behind the German edition of Irving as if it were a fan. “The man in the green waistcoat. Who is he?”
“I’ve never seen him before,” O’Brien whispered back. “I’ll find out, shall I?”
Garrett lowered the book and intoned, “If the book had had a single thing of importance to reveal about the murder, it never would have been left behind. Not by a man so careful that he absconded with the victim’s handbag. One who swept the floor to remove evidence that could have linked him to the killing.”
Behind her, Carter rocked on his heels. Garrett turned so she had her back to the bar, and could see both him and the man in the green waistcoat clearly. Carter’s face had gone pale and was dewed with sweat.
“One of the chief suspects in any crime, Mr. Carter, is the person who discovers the body. Especially when the discovery of a body causes some desirable effect, such as for a will to be read, or an insurance policy to be paid out—” she could not keep the grin from her cheeks “—or for a steamship to be delayed.”
O’Brien had realized her intent, she saw. As Carter ducked his face and backed away, green with nausea, O’Brien stepped forward and collared the bigger man, lifting him to his toes. “You little—”
“Captain,” Garrett said. “Carter did not kill your passenger. Think: if he had poisoned her, would he have left the cup? No, we were meant to think she died of poison…but then where was the saucer?”
O’Brien did not release his grip. “You just said—”
“Her name was Gisela von Dissen, and she did not die upon The Nation. The scene of her death was staged intentionally to delay the ship. And while Mr. Carter was in the employ of the man responsible for her death, he did not kill her. In fact, she was dead before she embarked upon this vessel.”
There. That silence, heady as liquor. Damned satisfying. All eyes were upon Garrett now, and she took up her role like a queen’s ermine. “My first clue was the condition of the body. As the ship’s doctor had noticed, it was unusually cool to the touch from the very first. Additionally—and even more unusually—there was no rigor mortis, and no signs of livor mortis, the discoloration caused by the pooling of blood at the lowest points of the body. The first item suggested that Miss von Dissen had been dead much longer that anticipated, the second that she had not been dead long at all—or that she’d passed away long enough ago for the rigor to have passed. But a dead woman doesn’t drink tea, or annotate a book, or walk aboard a ship under her own power. And the third item…was the most curious, as it suggested that she was not dead at all.”
Now Carter looked confused, and the man in the green waistcoat had grown very still. Some of the other passengers and crew—Garrett was gratified to notice the bartender, and O’Brien, who had set Carter more-or-less back on his feet, among them—looked captivated, but the majority radiated boredom and irritation.
One bearded and prosperous fellow—Garrett noticed his silk-lined suit and platinum watch chain—levered himself from a leather-upholstered chair. “Madam,” he said, in a tone that suggested he didn’t mean ‘madam’ at all, “I don’t know the meaning of this circus—”
“Mr. Frick,” O’Brien said, “Please. Trust that all will be made plain in time, and for now choose to enjoy the entertainment.”
“Next time,” Frick said, “I shall buy a riverboat.” But he settled himself into his chair again, crossed his legs, and folded his hands over his knee—leaving Garrett more than a little impressed with O’Brien’s charisma and authority.
Frick said, “So you have a little mystery on your hands, Miss Garrett?”
“Had,” she said, ignoring the slight. She was by rights perhaps Lady Abigail Irene, Doctor Garrett, or Detective Crown Investigator Garrett. Miss, for a woman in her forties, implied a bluestocking dismissal and no recognition of her accomplishments. Well, she’d remember him. “It’s quite solved now, I assure you.”
“Please,” said Frick. “Enlighten us. How does a dead woman embark upon a ship?”
“While it is not my duty to the crown to educate millionaires, Mr. Frick, I shall be glad to. You ask how a dead woman travels, except in a stout-sided box. The answer, of course, is necromancy. And the sorcerer who is controlling the corpse? Well, he must stay close, of course. So the simplest expedient is to have himself shipped.”
Now