Page 38 of The Business of Blood
“You can’t know that,” I argued.
“I can, and I do,” he volleyed back. “Frank Sawyer’s killer is mostunequivocallysomeone of his close acquaintance.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because, dear Fiona, if a man has no enemies, then he is almost certainly intensely disliked by his friends.”
At this, a laugh erupted from me. From us both. I adored Oscar’s observations of humanity. They were unrivaled in their poetry by any philosopher, alienist, or spiritualist I’d ever read.
Also, they were rarely wrong.
Leaning forward, I took a contemplative sip of my coffee, ticking my teeth a few times against the porcelain rim of the cup as I thought. I still couldn’t bring myself to reveal that the Ripper—or whomightbe the Ripper—had already confessed to the deed.
“So, if you had to make a wild speculation, who would you say killed him?” I asked.
“Mrs. Sawyer, of course.”
I shook my head. “It can’t be, the inspectors said she had an alibi.”
He lifted a skeptical eyebrow at me. “You underestimate your sex, Fiona, if you assume a woman cannot commit murder without being in the room. Tell me, is Mrs. Sawyer a handsome woman?”
The answer to the question made me squirm. Was it a sin to tell the truth if that revelation was cruel? “Not…particularly.”
“So plain as a peaky nag, then,” he surmised.
“I don’t know that I would say—”
“Was Mr. Sawyer a handsome man?”
I searched my memory of last night. “There was too much blood to get an accurate sense of his aspect. One dies inverted, and everything sort of…pools in his head.”
Wincing, Oscar put down his scone, scrubbing the crumbs off his fingertips with quick, dainty rubs. “I’ve always hated that word…invert.”
It didn’t escape me thatinvertwas another word for homosexual.
Tapping his chin, he asked, “Where does Mr. Sawyer work?”
“The docks, if I remember correctly.”
“Not a place one finds a great deal of women, so he likely met her somewhere else like…a public house or possibly church, seeing as how he was a God-fearing man.”
I blinked at him, utterly confused. “Met whom?”
“His mistress, Fiona. Really, do try to keep up.”
I seldom could keep up with Oscar, but at the moment, I felt as though he were leading me somewhere ridiculous. I told him so. “You can’t know he had a mistress. At this juncture, that’s just rank speculation.”
“Of course, I can. You only just said he had an ugly wife.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I merely admitted she wasn’t comely.”
“Yes, well, I know you well enough to recognize when you’re being kind.”
“But what ifhewas unsightly?”
“I’m telling you, an unsightly man may use his wit, charm, and humor to make a woman fall in love with him. An unattractive woman, unfortunately, rarely has the luxury. Men do not use their hearts to fall in love as the fairer sex does, it’s why our affection is so easily lost.” For a surreal moment, I was unsure if he was going to laugh or weep as he stood and stretched his lithe body, regarding his house as one would an unpleasant conundrum. “Find his Salome, Fiona, and I promise you, the mystery will solve itself.”
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