Kate Carlisle - If Books Could Kill

As Terrence took off, Angus muttered, “We’re going to bloody run out of tape.”

The crime scene people made quick work of closing off the doorway to interested passersby and dusting every last surface in the room. Then several men picked up the heavy wood table and moved it to the side of the room.

Perry’s body lay uncovered on the platform, ignored by the technicians who worked the scene, taking photographs and combing the carpet for possible clues.

I stared at Perry’s exposed neck and saw for the first time the knotting awl sticking out of it.

“Oh, shit.” Fumbling for the nearest chair, I slid down and sat with my elbows resting on my thighs, breathing deeply, trying not to look at poor dead Perry. Or the bloody knotting awl.

I knew it was a knotting awl because I used one all the time to pierce holes in paper before sewing them together to make books.

By now I should’ve been used to finding dead bodies, but I wasn’t. And it wasn’t even Perry’s body that freaked me out as much as it was the blood that was pooling beneath his neck and spreading out into a tiny lake-or maybe it was a loch-around his head.

The sight of blood has always been an issue for me. I don’t mind needles. Even spiders don’t freak me out as much as blood. I’m kind of a wimp that way. And hey, that was how Derek and I met, which should’ve made it all touchingly romantic. But not even the fond memory of me fainting and waking up in Derek’s arms as he smacked me back to consciousness could help relieve the wooziness I was feeling.

“What have we here?” MacLeod said, and knelt down next to Perry to study the apparent murder weapon stuck in his neck.

I had a really bad feeling about that knotting awl.

Clearly, so did he. Looking up, he said, “Miss Wainwright, can I ask you to come here?”

I grimaced. “No, thank you.”

Derek sat down next to me. “I’ll help you.”

I looked at him beseechingly. “Please don’t make me go over there. Remember that little issue I have with blood?”

Derek looked across the room at Angus. “She faints at the first sign of blood. You won’t want to deal with that.”

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.

“I’d like her to identify this weapon.”

I frowned at Derek. “It’s a knotting awl.”

“She says it’s a knotting awl.”

“Can she describe it for me?” Angus asked.

“I can hear you,” I snapped.

“Steady, love,” Derek murmured close to my ear.

“Sorry, Angus,” I said quickly. I was starting to shake but took some deep breaths and managed to stay upright.

“It’s cherrywood,” I began. “Very hard. Pear-shaped, with lines carved in waves. It’s used to pierce holes in the folds of the pages of a book before they’re sewn to linen tapes. It fits nicely in my hand. I’ve had it for years.” My throat was closing up, so I stopped talking.

MacLeod grunted. He didn’t have to say anything. I knew it was mine, knew someone had used my tool as a murder weapon in order to implicate me again.

I forced my hands to relax by splaying them on my knees. I imagined the awl in my left hand. I’d used it hundreds of times. It was an old favorite tool, an old friend. One of the woodworkers at the Fellowship had handcrafted it for me a long time ago. Over the years, I would occasionally hone the shaft to a perfect point, but that probably wouldn’t help my case if I mentioned it now.

I had all different shapes and sizes of awls for use with paper and leather and boards, but this knotting awl was my favorite. It was actually designed to thread the knots in string between beads, thus the name, knotting awl. The shaft was narrower and more tapered than a typical bookbinder’s awl, and that was why I liked it.

Evidently, the killer had liked it, too.

I was frustrated and angry. What was MacLeod going to do now that a second murder had been committed? There probably weren’t that many murders in Scotland in a whole year, so I figured his superiors would be clamoring for an arrest. And I was looking better and better for it. And why not? Not only had my awl been used to kill Perry, but the police could make a case for motivation, as well. After all, with Perry dead, there was no one else to challenge my version of the Robert Burns book mythology.

Except for the killer.

Whoever that was.

I almost moaned in aggravation. Why couldn’t Perry have been Kyle’s killer? It would’ve been so much more convenient all around. I rubbed my face in frustration. I was all about convenience, damn it.

I’d racked my brain to figure out who would benefit from Kyle’s death, and my only conclusion-before this moment-had been Perry. Perry had wanted Kyle to shut up about the Robert Burns legend. He’d attacked me almost before I’d made it through the door of the hotel. He was the perfect suspect. Damn it, I wanted to cry.

Now I had to start over, studying my suspect list for someone with enough motivation to kill twice and set me up to take the fall. And I had to find someone quickly, because there was no way I wanted to go to prison for someone else’s crime.

I had a sudden thought: Maybe Perry had killed Kyle. Then somebody else killed Perry. And now someone else would kill that someone else and pretty soon everyone in Edinburgh would be dead.

Oh, yeah. That was plausible.

There was a hair-raising shriek out in the hall. Then the door banged against the wall and someone pushed through the guards.

“She killed him!” Minka screamed, pointing at me in an alarming case of déjà vu. “She killed Perry! She’s a murderer, and it’s not the first time!”

“Oh, jeez,” I said, shaking my head in disgust. If I ever did decide to kill somebody, guess who my target would be?

Angus rushed over and took hold of her arm. “Ma’am, you’re not-”

“Let go of me, you big oaf!” She managed to shake him loose, which was a testament to her frenzy, because Angus was a really big guy.

“Bloody hell,” Derek said, and instinctively shoved me behind him for protection, then tried to cage me as I attempted to move around him and confront Minka. I’m not sure why I wanted to. She scared me to death. But Derek’s caveman routine was too much. Maybe he thought I was going to kick the crap out of her. And what was wrong with that? She’d thrown a screaming fit once before, then smacked me in the face. I would’ve liked to have returned the favor, just once.

“She’s like the angel of death,” Minka cried. “Wherever she goes, someone dies!”

“Not fair,” I countered. True, but not fair.

“Stay back,” Derek commanded.

“No.” I twisted around and managed to escape Derek’s protective shield, then went for payback. “Angus, she was working for Perry. She had plenty of opportunity to kill him.”

“Liar! I’ll kill you!”

“I don’t think so.” But I knew the woman packed a wallop, so I threw my hands up to protect my face. Sure enough, Minka charged. As I prepared to take her down, Derek pulled me back.

“Hey!” I cried.

Angus caught Minka in a headlock at the same time. She squeaked like a bat and her arms flailed around as Angus held up his free hand and snapped his fingers. Two constables dashed over to grab Minka and lead her out.

“No! Not me,” Minka griped. “She’s the one.”

“She’s crazy,” I said. As far as accusations went, it was weak, but I was wiped out. However, seeing Minka dragged out by the police went a long way toward making my day brighter.

Derek gave me a warning glance as he took my arm and drew me closer.

Minka saw the move. She whipped around and faced Angus, her lip curled in a sneer. “Oh, my God, you’re going to let her go, aren’t you?” She wiggled to escape the cops’ grasp, but they held firm. “Dumb-shit cops are always swayed by blondes.”