Griz took Dragan’s arm, excitement tugging her onward because finally, they seemed to have learned something. “You were right. Someone did entice Nancy up to Mudd Lane, and from what Junie saw, he was a gentleman. Surely he must be her lover.”
“But we’re no closer to finding out who he is,” Dragan pointed out.
“I’m glad it isn’t Horace or Mr. Gabriel.”
“It’s still possible she wasn’t close enough to see him clearly. Though it’s true, she recognized Nancy.”
As one, they were following the same path as yesterday, up the side of the theatre and through the back streets to Mudd Lane. Dragan appeared to be concentrating on something and said nothing as they walked until they reached the place of Nancy’s murder. “Three minutes and forty-five seconds at a brisk walk. Let’s go and talk to our carpenter again.”
The carpenter scowled at them as they crossed his small yard and threw down his hammer. “What now?”
“Good morning and apologies for disturbing you again,” Dragan said civilly, delving into his pocket. “Would you be so good as to look at these drawings and tell us if you’ve ever seen any of those gentlemen before?”
“If it’ll get you out of my workshop quicker,” the carpenter said ungraciously and deigned to look at each of the pictures as Dragan revealed them.
“Him,” the carpenter said, pointing a calloused finger at Jack Payne.
Grizelda’s stomach twisted. “Where did you see him?”
“In the Queen’s Head. All by himself. Looked like he was crying into his ale.”
“When was this?” Dragan asked.
“Not last night. Couple of nights ago.”
Griz breathed a sigh of relief. “Was that the only time you saw him?”
“Only time I can recall it.”
“What of this gentleman?” Dragan asked, revealing Goddard’s face.
The carpenter shook his head. “No. Can I go back to work now?”
“I have one more request,” Dragan said apologetically in the teeth of the carpenter’s glare. “Would you allow me to run through your shop from the lane?”
“Dragan, you don’t need to,” Griz said, distressed, as she realized he meant to prove Gabriel’s accusations one way or the other.
“If you knock anything over, you’ll pay,” the carpenter growled. He seemed to have decided they were lunatics and best not thwarted, provided they caused no actual harm.
“Agreed,” Dragan said, drawing Griz back across the yard to the lane. He closed the gate behind them, and they walked the few yards to where the body had been found. “The gate should have been locked, and both doors to the building, so that should add a few seconds at the very least. But let’s assume he had forgotten to lock everything. Can you count accurately in seconds?”
“Of course,” said Griz, who, as the youngest of a large family, had often been forced to time races, tree climbing, and swimming competitions. She didn’t want Dragan to have to prove himself, but she acknowledged this would be useful proof for Mr. Gabriel. And the police, should they try to arrest Dragan again.
He gave her his hat and a lopsided smile, which threatened to melt her from the inside out.
“Go,” she said hastily and began to count while Dragan took off like a hare, bursting through the gate and pushing it shut behind him. It banged and swung open again. She had heard no such sound, so if anyone had left by that route, they must have taken more time to close the gate quietly.
She acknowledged these thoughts and the distant growl of the carpenter while maintaining her steady count. Concentrating on the numbers prevented her mind from dwelling on the idea of the murderer picking locks only yards from her while she had knelt by Nancy’s only just lifeless body.
She was at four minutes and twenty-three seconds when Dragan sprinted around the corner of the lane and slowed to a brisk walk as he had appeared that night.
“Maybe someone could have done it in less,” he commented, recovering his breath when she had told him. “But they’d have drawn a bit of attention.”
“Either way, there was nothing like four minutes between my arrival and yours.”
“Good. Now,” he said, taking his hat from her, “let’s show our pictures to the butcher and the baker and move on.”
Chapter Eighteen
Entering via the back premises of each shop, they showed Dragan’s sketches and received little reaction, except the baker’s wife, who remembered seeing Jack in the flower market looking sad and aimless.
Moving on from Mudd Lane to the street the killer had most probably escaped by, they knocked on