Murder Aboard the Flying Scotsman

by Lee Strauss

  Basil glared at Felicia, and the younger girl shrank into her seat.

  “You’re saying the whole idea to rob Lady Pennington was this Mrs. Simms’ alone?” Basil asked.

  “Yes,” Irene returned animatedly. “Brilliant, but quite off her rocker. Dresses head-to-toe in black.”

  “Including a widow’s veil?” Ginger asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know where we can find Mrs. Simms?” Basil asked.

  Irene shook her head again. “She always found us.”

  “She was on the train yesterday,” Ginger said.

  Irene’s chin snapped up. “She was? How odd. I’m surprised I didn’t see her.”

  “She entered the carriage at the opposite end from where you and Mr. Pierce were sitting,” Ginger explained. The high-backed seats in first class would’ve blocked her view.

  “Somebody must know the whereabouts of this Mrs. Simms,” Basil said. “Do you know her first name?”

  “I’m afraid not,” Irene said.

  “Where did you meet to make your plans?” Ginger asked.

  “George’s house. Once the three of us had agreed to her offer, we always met there. The meetings were short, perhaps an hour or two each. Each step was her idea. George and I going to London to attend the opera, the confusion at the luggage van, it was all hers.”

  “What was supposed to happen to the jewels once they were in her hands?” Ginger asked.

  “That’s the strange thing. She didn’t want them. I guess she’s too old to need the money now.”

  “Then why?” Felicia said, butting in.

  Irene Dansby shrugged. “Perhaps she didn’t want Lady Pennington to have them. Perhaps she had something against the Pennington family.”

  Ginger was taking the last sip of her tea when Jones knocked and stepped into the sitting room. “Miss Dansby, there are two police officers at the door. They’re requesting the presence of Chief Inspector Reed.”

  Basil jumped to his feet. “No need to get up, Miss Dansby. I’ll see to them outside.”

  Ginger took a moment to pull Felicia aside and speak privately. “Perhaps it’s time to return to London. I’m sure Ambrosia is sleeping fitfully knowing you’re connected to this scandal.”

  “She loves a scandal!” Felicia said. “Lives for them.”

  “Yes, but not when her own flesh and blood is involved.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Though I do feel bad leaving Irene alone.”

  “She has Mr. Pierce,” Ginger said. “Actually, where is he? I’m surprised he’s not here right now.”

  “I don’t know. Irene has been glancing at the telephone all morning as if willing it to ring.”

  “I’m sure he’ll show up. He’s probably lunching with his own solicitor at the moment. I implore you to make plans to catch the late-afternoon train back to London. Will you do that?”

  “If you insist. Apart from the tedious wait on the train yesterday, this has been the most excitement I’ve seen in donkey’s years.”

  “Terrific. I’ll come round later to take you to the station.”

  After saying a polite goodbye to Irene Dansby, Ginger joined Basil outside where he waited for her by the motorcar.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “There is for someone,” he said. “A body’s been found on the property belonging to George Pierce.

  Chapter 23

  The Pierce house rivalled the Dansbys’. The small garden in front of the four-storey, brick and stone, terraced house was framed with a decorative iron fence. Beyond, the sun was moving lower behind a bank of fluffy clouds turning them into breathtaking rosy pinks and yellows.

  Once again, Ginger had to wonder what drove a man like George Pierce, obviously in possession of considerable wealth, to do something so rash? And Miss Dansby had a point about why a man who professed to love her would be part of something like this if it relied on her involvement as well.”

  Basil drew the motorcar up behind the row already parked along the front kerb. He pointed through the windscreen. “Over there.”

  A group of officers was standing guard, one with an excited bloodhound on a leash.

  “You definitely have to stay in the motorcar this time, Bossy,” Ginger said. “That fellow looks like he could eat you for tea.”

  Wishing now that she’d worn boots rather than her black satin pumps, Ginger followed Basil to the scene at the back of the house. She never failed to ruin a pair of terrific shoes during every case, but at least this time she thought she’d be on her honeymoon, not traipsing through the damp gardens of the well-to-do.

  “Looks like it was hurled over the hedge,” Inspector Sullivan said. “A servant discovered it this afternoon and called the police station.”

  The garden was mature with thick bushes and flowerbeds. Through the damp moss and fallen leaves, Ginger could see the rear portion of a body dressed in male clothing.

  “No head, I gather,” Ginger said.

  “Nope. Pretty much identifies the corpse unless, God forbid, there’s another head lying about somewhere without its body.”

  “Hello!”

  Ginger turned to the voice and saw the hunched-over figure of Dr. Chapman making his way towards them.

  “Hello again, Dr. Chapman,” she said pleasantly. Basil and the other officers greeted the doctor with a silent nod.

  Dr. Chapman set his medical bag on the ground. “What have we here?”

  “Looks like the other half of Mr. Wright,” Inspector Sullivan said.

  Dr. Chapman knelt with one knee on the grass and took hold of one of the corpse’s arms. “Male, high up in age, I’d say eighty plus.”

  He seemed efficient enough, but Ginger still missed Haley’s straightforward, matter-of-fact approach.

  The doctor continued, “Can’t say what the cause of death was until I can examine the body in the lab.”

  Inspector Sullivan snorted. “I hope for the old chap’s sake that he was dead before he lost his head.”

  Ginger mused: having one’s head chopped off was a quick death.

  “About that blood evidence we found at the exchange apparatus,” Basil started, “have the results come back from the lab?”

  Dr. Chapman straightened upright and brushed grass off his knees. “Yes. It belongs the victim.”

  “Not so surprising,” Ginger said, “since we know the head was delivered from there.”

  Basil glanced about the building. “Where is Mr. Pierce?”

  “He’s inside,” Inspector Sullivan said. “Mulgrew is keeping an eye on him to make sure that he doesn’t make a run for it.”

  “You don’t mind if I ask him a few questions?” Basil said.

  It was a courtesy question, and Inspector Sullivan knew it. He snorted again. “Go for it.”

  As they circled around the house, Ginger, whilst manoeuvring carefully around the soggy soil, said to Basil, “It seems awfully convenient, don’t you think?”

  “Are you suggesting someone is framing Mr. Pierce?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Or he’s guilty of murder. I don’t relish the idea of Felicia’s feelings getting hurt by this either, but we must keep our heads.”

  “I’m keeping my head!” Ginger said, not appreciating the inference or the pun.

  “I didn’t mean to offend,” Basil said. “I’m just saying we need to gather all the facts, and one of the facts is that the dead man was found in Mr. Pierce’s garden.”

  “Of course.”

  Basil slowed to take Ginger’s hand. “And you do have a gorgeous head.”

  She tapped her Parisian cloche. “It’s my new hat.”

  George Pierce looked like he hadn’t slept for a fortnight. Dark hollows circled bloodshot eyes and a shadow covered his face halfway up to his cheekbones. Ginger wagered he’d had a few too many the night before and possibly already this morning.

  “Good day, Mr. Pierce,” Basil said. “Do you mind if we come in?”


  “I doubt I have a choice now, do I?” Mr. Pierce rudely turned on his heel and walked through the grand entrance hallway and into a doorway to another room. Ginger was afraid to speak as their voices would carry through the cavernous hall, which was sure to be double the size of the one at Hartigan House, if not more.

  Without invitation, Ginger and Basil followed Mr. Pierce into what was the drawing room. Less feminine and more Victorian in flavour than the Dansby’s sitting room, the Pierce drawing room was painted in deep red and had a lot of mahogany trim. Mr. Pierce sat in a high-backed leather chair in front of a raging fireplace, a crystal glass of brandy in hand.

  He held it up as if giving a toast. “To the end of my youth and quite possibly my life.” He emptied it back and poured himself another. “Could I interest you in a glass?”

  Ginger noted the slight slur in his voice.

  “It’s awfully rude of me to drink whilst my guests stand empty-handed. And by Jove, why are you still standing? You’re making me nervous. Please, sit.”

  Ginger and Basil sat on the settee opposite Mr. Pierce.

  “Drink?” he asked again.

  “No, thank you,” Ginger said.

  Basil frowned. “A bit early for me old chap.” He cleared his throat and continued. “Do you think you could answer a few questions?”

  “Why not? Not much hope for me anyway now that they’ve found that bloody corpse in my garden. After the train fiasco, who’s going to believe a word I say.”

  Drink was most certainly bringing out the melodrama in their suspect.

  “Mr. Pierce,” Basil started with authority. “Did you kill Mr. Oscar Wright?”

  “I did not.”

  “Do you know who did?”

  “I do not.”

  “Do you know why someone would dump his body in your garden?”

  Mr. Pierce’s head jerked up. “To frame me, of course.”

  “Why would someone want to do that?” Ginger asked.

  The man shrugged. “Jealousy? Until yesterday, I was a man to be envied. In the prime of my life, wealthy, engaged to a beautiful woman—oh, she’s not going to want me now, is she? A jailbird?” He took a swig of what was left in his glass.

  Well, Ginger thought, Miss Dansby was going to be a jailbird as well, but she kept that bit of trivia to herself.

  “Who would be jealous enough to do that?” she asked.

  “That’s the thing, Mrs. Reed. I’m well liked. Respected. I admit to being stupid regarding the jewel thing, but I’d never kill anyone. Not that a jury would believe it now.”

  Ginger expected him to refill his glass, but instead, his chin dropped to his chest. She shared a look with Basil. Poor bloke.

  “Mr. Pierce,” she said gently. “Are you all right?”

  Though his chin continued to sag, his eyes fluttered open. “I let my staff have the day off so I could be alone. You don’t mind showing yourselves out?”

  Once they were outside, Ginger said. “I think he’s telling the truth. He’s too drunk to be making it up.”

  “He admitted to the robbery,” Basil said.

  “But not to the murder.”

  “I don’t know. Drunken murderers can lie to save their skin if need be.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Ginger admitted. “But how did he do it? And where exactly. I imagine there’d be quite a lot of blood involved in the process of decapitation. Even if the person’s heart was no longer beating.”

  “Indeed,” Basil said. “We have yet to find the initial crime scene.”

  They turned back to where the body was being removed, Ginger once more tiptoeing through the soft soil.

  Basil stopped short and groaned.

  “What is it, love?” Ginger asked, but then she saw it. Or rather, him. “Oh dear.”

  Basil let out a low growl. “Morris.”

  Chapter 24

  Basil shouldn’t have been surprised to see his surly superintendent standing there. The severed head of a prominent national businessman was scandalous news. However, Morris’ investigative technique was more like that of a bull than a bloodhound. It was well known at the Yard that the man had reached his status because of who he knew rather than what he’d accomplished on his own merits, but nothing could be done about that except hope Morris would go early into retirement.

  Plus, Morris had had him thrown in jail once, and Basil hadn’t forgotten that.

  “Reed!” Morris bellowed. “Tell me whatcha got so far.” Then, as if he had only just noticed Ginger, added, “And Mrs. Reed. A rather rough beginning to your wedding journey, eh?”

  Ginger smiled back sweetly. “I love a good puzzle, Superintendent Morris. I’m happy as a clam.”

  Morris clucked. “You’ve got a fiery one, Reed, I’ll give you that.” He removed a cigarette case and lighter from the pocket of his trench coat and lit up. He waved the open case. “Either of you want one?”

  Both Basil and Ginger shook their heads. Ginger never smoked, and though Basil liked a cigarette occasionally, Ginger refused to kiss him when he had one, so his decision not to light up was often an easy one.

  “I think I’ll get a lift with Dr. Chapman to Miss Dansby’s place,” Ginger said. “I believe I’ve convinced Felicia to return to London. I shall accompany her to the station.”

  “Good idea,” Basil said. “I’ll meet you there.”

  Basil would’ve kissed Ginger before she left, but not in front of Morris. He watched as she chatted with the doctor and then got into his motorcar.

  “From the beginning, Reed,” Morris said with a tinge of impatience.

  “Mrs. Reed and I were on the Flying Scotsman, boarded yesterday morning at King’s Cross, when the railway security man, a Mr. Burgess, approached me to report a problem in the Royal Mail carriage. He took us to a mailbag with blood seeping out lying on the floor of the carriage. The supervisor, a Mr. Doring, showed us the contents.”

  “Mr. Wright’s blasted head?”

  “Indeed. Apparently, the postman working at the Doncaster railway mail exchange was slammed on the back of the head before he could load the bag. The mail was emptied, and a burlap bag containing the head came out.”

  Morris shifted his weight. “So obviously, the murder happened off the train. Looks like the chap in this grand palace had something to do with it.”

  “He was a passenger.”

  “On the Flying Scotsman?”

  “Yes, sir. Along with his fiancée, Miss Irene Dansby.”

  “The gal your missus is on her way to?”

  “Yes, sir.” Basil filled him in on the botched robbery and all the main players.

  “Yes, I got word of that,” Morris bellowed. The superintendent had a habit of talking more loudly than circumstances required. “Would’ve been news had they got away with it. I’m here because of the murder.”

  “They may be connected,” Basil said. “At least someone wants us to believe that. After all, Mr. Pierce was on the train, and now the rest of the body is found in his garden.”

  “I want him taken to the station. Him and that lady friend of his too.”

  “Ginger! I’m so glad you’ve come back!”

  After dropping Boss off at her hotel, Ginger found Felicia alone in the Dansby’s sitting room drowning in tea.

  “They’re coming for her.”

  “Who?”

  “The police. Basil rang from the Pierce house to give her notice.”

  Ginger was warmed by Basil’s thoughtfulness. He could get a good chastising if Superintendent Morris ever found out. Oh, mercy. She hoped Miss Dansby wasn’t making a run for it out of the back gate.

  “You don’t think she has a motorcar?” Ginger asked, implying the worst.

  “She wouldn’t leave George. Besides, there’re police about on the streets, watching.”

  “No sense in you staying on then?” Ginger prompted.

  “I am rather bored. Would it be frightfully unfriendly of me to leave Irene when she’s goi
ng through such a rough patch?”

  “I think she’s going to need a good solicitor more than a good friend. Besides, she has family, hasn’t she?”

  “Her mother and little sister are visiting an aunt in Bath. They’ve telegrammed and are on their way home.”

  “There you go. You can always come back once things settle down. She’ll need you more then than now, I suspect.”

  “Oh, Ginger, yes! Thank you. I want to go home, but I felt too guilty to suggest it.”

  “I’ll ask the butler to ring for a taxicab.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  “I’ll go as far as the train station and see you off.”

  “Let me go and say goodbye to Irene. I think she’ll be glad to see me go. I got the feeling she rather found me underfoot.”

  Not long after, a motorcar arrived at the front door of the Dansby house. The butler opened it to Constable Mulgrew.

  “Hello again, Mrs. Reed,” he said. “Unpleasant business we have again today.”

  “Indeed.”

  Felicia and Irene descended the stairs to the ground floor together.

  “Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Felicia said. Her gaze darted to the constable and back to her friend. “We could come with you, couldn’t we, Ginger? It’s so awful to travel in the back seat of a police motorcar alone.”

  “I’m afraid only Miss Dansby can come with me, Miss Gold,” Constable Mulgrew said.

  “We can take a taxicab to the police station, then,” Felicia insisted.

  “Felicia, darling,” Irene said with a sigh. “As you’ve said, it’s just routine questioning. I’ll be fine. My solicitor is meeting me there. I’m just sorry that you got mixed up in all of this. It’s dreadfully embarrassing. Not at all how I imagined entertaining you during your visit.”

  “Once things have settled, I’ll come again. Or if you’re in London—”

  “Miss Dansby?” Constable Mulgrew said. “We need to go.”

  “Very well.” Irene made a show of giving Felicia a tight embrace, and Ginger felt pity for the two friends. Felicia’s large eyes filled with tears.