by Lee Strauss
“Ginger? It’s Haley.”
Haley never called Ginger at work, and a flare of concern shot through her. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. But you’re going to want to come to the school mortuary right away.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“We have another unregistered body.”
Oh, mercy.
Ginger parked the Crossley on the street in front of the London Medical School for Women. Not wanting to get in another motorcar crash, she’d driven as fast as she safely could—and had only been honked at twice. The entrance of the four-story brick building faced Hunter Street. Above the stone archway that hugged the wooden door a sign carved in jade stone read: London Royal Free Hospital School of Medicine for Women.
Ginger attached Boss’ leash to his collar and went inside.
Miss Knight, the middle-aged receptionist, greeted Ginger with a smile until she noticed Boss soft-stepping across the waxed floors beside her.
“Oh, Lady Gold, I don’t think dogs—”
“I’m sorry Miss Knight. I didn’t have a chance to take him home first. Do you mind if he waits for me in your office? He won’t be any trouble.”
“Oh, I don’t know—”
“Did you enjoy the recent gala? I plan to organise another next year to benefit the school.” Ginger hated to use bribery, but she really didn’t have time to wrangle with the receptionist. This new body could be a clue that led to the murderer of Angus Green.
“Very well,” Miss Knight said. “What’s his name?”
“Boss. Short for Boston.”
With Boss settled comfortably on one of the office chairs, Ginger headed down the steps to the mortuary. She’d been to the school enough times now to recognise some of the students who acknowledged her with a nod. When she reached the doors of the mortuary, she went in without a knock.
“Haley?” Ginger spotted her friend dressed in her standard uniform of a narrow tweed skirt that ended mid-calf, low-heeled oxford shoes, and a rayon blouse. She held a clipboard in her arm.
“We’ve two bodies in this shipment,” Haley said. “One registered and uninjured, and one unregistered with a bullet to the head.”
Two trolleys each had a body with a white sheet pulled up to the neck, both middle-aged males.
“Where do the registered corpses usually come from?” Ginger asked.
“Sadly, most come from the workhouses,” Haley said. “Inmates drop dead more often than you’d like to think. They either don’t have families, or their families can’t afford to bury them. Occasionally, one comes in as a donation.”
Ginger stared at the pasty white faces of the dead without emotion. The war had cured her of that. These corpses at least were cleaned and their faces peaceful.
“The cadavers come with yellow registration envelopes, but, like with Angus Green,” Haley motioned to the body with the gunshot wound on his forehead, “this man’s was empty. I thought it interesting that he also had been bound and shot in the same manner.” Haley reached under the sheet and produced a hand with lacerations around the wrist.
Ginger took a closer look. “There’s plenty of soil under this man’s fingernails. Perhaps testing would prove a match.”
“Possibly,” Haley said. “However, unlike Mr. Green, this man’s hands are very rough and calloused. There are splinters under the nail of one thumb. And if you take a whiff of his hair, you’ll smell the Thames.”
“A dockworker? There are plenty of those about.”
Haley nodded. “That was my guess too.”
“Has anyone else seen this?” Ginger asked.
“Dr. Gupta and Miss Hanson were with me when the shipment arrived. Dr. Gupta signed off on the delivery.”
“Did Dr. Gupta notice the envelope?”
“I imagine so,” Haley replied, “but I didn’t see him handle it. Though, it wasn’t like I was watching him the whole time.” Haley’s wide mouth turned down in a frown, and Ginger wasn’t sure if it was because of a possible crime, or the fact that Dr. Gupta, an incredibly handsome Indian man, had left the room in the company of Matilda Hanson.
“What should we do now?” Ginger asked.
“I’ve already called Scotland Yard.”
“Does Dr. Gupta know?”
“I think Dr. Gupta could be a suspect.”
“What do you think is going on?”
Haley looked Ginger in the eye and grimaced. “Murder.”
Chapter Nine
Pinocchio’s was a fine eating establishment with white stucco over brick walls and wood-beamed ceilings that smelled of garlic, strong cheese, and cooked pasta. Dr. Brennan, already seated at a table, smiled when he saw Ginger enter and hurried to her side.
“Allow me,” he said, helping Ginger out of her ultra-modish coat made of wool diamond weave and trending flair panels that extended from the hip to the hem. She’d chosen a Jeanne Lanvin creamy satin and crepe-de-Chine dress with several strands of black pearls hanging low. By the look of approval on Dr. Brennan’s face, she’d made the right choice.
Dr. Brennan held her elbow as he escorted her to their table and pulled out the chair.
“Thank you, Dr. Brennan,” Ginger said as she slid in. She appreciated being treated like the lady she was. He looked every bit the English-Irish gentleman in his high-quality madras shirt and dark brown pinstriped suit.
“You look ravishing,” Dr. Brennan said once seated across from her. “Simply stunning.”
Ginger was astonished by the gentleman’s constant overt praise. It was shocking enough at the gala where everyone was dressed to the nines. At least there the music drowned out one’s voice, but here in the quiet murmurs of this fine dining establishment? “Dr. Brennan! You’re making me blush.”
He smiled his grandiose smile. “Then I have succeeded.”
Ginger picked up the menu to hide her face. She now wondered if Dr. Brennan was indeed a philanderer. She certainly hoped he didn’t have any plans for her beyond dinner as he was sure to be disappointed.
“Would you fancy an aperitivo before the meal?” Dr. Brennan said. “I’ve ordered vermouth, but I could get something else.”
“Vermouth is fine,” Ginger said.
Along with the aperitivo, a small tray of assorted foods was provided: olives, cold meat, a selection of cheeses, and a cluster of red grapes.
“I didn’t realise how hungry I was until I walked into this room,” Ginger said. “The aroma is tantalising.”
“The Italians are very generous in their use of garlic.”
“Indeed.” Ginger said. “You mentioned your service in Italy during the war.”
“Yes. Apart from the food, it was a truly horrible time. I suppose you were able to wait out the war in the countryside.”
Dr. Brennan’s assumption wasn’t folly, since many upper-class residents of London had taken refuge in their summer homes in the country, especially if the man of the house was fighting the war.
“You suppose wrong, Dr. Brennan. I served in France as a telephone operator.”
“Is that so?” He raised his glass of vermouth. “You are full of surprises, Lady Gold.”
She hinted at a smile. If the professor only knew.
Ginger reviewed the menu as she sipped the slightly medicinal-tasting aperitivo, giving it time to do the fabled work of opening up her stomach to receive the meal.
“What interests you?” Dr. Brennan asked, “Perhaps spaghetti or lasagna?”
“I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with both concepts.”
“Then we must start with spaghetti,” Dr. Brennan said, snapping his menu closed. “It’s a classic.”
The waiter approached, and Dr. Brennan placed their order, adding, “A bottle of your finest Brunelli.” He smiled at Ginger. “Italian wines are divine.”
Ginger nodded. That much she did know of the Italian cuisine.
The waiter returned with the opened bottle of wine and two glasses. He offered the cork for Dr. Brenn
an to sniff and poured a small amount into a glass. Dr. Brennan swirled it, studied the “legs” of the wine as they clung to the glass, and then took a sip.
“Jolly good,” he said. The waiter smiled, poured for Ginger, and filled Dr. Brennan’s glass again.
Dr. Brennan gazed back at Ginger. “Decent spot, here, don’t you agree?”
“It’s classy,” Ginger agreed. “However, Miss Higgins has made me aware of an unsavoury rumour.”
“What was that?”
“It’s been said that a member of the Italian mafia runs this place.”
“You don’t say?”
Ginger watched Dr. Brennan from over the rim of her glass, and wondered, not for the first time, if Dr. Brennan was more familiar with the Italian community—and by extension, the mafia—then he let on. “Like I said,” she added, “it’s probably just a rumour.”
A finely dressed man approached the bar. He had a deep-etched scowl on his square face, and muscles in his neck that strained against his starched collar. He spoke to another man whose back was turned. Though Ginger couldn’t hear what they were saying, by their stiff mannerisms, she concluded it wasn’t just friendly banter. The man facing the bar turned as he downed his drink. Ginger recognised his face from the papers—a ruggedly handsome man, it was none other than the infamous Charles Sabini himself! It appeared the rumours were true. Mr. Sabini abandoned his empty glass and disappeared through a door concealed behind the bar. His associate was left to monitor the restaurant.
Dr. Brennan followed her gaze. “Well, he certainly looks like a gangster.”
Ginger agreed. The man grasped his tumbler of whisky in hands like mitts and took a swig as his squinty eyes scanned the room. For an instant, his gaze rested on Ginger, and a chill ran down her spine. She quickly looked away and focused on Dr. Brennan.
“Are you new to London, Dr. Brennan?”
“I am. Just moved here, after getting the post at the medical school to take over Dr. Watts’ post in his absence.”
“From Ireland?”
Dr. Brennan sipped his wine, then answered, “Originally. My family hails from Dublin, but for the last five years I’ve lived and worked in Brighton.”
“So, not too far.”
“No. Like the locals, I grew to complain about all the summer tourists from London, and now I guess I’m one in London. What about you, Lady Gold? Do I hear a tinge of America?”
“Quite likely. I lived there for twenty years. I can slip in and out of the American accent at will.”
“Do demonstrate!”
Ginger grinned to conceal the cringe she felt. This was why she rarely mentioned her American connection. Not that she hadn’t been happy there, she just didn’t like feeling like a circus monkey.
She cleared her throat and said in an accent that would make Haley proud, “I grew up in Boston, a beautiful city on the east coast of America.”
Dr. Brennan applauded. “Bravo!”
“It’s not an exceptional talent,” Ginger said, back to her natural accent.
“I’ve recently been to New York, but that was as far as I’d got.”
“New York is a splendid city.”
The spaghetti arrived, a nest of long thin noodles covered in garlicky tomato sauce and grated cheese. Ginger’s mouth watered in anticipation.
“There’s a special technique to eating this style of pasta,” Dr. Brennan said. “Let me demonstrate.” He gathered his fork, and to Ginger’s amusement, a spoon and not a knife. “Simply gather the noodles with the fork, press the fork tongs into the spoon and twirl.”
Ginger laughed. “Like winding a skein of wool.”
“Precisely. Then place the ‘skein’ into the mouth like this.”
After eyeing the dish for a moment, Ginger had wondered how one could eat the noodles without spraying sauce unceremoniously across one’s self, but Dr. Brennan’s technique accomplished the task nicely.
Ginger enjoyed the new savoury sensation immensely, especially complemented with the wine and a basket of fresh Italian bread. She must bring Haley someday.
She was halfway through the meal and feeling comfortably full when the customers at the table in front of her rose from their seats. Ginger couldn’t help but stare at the couple on the opposite side of them who had, up until then, been out of view. It was none other than Basil and Emelia Reed.
Chief Inspector Basil Reed was a man of means from a good family. He chose to serve the citizens of London with his work at Scotland Yard rather than spend his time on golf courses and yachts. He was a stylish gentleman with alluring hazel eyes and well-trimmed hair that was greying at the temples. Ginger’s life had become entangled with his in inexplicable ways over the last few months, somehow always involving a crime in need of solving. He’d been estranged from his wife, and Ginger was a widow. An undeniable chemistry had drawn them together. It was during this time of Basil’s marriage separation that Ginger had allowed her heart to open to him. She believed he had done the same with her.
Then his wife came back.
Now here they were, sitting in front of her. Basil’s eyes locked on Ginger’s with surprise. Ginger quickly glanced away and took a long sip of her wine.
“It’s delicious, isn’t it?” Dr. Brennan said.
“Very.”
Basil Reed faced Ginger while his wife Emelia and Dr. Brennan had their backs turned to each other.
“I’m curious, Lady Gold, what brought you to my lecture yesterday?” Dr. Brennan asked. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t seem the type.”
“Why? Because I’m wearing a designer frock?” Ginger’s lips twitched in annoyance. Did Dr. Brennan seriously think her less intelligent because she liked fashion?
Over Dr. Brennan’s shoulder, she caught Basil staring at her. This time he was the one to glance away.
“No, no, of course not,” Dr. Brennan said. “It’s just, you stand out from the rest of the students, that’s all.”
Ginger smiled politely. “I’m interested in Miss Higgins’ work,” she said. “She nursed my father in Boston before he died, and we grew close.”
“Her American accent is clear.”
“She’s a guest in my home,” Ginger explained further. “Our mutual interest in science gives us much to talk about.”
“Fascinating!” Dr. Brennan pressed a linen napkin to his lips. “You truly are a remarkable woman.”
Dr. Brennan’s praises were beginning to irk Ginger. Her eyes went to Basil, a man who had never once made assumptions about her intelligence based on her looks or minimised her worth by piling on empty praise. This time she smiled when he looked her way. The corner of his mouth crept up.
Emelia spun around. “Basil, what do you keep staring at?” Mrs. Basil Reed seared Ginger with a scathing look when she saw her. She twisted to face her husband, her back once again to Ginger.
Dr. Brennan noticed. “What’s going on? Do you know those people?”
“Yes,” Ginger said, adding quickly, “Acquaintances only.”
Ginger pushed her plate away, her appetite gone. “If you’ll excuse me.”
She had to scoot between a few tables, careful to keep her distance from Basil, all the while feeling Emelia’s glare following her.
Ginger reviewed her reflection in the mirror of the ladies’ room. Her age of thirty years was beginning to show. Fine lines at the corner of her eyes, subtle half-moons under them. She really did need to get more sleep. Pushing the magnifying glass and the Remington derringer aside, (until Angus Green’s murderer was caught, she wouldn’t go anywhere without her small pistol), she removed a lipstick from her handbag.
The door opened and Emelia Reed strolled in. She pointed at Ginger’s face. “I don’t know what happened between you and my husband while I wasn’t around, but I’m warning you now, stay away.”
She spun on her art-deco heels, leaving a stunned Ginger in her frosty wake.
Chapter Ten
The next morning, Ginge
r joined Haley at the mortuary. “Why go to all this trouble?” she said as they stared at the still-unidentified corpse. “Why not just dump the bodies in the river?”
“My guess would be they don’t want to risk them washing ashore. While dead bodies initially sink, as they decompose, gases cause the bodies to surface, and the tide brings them in,” Haley replied as she opened her handbag and removed her autographic Kodak pocket camera.
“So, the killer somehow gets their victim mixed in with the cadaver shipment, and if no one notices, the family never finds out what happened to their loved one,” Ginger said.
“Exactly.” Haley unlatched the camera’s cover and stretched out the accordion folds. “I wouldn’t be surprised to find there is a corresponding missing person’s file at Scotland Yard.”
Ginger watched as Haley took photos of the victim’s face. “That makes sense, but still, it’s not easy to pull this off. One would have to have had special knowledge, skill, and opportunity to embalm someone. One can’t simply embalm a corpse in their drawing room.”
“Whoever is involved in this has some medical knowledge.” Haley removed the film before tucking the camera back in her handbag. “I’ll develop these as soon as I can.”
“Right,” Ginger said. “I’d forgotten there was a dark room in the building.”
The door flung open, and a haggard-looking Dr. Watts blustered in, his ruddy face flushed, grey hair unkempt.
“Dr. Watts!” Haley said.
The doctor looked at the body on the slab and back at Haley. He didn’t even say hello to Ginger, which was so uncharacteristic of the man. He and Ginger had met many times, and Dr. Watts had always been every bit the professional and a gentleman. It was disconcerting to see a man who was usually so reserved and restrained looking flustered and disturbed. He slumped into an empty chair.
“Dr. Watts?” Haley prompted. “Is everything okay?”
He let out a breath of defeat. “It could be better.”
Ginger approached tentatively. “Hello, Dr. Watts.”
