Page 20 of Corpse in the Canal

Solomon felt he could breathe again.

“Who?” Mrs. Harvey asked.

“Come, come, Etta,” Harvey said, “we can’t expect to know all his friends, so how could Mrs. Grey have any idea? He is a grown man. Is she home?”

“Since Wednesday,” Mrs. Harvey said.

“Then that will be our first port of call,” Harvey said to Solomon. “Drink up.”

“May we walk?” Constance asked their host.

“Oh yes,” Harvey said, which seemed to please her so much that Solomon began to wonder if she was developing a motion sickness. “It is quicker to walk. There’s a direct footpath.”

However, they had only just left the house, while Mrs. Harvey watched them from the window like an anxious sparrow, when a lad of about twelve or thirteen in laborer’s clothes came running up to them, waving.

“Sir, sir! Mr. Harvey, sir!”

“What is it?” Harvey demanded over his shoulder, not even stopping to wait for the lad. “We’re in a hurry!”

The boy had clearly run some distance but toiled on until he danced in front of them. “There’s been an accident at the canal, sir—you have to come!”

“The canal is nothing to do with me,” Harvey said impatiently, reaching to thrust the lad aside. “Fetch George West or Sir Felix Everett.”

“But you’re the magistrate, sir. Constable Wills sent me for you.”

Harvey paused at last, peering at him. “Magistrate,” he repeated.

“Yes, sir. There’s a body at the bottom of the lock.”

Chapter Five

Although they all suspected, no one said the words.

The boy, at Solomon’s question, explained, “Fred Baines was taking his boat down the canal, and when the chamber drained, you could see there was a body there.”

“Is it definitely dead?” Solomon asked quietly.

“Oh yes, sir.”

That was fervent enough. Solomon dropped his voice further. “Did you recognize…?”

The boy shook his head. “No, sir, I couldn’t see his face.”

By the time they reached the lock, the body had been hauled up on to the canal bank in front of the lockkeeper’s cottage.

Solomon, striding along beside Harvey, put a hand on his arm. “Sir, let me inquire first…”

But Harvey shook him off and kept moving. The huddle of men around the corpse parted. The constable made some instinctive move to hide the body, then clearly thought better of it.

Harvey sank to his knees. “My boy,” he whispered.

Percival Harvey lay on his back, soaking wet, with traces of all sorts of canal filth in his hair and clothing. His skin was a sickening gray blue. A young man who would never now have the chance to grow into his potential or fulfill any destiny. Solomon ached for the tragedy of that, and for the father’s raw grief on stark display.

Constance felt it too. When he glanced at her, she looked rather white again, her arms wrapped around herself in shock. Instinctively, he took her arm and drew her back, away from the terrible sight.

“His chest,” she said. “There’s something wrong with his chest.”

Solomon went forward again and bent to grasp Harvey’s shoulder. Nothing could help him now, but it seemed only human to remind the man he was not alone.