The Fossil Murder

by Evelyn James

  “Miss Clarence does that to you,” Clara reassured him. “It’s her selling technique.”

  “And people come back to her?” Tommy gasped.

  “It would appear so,” Clara laughed. “But at least I have learned something from Maud. Although, I am not yet sure what it all means.”

  Clara frowned.

  “Before I do anything rash, I would like to speak to Dr Browning. There is something I am missing, and that man seems to be at the centre of all this without trying. It’s nearly early visiting time at the hospital, let’s see if our academic is awake enough for visitors.”

  They caught a bus to reach the hospital. Clara had spent a lot of time within the building during the war when she had volunteered as a nurse. The place had a tendency to bring back bittersweet memories, especially as it was here that she first was reunited with Captain O’Harris after believing him lost for good.

  Clara asked at the front desk if Dr Browning was allowed to receive visitors and was pleased to learn that he was doing a little better and could be seen. He might not be awake, but she was welcome to look in on him. Only one visitor at a time, however. Tommy resigned himself to waiting for her in the large foyer of the hospital.

  Dr Browning was on the Men’s Fever Ward, a place where people could be suffering from a range of conditions, which all had one thing in common – the symptom of a fever. Clara had spent time on this ward and knew it was a place where many died. Fever was a symptom of a great deal of illnesses, many fatal, and there was often little that could be done for the patient but to make them comfortable. Among some of the more morbid doctors, the ward had been remained the Morgue Waiting Room. It was sad to see Dr Browning in there, surrounded by so many who were slowly dying. Clara did not yet know if Dr Browning might join them.

  She found his bedside and at first thought he was asleep, but as she got closer, he opened his eyes. They were brighter than she could have hoped for and he seemed remarkably alert.

  “Good morning, Miss Fitzgerald,” he said, his voice soft but not weak.

  Clara smiled.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better,” Dr Browning replied. “The doctors think it was something to do with my heart. They say rest will help.”

  “You had me worried,” Clara said.

  “I had myself worried,” Dr Browning joked. “But I think I shall be fine. There is a question mark over whether I can continue with the exhibition, unfortunately.”

  “You need to take things easy,” Clara told him gently.

  “So the doctors keep saying,” Dr Browning groaned at the prognosis. “I can’t think what I shall do with myself if I cannot continue my work.”

  “You shall read and you shall catch up with the latest papers on fossils,” Clara told him. “And you shall eat well, sleep well and get quite strong again.”

  “Well, that does not sound the worst medicine to me,” Dr Browning laughed lightly, and there was a spark in his eyes that gave Clara a lot of hope. “Did you just come to see how I was doing?”

  “I confess I had an ulterior motive,” Clara became serious. “I am still working on your case and trying to get to the bottom of all this business. I am sorry I gave you a shock yesterday when I brought up the incident in Germany.”

  Dr Browning lifted a hand to stop her.

  “It took me by surprise, that is all. I thought no one knew about it over here. I have not specifically kept it a secret, I simply do not mention it. Nothing came of the matter. Who told you about it?”

  “A man who is part of the Golden Archaeopteryx Society. His name is Sam Gutenberg.”

  Clara was hoping the name might ring a bell with Dr Browning, but he did not react.

  “I wonder how he came to know? The whole affair was little reported. It was very sad, a horrible night.”

  “The similarities between that incident and what happened at the town hall are striking,” Clara said carefully.

  Dr Browning fixed her with his eyes.

  “You mean, they both link to me?”

  “I do,” Clara admitted. “But, I cannot say what that means just yet, only that you have been connected to two very unfortunate deaths.”

  “I see it as just bad luck,” Dr Browning said, a hint of reproach in his tone.

  “And yet, others may not. If the police were to learn of the events in Germany, which they probably will at some point – though not from me I may hasten to add – then they would likely make an unhappy link between the two crimes. More troubling is that the Earl of Rendham is pulling strings to have someone arrested for the murder and thus enable the exhibition to move on. I don’t think he is entirely fussed if it is the correct arrest either, as long as it suits his purposes,” Clara’s tone implied everything her words had avoided – that Dr Browning could easily become a handy scapegoat.

  “You think I might be arrested?” Dr Browning asked her, needing to hear her say the words.

  “I think it is possible,” Clara replied. “That is why I would like you to tell me about that incident in Germany. The more I know, the better I can help you.”

  Dr Browning placed one hand atop the other and stared at his fingernails.

  “I try not to think about that night too much,” he said.

  “I would not ask if it was not important.”

  “No,” Dr Browning agreed. “I do understand that. I am just not sure what I can tell you. I was working with my colleague Frank Baumberger to set up a display of ancient gold and silver jewellery found in the region where the Gauls once lived. Everything was priceless. I had gone back to my office to collect display tags; the little printed cards that explain the exhibits. My office was a long way from the gallery where the display was. I left Frank arranging a case of glass beads.

  “I don’t really know what happened. I must have been gone around twenty minutes. When I came back, Frank was lying on the floor in a pool of blood. There was a hammer discarded next to him. I called his name and then I heard someone running. I glanced up in time to see the door to the gallery closing. I ran to the door and I saw someone heading down the main stairs. I followed them, but they were too fast and I lost them.

  “When I returned to Frank, I knew his condition was grave. I hurried to summon the police and a doctor. They tried to save his life, but there was no hope.”

  Dr Browning became grave.

  “Honestly, that was the worst night of my life. The police never found the culprit. There was no sign of someone breaking in, but there was a door to the basement which was unlocked. Probably an oversight by the caretaker. Someone could have come in that way. It looked like they were going to steal some of the jewellery, but Frank got in the way.”

  “What an awful tragedy,” Clara said.

  “I have thought over and over, why could it not have been me? I have no ties, no one depends on me. Had I been in that room, instead of Frank, at least only I would have suffered. Instead, Frank’s wife and son found themselves in a difficult position. Mrs Baumberger opted to emigrate.”

  Clara felt that little click in her brain when an idea slipped into place.

  “Where did she go?”

  Dr Browning considered.

  “South Africa, I believe. I think she had family there.”

  Another mental click for Clara.

  “Do you recall the name of Frank’s son?” She asked Dr Browning.

  He frowned, trying to drag the detail up from his memory.

  “It has been a very long time,” he said, lifting a hand and scratching at his temple. “I did meet the boy once. He was very keen on fossils, rather like his father. Frank was just an assistant to me, not a trained academic. His family did not have the money to send him to university. If only they had! The mind on that man was fantastic!”

  “You were fond of him?” Clara asked.

  “He was a friend,” Dr Browning nodded. “I can’t tell you how often I wish I had sent him to fetch those tags, but it was such a menial task an
d he was so absorbed in putting together the bead display. I thought I would let him get on with his work. Oh, how I have regretted that choice! If I had been there… I told his wife that at the funeral. If I could have swapped places with him, I would have done so in an instant. But, what was the son’s name?”

  Dr Browning tapped at his temple with a finger.

  “Frank wanted his son to have a better life than he did, he wanted him to go to university. He talked about him all the time, brought him to see the displays whenever he could. The boy was fascinated by the Archaeopteryx on display. He stared into that case for hours, ah…” light had dawned on Dr Browning’s dimming memory. “Of course, Frank said his name so often. His boy was called Samson, as in the Bible. Samson Baumberger.”

  “And I imagine he was often called Sam,” Clara felt the final click and knew what she had to do. “Thank you, Dr Browning, while I am still not sure why this is all happening, I now have a good idea of who is behind it.”

  Dr Browning’s frown evaporated.

  “That sounds hopeful!” He said.

  “Nothing is for certain just yet,” Clara replied. “But there is enough for me to talk to the police. Thank you, Dr Browning, I do hope you are feeling a lot better soon.”

  “I feel better already,” Dr Browning smiled. “I feel hopeful at last.”

  Clara bid him farewell and then hurried downstairs to collect Tommy. Her brother looked at her keenly as she appeared.

  “What now?”

  “I need to find the Inspector,” Clara said. “I think I know who killed John Morley. Quite why he did it eludes me, but I see the start of the solution to this riddle.”

  Tommy grinned.

  “Right then, let’s get this case solved!”

  Chapter Thirty

  They found Inspector Park-Coombs in his office, just about to have late morning tea and biscuits. His face fell as Clara walked in.

  “Today I have good news, Inspector,” Clara promised him. “I think Sam Gutenberg killed John Morley. I can’t tell you quite why he did it, but I think it links back to another murder in Germany in 1901.”

  Inspector Park-Coombs put down his biscuit.

  “I feel I have missed something.”

  “I shall explain while we head out to arrest Mr Gutenberg. I think we ought to hurry, he might already be thinking of leaving.”

  “Clara, on what evidence am I arresting this man? He hired John Morley.”

  “Yes, but not for the reason we all thought. Look, I have a witness who has given a good description of a man who resembled Sam Gutenberg outside the town hall with John Morley,” Clara knew that was overblowing Maud’s evidence, but she needed to get the inspector moving. “We know that Gutenberg has a connection to John, and I think he may have been the son of a man who was killed in Germany, under very similar circumstances to what happened here the other night.”

  “And just why did he kill John Morley?” Inspector Park-Coombs flapped his hands in exasperation.

  “That is something I am unsure of,” Clara admitted. “But if you were to search his room at the hotel, I think you would find a jacket with blood on it. He must have been spattered when he killed John.”

  Park-Coombs groaned.

  “I can’t arrest a man on so little.”

  “Can you not search his room?” Clara begged.

  Park-Coombs stared at his cup of tea, his brow furrowed as he regarded it with a degree of annoyance.

  “You have a witness who saw him with John Morley breaking into the town hall?”

  “Yes,” Clara said firmly, hoping she was not barking up the wrong tree.

  “Well, I can’t see why he would hire a man just to kill him, but I may be able to search his room on that basis,” Park-Coombs rose from his seat. “You better be right Clara.”

  Clara tried to appear confident, when in reality her stomach had flipped over a little.

  “I am sure on this,” she lied.

  They went to the hotel where Gutenberg was staying. He proved to be out when they asked for him, but that was not such a bad thing. The inspector was able to use his authority to persuade the hotel manager to open Gutenberg’s room for him. He went in with two constables to search it, insisting that Clara and Tommy remain outside in the corridor.

  Clara was nervous; she had made a guess based on a few likely clues, she could easily be wrong. At least Sam Gutenberg was not there to see what was happening. There was still that unsettling lack of motive for him killing John Morley, why would he do such a thing? Clara could not see how he could have known John before he hired him to break the glass case, and if he didn’t know him, then why kill him?

  Clara was beginning to have serious doubts as time ticked by without the inspector finding anything damning in the room. She was about to admit defeat and ask the inspector to call off the search when Sam Gutenberg appeared in the corridor. He glanced at Clara in surprise, and then at his open hotel room.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” He cried, running to the door just as the inspector was holding up a jacket he had found in the wardrobe.

  “Mr Gutenberg, just in time,” Inspector Park-Coombs said drily. “Would you mind explaining how you come to have spots of blood on this nice jacket and also on a shirt my constable found a moment ago?”

  Sam froze before the inspector, his eyes flicked about the room and then he bolted straight back out. Tommy had seen the move coming and as Sam tried to escape, he threw himself at him and tackled him to the ground. Sam cried out in fury and struggled, but Tommy was able to pin his arms and there was soon a police constable aiding him.

  “You could have waited for the best bit, Mr Gutenberg,” Inspector Park-Coombs said, stepping out of the room with a rubber-covered mallet in his hand. He had wrapped a handkerchief around the handle to prevent him putting fingerprints on it. The mallet had been crudely washed, but the red stain on the wooden handle indicated that Sam had been unable to completely remove the evidence of his crime.

  “Where was it?” Clara asked.

  “In the cavity between the bottom drawer of the chest of drawers and the floor. You wouldn’t believe how often people hide things in that little space,” Park-Coombs had not taken his eyes off Sam. “I imagine, when you could not get the mallet clean, you panicked and thought it was better to hide it than to put it back. Were you going to leave it here, or throw it into the sea when you had a chance?”

  Sam refused to say anything, his face was angry and he was breathing hard into the carpet of the corridor floor as his fury bubbled up uselessly.

  “I will definitely be arresting him,” Park-Coombs turned to Clara. “Thank you.”

  “I am very relieved Inspector,” Clara remarked. “I was starting to doubt myself.”

  “Your instincts were right where they needed to be,” the inspector smiled at her. “Now I just want to know what this fellow had against John Morley.”

  The inspector turned to his men.

  “Come on, lads, let’s get him back to the station.”

  ~~~*~~~

  Sam Gutenberg did not want to talk, but there was far too much physical evidence for him to deny what he had done. He might have tried to excuse the bloody clothing by saying he had cut himself shaving, but the mallet was conclusive.

  The coldness of the crime struck everyone; there seemed no reason for it. Why had John Morley died?

  After a fraught hour of getting little more than silence from Sam, the inspector decided to take a break and to communicate with his police equivalents in South Africa and see what they could tell him. He wanted to know if Clara’s hunch that Sam Gutenberg and Samson Baumberger were one and the same was correct. That meant urgent telegrams to another country and then an impatient wait.

  Clara decided there was little she could do for the time being, so she suggested to Tommy they head over to see Mrs Wilton and wrap up the Miss Holbein affair. Tommy looked a little reluctant, but Clara patted his arm.

  “I am sure we can convince M
rs Wilton that everything has worked out for the best,” she lied.

  Tommy didn’t believe her.

  They headed to Mrs Wilton’s villa with its spectacular sea views. The sea was a little rough that day and the white heads of the waves crashed on the shore below. Mrs Wilton’s maid said that her mistress was feeling unwell and might not wish to receive visitors, she then disappeared to tell the woman that Clara was on the doorstep. Clara heard Mrs Wilton cry out that she was most certainly receiving those guests before the maid reappeared with a sheepish look on her face.

  “Don’t worry,” Clara winked at her.

  Mrs Wilton was in her sitting room, which had the best views of the sea. She was lying back on a couch with an ice bag on her forehead.

  “Oh my dears!” She said. “I hope you have brought me good news!”

  Tommy flashed a look at Clara, but she ignored him.

  “Are you unwell?” Clara asked Mrs Wilton.

  “A headache,” Mrs Wilton sighed. “It’s all this worry about Nellie. Please tell me you have news!”

  “I do,” Clara admitted. “But whether it is good news, or bad, I am not sure.”

  “You are worrying me Clara, please explain yourself!” Mrs Wilton propped herself up on the couch, still clutching the ice bag to her head.

  Clara took a deep breath.

  “Victor Darling is a very intelligent young man who works for an engineering company testing engines for new cars and other vehicles. He has a genuine affection for Miss Holbein, to the point he would do anything for her and probably allows himself to be used a little more than he should,” Clara tried to speak fast so Mrs Wilton could not interrupt. “It is my opinion that he could be a good influence on Miss Holbein and should not be someone to be worried about.”

  Mrs Wilton was so stunned by this information, that for a moment she didn’t speak. She cleared her throat and stiffened.

  “An engineer?”

  “Yes,” Clara replied. “He is a very nice young man. Kind, thoughtful and though not from a monied background…”