"'The Murders in the Rue Morgue' was all-out sensational!" Watchman Smythe said. "You don't find 'em much smarter than Detective Dupin."
"Balderdash." Another sour pickle face from the constable.
The watchman tipped his hat at Eddie. "The wife will have a conniption when she finds out I met you, Mr. Poe. She fancies the way you kill people."
Constable Harkness raised an eyebrow.
Eddie loosened his cravat with a finger. "They're just stories, Mr. Smythe. Flights of imagination."
"Be that as it may, Mr. Poe, I still find your presence here most…interesting," Constable Harkness said. "Do you know this woman?"
"No. I've never seen her." Eddie tucked his fingers in his vest pockets. "But I'm not sure anyone could recognize her in her current state. Buzzards. They got to her before I did, I'm afraid."
More scribbling in the notebook.
"You seen anyone else up here?" Watchman Smythe asked. "Comin' and goin', that is?" He wiped his nose on his sleeve.
"Unfortunately, no," Eddie said.
"The Irish are a shifty lot," he continued. "They can slip past anyone. Even the likes of me."
The older gave the younger a stern look and said, "We shall keep an open mind, Smythe."
"Aren't you going to inspect the body?" Eddie asked.
Constable Harkness harrumphed, then stooped over the remains.
"Look closely at her face." Eddie leaned over the man's shoulder and pointed at the woman's face. "I think you'll find that one eye socket is smooth and hollow, as if she's had a surgery." He then leapt into a discussion of glass eyes and murderers. While he talked, I sniffed a clear puddle at the woman's feet. I'd thought it reservoir water at first, but after a series of uproarious sneezes, I knew it to be the same vile liquid I'd noted at Shakey House. Something about this bothered me. If Mr. Uppity was guilty of the crimes, why had I smelled the medicine on Mr. Abbott, or perhaps even Josef? My theory of the murder had more holes than a mole's den.
Constable Harkness straightened and shook out his overcoat. "It's too dark to see. Smythe, fetch a cart and collect the body. Quick as you can, bring it to Dr. Anderson's." He stepped aside to let the watchman pass, then turned to Eddie. "I can't be sure of anything until I get Dr. Anderson's report, and I won't rush to judgment. But her death is a considerable mystery."
"I couldn't agree more," Eddie said. A weak smile crossed his lips, as if he'd found some small amusement in the situation.
The constable studied my friend through narrowed lids. "Would you mind coming back to my house to discuss the matter? Strictly a formality, of course."
Eddie eased his hand into his pocket. "I've told you everything I know, sir." He withdrew the glass eye with care, keeping it hidden from the constable. "I'm not sure what else I can add." With slow, subtle movements, he tossed the object behind him, ridding himself of it. Constable Harkness took no notice, but I did. "My wife and mother-in-law will be beside themselves if I don't return before supper."
"From your…cat stroll."
"Precisely."
Surprised that Eddie would throw away our lone clue, I leapt on the lopsided orb. He gave a little shriek and snatched me up backwards before I could grasp it between my paws. How undignified, to be tucked under a man's arm, my hindquarters flying like a flag. I waved my tail beneath his nose to show my displeasure. He sneezed and brought me round the right way to face Constable Harkness.
The man fixed Eddie with a gaze that chilled me. "You know more than you're telling, Mr. Poe," he said. "And I need answers."
"Why don't I give you my address?" Eddie offered. "You can come by in the morning if you like. Around ten?"
"Very well." Constable Harkness took Eddie by the elbow and ushered him from the body. "I'll drop in after I speak to—" He frowned. "Hello, what's this?" He bent and retrieved the object that had plagued Eddie and me these last few days.
"I think it's an eye," Eddie said.
"I can see that," he said. "It must be the victim's. That makes three so far. The murderer is obviously amassing a collection and won't stop until he's completed it—whenever that may be. But why would he leave this one and not the others?"
Eddie shrugged. "Carelessness?"
They talked a moment longer, then the constable let us go. Eddie waited until we'd descended the steps to speak. He kept me under his arm, but I didn't mind. After the day I'd had, I needed the break. "Don't think me callous, Catters," he said. "It's perfectly dreadful that another woman has died, but, oh, the fascination!" Keeping to the manicured paths, Eddie walked around the central fountain and headed toward the main entrance. "Constable Harkness thinks the murderer is collecting these body parts, but I don't. I think he needed two of them. When he lost the one you found, he had to kill again to make a pair, a pale blue pair. If the culprit strikes again, I am wrong. If he doesn't, I am correct."
I meowed in agreement. While I didn't understand the conversation, I found it amenable. Still, my friend had said nothing about Mr. Uppity, meaning my work was far from done.
A Visit from the Constable
Eddie and I left the garden of Fairmount Water Works, crossed the road, and veered into the field that led to our neighborhood. Window lights speckled the landscape like fallen stars. When we entered the Poe house, Sissy greeted us with a series of breathless questions. Tired and dirty, I jumped to the floor and retreated to the kitchen. There, I secured my spot behind the wood stove and groomed my paws before dinner. Muddy whirled about the room with a wooden spoon, stirring and tasting, and didn't notice me. I settled onto the warm floorboards and thought of Snow and what she would have for dinner. I sniffed. For me, it would be broiled shad, egg sauce, and stewed cucumbers, the latter of which they would put in my bowl, but I would heartily ignore. Running the streets had been fun, but I liked home.
Before long, the four of us huddled around the dinner table, my bowl near Eddie's feet, to talk of the day's events. Truth be known, they talked, not me. My mouth was too full of shad. I picked at the fish and listened to the murmurs above.
"What do you think the killer is going to do with them?" Sissy asked.
"What one usually does with two glass eyes," Eddie said.
"And what would that be?" Muddy asked.
"He's being purposely obtuse, Mother," Sissy said. "He has no more idea than we do."
The clink of cutlery filled the room. My bowl cleaned of its contents, I lay on my side—legs spread in either direction—and rested my eyes.
"He's building an automaton," Sissy said, breaking the quiet spell. "And needed a realistic touch for the face."
Muddy snorted. "What man in Fairmount has the smarts to build such a thing? I think he's selling them for money. Not enough to go round these days."
Eddie remained uncharacteristically silent, so I raised my head to check on him. His body remained, but his mind had gone to a faraway place, heralded by a familiar gaze that looked at nothing in particular. This empty stare almost always preceded fits of pen scribbling. A muse knows things a mere wife, even a fine wife, does not.
"My dear?" Sissy touched his arm. "Are you well?"
Eddie smirked, rousing from a dream that had obviously pleased him. He leaned forward and called them closer, speaking just above a whisper. "I will tell you what he's doing with the eyes. Prepare yourselves, ladies. He's making a doll of human cast-offs. What will he steal next? A wooden leg? False teeth? One can only hope!" When Muddy groaned, he tipped his head back and laughed.
"Stop, Eddie," Sissy said. "My stomach is turning somersaults, and I need my appetite, thank you very much."
"You needn't worry, my darling. Whatever project he's working on, I intend to uncover it. That much I do know." He set his fork and knife aside. "Now that the finger of suspicion has swung in my direction, I have no choice."