Wading Into Murder

by JOAN DAHR LAMBERT

  Layers of history underlay the whole city, Elise told them. Bath had been built above the Roman settlement, which had been built on earlier settlements, back to the time of hunter-gatherers. It seemed to Laura that she could feel the pulsation of all those lives reaching up to touch her feet as they traversed the ancient lanes.

  The Abbey, their last stop of the day, had similar layers of history beneath its stones. Prehistoric remains suggesting an ancient place of worship rested at the bottom; above that were two former abbeys whose fate Elise didn’t enumerate. The present Abbey, according to local legend, had been built in 1499 on the site of the two former abbeys not long after the Bishop had experienced a vision of angels helping with the construction by climbing a ladder to heaven. Laura found the image delightful.

  As soon as they entered the Abbey, she was aware of an aura of peace. It seemed to permeate the building, as if all those who had worshipped here in the past had found solace, as she did now, in the beauty that surrounded her. The stained glass windows and soaring ceilings were breathtaking. Then she spotted an iron grill in the stone floor near the altar and knelt to see what it covered. A dark, musty and very small tunnel was under the grill, just like the one William had wanted to use to get out of the springs - and the rat infested hole she’d crawled through last summer. Laura began to shiver, and once she started shivering, she found she couldn’t stop. Jet lag and the events of the morning seemed to have caught up with her.

  Oblivious of Laura’s shivers, Elise was in the midst of explaining that the tunnel went under the altar and came out the other side, that it had probably once gone into the vaults beside the abbey, when Violet appeared at Laura’s elbow. Lady Longtree was beside her. William hovered anxiously behind his grandmother.

  “I am taking you out for tea,” Violet said, too quietly for the rest of the group to hear. “I think a cup of that famously reviving beverage is in order.”

  Laura nodded gratefully. The tour was almost over anyway, and a strong cup of tea sounded marvelous. So did a large breath of fresh air.

  Lady Longtree appraised Laura with keen blue eyes. “Perhaps a stiff drink instead,” she suggested with an expressive lift of her still dark eyebrows.

  Laura laughed shakily. “I don’t think I have ever been so well taken care of,” she said. “Thank you all!”

  “Tea or drink?” Violet inserted.

  “Tea first, I think, and later a drink,” Laura compromised. “They both sound welcome.”

  The teashop they found on a side street was deserted except for a non-descript, swarthy man who came in soon after them. Settling himself familiarly at a table, he studied what looked like a racing form. After a moment he pushed through a beaded curtain into the back of the shop, presumably to phone in his bet. Laura was relieved. Right now, she wanted peace and quiet and no listening ears.

  Violet was the first to speak. “I should tell you right away that I know you found the baby in the Baths this morning,” she said flatly.

  “Oh dear, I hope the others don’t know,” Laura answered. “I’d hate that.”

  “They don’t,” Lady Longtree assured her. “William and I eaves-dropped during the luncheon, and no one mentioned you. A few of them heard about a baby being found, and the bomb scare and car bomb, but they don’t know any details.”

  “How did you find out about it, Violet?” Laura asked.

  “I happened to be in the square when the three of you emerged from the Baths,” Violet answered. “I heard the car bomb, saw you and a child being escorted to the police station and Lady Longtree and William scampering after an unknown woman who had obviously caught your attention. Put two and two together.”

  “Laura thought she was the baby’s mother,” William explained. “We found out where she lives. We also found out how the person who took the baby into the Baths got it down into the springs.” He produced his key with a flourish. “It was on the floor in the Baths, and it fits that rusty door at the back of the springs.” He grinned at Violet. “If you saw a mechanic down there examining things, it was me.”

  Violet laughed. “I did happen to see the mechanic, but it never occurred to me it was you. Well done!”

  “Thanks!” William looked pleased. “Laura thinks a cleaning lady she saw in the Baths dropped the key, along with a piece of paper with a diagram of the Baths and some Arabic writing,” he continued.

  Violet’s eyes widened. “How intriguing! I’d love to see that paper if you have it.”

  Laura produced it, and Violet examined it minutely. “Not as enlightening as we might have hoped,” she said finally. “It tells someone how to drug the baby safely, when and where to leave it, and that Allah will reward her for her service.”

  “You mean you read Arabic?” William’s face was awed.

  “I work as a translator, and I go to Saudi Arabia quite often, for conferences and so forth,” Violet explained. “I speak a few other languages too, so I travel a lot.”

  She changed the subject abruptly. “Did you find anything interesting inside the springs when you were there today?” she asked William.

  William reached into his pocket and came up with a pink baby’s bootie. “I guess it goes on a foot,” he said, dangling it in front of them. “I didn’t see the other one.”

  “They fall off easily,” Laura said, “so it could be anywhere.” She took it from William and examined it. “I think it’s hand-made,” she said.

  “Definitely,” Lady Longtree confirmed. “See those slightly uneven stitches? Machines don’t do that, only people.”

  “Any more clues?” Violet asked dryly. “I can see I need to catch up.”

  “Yes,” William replied casually. “After she’d finished with the police, Laura went back to the street the mother had disappeared into. I was there too, and we saw the baby’s father and a girl who looks like the mother going into one of the houses. She said they’re afraid of the father and want the baby to stay with the police.”

  Violet frowned, bewildered. “But how do you know he’s the baby’s father? And who its mother is, for that matter.”

  Laura blinked. “Of course. You haven’t heard where I saw them before.” Once again, she described the scene in the airport and subsequent events in the Baths. “I know the father and one of the twins are in Bath now because I’ve seen them. I assume the mother and the other twin are here too.”

  “I’ll find out when I go back to the house in a good disguise,” William said confidently. “I could be a mechanic again, or maybe a mullah. No one will know who I am under a turban.”

  “I shall wait nearby,” Lady Longtree said, “just in case. People never notice an old lady with an umbrella, and if they do, they dismiss me as harmless.

  “They always do,” she added demurely.

  Violet chuckled. “That would be their mistake, wouldn’t it? I imagine you and William make a fine pair of sleuths. But do take care, William. You might find yourself in a harem, and that would be trouble.” Her tone was jocular, but Laura thought there was a real warning in her eyes.

  William looked intrigued, but his grandmother was more restrained. “Violet is right, William,” she cautioned. “A harem would certainly be interesting, but we don’t want to offend anyone. We had better find out more about the people who live there before carrying our investigations any further.”

  “I’ll just take a peek and if anyone should see me I’ll run.” William assured her.

  Laura regarded his enthusiastic young face warily. “I don’t think going back is a good idea, William,” she warned. “It could be more dangerous than you think. An old man called Joe who hangs out around the Baths tried to tell me something about the baby earlier, but before he could say anything, a woman ran up and dragged him away. And then he was knocked down by a car and taken away by ambulance.

  “It happened just before Violet and I came into the Baths,” she added, seeing his puzzled look. “You were probably already inside putting on your mechanic outfit. That�
��s why I’m worried about you going back. Someone does not want people prying into whatever is going on with this baby.”

  William looked ashen. “You mean somebody ran down an old a guy who tried to talk to you on purpose? That’s terrible! But why would anyone do that?”

  “I guess because he wanted to tell me something about the baby. He might even have seen the person who took it in,” Laura answered.

  Violet’s lips compressed. “I think you must tell the police about Joe,” she told Laura. “The two incidents may not be connected – it seems so far-fetched, but tell them just the same. And about the father, and the house and the girl. After that, it really is their job, not yours. Or ours.”

  “I’ll call as soon as I get back to the hotel,” Laura promised. “It’s time to get ready for dinner, anyway. And you’re right, Violet. This has become a job for the police, with all due respect to the sleuthing talents of William and Lad… I mean Olivia.”

  “Yeah, I guess so,” William conceded reluctantly, but he didn’t sound convinced. Lady Longtree simply looked vague and didn’t answer.

  When she got back to her room, Laura called the police station as promised. Sergeant Prescott wasn’t there, so she gave the information to the young constable. He asked her to come in to sign a statement in the morning, and she agreed.

  That duty accomplished, she sank gratefully into the big tub in her bathroom. The warm water would soothe her frazzled nerves, she told herself, but instead it reminded her of the Baths where the Romans had soothed their bodies, and that brought the scene – and Joe - back into her mind. Sighing, she stretched out and tried to think logically, but her brain seemed unequal to the task. Maybe if she just relaxed, something would come to her. Closing her eyes, she let one group of muscles go limp, then another…

  Laura sat up with a jerk as water began to fill her mouth and nostrils. She had fallen asleep! It must be almost time for the tour’s introductory dinner.

  A knock on the door confirmed the thought. Violet had said she would come by for a drink before they went to the restaurant.

  “In a minute,” Laura called, struggling into the terry cloth robe. She ran a brush through her tangled hair, to little avail as the humidity had turned it into a veritable nest, and opened the door. Violet stood on the threshold, beaming. In her hand was a chilled bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “Fantastic!” Laura told her. “I fell asleep in the tub, but I’ll be ready in a minute.”

  “Take your time,” Violet said as she sat down in a fatly upholstered chair. “I’ll get a start on the wine. Your kind landlady lent me a corkscrew.”

  Laura donned the skirt and multi-colored jacket, which had lost their wrinkles thanks to the steam in the bathroom, put on some make-up and an expensive looking jeweled belt that had actually come from a discount store, and tried again to tame her unruly hair. When she had finally succeeded in pulling it into a reasonably neat bun, she perched on the bed and took a long sip from the glass Violet handed her.

  “That tastes superb!”

  “Quite nice,” Violet agreed, rolling a bit of the wine delicately around in her mouth before she swallowed.

  Laura laughed. “I don’t always gulp. It’s just been an odd day.”

  “Odd is one word for it,” Violet commented. “For tonight, however, I think we should forget about it and enjoy ourselves. You still look a bit peaky.”

  “I’m all right,” Laura demurred. “It was just seeing the poor man lying there and knowing he had tried to talk to me. I do hope he isn’t dead.”

  “We’ll find out,” Violet said grimly, and changed the subject. “Tell me more about what you do,” she said. “The bit I read in the brochure sounds intriguing.”

  “I teach and do research on gender evolution, and recently I’ve done some research on more contemporary gender issues,” Laura explained.

  “Gender evolution?” Violet looked intrigued.

  “Yes, how and why women and men got to be the way they are today as our species evolved. It’s a multi-disciplinary field – anthropology, pre-history and primate studies, even paleontology – the study of human-like fossils.

  “The evidence shows that women were probably our first leaders, and that our first deity was a Goddess,” she added, since Violet still looked interested. “That changed when the major religions we know today were introduced by some rather nasty – and highly patriarchal - invaders from northern areas.”

  Violet sighed. “And it’s been downhill ever since,” she said mournfully.

  “As well as getting worse when male-centered religions are under threat, like now,” Laura agreed. “Did you know that at the most conservative estimate, three million women and children are being held as sex slaves today, and thousands more are forced into slavery every day? I think that’s why I’m worried about what’s going on here. If it’s involved with the sex trade, things could get really nasty.

  “On a lighter note,” she added, feeling guilty for imposing a diatribe on Violet, who was also on vacation, “sometimes the repression of women gets so far-fetched that it pushes believers the other direction and we finally get a break.”

  “Let’s hope that happens this time,” Violet said, sounding skeptical. She looked at her watch. “I’d love to talk more about gender issues, both past and present, but I fear it’s time to join the group.”

  Over dinner, Laura decided to sit beside Amy and Margaret since she hadn’t yet talked to them. They were both blond and pretty and looked a lot alike, but they turned out to have very different personalities. Amy was talkative and sentimental. Margaret was more reserved and, Laura thought, more intelligent. She gathered that they had met through their jobs and had become good friends.

  Amy produced some much-thumbed photos of her two little daughters. Margaret had a son about whom she said nothing except that he was staying with her mother. She talked about her work instead, explaining that she and Amy had recently trained as nurses with special knowledge in the care of newborns. Laura sensed that Margaret was proud of this accomplishment, but that financing the necessary education hadn’t been easy for her. She also sensed a pervasive sadness in Margaret, as if something had happened to her that still caused pain. Maybe she had been through a difficult divorce, or there could be some problem with her son.

  Amy and Margaret began a conversation with Hans, and Laura turned to the Japanese couple on her other side. “Is this your first trip to England?” she asked.

  “Not the first, but this is the only tour we have taken here,” Mrs. Takara answered with a merry laugh, and proceeded to talk enthusiastically about everything she had seen. She also wanted to know all about Laura, where she came from and what she did, how she had come to be on this tour, and listened with keen interest to her answers.

  Mr. Takara, in contrast, was glum and uncommunicative, except to berate his diminutive wife for asking too many questions. Laura’s hackles went up, but Mrs. Takara didn’t seem to mind his criticism. “I am too curious, as he says,” she agreed with a small giggle. “He is right in all things, my husband, and he is a fine photographer.”

  Mr. Takara brightened, and produced a few photos to prove the point. Laura found them surprisingly fuzzy considering the excellent equipment he described at some length. She was no expert in photography but she had learned enough from her son, who was, to know that the pictures he showed her weren’t very good.

  Mrs. Takara enjoyed taking pictures too and pulled out a few to show Laura, but Mr. Takara stopped her. “They are not good enough,” he told her bluntly. Meekly, his wife put them away again. Laura felt like slugging Mr. Takara. Perhaps, though, that was the way relationships were in Japan.

  The next morning, she headed to the police station to sign her statement. On the way, she passed a knitting shop. Laura rummaged in her pockets and came up with the pink bootie. A bell tinkled in the back when she opened the door, and a pleasant white-haired woman appeared. Laura held out the bootie.

  “I w
onder if by any chance you know who knit this, so I can return it to her,” she asked with a smile. “That’s probably a ridiculous request, considering all the people who must pass through the store, but I thought I would try anyway.”

  “Usually it would be a hard question,” the woman agreed, “but in this case, I happen to know. The client who bought this wool has twins. One tends to notice when people need enough wool for four booties instead of two, and double of everything else. One remembers twins, too. They’re an adorable pair.

  “There’s another reason, too… Oh dear, it isn’t right I suppose to talk about it…” She stopped, biting her lip uncertainly.

  “The other reason?” Laura prompted.

  The words came out in a rush. “It was only this morning, and it did upset me so. Her poor face was so bruised, and one of her eyes was almost shut. As soon as she came in here, her brute of a husband lunged in after her and hauled her out again. I can’t get over the feeling that she wanted me to help her, that maybe she didn’t know anyone else to turn to, but what could I do? In that culture, the men can do what they like.”

  Laura winced. It seemed impossible to escape the issues that took so much of her time and attention. Everywhere she turned some poor woman was being abused, which spoke volumes about the extent of the problem.

  “Spousal abuse is a terrible problem,” she agreed, “and not just in that culture. It’s everywhere, I’m afraid. I’m a researcher in the field, so I understand.”

  Relief flooded the woman’s face. “Oh, I am glad I told you, then. You’ll know what to do, how to help her. Poor woman, she looks so exhausted all the time.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Laura promised, but she left the store feeling oppressed. She had no idea what resources were available to the mother in England. Then she realized that the police would know. She could report the spousal abuse problem when she signed her statement, and leave the rest to them.