brain thief

[holli]

He went over what he had with Penny: Arni Coppersmith’s list, Meg’s secondhand accounting of parts, the reluctance of the hospital administration to even acknowledge the problem. Penny frowned thoughtfully down at Sam’s pile of paperwork.

“Well, I think the trouble is, you don’t know what the Rag-and-Bone Man wants. What’s he trying to accomplish? He started out making patchwork men, then he made a patchwork woman. Why’d he change? If he wanted to make himself a girlfriend, he could have done that from the start. He’s working towards something, I think, but I don’t know what it is.”

“That’s... a really good point, Penny.”

“Try not to look too surprised.” Sam did his best to lower his eyebrows.

“Sorry. But you’re right, I won’t know what he’s going to do next until I work out his motive, and that’s been bloody opaque thus far.”

There was a commotion at the Watch House door: a handful of coppers were escorting in two handcuffed men. Hettie strode over to Sam at his desk, looking triumphant, and carrying, for some reason, a shovel.

“Caught them trying to dig up a fresh grave at Small Gods, Sam,” Hettie said, and set the shovel down on the desk in front of him with a clang. “Think we’ve got your grave-robbers.”

***

"Right," said Sam across the interrogation room table, "this'll go a lot easier for you if you just tell us the truth."

The man opposite Sam had his head in his hands. James Cholmondley and his partner-in-crime, Tobias Lemming, had been caught brown-handed, waist-deep in grave dirt at a fresh grave in Small Gods cemetery. Tobias was in Interrogation Two, getting the same treatment from Hettie.

Well, not quite the same. Sam was usually nicer. Not this time, though.

Sam wondered why it hadn't occurred to him before that the Rag-and-Bone Man could, in fact, be the Rag-and-Bone *Men*. It made sense, now he thought about it-- two could get such a lot more done than one.

“I’m really, really sorry, officer,” Mr. Cholmondley said, his voice a little muffled by the hands over his face. “If it’s any help, it was all Tobias’ idea, and we’d been drinking, and-- well-- d’you think I can get out of this without anyone telling the hospital?”

“You work at the hospital?” Sam asked, with rising excitement. He was right! It had been someone at the hospital! “Have they cottoned on to you there, then? Not so easy to steal from the morgue anymore, so you went back to grave-robbing?”

“Steal from-- I beg your pardon?” Mr. Cholmondley said, looking up at Sam properly for the first time. “We never stole anything from the morgue.”

“Don’t play innocent with me, Mr. Cholmondley,” Sam said. “Parts have been disappearing from the hospital for weeks, ever since you two stopped robbing graves the first time ‘round. I’ve got a list as long as my arm of missing body parts, including several arms.”

Mr. Cholmondley’s eyes were round as saucers. “Officer-- sir-- I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about. I swear. Tobias and I have never, ever robbed a grave before tonight, and we were only doing it because we’ve got a big surgery practical coming up and he had the bright idea of getting in some extra practice. I’ve heard the rumors about parts missing from the morgue, too, but that’s nothing to do with us.” His expression was pleading, clearly desperate for Sam to believe him.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Sam?” Hettie said. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

Outside, Hettie looked disappointed. “I’m not sure they’re your guys, Sam,” she said. “Mr. Lemming has some fairly solid alibis for a lot of the dates on your list.”

“So? There’s two of them, they probably switch off,” Sam said. “Did he feed you that line about surgical practice, too? Mine tried to blame it on drink and youthful high spirits, like he’s just some stupid kid.”

“I think they *are* a couple of stupid kids,” Hettie said.

“They’re older than we are!”

“Nonetheless. They don’t smell right,” Hettie said.

“I should think not, they’re covered in grave dirt,” said Sam.

“Sam! You know what I mean,” Hettie said reprovingly. “I showed Mr. Lemming a picture of that patchwork woman and he nearly threw up. If he made her, he’s being awfully squeamish about it.”

“Then maybe Cholmondley does the actual construction, and Lemming just supplies the parts,” Sam said stubbornly. “It’s got to be them, Hettie. This is the first break I’ve had in this case, and I know it’s the right one.”

“Or you’re getting a bit desperate, and any lead will do,” Hettie said.

Sam deflated. Hettie had good instincts-- better than Sam’s, most of the time, for Sam usually had to rely on deduction and fact; his instincts frequently led him in entirely the wrong direction. He would have to check Mr. Cholmondley’s alibis against the list of missing parts, see if he and Mr. Lemming had solid alibis on the same nights. But if Hettie really thought they weren’t the Rag-and-Bone Men, Sam was afraid she was probably right.

“Fine. But if their alibis don’t hold up--”

“You’ll feel a lot worse if you arrest them for it, and another patchwork man turns up,” Hettie said. “You know that.”

“Yeah, but not as bad as I’ll feel if I let them go and another patchwork man turns up,” Sam said. “But fine, fine. We’ll see what I can get out of him.”

Sam let himself back into Interrogation One. Mr. Cholmondley looked up at Sam sharply at the sound of the door. His eyes were red-rimmed.

“It really was a stupid idea,” he said, “and I’m really, really sorry. But I didn’t steal anything from the hospital.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” Sam said. “I still want to hear everything you know about the missing parts. And I want your alibi for every date on this list.”