Body on Baker Street

by Vicki Delany

  I couldn’t move; something held me down. A cloyingly sweet scent filled my nose, a strong light was in my eyes, and soft but firm hands were on my arms. I yelled and thrashed against them.

  “Stay still,” a voice said. “Don’t try to get up. Are you okay?”

  I groaned. “I’m . . . I’m . . . I can’t see.”

  The light moved. Two faces peered into mine. Two angels, surrounded by brilliant white halos.

  I was in heaven. I sighed happily.

  “We’ve called nine-one-one,” a woman said.

  I blinked and struggled to sit up. The hands tried to keep me still, but I said, “I’m okay. Let me up.”

  “If you’re sure.” The pressure eased off.

  Not heaven but West London, Massachusetts. I could be excused for getting them mixed up.

  “What happened?” My head spun.

  “Someone attacked you,” a woman said. “We saw it, didn’t we, Jason?”

  “A sucker punch,” a man said. “He got you from behind. Pow. You went down like a ton of bricks.”

  “You . . .”

  The girl giggled. “We were in the bushes.”

  “Help me up,” I said.

  Jason gripped my right arm and pulled. He held the flashlight so it illuminated the scene but didn’t blind me. They were young, probably in their midteens. She was short and thin and very pretty with a halo of curly hair, smooth coffee-colored skin, and huge dark eyes. He was bigger. A heck of a lot bigger, with a darker complexion and a rock-solid head. I took a guess as to what had been going on in the bushes.

  I heard a siren getting closer. Red and blue lights washed the parking lot.

  “Over here!” Jason called.

  Beams of light from a police-issue Maglite bounced down the trail.

  Adrenaline was slowly draining out of my body. My legs felt weak, my head began to pound.

  “Careful there.” Jason grabbed me. I leaned up against him. It was like leaning against a brick wall. So safe. So solid.

  “What’s going on here? Did you call this in?” I recognized Officer Johnson. “Gemma, is that you?”

  “The one and only,” I said.

  “And thank heavens there is only one of you,” she said. “What happened here?”

  “She needs to sit down,” the girl said.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t get your name.”

  “Jolene.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jolene. I’m Gemma.”

  Lights began coming up from the beach, and voices called out.

  “An ambulance is right behind me,” Johnson said.

  “I don’t need an ambulance. I’ll be fine.” My head swam. “In a minute or two.” I touched the back of my head. My hair was wet. Fair enough, I’d just come out of the water. “My dog’s in the car waiting for me. I . . .” Jason’s arms gripped me, and I felt no more.

  * * *

  When I next woke up, I was in a brightly lit white room, lying on a small, hard bed. A tinny disembodied voice called for Dr. Fitzpatrick. I smelled Lysol and blood and fear. Someone was pounding at the inside of my head with a mallet.

  Louise Estrada perched uncomfortably on the edge of a plastic chair checking her phone.

  I’d gone to hell.

  She heard me groan and glanced up. She put the phone away. “Glad to see you’re awake, Gemma.”

  Not hell but the West London Hospital. I’d heard that some people got those mixed up.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “You had a heck of a blow to the back of your head,” Estrada said.

  I reached up and lightly touched the spot in question, momentarily afraid of what I’d find. I felt only clean dry bandages and short hair.

  “They tell us you’ll live,” she said.

  “Violet.”

  “What?”

  “My dog. She was in the car, waiting for me, at the beach.”

  “You had your keys on you, and we know where you live, so we arranged to have someone take the dog and your car to your house. Are you up to answering some questions?”

  “Yes.” I struggled to sit. My head hurt like the blazes, but I was fully aware of all that was happening around me.

  “I’ll get Detective Ashburton,” she said. “He’s with the doctor now.”

  She left me, and a nurse, plump and cheerful in pink scrubs, came in. Jayne followed her, looking as though she’d been called out of bed in a hastily thrown-on yellow T-shirt and white shorts, hair mussed and face scrubbed clean. With her thin frame and lack of height, it gave her a charming, innocent, almost childlike appearance. She threw her arms around me. My head jerked back under the force of her affection, and I muffled a moan. “Oh, Gemma,” she cried. “I’ve been so frightened.”

  “What are you doing here?” I mumbled into her soft, warm chest.

  “Ryan called me. He said you’d been taken to the hospital. He said you’d be okay, but I was afraid he was lying to me.” She pulled away and stared into my eyes. “You are okay, aren’t you? How many fingers am I holding up?”

  “Twenty-seven,” I said.

  “You two can chat in a minute,” the nurse said. “Let me have a look at her.”

  Jayne stepped away and let the nurse fuss. “The doctor says you can talk to the police if you feel up to it.” She took my pulse. “Do you?”

  “Let ’em at me,” I said.

  At that moment, Ryan and Estrada came in.

  “I’ll be nearby if you need me,” the nurse said.

  “Jayne, would you wait outside, please?” Ryan said.

  She planted a kiss on my cheek and slipped out.

  Ryan studied my face. His own face was set into tight lines, and the stubble on his jaw was thick. His expressive blue eyes had gone dark, and for the briefest of moments, I thought they might be wet. But that had to be a trick of the light. He rubbed at his face. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  “I went for a swim. I was heading to the car to get Violet and take her for a short walk on the beach when I heard someone coming up behind me. And that’s it. Next I knew, a nice young couple was shining a light in my face. Jolene and Jason they said their names were. What did they tell you?”

  “They’re with a church group from Boston here on vacation,” Estrada said. “They were having a bonfire on the beach, and some of the kids went for a walk. Jason and Jolene were taking a shortcut through the bushes next to the path . . .”

  “A likely story,” I said, and Ryan grinned.

  “Whatever was going on,” Estrada said, “you can be glad it was. They heard you cry out. When they peeked out of the bushes, they saw you lying on the path and someone standing over you. He had a rock in his hand, and it appeared as though he was about to hit you again.”

  I shuddered.

  “Jason doesn’t look like the sort to be trifled with,” Ryan said. “He yelled and stepped out of the bushes. Your attacker took one look at him and ran.”

  “Can Jason or Jolene describe him?”

  “They say no,” Estrada said. “They said it was dark and that it all happened so fast. They aren’t even sure if it was a man or a woman. He or she was dressed in loose clothes with a hood pulled over the head.”

  “Did you notice anyone, Gemma?” Ryan asked. “A car following you when you left your house? Someone watching you while you were swimming? Anything at all?”

  I thought but came up blank. “It was almost full dark when I left home. Plenty of cars were on the road, but I paid them no mind.” When I did look in the rearview mirror, all I’d seen were headlights. “I had my swim and left the beach. I heard a footstep behind me and started to turn, but I didn’t see who it was. I wish more people smoked these days.”

  “What has that got to do with anything?” Estrada asked.

  “The scent of tobacco follows a smoker like a cloud. I smelled nothing like that, so we can conclude our attacker doesn’t smoke. I know almost no one who does, not anymore.” A memory tugged at the back of m
y mind. I struggled to remember. Estrada opened her mouth to say something—probably to order me to confess—but Ryan put up his hand. Then I had it. “Oh, yes. Paige Bookman. I remember now—she lit up when Jayne and I . . . uh . . . happened to run into her the other day. Unlikely she was my attacker, although it is possible to disguise the scent of stale tobacco with a shower, a hair wash, and clean clothes. I did smell something distinctive and individual, cloying and sweet, but it turned out to be Jolene’s perfume. Somewhat liberally applied for a shortcut through the bushes.”

  “You had time to notice all that while you were under attack?” Estrada said.

  “Of course I did. Isn’t that normal? Some say the senses are heightened when one is in danger.”

  “Some say the moon is made of blue cheese.”

  “Green cheese.”

  “What?”

  “The moon is made of green cheese. Not blue.” I glanced at Ryan. His face was twisted into contortions. I wondered what he was finding so funny.

  “I don’t care what color the moon supposedly is,” Estrada snapped. “You’ll be pleased to hear, the doctor confirmed that it would have been impossible for you to hit yourself with sufficient force to cause an injury in that spot on your head.”

  “You suspected I might have knocked myself out? And presumably also hired a couple of kids to say they’d chased my attacker off. Are you crazy? Because I can assure you, I am not.”

  Estrada bristled. “We’re investigating all possibilities, like good police officers do. Those not influenced by personal friendships.”

  I bristled back. “I wouldn’t expect—”

  “We’re having casts made of the footprints in the area,” Ryan interrupted. “But that’s a well-traveled path, not to mention you and the young couple and all their friends, plus the responding officer and then the paramedics.”

  “The rock?”

  “We’re looking for it, and it might be possible to identify it as the weapon if it has blood traces on it . . .”

  My injury emitted a jab of pain.

  “. . . but Jason thinks the attacker was wearing gloves, so no fingerprints.”

  “It’s possible, likely even,” Estrada said, “that he took it with him. Or her.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. I’d had a lucky escape. I had to find Jason and Jolene and thank them. Perhaps I could treat them to afternoon tea at Mrs. Hudson’s. I had an image of one of Jayne’s bone china teacups clasped in Jason’s massive hand.

  “I’m glad you’re amused, Gemma,” Estrada said.

  I opened my eyes. “All’s well that ends well, Louise.”

  “Except that this might not be over,” Ryan said. “Can you give us a moment, please, Detective?”

  Estrada threw me a look but left without argument.

  Ryan pulled up a chair and sat down. He took my hand in his. He said nothing for a long time.

  “Can I go home?” I asked.

  “Check once again with the doctor, but as long as you have someone to look in on you in the night, it should be okay.”

  “Will you look in on me in the night, Ryan?” Whatever the doctor had given me must be lowering my defenses.

  He lifted my hand to his lips. “Tonight, I think I’d be better put to trying to find who did this. I’m sure Jayne will agree to stay with you.”

  “You don’t think this was a common-or-garden assault, do you?” I made no move to take my hand back. It was safe and warm wrapped in his.

  “Do you?”

  “No. It has to be connected to the Van Markoff killing.”

  “I agree,” he said.

  “Which proves Donald didn’t do it.”

  “How do you reason that?”

  “Donald wouldn’t hurt me, Ryan. He asked me for my help.”

  “A double cross maybe. A triple play.”

  “Donald is simply not that devious.”

  “I want you to stop asking questions about this, Gemma. You sometimes might think I’m giving you a nudge and a wink when I say that, but this time I’m serious.”

  “I must be getting close. I’ve clearly put a fright into the killer.”

  “You’ve put a fright into me. Gemma, listen to me. If I find you snooping around . . .”

  “I don’t snoop.”

  “. . . interfering with this investigation, I will personally have you charged with obstruction and tossed into jail. If that’s the only way I can ensure you’re kept out of danger, I’ll do it. I’ll do it because—”

  We weren’t in a proper hospital room, just a curtained alcove in the ER. Estrada burst in saying, “Oh, one more thing . . .” Ryan dropped my hand as if it had burst into flames. Estrada’s dark-brown eyes studied us both. I coughed lightly and politely patted my mouth. My face felt as though it were on fire.

  “Did you tell anyone you were planning to go to the beach tonight?” Estrada said.

  “No. It was a last-minute decision. I was stiff and tired after work, and a nice relaxing swim seemed like a good idea.”

  “Not so nice and not so relaxing.” Ryan got to his feet. “I’m going back to the beach, see if they’ve found anything. It’s probably too late tonight to make calls, but first thing in the morning, I’ll be checking some people’s whereabouts earlier this evening. Gemma, if the doctor releases you, you’re to go home with Jayne and stay there.”

  “I have to go to work tomorrow.”

  “See how you feel in the morning. It should be all right if you’re up to it. But that’s all. The store and home. You’ve riled someone up, Gemma. Next time a young couple might not be necking in the bushes. I’ll send Jayne in.” He stalked out of the room.

  Estrada gave me a parting shot: “Stop interfering in police business, Gemma.”

  Stop interfering? Someone had attacked me. I’d only just begun.

  Chapter 15

  Armed with a bottle of prescription pain killers, I left the hospital. Jayne fussed and bustled about as she loaded me into her car, drove me home, and then tucked me into my own bed.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I said, sinking into the soft mattress. “I’ll be fine. Just leave that pill bottle immediately to hand.”

  “Of course I’ll stay.” She pulled the duvet over me and tucked it around my shoulders. “I’ve set my phone to wake me every two hours so I can check on you. I’ll be right here beside you if you need anything.”

  “I won’t . . .”

  When I woke, sunlight filled the room. My head throbbed, but it wasn’t screaming in pain. The pillow beside me was dented and the sheets tumbled, but Jayne was gone.

  “Good morning, Gemma,” said a cheerful voice.

  I slowly rolled over. Leslie Wilson, Jayne’s mum, stood in the door holding a tea tray. “When you started to stir, I thought it might be time to put the kettle on. How are you feeling?”

  I performed a quick mental inventory of myself. Other than a sore head and aching right knee, everything seemed in proper working order. “Better than might have been expected. Why are you here?”

  “Jayne called me last night to tell me what happened. She had to go to work—that bread won’t make itself, you know—and asked me to stay with you.”

  Violet put her paws on the edge of the bed and peered into my face. I rubbed her nose.

  “I fed the dog.” Leslie put the tray on the night table. She arranged my pillows and helped me sit up. She then poured a cup, added milk and sugar, and handed it to me. I accepted it gratefully. My throat felt like someone had crawled in there to sand it down. I don’t usually take sugar in my tea, but Leslie had already added a generous amount. I drank it gratefully, knowing I needed the rush of energy.

  Leslie pulled the curtains back, and sunlight flooded into the room. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me,” she said.

  I cradled my cup, letting the welcome warmth sink into my hands. Violet had trotted after Leslie, no doubt hoping a second breakfast was about to appear. I finished the tea and pushed the bedclo
thes aside. My right leg was badly scratched and the knee swollen from where I’d fallen on the rocky path. Movement brought a jolt of pain into my head. I glanced at the pill bottle on the side table but decided against taking any more: today, I needed a clear head. I climbed out of bed, taking care to move slowly.

  I had to twist myself into pretzels to check out my injury in the mirror. A white bandage was stuck to the back of my head. A large patch of hair had been cut away to allow the doctor to work.

  By the time I’d showered (taking care to keep my head dry), dressed, and staggered into the kitchen to find Leslie preparing a boiled egg and toast, I was feeling almost human. She told me to take a seat, and I did so. Fresh tea was in the pot, and a single place had been set at the table alongside the butter dish and a jar of marmalade. She cut the toast lengthwise into four sections, making what English children call soldiers, and put the plate in front of me.

  “Will you be my mum, Leslie,” I asked, “and make me breakfast every morning?”

  “I’d be happy to, my dear, except that now my own children have flown the coop, I’m enjoying the carefree single life.” Jayne’s dad had died some years ago. “You look like you’re dressed for work. Jayne said I was to try to keep you at home, but I suspect that’s a lost cause. If you insist on going in, I’ve been instructed to drive you.”

  “I don’t need a lift.”

  Leslie had been smiling, cheerful, and bubbly. Now a dark cloud settled over her face, so much like Jayne’s. “Until the police find out who attacked you and why, you are not to be left alone.”

  I smiled at her. “When I said I wanted a mum, I meant to fix me tea and soldiers. Not someone to give me a curfew.”

  Leslie laughed and poured another cup of tea.

  * * *

  I arrived at the Emporium sharply at ten and was surprised to see that the shop was already open for business. Ashleigh leaned on the sales counter, chatting to Moriarty. They both looked up as I came in. Neither of them seemed pleased to see me.

  “Shouldn’t you be home in bed?” Ashleigh said.

  “I am perfectly well, thank you for asking. What are you doing here? You aren’t scheduled to start until noon.”

  “Jayne called me first thing this morning and said you weren’t coming into work today.”