Snifter of Death

by Chris Karlsen

  The mere suggestion pricked the hairs on Ruddy’s neck. There are times you want to beat your head against the nearest wall. Eyeing the sight before him, Ruddy considered the option. Dead body and a bottle of port drank from, and on the surface some ugly similarities to his other two cases. Fortunately, if this did turn out to be a poisoning, those looked to be the only similarities. If he was lucky, those two things would turn out to be a weird coincidence. The hope brought a small measure of relief.

  Ruddy searched through the paperwork on the desk in hopes there might be a card that came with the port. Everything he found was related to the office or a patient’s history.

  “Constable Flanders said you told him you’ve never seen this bottle of port.” Ruddy looked for but couldn’t find any tag on the bottle to indicate what shop it was purchased from. “Do you have any idea who or where it might have come from?”

  “No. I’ve never been given this type of gift before. I rarely receive gifts from patients or other doctors. The few that the patients have sent were from women whose babies I delivered. They were a knitted scarf or a monogramed handkerchief.” Finch began to pace. “Why would other physicians send me gifts?” His voice rose with the question and he stopped pacing. “They wouldn’t,” he said, flapping his arms.

  “We have to ask,” Archie said in a calm voice. He laid a hand on the doctor’s arm.

  The doctor spun, pressed in close to Archie, and stuck his chin out. “See here—”

  Even Archie’s affable nature had its limits. He put his hand on the doctor’s chest. “You’re too close.”

  Finch pivoted and moved to less than arm’s distance to Ruddy. “Just what sort of idiocy test do you have to fail to get this job, detective?” he asked, his breath warm in Ruddy’s face. “No wonder the public hates your lot.”

  The doctor had no idea how tempted Ruddy was to lift him by his silk cravat until the toes of his polished boots barely skimmed the floor and shake him till he squealed like a chased piglet. But Ruddy liked his job and preferred to keep it, so there’d be no shaking of the pompous jackass. Tamping his temper down, Ruddy told him, “Step back.”

  Finch hesitated for a fraction of a second, then retreated several steps.

  “Doctor, we realize you cared for Miss Keating. We’re not disregarding your thoughts on her death. But speculation and investigation are two different things. We will consider all the evidence, of course. But we’re trying to get you to see that no matter how exemplary a life a person lives, sometimes it is their destiny to die early.” Ruddy still wasn’t ready to believe murder was afoot, not without additional evidence.

  “Yes, there are those people but you will see when you have the autopsy, Miss Keating is not one of those people.”

  Northam arrived and Ruddy told him to take a minimum of pictures. “I’ll only need a few of the body’s position. Take a few of the glass and bottle and the lock on the door showing it intact,” Ruddy said.

  Flanders and Young returned. “Sir, a word.” Flanders jerked his head indicating he wanted to speak to Ruddy out of earshot of Finch. Both Ruddy and Archie came to where Flanders stood at the other end of the room.

  “Interesting bit of information from the accountant’s office across the hall,” Flanders said in a low voice.

  Ruddy already didn’t care for the information. “Yes...” he dragged the word out, dreading what Flanders would say.

  “The accountant heard a knock, a knock loud enough that the man thought it was at his door. He came out and saw the bottle outside Finch’s door. Just then the nurse opened the door, looked curiously at the bottle as though she was surprised to see it. She was turning the bottle like she was trying to find a card as she brought the port inside.”

  “He didn’t see the delivery person?” Archie asked.

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell,” Ruddy whispered. This was a twist they didn’t need. “Thank you, Flanders. Write up a report of the interview and put it on our desks.” Ruddy turned to Archie. “I guess we’ll see what we have after the autopsy.”

  “Flanders, you and Young stay until the Medical Examiner’s wagon arrives. The M.E. can reschedule any appointments he has today. He’s to handle the autopsy as a priority,” Ruddy said. “Once the body is removed, you may clear the scene. Take the port bottle and glass to the M.E.’s office and have him test for poison.”

  Ruddy and Archie joined Finch. “Doctor, I’m sure you realize you’ll have to reschedule your appointments for today. We can’t have any patients enter until the scene is cleared. If you wish to leave, our officers can post a note on the door. They can instruct patients to return tomorrow for new appointments or you may want to wait out the M.E.’s arrival. I’ll let that decision rest with you.”

  Ruddy handed Finch his business card and Archie handed him one of his. If you have any questions or wish to add any information, please feel free to contact us.”

  “I’d like you to do one thing for me, detective.” Finch stressed Ruddy’s title, an indicator Ruddy expected meant an insult hovered on the tip of Finch’s tongue.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  “If that wine is tainted, if this is murder, I want you to tell me, in person, I was right and you were wrong.”

  Arrogant bugger. The doctor’s wish wasn’t going to occur anytime soon, whether the wine was poisoned or not. “If it is poisoned, I’ll have a constable deliver a message to you.”

  “I want you to deliver the message.”

  Ruddy gave the brim of his bowler a quick tug and smiled. “Want what you will but that won’t be happening. I don’t answer to you, Doctor Finch. And I’m not your messenger boy.”

  ****

  No other useful information came in the rest of the day regarding the Keating murder. Ruddy and Archie had interviewed her landlady and the few other tenants in her boarding house who were available. It was a boarding house that catered to women only. Men weren’t allowed past the vestibule. No alcohol was allowed on the premises and doors were locked at 10 p.m. sharp. The landlady and other women they’d interviewed all said Keating was quiet and kept to herself. She ate with the tenants on most mornings and evenings. She showed interest in their lives and what news they brought to the table, but rarely spoke of her personal or business life. No one knew if she had any family to notify.

  Her financial situation was comfortable to the point that she was one of the few tenants who had a room to herself. Ruddy and Archie searched it but found nothing to help them regarding a possible suspect or family to claim the body.

  “Sad isn’t it?” Archie said, looking at a postcard of Brighton Beach.

  “What?” Ruddy shook the last of her books hard. Sometimes personal notes and letters were stuck in books. When nothing fell out, he set it back onto her nightstand.

  “This postcard is blank. I’d begun to hope a friend had sent it to her or she’d written something personal on it after having gone on holiday there.”

  Morris spoke highly of the nurses he met during the Crimean War. Florence Nightingale had brought a contingent of nurses to the military hospital at Scutari, Turkey to treat the British wounded. He’d been taken there for the surgery to have his arm amputated. Morris had said, “Miss Nightingale often came late at night to visit the worst wounded of us. She’d come with her flickering light and move from bed to bed to speak with us. We called her the Lady with the lamp. What fine ladies her nurses were and what stern stuff they were made of.”

  Remembering Morris’s comments, Ruddy thought perhaps Keating was cut from the same cloth. “She does seem to have led a solitary life. Maybe she derived all the satisfaction she needed from her work. I hear many women who go into nursing do.”

  “Maybe, but it hurts to think there won’t be anyone to see to her funeral, to shed a tear, or sprinkle a handful of dirt on her coffin and see her on another journey.”

  One of the qualities Ruddy appreciated most about Archie was his ability to commiserate in sorrow with strang
ers. In spite of the fact Ruddy hardly ever shared the quality, he could appreciate it. “I imagine if another journey does await us, she’ll be well on her way before going into the ground.”

  “Still...”

  “Time to ask Finch if he knows of any family to notify, or has an idea who can claim the body.”

  “I dread talking to the man again.”

  “Me too. We’ll send a constable.”

  As they left the building, Flanders and his partner were waiting for them. “Sir, the desk sergeant said we’d find you here. We were about to join you. He has the M.E.s report on Keating and said you should come back right away.”

  “That sounds ominous,” Archie said.

  “Sadly, it does,” Ruddy agreed. “Flanders, you and your partner go to Finch’s and ask if Keating has any family he knows about and if so, how to contact them. If not, does he have any thoughts on who might arrange her funeral? Otherwise, if she has the funds, the department will see to a basic burial in a local parish cemetery with no service.”

  “Will do.” Flanders and his partner hurried off.

  “What do you think the news is?” Archie asked.

  “I don’t know. I only know what I don’t want it to be.”

  One look at the desk sergeant said it all. The news wasn’t good. “You have the results?” Ruddy asked.

  “Not anymore,” the sergeant told him. “Jameson has them now. He wants to see you both straight away. Today, I’m happy to be on the desk and not a detective.”

  Ruddy knocked and cracked Jameson’s door. “You wanted to see us, Superintendent?”

  “Yes, come in and sit.” Jameson waited for them to be seated and then handed the reports to Ruddy.

  Ruddy handed the report on the port’s contents to Archie. While Archie gave his paper a cursory read, Ruddy skipped to the final analysis on cause of death.

  They looked up from their reading at the same time and said in unison, “Arsenic poisoning.”

  “Indeed and again,” Jameson said. “I realize this murder is extraordinary due to having a female victim. However, I don’t see how we can discount the possibility it is the same killer, considering we’re looking at the same method and same delivery system. That said, give me some ideas, some thoughts, some theories we can work from.”

  Archie said to Ruddy, “I was going to discuss this with you first but since the topic has now been broached, I’ll say it here.” He turned from Ruddy to Jameson. “I wonder if our latest victim truly led the unsullied life we were led to believe. Perhaps she’s the thread tying all the murders together. I just don’t know how.”

  Ruddy did, or thought he might know. “Let’s say she was at some point a lover to Cross and Skinner. Our killer is a recent lover she’s jilted or someone she’s shunned. He’s eliminated current or former lovers or anyone he perceives as competition.”

  “But that wasn’t enough for him,” an excited Jameson jumped in with.

  “So, it morphed into a classic case of—if I can’t love you, then nobody else can,” Archie said. “The only way to ensure that is to kill her.”

  “It’s a viable theory,” Jameson said, his excitement waning a bit. “Keep me apprised of any new developments.”

  “Let’s get a copy of the best facial picture Northam has of Keating. We’ll show it around to Cross and Skinner’s club members and staff. See if anything turns up,” Ruddy said as they left Jameson’s office. “Let’s leave Finch for last. I want to thoroughly read the autopsy. Maybe there’s something to poke him with.”

  Ruddy sat at his desk, pulled out the bottom drawer, and propped his feet up, then read the entire report. Archie went in search of Northam. When he returned with two pictures of Keating, Ruddy told him, “I think I found something that might be useful against Finch.” Archie’s brows notched up. “She’d had sex, very recently too, the night she died. Interesting.”

  Archie’s brows notched up a fraction. “Interesting indeed. Where to first?” he asked.

  “Let’s show Keating’s picture to Cross’s staff. They already said he never brought a woman to the house. But just to be thorough, let’s show them her picture anyway. Next we’ll stop at Skinner’s office and show Mr. Button her picture. I can’t imagine Skinner bringing a mistress to his home, but the office is another story.”

  “You think Button would tell us if Skinner had an affair with Keating?”

  “He might be reluctant at first. I think he’ll cooperate once he realizes the information might lead to finding his boss’s killer.”

  “True. This means we have to speak to Finch again but we’ll do him last. I have to think he’s the one she was intimate with the day she died. I have a feeling he is not going to admit to it, no matter what.”

  Ruddy had to agree. What could he and Archie use to force the truth out of him, confirm if the doctor was her lover? Ruddy sat at his desk staring out the window trying to come up with a means to achieve that. Two women passed by engaged in animated conversation. The woman closest to the building had linked one arm with the other lady and in her other hand carried a book.

  A book.

  “Ready?” Archie asked.

  “Almost. I need to stop at the evidence room.”

  In the evidence room, Ruddy found the box from the Everhard murders. The year before the Viscount Everhard had killed several lovers and conveniently kept a journal discussing the murders. Ruddy pulled the journal from the box and tucked it into the inside pocket of his coat.

  “What do you want with that journal?” Archie asked.

  “We might not need it, but if I suspect the doctor of lying, it might serve as a...for lack of a better term, inspirational tool.”

  Archie looked more baffled than convinced. “If you say so.”

  ****

  To Ruddy and Archie’s disappointment, the Cross staff said they’d never seen Keating at the house, never heard her name spoken by Mr. Cross. Adding to their disappointment, Mr. Button said he’d never seen Keating, nor heard her name mentioned by Skinner. He also told the detectives that in the twelve years he worked for the solicitor, Skinner never made a reference or comment about having a mistress or seeking one. Button said the only women he spoke of were family members or clients. The family he talked of in general terms and the clients he only discussed in the most professional manner.

  Finch opened the door and groaned. “Constable Flanders and his partner just left. I told them I don’t know of anyone who can take care of the funeral arrangements.” He started to shut the door in their faces. Ruddy was faster and got his hand up to push the door open. Finch stumbled back, barely keeping his balance.

  “Get out. Now.” The ropey vein Ruddy noticed the first time they interviewed Finch popped out on the doctor’s forehead again, more prominently this time. Ruddy dispassionately thought Finch might be on the verge of apoplexy.

  “Can’t do that, doctor. We have questions that need answers. You can sit or stand. We don’t care which but you will answer,” Ruddy told him.

  “I don’t have to answer any of your questions.” The vein pulsed with his heartbeat. He rocked ever so slightly on his feet.

  Ruddy shoved his hands in his trouser pockets in case the irritating fool started to fall over. He’d make no effort to catch him.

  “The quicker you tell us what we need to know, the quicker we can leave,” Archie interjected.

  Finch turned his attention to Archie. “Fine. Ask your questions.”

  “Nurse Keating had sexual congress the afternoon she was killed.”

  The color drained from Finch’s face.

  “The autopsy showed semen traces and vaginal swelling. The activity was definitely recent,” Archie said.

  Finch screwed himself up. His shoulders rising, narrow chest puffing. He began to stammer, “How dare you.” He pointed an accusing finger inches from Archie’s nose.

  Archie batted his finger away. “Get that out of my face.”

  Finch flinched and retreated behin
d the lobby desk. He stuck his finger out from the new safe distance. “If you’re suggesting she and I had a tryst, this conversation is over. I don’t have to put up with your insulting insinuations.”

  “We’re not suggesting anything at the moment. We’re trying to document Keating’s activities the day of her death. Who she might’ve seen,” Archie said. “She was intimate with someone.”

  Finch brought his hand down. His gaze shifted from Archie to Ruddy then back to Archie. “It must’ve happened after I left. I have a witness to confirm I left at half five. I bought a packet of sweets from the costermonger at the corner to eat on the carriage ride home.”

  Ruddy fingered the journal in his coat pocket. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t the one she had relations with.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Finch asked Ruddy.

  “It might save your life. We believe a former jealous lover could be her killer. If so, there’s a chance your life is at risk. It’s important we know the truth.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Ruddy had enough of the pompous doctor. Nor did he believe the doctor’s denial of having an intimate relationship with Keating. Time to bring out the journal. “She kept a journal.” He waggled it, then opened and closed it quickly just to show the written pages. “Your name is mentioned several times and not solely as her employer. Do you wish to stay with your version of what occurred that afternoon?”

  There it was-the brief guilty widening of his eyes like a stomped-on toad. Finch sank down into the desk chair and buried his face in his hands. After a long moment, he lifted his head. “This cannot get back to my wife and children or be made public. My female patients wouldn’t understand.”

  “What you say will remain confidential,” Ruddy assured him.

  “Then yes, she and I had several trysts over the past year but none prior to that. As for other lovers, she never talked of any to me. But then, she wouldn’t. It’d be most improper.”