Daniel looked over his shoulder to see how Owen was faring. Was he ready to “flash the hash”? Or to perhaps subside into a faint like a sheltered miss?

Far from it apparently. Owen stepped forward. “Can I have a better look?” He bent over the bullet hole in Montgomery’s forehead.

“Of course.” Rosebreen seemed pleased. “The problem with probing for a bullet inside the brain cavity is …”

He went on, but Daniel didn’t hear. His gorge rose, and he fought it down. Taking calming breaths through his nose, he swallowed extra saliva again and again as clammy waves rippled down his body and sweat broke out on his skin. Here he had been sure Owen would get his comeuppance for being arrogant and perhaps disgrace himself at the sight of a dead body, but instead Daniel was the one fighting black spots crowding his vision.

“Ah, there it is.” The doctor held aloft the lead ball, examining it in the light from the windows high on the opposite wall. “Small, which explains why it didn’t create an exit hole.”

He reached for a bowl and dropped the ball into it with a plink, sloshing in a bit of water and rolling it around.

Daniel forced himself to concentrate, to ask an intelligent question. “How large a gun?”

“No blunderbuss, that’s for certain.” Owen examined the bullet. “A gambler’s sleeve gun? Or a muff gun?”

“A muff gun? Do you think some lady shot him?” Daniel scoffed, grateful for the distraction.

“You don’t have to be a lady to fire a muff gun.” It was Owen’s turn to scoff.

“Well, I see no black powder around the wound, which means the shot was not taken close to him. I believe we can rule out suicide.” The doctor retrieved the bullet from the bowl and polished it with the edge of his apron.

“How much skill would such a shot take? And how far must one be from his target to make the shot and leave no powder marks?” Daniel narrowed his eyes. Were they looking for a marksman, or had someone merely gotten lucky?

Owen scratched the hair over his ear. “Little gun like that isn’t very accurate, but it doesn’t throw a lot of powder either.”

“And you know this because …”

“Been filing reports at the office for the better part of four years now. I read ’em before I file ’em. This in’t the first muff gun killing in London, you know.” The defiant gleam in his eyes chafed Daniel. Young pup.

“The boy’s correct. I’d say your killer could have stood within six feet. Or if he is adept with a small pistol, he could have been as far away as twenty. Twenty-five if he was quite lucky.”