In the Shadow of Gotham - By Stefanie Pintoff Page 0,60
own body.” He lifted his head with pride. “I had thought it an excellent sign at the time, proof that he was transcending his old self.”
I stared at him in disbelief; it sounded like half-baked nonsense to me. Did he honestly believe this sort of case review would help me track down Michael Fromley?
“Yes, you read him as destroying and burying his violent impulses—quite literally,” Tom said smoothly as he changed the subject. “Look here, Ziele, you’ve had a wearing day. Give me the list Clara Murphy gave you of the restaurants Fromley frequented and let me check it out for you tonight.” He put his arm around my shoulder and walked out of Fred’s office with me. “And ask Mrs. Leab for some dinner, if you haven’t already. She made a terrific vegetable soup today.”
And indeed, by the time I rejoined Isabella, Mrs. Leab had brought a tray of bread and soup into the meeting room for us.
“Thank you,” I said, gratefully accepting it. “Has Alistair left for the day?”
I broke off a piece of the bread—a delicious sourdough. Mrs. Leab had warmed it with the soup.
She chuckled. “You just missed him. He’s out for a fancy dinner and a night at the opera. Gone to his regular box, he has. He said Caruso’s singing tonight was not to be missed.”
“Any message?”
She shrugged. “Not that he left with me. Sorry.”
What had Alistair been doing all day? I had not spoken with him today, not once—even though he was supposed to be providing me with extensive help in this case.
“It’s Alistair’s working style,” Isabella said, looking at me as though she understood. “He is a loner at heart, especially when he is mulling over a difficult problem. When he figures it out, he resurfaces. I’ve seen him do it time and again. Besides”—she smiled—“he did lend you me for the day.”
“True enough,” I said. Isabella had been very helpful—although she had joined me only by accident, if we were to be accurate about it.
“Simon, you’re hurt!” Isabella’s expression had changed, and she was staring aghast at my right arm.
I looked down and saw nothing unusual. Then I realized she had never before had reason to notice my injury, for I had always worn a jacket or overcoat. They had hidden the injury—or at least made it less readily apparent. But in my shirtsleeves, it was obvious that my right arm hung at a slightly odd angle and had limited movement.
“It’s an old injury,” I hastened to reassure her, “though I admit it’s feeling worse than usual after my skirmish this evening.”
“How did it happen?” she asked as she blew on her spoon to cool the soup.
“Malpractice,” I said dryly. “The bone was crushed in one place, fractured in another, and the doctor who attended me set it incorrectly. He didn’t notice until it was too late. Not wholly his fault, of course. He was overwhelmed by so many patients—” My voice grew rough and broke off. “It’s done now anyway. I have an arthritis-like pain that sets in worst when it’s cold and damp, and I’ve lost what strength I once had in it. But I manage all right most days.”
“Surely it can be fixed—or at least improved?”
“Of course, with surgery. But surgery costs time and money, with no guaranteed outcome. I get along all right as I am. Luckily, I’m left-handed.” I smiled and tried to make light of it—but she seemed to intuit that there was a darker history involved than I was ready to tell her.
Her brown eyes probed my own as she asked, “You were injured on the job?”
Someone knocked at the door.
“Something like that. It’s a story that must wait for another time, I think.” I got up, crossed the room, and opened the door to admit Horace Wood.
“Just dropping off some notes for Professor Sinclair. I thought he was in here with you,” Horace explained. “They’re my write-up of what I found out about Sarah’s political activity from the college paper as well as some of her classmates.” He looked uncertain. “Maybe you’d rather see them instead?”
“Please,” I said. Given what Mrs. Leab had said, Alistair was otherwise occupied tonight. I, on the other hand, would have plenty of time to review the materials on my train ride home.
After Isabella again declined my offer to escort her home, I left the building with Horace beside me. To ease the awkwardness, I felt compelled to make conversation.