of the large apron she wore. In consideration of my encounter with the woman, I was not surprised.
At a sound that someone approached, I returned the folder to Inspector Landry’s desk, then quickly left.
8
An icy rain began to fall as I left the police station, with a reminder that it might well snow before end of day. I found a driver and gave him the destination of the Grassmarket.
I was familiar with the marketplace in the Old Town from my time at the brothel, when I was sent to make purchases for the cook atThe Church.
I had gone there more than once with Dory to make certain that I didn’t lose my way, or cross paths with those who usually lived on the street. It was just one of the ways she protected me.
“Like a young sister,” she once said.
When I was older, I went with my basket hooked over my arm, bundled up with an oversized coat one of the ladies gave me to disguise myself. That part of Old Town could be dangerous, particularly to young girls and women.
The Grassmarket was not far. I had walked fromThe Churchto the marketplace in the past, that ancient castle looming over from the hill above.
At the base of the hill there had once been huge cattle yards, someone once said, cattle herded to other markets through the streets to Waverly Station. Over time, the cattle yards had given way to the tenements, taverns, and inns.
In the time I had been in London, some of the worst tenements had been torn down, but only a handful replaced on the High Street that connected Princes Street to the Grassmarket.
At the far end of the old Grassmarket, a web of streets crossed each other, including Cockburn Street near the Close, unchanged, where many of the old tenements remained along with taverns, the Clydesdale Inn that had once been a well-known brothel, and the MacKenzie Spirit dealer with vendor carts and stalls by the sidewalks, no matter the weather.
When I last walked the Grassmarket in the past and made purchases for the cook atThe Church, escape from the tenements had seemed impossible. And yet...
“Here, please,” I called out to the driver as we reached the market square very near the warehouse for the grain exchange.
