An Inquiry Into Love and Death by Simone St. James

smaller case again and pulled out one of the electric torches, which he shone on the etched metal numbers as he leaned close to read them. The light spilled over his profile, making him into a black-and-white photograph, like the pictures of film stars they put in magazines.
    “I believe it’s a galvanoscope,” he said.
    “And what is that?”
    He shut off the torch and replaced it. “It measures electromagnetic energy fluctuations. We used them in the war to detect submarines.”
    I shook my head. “This is nothing like I thought it would be.”
    “What do you mean?”
    I gestured at the cases. “It’s all so scientific. Electromagnetic fluctuations? I think I imagined him doing séances, or something similar. But this equipment—the galvanoscope alone must have been expensive. He must have had it custom-made, unless he was secretly in the navy.”
    “The navy doesn’t give them out, no. At least, not that I’m aware of.”
    I stopped, realizing he was a few years older than me, the right age to have been in the war. “Were you in the navy?”
    He turned away, closed the lid to the case containing the clocks and torches. “No. RAF.”
    “You were a pilot?”
    “Yes.”
    I could picture him as a pilot. The RAF was celebrated for its fearless fighters with nerves of steel. The newspapers and newsreels had had a heyday with them during the war. “It sounds heroic.”
    He raised his head and looked at me, his eyes glinting in the dim light, shadows smudged under his cheekbones. He gave a sort of grim laugh, a sound that was pure darkness. “Not exactly.”
    I hadn’t met many soldiers; I had no brothers or cousins, and I’d been too young to volunteer myself. My father had done some kind of job for the War Office that kept him in London; Toby hadn’t served that I knew of, and as he’d left our lives, what Toby had done during wartime was now one of his many mysteries. I knew of the butcher’s son who had come home missing a hand, and my tutor’s grandson who hadn’t come home at all. At Somerville, I knew girls who had lost brothers and cousins, and it was a common refrain among all the girls that there was a lack of marriageable men.
    Inspector Merriken closed the case containing the galvanoscope with his strong arms and powerful hands, the dim light casting him in shadow.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    “It’s all right.” His voice held something tightly leashed. “It just isn’t much of a talent, killing people. No matter how good one gets to be at it. And it seems I was awfully good.” He frowned. “For God’s sake, I shouldn’t have said that. Forget I said it.”
    “Of course.”
    The air seemed to have gone out of the room. He raised a hand and rubbed his forehead. I watched him. “All right,” I said after a moment. “You aren’t heroic. I’ll make a note of it.”
    He glanced at me sharply, then shook his head. “Please forget it. What were we talking about?”
    “The galvanoscope. And you were questioning me.”
    “Thank you. I’ll continue, then. Did your parents approve of Toby’s ghost hunting?”
    “Not at all,” I replied, glad to change the subject. “They hated it. I think it embarrassed them. My father is a chemist; he’s rather renowned, and he has to look out for his reputation. In any case, he’s devoted his life to the pursuit of science, and my mother assists him.” My mother had been my father’s assistant when they became involved; they had made quite a scandal in their day. “They see ghost hunting as charlatanism, not science.”
    “Is that the reason for their disagreement?”
    “I don’t see how it could be. Toby was always a ghost hunter, since before I was born. I don’t see what could have changed.”
    “And yet, when Toby died, neither of your parents came home to bury him.”
    I ran a hand through my hair, looking helplessly around at all the belongings I was somehow supposed to dispose of. “They would have come. But my father is