Amber Dee's Missing Toe

by Matt Ferraz

  Inspector Shaw folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

  Grandma Bertha went on. “When we talked to Dr Balsam, he mentioned he was working at the hospital when a baby girl was brought in. She had a fever, and her big toe had been surgically removed. This bothered me from the beginning. I knew that the key to the mystery lay in her toe and the way it was removed. But why would anyone remove a baby girl’s toe?” She looked at him. “Maybe the toe was injured and had to be amputated. But that should be done in a hospital, right? So why would they bring the girl to a different hospital when she developed a fever? And why leave her like that? There’s only one good answer to those questions: baby Amber had been kidnapped, and her toe had been sent to her parents as a message.”

  “My gosh!” Winifred yelled.

  Shaw waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t make sense. Who would kidnap a baby, amputate her toe then take her to hospital? And why didn’t her parents find her?”

  “There’s one good explanation for those questions,” said Grandma Bertha. “The parents died before they could pay the ransom. Maybe in a car accident or something like that. The kidnappers now have a hostage, but nobody to pay the ransom. They have two options: kill the baby or leave her somewhere she’ll be found. So they put her in a car and drive for hours until they find a place where they can get rid of her. A hospital. Then the good Dr Balsam enters and finds the girl a new home.”

  The inspector took a moment to absorb that theory. “Your theatricality could have delayed us solving this case, Bertha. You should have told me all this earlier.”

  “It’s not too late, is it?” she asked.

  “I hope not. We need to check the files. Also the internet and newspapers. It could take a while, especially if the kidnapping didn’t happen in our district. But maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “About the selfies...” she continued.

  “Forget the selfies!” he replied. “You think the killer stopped to take a picture of himself?”

  “I didn’t say that,” replied Grandma Bertha. “But if Amber sent those…” She stopped, realizing she had said too much.

  “What did she send?” asked the inspector.

  The two women kept quiet.

  “Are you keeping something from us? You could go to jail for that.”

  “Call it a professional secret,” said Grandma Bertha. “Dana hired me to do my own investigation.”

  “Dana is dead, Bertha,” said Inspector Shaw. “If you know anything, you should tell me now.”

  Winifred took the stand. “We found two letters in Amber’s wastebasket,” she said, avoiding eye contact with Grandma Bertha. “They had been torn up, but we put them back together with tape. One of them was threatening, and the other was friendly. We believe that Amber wrote both of them, and tried to make it look like they were from different people.”

  “I need to see the letters,” said Inspector Shaw.

  Winifred went to her bedroom and opened the drawer where she had put the taped letters. Grandma Bertha didn’t say a word as she fetched them for Inspector Shaw. “These are drafts. We don’t know who she sent the final versions to.”

  “You don’t know?” said Shaw, after reading the letters. “She sent this ugly one to herself. You can’t run forever and, you know that.”

  “What?” said Grandma Bertha and Winifred in unison.

  “We’ve been checking her mail,” explained Shaw. “She received this letter the day she was murdered. Her mother handed it to us without opening it.”

  “Of course!” said Grandma Bertha. “She was trying to pressure her mother to tell the truth about her past. So she sends this letter to herself so she can pretend she’s in danger. She had to pretend it had been written by someone else, so she wrote it with her left hand.”

  “But what about the other letter, the friendly one?” asked Winifred. “What did it say again?”

  Grandma Bertha repeated it. She knew it by heart: “I didn’t intend for things to happen this way. I could be dead to you and, you might not even exist to me. Please forgive me and never, contact me again.”

  “It won’t be easy to track that,” said Shaw.

  “Amber met someone in the shop,” said Grandma Bertha. “Someone from her past. I see two possibilities. It could be one of her kidnappers, or it could be someone she recognized, like a cousin or a nanny. If we can find out who it was, we’ll crack the case.”

  “I wish I was so sure,” said the inspector, picking up his hat.

  “And are you going to check those selfies?”

  The inspector nodded. “I will. Now, please, sleep well. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  With that, he left. Grandma Bertha kept staring at the closed door, while Winifred wondered if she was angry about the letters. “He’s right,” said Winifred. “We’re both tired and need some sleep.”

  “Sometimes you’re smarter than me,” said the old lady.

  “What do you mean?”

  Grandma Bertha rubbed her eyes. “You have a practical mind, Winifred. You haven’t watched as many movies as I have. I should have shown those letters to the police when you found them.”

  “You didn’t know they were important,” Winifred argued.

  “I should have,” said Grandma Bertha. The three dogs stared at her. “It’s like the barber case all over again.”

  Winifred knew what she was talking about. Many years ago, when Grandma Bertha was still a young woman, pregnant with her son, she had investigated a murder by herself. A man’s body had been found in a river, his throat slit. Grandma Bertha had talked to people around town and found out that the deceased’s wife shaved his beard every morning. Grandma Bertha then deduced that she had killed her husband for money, but decided it wasn’t her job to accuse anyone, and just went on with her life. A few days later the woman was arrested – not for that murder, but for another one. Her guilt at not having told the police what she knew had followed Grandma Bertha her whole life, and had led her to become an amateur detective.

  “It’s not the same,” said Winifred. “There was nothing you could do to save Dana. Even if you had told the police about the letters—”

  “But I almost got you killed,” said the old lady. “And I will never forget myself for that.”

  She got up and went to her bedroom. The dogs followed: they slept in her bed every night. Winifred wanted to say something, but was too tired. She decided she would go to bed too. It had been a long day, and the next day promised to be just as long.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Coffee with Mr Hanks

  Winifred woke up early and was preparing to go to work when she realized she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe she should have a serious talk with Grandma Bertha, who she could hear snoring in her room. After the tough day she’d had yesterday, she didn’t think the old lady would wake up anytime soon.

  Too wired to sleep, Winifred decided to make breakfast. She hadn’t had a restful night. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw crazy Jeannie chasing her around Dana’s apartment, a butcher’s knife in her hand. What if she had arrived a little earlier? Could she have saved Dana Dee, stopped her from drinking the poisoned tea? Perhaps. Or perhaps Winifred would also be dead now.

  It was almost Christmas. To think that three days ago she had been in that stupid bookshop, trying to get Grandma Bertha some cosy mystery novels. She remembered thinking, as she walked out of the shop, that the best present she could give her senior friend was a murder mystery to solve. It had only been a joke, but it had come true. This was supposed to be a merry, upbeat time of year. She’d never imagined that her first Christmas with Grandma Bertha would be so bleak. Winifred associated Grandma Bertha with joy and laughter, but even she seemed to be tired of everything.

  It was fascinating to watch how Grandma Bertha’s mind worked. It was a combination of deduction and strokes of intuition, in which the latter filled in the gaps left by the former. The most impressive thing was that it all worked out in the end.
/>
  What about the Christmas party? Would they solve the mystery before it, as Grandma Bertha had planned? Would Lydia welcome them into her home? Winifred didn’t like Lydia, and the feeling was mutual. But she was family to Grandma Bertha, and nothing could change that.

  Winifred was drinking her coffee in the kitchen, lost in thought, when there was a knock on the door. Who could it be at that time of the day? She hoped it wasn’t Inspector Shaw. She didn’t feel like discussing the murders right now.

  To her surprise, Mr Hanks was on the other side of the door. “Good morning, Miss Compson,” he said. “How are you today?”

  He wore an old-fashioned suit and his perpetual smile. “Mr Hanks!” she said. “Come in, please. Have some coffee.”

  He accepted the invitation and walked in. It was the first time he had been in the apartment, even though they had been neighbours for a few months. “Is Mrs Hepburn asleep?” asked Mr Hanks.

  Winifred giggled as she served him the coffee. Nobody ever called Grandma Bertha Mrs Hepburn. “She’s had a tough couple of days. To be honest, so have I. I’m surprised the dogs aren’t barking. They always bark when a stranger walks in.”

  “They know me well,” he said, sipping his coffee. “And how are you, Miss Compson? I don’t mean to intrude, but I see you around and you always look like you have something on your mind.”

  Winifred gave an awkward smile. “Is it so obvious?” she asked. “I guess it is. My life hasn’t been easy. I met Grandma Bertha last summer, and there was a murder involved. Two murders, to be honest. If it wasn’t for her, I might… Well, I might not be here.”

  “You two have a beautiful relationship,” he said. “But you shouldn’t forget that you have your own life to lead.”

  “Why have you come round, Mr Hanks? Why are you saying all this?” she asked.

  He sighed. “I must sound like a nosy neighbour. But I’m just trying to help.”

  “If I needed any help, I would ask for it!” she replied. “We’re dealing with important issues, and…” She trailed off.

  “I’m sorry,” said Mr Hanks. “It’s none of my business.”

  Winifred tried to calm down. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Grandma Bertha is working on a new case, and—”

  “You’re amateur detectives,” said Mr Hanks. “I know. Everybody knows that. But it makes me sad to see a young girl like you looking so sad at this time of the year.”

  Winifred hadn’t realized she looked so bad. Mr Hanks was right – there was a lot on her mind all the time, and even Grandma Bertha couldn’t cheer her up. “Don’t worry about me,” she said at last. “I can take care of myself.”

  “I hope so,” he said, getting up. “Thanks for the coffee.” He smiled at her. “I see the two of you together all the time, and I get the impression that you owe her something.”

  “I guess I do.”

  Mr Hanks walked to the door. “I’ll be across the hall, if you need to talk.”

  Winifred stood by herself in the living room. She would have stayed there for a long time, but her phone rang and she went to her room to answer it. “Hello?”

  “Winifred, hello,” said a familiar voice.

  “Hey, Mr Jones. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier…”

  “Never mind that,” he said. “So, are you feeling better?”

  “Much better, thanks,” was her reply.

  “Someone told me they saw you out and about yesterday with your grandmother. He said you both looked all right.”

  “I can explain.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said. “I have tons of CVs to read. But let’s make this official: you’re fired. Have a nice holiday.”

  Then he hung up.

  “Are you all right, Winifred?” asked Grandma Bertha, entering the living room.

  Winifred wiped away a tear. “I’ve been fired,” she said. “Because of you.”

  “What?” said Grandma Bertha. “I’d never—”

  “You told my boss I couldn’t go to work,” she replied, staring Grandma Bertha straight in the eye. “And then you told me that lie about the café being shut for repairs. You lied to me.”

  Grandma Bertha walked to the couch. “Yes, I did.”

  “Why?” asked Winifred, her face soaked in tears. “Why did you do that? Because you needed someone to help you with the investigation?”

  “No!” said Grandma Bertha, sitting beside her on the couch. “It had nothing to do with that.”

  For the first time, Winifred felt she hated Grandma Bertha. She realized Grandma Bertha was only human, and human beings are selfish by nature. “Why, then?” she asked.

  “Because I was afraid that the killer had seen you that day,” explained the old lady. “What if he saw you entering the shop?”

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Winifred.

  “You were wearing the café uniform,” said Grandma Bertha. “If the killer had seen you, he would know where you worked. And he might have gone after you.”

  Winifred stopped crying. “I never thought of that!” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t listen to me,” said Grandma Bertha. “What if I couldn’t persuade you and you ended up dead? It was too risky.”

  Winifred took Grandma Bertha’s hand. “You should have told me. I would have listened.”

  “Would you really?”

  She thought about it for a second. Maybe she wouldn’t have. Maybe she would have argued that she was in no danger and that she needed to go to work. Maybe Grandma Bertha would have been able to convince her not to go to work on the second day, but the killer could have struck again before that. She could have died.

  “What do we do now?” asked Winifred, wiping her face. “I don’t have a job any more, and—”

  “You do have a job,” said Grandma Bertha.

  “Detective’s assistant?” replied Winifred with a smile.

  “You’re not my assistant, Winifred. You’re my partner. But I’m a little tired now. How about we prepare for Christmas?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Christmas Interrupted

  There was a charity shop a block away from where they lived, where Winifred bought a Christmas tree. They put it up in the living room. Grandma Bertha baked some biscuits and finished knitting the Santa Claus hat. She wanted Winifred to wear it, but in the end they decided it suited her silver hair better.

  They discussed the case occasionally, but didn’t linger on it more than necessary. “Our brains must rest,” said Grandma Bertha as she removed the biscuits from the oven. “You can’t win a marathon if you faint in the first mile, right?”

  Winifred agreed. They had tea and biscuits and talked about all sorts of things other than the case. They planned to watch You Better Watch Out, Grandma Bertha’s favourite holiday horror movie. The dogs were all sitting on the old lady’s lap, and she had a can of beer in her hand. Winifred was about to sit down and press play on the remote control when the phone rang. Grandma Bertha was far too comfortable to get up, so Winifred answered the phone.

  “Miss Compson, this is Inspector Shaw,” said the voice at the other end. “I need to talk to Bertha.”

  Winifred called Grandma Bertha and put the phone on speaker mode.

  “Good morning, Inspector,” said Grandma Bertha. “What do you have for me?”

  “Dr Balsam is in A&E right now,” he told Grandma Bertha. “Somehow the killer managed to poison his vitamin pills.”

  “Did Dr Balsam notice anything out of place?” asked Grandma Bertha, picking up an old notebook and a pen from the phone table.

  “Yes,” replied the inspector. “According to him, a half-full bottle of pills vanished from his cabinet. He didn’t give it much thought, and decided to open a new one.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Winifred, but Grandma Bertha interrupted her with a hand gesture.

  “But how could the killer have got in his apartment and got
to his stuff?” asked the old lady, taking notes. “Did you put the doctor under surveillance?”

  “As soon as you asked me to,” said Shaw. “But before we could do that, he’d been out all afternoon, and someone could have got in and poisoned his medicine.”

  Grandma Bertha scribbled something in the notebook. “Was it the same poison Jeannie gave Dana Dee?”

  “No, this was a fancier one,” he said.

  “Something only a doctor could get his hands on?” asked Grandma Bertha.

  “I see what you mean,” replied the inspector.

  “Anyhow, you need to find the woman who killed Dana,” said Grandma Bertha. “How hard will it be? She’s half-blind.”

  “It should be a piece of cake,” Shaw replied. “But she can’t be acting alone. You might have saved the doctor’s life, if that makes you feel better. The policemen were by his side, in his house, when he started convulsing. I don’t think he would have been able to raise the alarm if he’d been by himself.”

  “That’s interesting,” said Grandma Bertha, smiling at Winifred. “Did you find any of those letters in his belongings?”

  “Do you think the letters were written to him?” asked Shaw.

  “I’m not sure,” she said.

  “We didn’t find any letters, but he could have destroyed them,” said Shaw. “We’re lost here, Bertha. It gives me no pleasure to ask you what we should do next, but that’s what I’m doing.”

  “The vital thing is to find Jeannie,” said Grandma Bertha. “I’m not sure if she was the one who killed Amber, but she’s the only one who can answer certain questions. That is, if she’s still alive. Winifred saw her face, after all – it could be too dangerous to keep her alive.”

  “We’ve thought of that,” agreed Shaw. “If she has a partner who’s decided to get rid of her, then we’re back to square one. So I have to ask you again, what do we do now?”

  Grandma Bertha looked at her notes. “You need to go to the hospital and take Dr Balsam’s fingerprints,” she said. “You need to put them in your computer and find out if they match any that have been collected from crime scenes over the past twenty-five years.”