Dody McCleland 02 - Antidote to Murder

by Felicity Young

  “Her description matches that of a Miss Elizabeth Strickland from Lewisham, sir. Her parents reported her missing to their local police station at about six o’clock last night.”

  “How old was Miss Strickland?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “You’d better see if the parents can identify the corpse. This may well be her.”

  “I’ll get on to it right away, sir. Good morning, Dr. McCleland.” Fisher put his shoulder to the swinging door.

  “Inspector, wait. There is more we need to discuss. We have ascertained that the girl was suffering from plumbism before her abortion, yes?” Dody queried.

  He turned and nodded.

  “The supplying of the lead then was the first action against the pregnancy. The remnants of lead in her stomach were too dense to suggest it had been ingested in anything but tablet form—a form that we have already ascertained is relatively unusual. When this did not rid her of her child, can we speculate that she opted for the same extreme measures as did Esther Craddock?”

  “I suppose so, but with all due respect, Doctor, speculation is the right word for it. We do not have the evidence to prove it.”

  “Absence of evidence isn’t evidence of its absence,” Spilsbury said. “Dr. McCleland is saying that the two may be linked. Surely, as you have nothing else to go on, this connection is worth pursuing?” Dody could have hugged him. “Find the manufacturer of the tablets, Inspector, and you might find the abortionist.”

  “Which is what I decided to do when I was under investigation,” Dody said quickly. “I started making enquiries and discovered the tablets were being distributed in the public houses in or around Whitechapel. Someone must have purchased the tablets for this young lady.” She pointed to the body on the slab. “I can’t imagine her loitering about in a public house on her own. She probably asked her young man to get them for her. If you can find out the name of the father of her child, we might get some answers.”

  Fisher gave a resigned sigh. “I’ll put some men onto it right away, Doctor.”

  “Will you also be visiting the man whose name is on the calling card?” Spilsbury asked.

  “My orders are to report to Chief Inspector Pike, sir.”

  “This Van Noort is a Harley Street specialist,” Spilsbury said. “I think it prudent that a doctor accompanies the police during the interview, to translate medical terms if necessary. You can do the honours, Dr. McCleland. Contact Chief Inspector Pike and arrange it with him. Give Dr. McCleland the card, Fisher. A gentleman from Harley Street is, of course, above suspicion, but he might still be able to shed light on the matter. I want this murdering abortionist stopped.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dody took the card from Fisher and put it in her apron pocket. The thought of being thrown back into Pike’s company after Monday’s uncomfortable meeting was mortifying, but she was going to have to bear it. Her feelings for Pike were not the issue here. Her purpose was to find the man responsible for the death of this poor girl and the murder of her unborn child, and to stop him from killing again.

  She said good-bye to Inspector Fisher, told Alfred he could continue with his suturing of the body, and returned to the clothes in the sink. She gleaned nothing of interest from the lace chemise other than the garment’s reasonable quality, which suggested Elizabeth Strickland was a member of the respectable lower middle class. Criminal abortion pervaded all classes, as should sensible birth control practices. Anyone could make a mistake, no matter what her level of income or education—as Dody had come perilously close to proving herself.

  Picking up the bloodstained drawers, she felt along the drawstring. Something at the eyelet jabbed into the skin of her thumb. A dot of blood appeared on her thumb and a small opaque protrusion—a sliver of glass perhaps. The last thing she needed was an infection. Taking a magnifying glass and some fine forceps from the shelf above, she extracted the object and examined it.

  It wasn’t glass.

  “Dr. Spilsbury, would you mind having a look at this, please?” Spilsbury joined her at the sink. “I have just pulled it from my thumb and I think it’s a fish scale. It was in the eyelet of her drawers.”

  “How odd,” he said, holding out a specimen jar for her. She tapped the scale on the lip of the jar to dislodge it from the forceps.

  “The girl’s dress would have billowed in the water and a fish could have brushed against her and lost a scale. Or maybe someone was cleaning fish nearby,” Dody said.

  “Send the scale to the lab for confirmation. They might be able to identify the fish.” He gave her one of his rare, chilly smiles. “Every little detail is worth noting. Good work, Dr. McCleland.”

  * * *

  Dody hurried home to bathe and change her clothes. She was in the hall, about to go upstairs, when the sounds of voices in the morning room caught her attention. She opened the door to find Florence engrossed in conversation with Daphne. They immediately stopped their chatter. Daphne climbed to her feet and smoothed her dress.

  “You can relax, Daphne,” Dody said with a smile. “You are not at work now.”

  Daphne sank back into the winged chair but continued to look ill at ease.

  “What are you doing home at this time of the day?” Florence asked.

  “Just home to bathe and change before going out again.”

  “Have you heard . . .” Florence hesitated. “Have you progressed any further with the case? Found the source of the lead tablets?”

  “Spoken to Mr. Borislav?” Daphne blurted out.

  “No, why should I?” Dody asked, perplexed. “A while ago I asked him about the tablets, but we have not spoken on the matter since.”

  Both women looked relieved. Dody did not have time to stop and talk, but made a mental note to ask Florence about it later. She pulled the bell and asked Annie to prepare a bath for her with plenty of lemon juice to help neutralise the odour of the mortuary.

  After her bath, she changed into her pale yellow outfit. Now that she was clean and fresh, she decided not to battle with the sweaty public transport system. She asked Fletcher to take her to the Medical Licensing Board so she could examine Archibald Van Noort’s credentials, and then on to Scotland Yard.

  She had not visited Pike since his move to the Special Branch section of the castle-like New Scotland Yard building. His office was small and poky, not much bigger than a water closet, with barely enough room for the boneshaker bicycle balanced across two filing cabinets. No matter how determined he was, without the operation she could no more see him riding that thing again than she could see herself behind the steering wheel (or was it a rudder?) of a flying machine.

  He stood when a constable showed her in, one hand on his desk for support. She suspected he was still feeling the effect of Dunn’s kick and hoped his knee had not suffered further damage. A few days earlier she would have offered to examine it for him, but sensed that any kind of advice from her now would be unwelcome.

  “Inspector Fisher told me you were handling the case,” Dody said, trying for a nonchalant tone. “With your Mata Hari assignment over, I thought you might be taking some leave.”

  “Yes, I should have. But this case is close to my heart.” The intensity of his gaze made her own heart lurch. “I have been given permission to pursue leads in the deaths of Craddock, Dunn, and now Elizabeth Strickland, with Fisher as my assistant.”

  “Just like old times.” She shot him a tentative smile.

  “Forgive me. I seem to have forgotten my manners. Please sit down.” He pulled out the visitor’s chair for her. Not wishing to waste time with idle talk, she waited for him to settle back behind his desk and then got straight to the point, producing Van Noort’s card from her reticule.

  Pike gave a pronounced start when he read the name aloud. “I know this man.”

  “You do? From where?”

  “He was obsessed with Mata Hari, always hanging about the stage door. He told me once that he was a doctor in the South African war. There was a time when
I thought he might have been my spy.”

  “I’ve just come from the Medical Licensing Board. Van Noort was struck off the list over five years ago.”

  “But he has continued to practise?”

  “The card found in the girl’s pocket suggests it. A Whitechapel chemist recently complained to me about a doctor with a foreign name harassing his female customers.” Dody shrugged. “I can’t help but note that Whitechapel is where it all started.”

  “Van Noort introduced himself to me as a doctor,” Pike said.

  Dody paused. “You came to know him quite well?”

  “Well enough to know he is an odd fish—I saw him once having some kind of a fit.”

  “Can you describe the fit?”

  Pike opened his palms. “A dazed look, gnashing teeth, facial contortions, nonsensical mutterings—”

  “Did he fall to the ground?”

  “No, but the fit appeared to weaken him. He was forced to lean against a wall and took some time to recover from it.”

  “Did he remain continent?”

  “I believe so.”

  Dody thought she knew the type of fit Pike was describing, but would not jump to conclusions without a physical examination of the man. “I am anxious to meet him.”

  “As am I to renew our acquaintance,” Pike said, leaving his desk to assist Dody with her chair.

  “You think he might be our abortionist—even have something to do with the drug gang?” she asked.

  “I can’t say just yet.” The walls were close; they brushed against one another at the door. Pike’s face creased into a smile. “But let’s see what we can find out.” How she would grieve if she never saw that smile again.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Dody was glad to see how focused Pike was on the job in hand. He was being professional, though something in his manner still held remnants of Monday’s hurtful aloofness in the mortuary yard. Then she had yearned to hold him in her arms and share with him the joy of her exoneration. Now she wanted to take him in her arms and drive his pain away—their pain.

  Well, she would never know unless she tried. Instant rejection would surely hurt less than this lingering, painful distance. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm as they walked towards the underground station, well prepared for him to cast it off. Instead he reached over with his other hand and gently squeezed her fingers. She felt the warmth of his touch through her glove. When he turned his head and met her eye, she wondered if he knew the smallest part of what she felt for him.

  They settled into their carriage and she looked around her. With a motorcar at her disposal, she had little call to use the underground.

  “How filthy and noisy it all is,” she said to Pike. “I hate to think what it was like when steam trains dominated.” As it was, the rumble of the electrical system, supposedly cleaner and quieter, still hampered conversation. She and Pike said little, but sat close. As she gazed about her, she marvelled at the diversity of the train’s occupants: from barrow boys to well-dressed women on shopping expeditions. Everyone paid the same fare and could sit where they wished. This was London’s first experiment with classless travel, and it seemed to have caught on.

  They came out at Oxford Circus, crossed Cavendish Square to the clatter of rising pigeons, and strolled in silence, arm in arm down Harley Street. The long, straight road was lined with Georgian buildings. Dutch elms stood outside each house, giving the street an air of cool and shady tranquillity. Brass specialists’ plates winked in the dappled sunlight.

  They climbed the steps of number seventy-seven. Screw holes visible below the number on the door showed where a brass plate had once been fixed. Pike paused halfway, closed his eyes, and drew a sudden breath.

  “Your knee is paining you?” Dody asked before she could stop herself.

  Pike flicked her a smile. He leaned on the railing and pointed with his cane to the plaque. “What would the plate have said?”

  “Probably his name and initials indicating that he was a member of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists.”

  “So he could be a skilled abortionist.”

  “He could do the job, yes, without a doubt—and that puzzles me. Even if he were the criminal abortionist, why would a man so eminently qualified make the kinds of mistakes he seems to have made? Esther and Elizabeth were butchered; there was no skill . . .” She thought for a moment. “Unless of course he suffered a seizure while working.”

  Pike nodded and tapped the knocker onto the glossy black door. A maid appeared, glanced at them, and said, “I’m sorry, sir, ma’am, but Dr. Van Noort’s clinic is no longer operating.”

  The maid must have assumed they were a childless couple seeking treatment—what other explanation for a man accompanying his wife to the obstetrician? Dody felt herself colour and stared down at her walking shoes.

  Fortunately Pike seemed to have no idea of how things might look to the maid. He lifted his hat. “This is a personal matter. I am an old friend of the doctor’s here to pay a social call.” Pike patted his pockets. “I’m afraid I have forgotten my calling cards, but tell him the Captain and Dr. Dorothy McCleland wish to see him.”

  “Very good, sir. Please come in.”

  They followed the maid into a wide high-ceilinged hallway from which a walnut-banistered stairway curled towards a spacious landing with a row of dark wooden doors. The maid led them into a tastefully furnished parlour that might once have been used as a waiting room. Dody could imagine chairs along the wall now occupied by a chintz settee. A world away from the waiting room at the Women’s Clinic, she mused. One consultation fee here would probably have equated to about a month’s rent on the Clinic’s premises.

  No fire burned in the duck’s-nest grate, but the room had a welcoming feel, enhanced by the greeting of the pleasant-faced woman who joined them. The faded blond hair and the fine lines around her eyes put her somewhere in her late forties. She introduced herself, and her bright smile lifted years from her face. Dody warmed to her immediately.

  “I believe you are an old friend of my husband’s. Are you from his army days, Captain?” Mrs. Van Noort enquired.

  “Our acquaintance is more recent than that, ma’am.”

  “Well, I’m afraid he is not at home. I’m sure he will be disappointed to have missed you.”

  “Really? Your maid seemed to think he was here.”

  “Sally was mistaken. My husband comes and goes often these days. It is hard to keep track of him.”

  The smallest delay in Pike’s response betrayed his suspicion. “Can you tell me when you expect him back?” he asked.

  “Why don’t you both sit down?” Mrs. Van Noort suggested. “Sally will fetch us some tea. Sally?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the maid replied, leaving the room. Oddly enough, Mrs. Van Noort did not seem anxious to get rid of them.

  Dody and Pike sat alongside each other on the chintz settee. Dody felt uncomfortable with the deception and spent some time adjusting her skirt. It was a relief when Pike said, “Ma’am, my name is Chief Inspector Pike and I am with Special Branch. Your husband knew me as the captain.” Pike pulled his warrant card from his inside jacket pocket and showed it to her.

  Mrs. Van Noort frowned at it for a moment, and then turned her gaze to Dody.

  “And I am a doctor with the Home Office.”

  “We are investigating a series of incidents,” Pike said, “and were hoping your husband might be able to help shed some light on them for us.”

  Mrs. Van Noort lowered her eyes to fingers that twisted on her lap. “I do not know where my husband is or when he will be back. As I said before, he comes and goes at whim.”

  After a moment’s thought, she rose from her chair. Moving to the mantel, she picked up a photograph of an officer dressed in the uniform of the Royal Army Medical Corps. She passed it to Dody. A fair young man with an angular face stared back at her from a silver frame.

  “That was my husband before he left
for the war in South Africa. He was not the same man when he returned.” She paused, as if to say something more, then stopped herself.

  Dody handed the photograph to Pike, who indicated with a tip of his head that this was the Van Noort he had met.

  “In what way was he changed, Mrs. Van Noort?” Dody asked.

  The woman glanced at Pike and back to Dody with the tiniest shake of her head. The maid returned with the tea tray and placed it on an inlaid card table near her mistress.

  Pike rose from his chair. “May I impose on your maid to show me around the house?”

  Mrs. Van Noort touched her throat. “But your tea?”

  “Not for the moment, thank you.”

  “Why do you wish to search my house, Chief Inspector?”

  “Solely for the purpose of eliminating your husband from my investigation.”

  Pike’s vague answer would not have satisfied Dody, but strangely, it seemed to offer Mrs. Van Noort some form of relief. “As you wish. Sally, show the chief inspector anything he wants. Start in the basement and work your way up.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” The maid closed the door behind them, and Mrs. Van Noort poured the tea in silence.

  “Was there something you wished to tell me about your husband in private?” Dody asked, blessing Pike’s insight.

  Mrs. Van Noort turned her head away and took a sip of tea. “This is hard for me. I have been expecting a visit from the police for some time now—my husband follows his heart, Doctor, and is therefore not as careful of regulations or reputation as one might wish. Nevertheless, it is still a shock. When rehearsing this scene in my mind, I had always resolved to tell all. I had no idea how hard it would be when the time came—to speak to a man about it, especially.”

  Dody gave an encouraging smile. “We are alone now. Let us take advantage of that.”

  “Of course. But first of all, Doctor, can you tell me what you think my husband is involved in?”

  “We think he might be able to provide us with information. His card was found in the pocket of a dead girl who died from injuries sustained during a criminal abortion.”