Page 67 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“What?” Dusty clips over and looks down at the masses of paperwork. “What did you find?”

“Well, Death said it was all about bloodlines, so I figured Bruce’s family tree was as good a place to start as any. Sam came over and gave me a copy of Bruce’s missing persons report. Once I had his date of birth and the names of his parents, I had my starting point.”

“Sam was here?” I tilt my head to study Harrison’s face, and from this angle I certainly don’t miss the flush that travels up his neck.

“That man is infuriating,” Harrison mumbles.

“Infuriatingly hot.” Dusty smirks.

“I ran into a bit of a wall with his Mexican heritage because anything past his father’s generation would be international records and much harder to get hold of. But I figured out pretty early that it was his mother’s side that we wanted anyway. She’s British and her family all come from London, so they were pretty easy to find.” He picks up a piece of paper with a roughly sketched-out family tree on it and hands it to me. “If you follow the matrilineal line from Bruce’s mother, look where you end up.”

I look at the name at the top of the paper where his finger taps and read the curly script of his neat handwriting. “C-Cordelia… Crawshanks. Oh my god.” My eyes widen as I glance at Dusty who’s now peering over my shoulder. “He’s directly descended from a Cordelia Crawshanks?”

“Yes,” Harrison nods. “She was the sister of a rather famous Victorian medium.”

“I think you mean infamous,” Dusty mutters as she studies the piece of paper I’m holding.

“There were three siblings by all accounts,” Harrison continues. “Cordelia, who was the oldest, the middle sister, Constance, and Cornelius, who was the youngest and the only boy.”

“We know about Cornelius,” I interject. “I have a copy of his book,Crawshanks Guide to the Recently Departed.”

“Really?” Harrison replies in surprise. “I’d love to have a look at that sometime.”

“Sure,” I nod. “Or I could probably get you a copy. Madame Viv, the current owner of the bookshop, is related to him. She said he never sold a copy other than the one I have. All the rest of the small print run are sitting in boxes in her storage room.”

Harrison nods and, again, there’s an unreadable look in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can figure it out.

“I believe Vivienne is descended from the middle sister, Constance,” he says. “Ordinarily, neither of the daughters would have inherited, but Cornelius never married or had children and was by all accounts somewhat unstable. And Cordelia… Well, there isn’t much information available on her, but I did manage to uncover an asylum admittance form with her name on it.”

“What?” I look up from my study of the family tree.

“It looks like her father had her committed not long after she had a child out of wedlock, a boy. The child was sent away to be raised by his father’s family, and Cordelia’s father, Elmer, had her committed. Constance and her husband inherited the Whitechapel property. It was her granddaughter Genevieve who established the bookshop on the ground floor of the building in 1883.”

“Wow,” I mutter, staring at the paper again and seeing Evangeline’s name and Vivienne’s. “That’s a lot.”

Harrison shrugs as he crosses the room. Glancing along the shelves, he pulls down jars and bottles seemingly at random, setting them on the workbench.

“There’s still a lot to find out about the family, but I first went back further on the building itself. It was built in 1822.” He pulls out an old-fashioned set of brass weighing scales. “The building and the one next to it was originally one residential property purchased by Elmer Crawshanks in 1829 when he and his wife, and children returned to England from India. Elmer was a Colonel in the British Army and then later held a Governor’s post.”

Dusty snorts. “Sounds like he belongs on Sesame Street. Who names their kid Elmer?”

“The Victorians, apparently,” I reply.

“Anyway,” Harrison continues, “I doubt the portal existed before the building. At least, I’d like to think someone might have noticed a portal to another plane of existence just sitting out in the open. So, I’m working on the assumption the portal was opened either by accident or on purpose sometime in the mid to late nineteenth century. It could have been Elmer, I guess, but my gut is telling me it has something to do with those three siblings.”

“You could be right.” I turn and glance at the mountains of paperwork.

“Why don’t you have a look through what I’ve found so far while I get on with this?” Harrison suggests.

I nod and take a seat at the desk.

“What’s G.Y dirt?” Dusty asks, her eyes narrowing as she reads one of the jar labels.

“Graveyard dirt,” Harrison replies.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“What?” He shrugs. “It’s extremely potent. It was harvested at the full moon during the midwinter solstice.”