Ginger Gold Mystery Box Set 3

by Lee Strauss

  "Good. I'll arrange a meeting."

  Ginger headed to the back entrance at Hartigan House with her spirits much lifted. Goldmine and Scout Elliot were mood elixirs.

  Pippins waited for her by the door. "Is everything all right, Pips?"

  "You have a visitor waiting in the sitting room."

  A giant pit instantly formed in Ginger’s stomach. "Is it Chief Inspector Reed?"

  Pippins tucked his chin. "It is, madam."

  Chapter Eight

  Basil Reed, the chief inspector of the criminal investigative division at Scotland Yard, was always so resolute, principled, controlled, and unflinching. He'd be a master at poker if he played the game, an expert at concealing his emotions at will—but not today. The man who stood before her in his crumpled suit looked weak and broken. His normally handsome face was etched with raw emotion. His hazel eyes, dark with sadness, were tired and rimmed with red.

  Basil Reed's grief was palpable and profound, washing over Ginger in waves. Her knees trembled, and she eased slowly into her chair.

  "Basil, I'm so sorry—"

  "No. It is I who must apologise." Basil swallowed hard and sat in the chair next to her. Bending towards her, he anchored his elbows onto his knees. "I'm sorry you had to see that—see me like that."

  "You've suffered a great shock."

  "Yes. Quite. But for you, when we—"

  "We what, Basil?" Ginger said, then shook her head. "No, forget that. Your wife is dead, and you need time to mourn. I can grant you that."

  Ginger hated the bitterness that sprinkled her words.

  "Ginger," Basil said. Longing for something flashed behind his eyes. Understanding? Forgiveness?

  "It's okay," Ginger said with a long sigh. "You loved Emelia. She was your wife."

  "Someone killed her, Ginger, and I need to find out who."

  Ginger understood that. If Daniel's life had been taken in such a manner, she wouldn't have rested until the culprit was brought to justice.

  "I'm sure it's now Scotland Yard's top priority," Ginger said.

  "Superintendent Morris took me off the case. He's forced me to take leave."

  For once Ginger and Superintendent Morris agreed on something.

  "It's for the best, Basil. You're clearly too close to it. Too emotionally involved."

  Basil flinched at the word emotionally.

  "I think we should have some tea," Ginger said. "Would you like some tea?"

  Basil nodded mutely.

  Ginger rang the bell for the kitchen, and shortly afterwards, Grace entered the sitting room. "Madam?"

  "We would like some tea."

  Grace bobbed. "Yes, madam. Right away."

  Basil reached for Ginger's hand, but she pretended she didn't see it and shifted in her seat. She didn't know where she stood anymore with Basil's affection. Once again, she felt like a distant second runner-up.

  And she felt petty for feeling that way. She stood and moved to the fireplace, busying herself by poking at the flames. Above the mantel was an empty spot, the bricks a lighter shade of brown where The Mermaid had hung for almost two decades.

  Why had she given it away?

  Thankfully, Grace returned swiftly with the tea. She set it on the coffee table between Ginger and Basil's chairs and poured two cups.

  "Thank you, Grace," Ginger said. "That's all for now."

  Silence stretched between Ginger and Basil as they each took their first sip.

  "I'm going to find her killer," Basil said. His voice was stronger now, edged with anger and determination.

  "Are you sure that's wise?" Ginger asked gently.

  "I'm not going to leave it to that moron, Superintendent Morris."

  Ginger held in her surprise. Never once in the nine months Ginger had known Basil had he spoken harshly and with disrespect about his superior officer. She couldn't correct him, though, since she agreed with his assessment.

  "I want you to help me, Ginger," Basil said earnestly. "You and I, we make a good investigative team."

  Ginger lifted her teacup to her mouth, hoping to hide the conflicting emotions she felt at Basil's request. They made a good investigative team. Were they now relegated back to business partners? Was she just to forget the way he'd often kissed her? Forget that they had declared love to each other?

  Perhaps it was for the best. Basil was in no position to commit to another romance when his heart was still obviously attached to Emelia. And if the killer weren't caught, he never would be.

  "Okay," she said quietly. "I'll help you."

  Basil held her gaze. "Thank you."

  "If you'll excuse me," Ginger said while rising, "I need to change out of my riding clothes."

  Basil's eyes moved from Ginger's face, registering her less-than-conventional clothing as if for the first time. "Yes, of course." He collapsed like a rag doll in his chair. "I'll wait here."

  Upstairs, Ginger hurried to remove her clothing, taking a few minutes to clean up. Her mind raced for what to wear. She gravitated to her darker colours, not quite black, but a step back from spring pastel. It seemed inappropriate to dress for the living at the moment.

  And a suit, rather than a dress. Not quite as conventional as the tweed outfits Haley preferred, but sensible.

  She had taken off her emerald ring before riding Goldmine, a piece she had started wearing after she stopped wearing her wedding ring. A piece of her wanted to dig the diamond out of her bedside table, but she resisted and decided to go ringless instead. Her eye landed on the distinctive hair clip she'd removed from Emelia's cold grip. Was it Dorothy's? How then did Emelia have it? And what, other than customer and sales clerk, had been their relationship? Ginger's heart squeezed with worry for her employee. She was fond of Dorothy and hoped desperately that she hadn't got herself into some kind of trouble.

  The kind that could find her dead in a park.

  There was the other issue of her own, now undeniable, misdemeanour. Tampering with the scene of a crime, not to mention withholding evidence from the police.

  Should she tell Basil?

  No, she'd wait until after she had a chance to talk to Dorothy herself.

  When Ginger returned to the sitting room, Basil looked like he hadn't moved an inch. Ginger wondered if he'd fallen asleep, but he shifted when he heard her come in.

  "What's our first move?" Ginger asked without preamble.

  Chapter Nine

  Kensington Palace did look like a place where vampires might dwell. The flash of good weather Londoners had enjoyed earlier had been whipped out like a tablecloth from under a full-course meal. A cloud bank, so dark that it was hard to tell the time of day, had rolled in. Fog simmered through the park like a sheet of cotton, and Ginger swore she saw a bat fly overhead. Rain began to dance on her open umbrella.

  Basil opened his black umbrella and held it overhead. "Take me along the exact route you took this morning."

  They'd done this once already, before scouring the rest of the park for anything that might lead to the killer. The moody weather didn't help with visibility, and so far they had found nothing unusual. Ginger headed back to the Flower Walk.

  "I entered the park there and turned onto the path here." Going over the scene of the crime more than once was standard detecting procedure, but Ginger worried that Basil's drive to work the case was obsessive rather than deductive.

  "Boss started barking when I reached this point, and from here I could see Emelia's boot."

  Basil zigzagged his way to the place the body had been found, eyes to the ground. Ginger followed. The indentation of Emelia's body was still evident.

  "Ginger, would you mind terribly to . . ." Basil motioned limply, and Ginger gasped slightly at what she perceived to be his request.

  "You want to act it out?"

  "It could be helpful."

  "But we don't know how she died?"

  "This could lead to an answer." Basil shook his head. "No, you're right. I shouldn't have asked this of you."
>
  Ginger inhaled deeply. "I'll do it."

  "No, it's—"

  "Basil, I said I'd help."

  "Right." Basil's discomfort was apparent in the way he failed to meet her eyes. "She was here, with someone."

  "I'll be her," Ginger said. "And you be—the killer." They didn't know for sure if the killer was male or female.

  Ginger closed her umbrella and dropped it on the ground. Basil did the same. "Grab my arms," she said. "There was bruising on her forearms."

  Basil took a tentative step forward and took her arms.

  "That's not right," Ginger said. She stepped back and removed her coat. "She wasn't wearing a jacket. The bruising happened because the killer had her by her bare arms."

  The rain immediately dampened her blouse. Ginger pushed up her sleeves and held out her arms. Basil took them, gripped them tightly. The move forced them to stand close, closer than they had at any moment since Emelia's death. Ginger felt the heat of Basil's palms on her skin, his hot breath on her cheek. Her heart raced, and had this been any other day, any other moment, it would've been romantic. As it was, it was horribly awkward.

  Ginger stared at Basil's grip. "It's wrong.""

  "What do you mean?"

  "The thumbprint was on the underside."

  Basil studied the position of his thumbs. "He held her from behind."

  Ginger turned around, and Basil gripped Ginger's arms. "But what did he do to her?" Basil said. "How did he kill her?"

  "She ended up facedown on the lawn," Ginger said. "Perhaps he pushed her." Ginger dropped to the ground.

  "You don't have to do that," Basil said. "It's wet."

  "It might help." Ginger lay face down in the exact position Emelia had been when she found her.

  "Ginger," Basil's voice cracked.

  "I don't think she died here," Ginger said, ignoring the plea in Basil's voice. She pushed herself off the ground, and Basil helped her to her feet. He picked up Ginger's coat and held it open for her.

  "Why do you think that," Basil said as Ginger slipped her coat on over her damp frock.

  "I think she struggled. It would explain the defensive wounds and her torn clothing. Why wasn't she wearing a coat? It looked to me like she had vomited, yet there's no sign of sick anywhere here."

  "If that's the case, we need to find the scene of the crime," Basil said soberly. "I saw Miss Higgins with . . . the body . . . didn’t I?"

  "Yes. She was there along with Dr. Wood from University College Hospital."

  Basil nodded. "Let's go and talk to her. Maybe they've found something."

  Chapter Ten

  Ginger didn't deem Basil fit to drive, so insisted on their taking the Crossley. She could've called for a taxicab, but that would've wasted time, plus, she didn't want a stranger to overhear their conversation, and Ginger definitely had questions. Uncharacteristically, Basil relented with little resistance.

  The shortest route was West Carriage Drive through Kensington Gardens that cut through Hyde Park, and even that took nearly half an hour. The sun had arrived with the dawn along with women pushing baby prams, couples walking hand in hand, elderly folk casually feeding bread to the ducks on the Serpentine. For so many Londoners and tourists, it was just another ordinary day. None were even aware that a woman had lost her life in a most horrible way and had been left in this popular green space just that morning. The way Basil stared morosely out of his window with brows furrowed and deepening frown lines had Ginger wondering if he was thinking the same thing.

  She waited until safely past Marble Arch on Great Cumberland Place before asking preliminary questions. She kept her eyes straight ahead and not on Basil.

  "Do you have any idea where Emelia was living after she left you?"

  "She has a flat in Campden Hill."

  "Nice area." Campden Hill was an affluent area between Notting Hill, Kensington, and Holland Park. She and Emelia were practically neighbours. Ginger was surprised she hadn't run into Emelia Reed at Kensington Gardens before. It made her wonder if Basil had dropped in at Hartigan House after calling in at Emelia's. "Does she have friends?"

  "I presume so. None that we share, any longer."

  "Did she take frequent walks in the park?"

  Basil sighed heavily. "I really don't know. Perhaps. She was close enough, I suppose."

  Traffic was heavy along Marylebone Road through The Regent’s Park, and Ginger thought that travelling on the underground might be the way of the future for her, at least, if she were in a hurry like today. It would be hard to give up the comfort and independence of the Crossley, though, but she'd keep an open mind.

  Like the London School of Medicine for Women, the mortuary at University College Hospital was in the cellar but brightened with white paint and electric lights.

  "Ginger," Haley said. Her eyes moved to Basil and back with a questioning look. "What are you doing here?"

  "Basil and I were told to keep our noses out of this case," Ginger said, "but really, Haley, did you think that was at all possible?"

  Haley's lips twitched. "Knowing you, no."

  Ginger followed Basil's quiet gaze to the white sheet covering his wife's body on the ceramic slab.

  "Inspector Reed," Haley said, "I'm sorry for your loss."

  Ginger read the message behind her friend's eyes. She was sorry a woman had died but didn't like how Basil was treating Ginger now.

  Basil just said, "Thank you."

  Haley pinched the edges of the sheet near the head. "Are you sure you're up to this?"

  "Yes. I'll be fine," he added. "It was just the initial shock . . ."

  "Have you and Dr. Wood determined cause of death?" Ginger asked.

  "Well," Haley's dark eyes flickered from Ginger to Basil and back. "Take a look at this." Haley pulled the sheet back revealing Emelia's ghostly white face.

  The muscles in Basil's face tightened, his lips forming a knot, but he didn't falter. "What are we looking for?"

  Haley gently turned Emelia's head to expose the right side of her neck, revealing two red dots like incisor marks.

  "She was bitten?" Basil asked, incredulously.

  Ginger swallowed as she thought about Felicia's fanciful vampire notion. Haley saved her from embarrassing herself.

  "It looks like a snake bite."

  Ginger wondered how she had missed this earlier, but then again, Emelia's hair was down, and Ginger had been careful not to disturb the body.

  "She appears to have vomited which supports snake venom poisoning. We'll know more after the postmortem."

  "When will that be?" Basil asked.

  "In the next couple of days."

  "Are there venomous snakes in England?" Ginger thought not, but one couldn't know everything.

  "Just the adder," Basil said. "It only bites if it feels threatened, and almost always the bite is on a limb, not the neck. It can be quite deadly if not treated immediately."

  So, someone held a snake, an adder, likely, to Emelia's neck. Ginger’s mouth grew sour. How macabre. An act of passion, surely. Who hated Emelia Reed that much?

  Ginger tapped her forearms. "I saw bruising."

  Haley nodded and reached under the sheet to extract one arm. "She was held tightly by someone with considerable strength. A man or a strong woman."

  Basil swallowed hard. "Had she been, er, compromised?"

  "There's no evidence of . . . force," Haley answered delicately.

  "Dr. Wood and I began to question time of death. The cooler temperatures of night should slow the process of rigor, especially since she was without a hat or jacket.

  "But," Ginger prompted.

  "We thought she was still in primary flaccidity—the stage before rigor mortis, but on further examination of the body, it appears she's already gone through rigor. Decomposition has set in."

  "What does that mean about the time of death?" Ginger asked.

  "It means she was killed last night, not this morning."

  Basil let out a frustrated s
igh, and Ginger didn't blame him. It meant the killer had had hours to get away.

  "There's something else," Haley said. "I initially thought her dress had been torn, shortening the hem, but . . ." She picked up an item on one of the counters and held it up. “The hemline is sewn perfectly."

  Haley held it up to her body to demonstrate how short it was, the hemline falling to just above the knee.

  "The décolletage is rather low," Ginger muttered.

  Haley folded the costume, readying it for evidence. "Her stockings were twisted and torn."

  Ginger didn't want to speak aloud what that could mean. "Can you tell if she'd been moved?" she asked. "Was she killed somewhere other than the park?"

  "I believe she was dumped there," Haley said. When Basil blanched, she corrected herself. "Deposited, there."

  "What makes you think that?" Basil asked stoically.

  "Lividity. The pooling of the blood was more concentrated on the left side. If she had died in the position she was found, flat, then lividity should be evenly distributed. She died on her side, bite mark up."

  “Is it possible that Emelia had been participating in some kind of burlesque routine?" Ginger asked. She glanced apologetically at Basil. It was a horrible question and she hated asking it.

  “I’m afraid so,” Haley said. “Superintendent Morris was here earlier and apparently one of his constables at the scene recognised her from a town club.”

  “Which one?” Basil asked.

  “Unfortunately, the constable couldn’t remember,” Haley said. “Apparently, he frequents several.”

  Ginger leaned closer to the body and breathed in. "French perfume."

  Basil cleared his throat, and Ginger avoided his eyes. You didn't have to be a detective to deduce that Emelia had most likely been selling favours. But what kind of favours? No one was certain.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ginger used the mortuary telephone book to look up the addresses of the numerous burlesque clubs in the city. The task might take longer than they thought it would.

  "I've written them down in geographical sequence. There's one not far from here in Kings Cross. The North Star."