The Aunt Paradox (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) by Chris Dolley Read Free Book Online

through the ceiling to find the Major entertaining half a dozen friends.
    “I’ll try next door, sir.”
    “No, Reeves. We can’t dump dead bodies on our neighbours. Let’s go back to the flat, hop a week into the future, and have a good look at this body. There’ll be clues. There always are.”
    “If you insist, sir,” said Reeves, a little sniffily.
    Off we shot and reappeared in the flat one week hence. Reeves helped drag the body off my lap, and then stretched it out on the carpet while I tried to rub some life back into my poor legs. At least the flat was back to its pristine state. And we had a new door.
    “We do not appear to be at home, sir,” said Reeves peering into the kitchen.
    I hadn’t considered the possibility of meeting myself. “Do you think we knew we were coming and decided to be out?”
    “That is a distinct possibility, sir.”
    “Still, I think I would have left a note for myself. Dear Reggie, here’s all the information you need. And whatever you do don’t forget to a put a tenner on Rich Lad in the 3:30 at Kempton last Tuesday .”
    Reeves coughed disapprovingly. “I suggest we examine the body and return promptly, sir.”
    I circumnavigated the deceased, summoning up all my deductive powers. The man was of middle age, with a full face and receding brown hair. He had the full complement of arms and legs and no obvious bruises or wounds.
    “I think we can rule out axe murderers, stranglers, and killer hounds, Reeves.”
    “Indeed, sir.”
    I’d read somewhere that if you looked into the face of a murdered man you’d see the image of their killer imprinted upon their eyes. Or was that the person you were going to marry? I was pretty sure it was one or the other.
    I leaned forward a little and tried a tentative peer, but the prospect of seeing Emmeline on a dead man’s eyeballs drew me back. I decided to turn my focus upon his clothes instead.
    They were old — in style, that is — but well cut, and not at all threadbare.
    “Is that a frock coat, Reeves?”
    “Yes, sir. “
    “1880s do you think?”
    “By the cut I would hazard an earlier date, sir. 1850s.”
    “Can you see a cause of death?”
    Reeves bent down for a closer look and after a short while began unbuttoning the man’s coat. The fatal wound soon became apparent. There was a large bloodstain on his waistcoat.
    “He appears to have been shot in the chest, sir,” said Reeves. “One can see the hole where the bullet entered the waistcoat.” Reeves turned the body over. “One can also see the hole in the frock coat where it exited.”
    So one could, and the dark stain surrounding it. I hadn’t noticed it earlier. The dark grey of the frock coat was only a few shades lighter than the stain. I checked the front of my clothes. Had any blood soaked through onto me?
    It hadn’t. The blood must have dried.
    “How long do you think he’s been dead, Reeves?”
    “I am not an expert, sir. Long enough for the blood to dry. The body is not in a state of rigor, so it could be several hours or, indeed, several days.”
    “Did you see a blood stain on the carpet behind the sofa?”
    “I did not, sir. Or anywhere else in the sitting room. It would appear the deceased was killed elsewhere and deposited behind the sofa some time later.”
    Reeves checked all the man’s pockets — in both the frock coat and the waistcoat. All were bare.
    “The tailor’s label has been cut from his frock coat, sir.”
    “That’s odd. What about his shirt and waistcoat?”
    I waited whilst Reeves rummaged.
    “The same, sir.”
    And the same for his trousers too. Someone did not want this man identified.
    “So,” I said. “We have a nameless man who may, or may not, originate from the 1850s, who’s been murdered and dumped in my sitting room by someone who’s gone to great lengths to conceal his identity.”
    “It would appear so, sir. Someone with access to a time machine.”
    ~
    My head was spinning. Who could it be? Aunt