Page 14 of The Little Shop of Curiosities Cursed Object 1, The Music Box

“I would imagine he did, or at least suspected, if he was creating new identities for her every couple of years,” I answer. “But I doubt he had much of a conscience. He lived in Bethnal Green and apparently had ties to the Krays.”

He scratches his chin thoughtfully, and I chuckle. “What?”

“You always scratch your chin like that when you’re trying to puzzle something out.” I smile and shake my head. “I’d forgotten you did that.”

“I suppose as bad habits go, there are worse ones.”

“Anyway.” I draw his 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 as 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. 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.” Danny sits back in my chair. “But why Delores?”

“It’s possible she was just an easy target.” I shrug. “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?” Danny asks hopefully. “I know they’d snap you up in a heartbeat.”

“No thanks.” I shake my head. “I’m content doing what I do. Like I said, this”—I nod 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,” he says earnestly. “I’m seriously impressed.”

I shrug again. “You’d have got there eventually, I just sped up the process.”

“I need to call my partner.” He drains the last of his coffee and tidies all the paperwork back into the folder.

“Ah, the fiery, red-haired Detective Madeleine Wilkes.”

“Will you stop spying on me?” He sighs. “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.”

He pushes himself up from the table and picks up the folder. “Thank you again, Sam. I owe you.”

I stand too, leaving my coffee almost untouched. “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.”

“Well, I need to get going.” Danny tucks the folder under his 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?” I repeat in amusement.

“Did I say chat?” Danny says flatly. “I meant arrest her bony arse.”

I have to admit, now that I’ve gotten past the first hurdle of meeting up, I realise how much I’ve missed him and, more importantly, missed working with him. Finding a potential serial killer certainly beats photographing cheating MPs in compromising positions, and I find I’m not in any rush to return to my small office and lonely bottle of whiskey.

“Mind if I tag along?” I grin. “I have no intention of joining the Met, but I’m curious to see how this all plays out.”

“By all means.” Danny chuckles. “Be my guest.”

4

It’s been several days since I visited Whitechapel, and I still can’t stop thinking about the strange occult bookshop or the images that flashed through my mind when I touched the door handle.

What the hell was that?