Killed in King's Cross

by Samantha Silver

  Biscuit whined at the door pretty quickly, and I decided to take him out for a walk, thinking about the case as we made our way up to Hyde Park, ignoring the looks from people who had obviously never seen a cat happily being walked on a leash before.

  Biscuit’s former owner, a murder victim from the first case that I had worked with Violet, had obviously taught him how to walk nicely on the leash, since he was already trained by the time I had adopted him. I had never really thought about walking a cat before, but he seemed to enjoy it so much I just couldn’t stop doing it for him.

  As much as I thought about things though, I couldn’t quite piece the case together. Who had killed Joseph Fenman? Why? Was it just because he was there? The homeless were vulnerable in many ways, and often found themselves the victims of random attacks because of it. Was this why Joseph had been targeted?

  I just didn’t have the answers right now.

  Instead, my mind turned to the looming deadline to enroll in medical school here. It was interesting how hard of a decision it was, when for so long, becoming a doctor was all I had ever wanted in life. Now, however, I just wasn’t sure. I had always wanted to be a surgeon. I enjoyed working with my hands, and I liked the idea of stitching people up. That was impossible now, so if I was going to become a doctor, I was going to have to find a new specialty.

  That was easier said than done. So should I do it at all? Would I be happy being a doctor if I wasn’t a surgeon? And was it worth it to try? Was it fair to everyone else for whom this was a dream job to take a spot for something I didn’t really want to do? Would I be happy being a doctor for the rest of my life in a specialty I didn’t really want to do, or would I go to work every morning blaming the driver who hit me in the parking lot and changed my life forever?

  They were all important questions, and they were all questions that I couldn’t answer just yet. And at the same time, I had other questions. What was I going to do if I didn’t become a doctor? I was exceedingly lucky that thanks to an insurance payout I had plenty of money, and no need to make a decision immediately. But a decision would have to be made. I certainly couldn’t live my life floating along, just following Violet as she solved crimes and being a complete drain on society. I wanted to be more than that. I wanted my life to mean something. I wanted to help people. That was why I had wanted to become a doctor in the first place, because I wanted to help people. I wasn’t going to be the type of person who sat around doing nothing forever.

  But I also didn’t want whatever I eventually did to make me miserable.

  I sighed as Biscuit and I headed back home. There were no easy answers to the questions that I had, and I certainly wasn’t going to figure them out now. Maybe I should just defer my admission for another semester. After all, I could start my new class in June.

  But then, when did it end? Would I continue deferring forever? No, I couldn’t keep doing this. I had to make a decision, and I had to do it soon. I had a deadline, and I was going to meet it.

  I just had absolutely no idea what I was going to do yet.

  * * *

  I hadn’t really expected to hear from Violet that afternoon, and sure enough, I didn’t. I figured that her hunt for more evidence had not been exactly fruitful. The next morning, however, my phone buzzed from a text.

  There is another body. Meet me outside.

  My heart sunk in my chest at the words. I had really hoped that we would find the killer before he struck again, but it appeared that we were going to have no such luck.

  I grabbed my things, gave Biscuit a quick pat on the head, then made my way out to the street where Violet was already waiting. A moment later, an unmarked police car pulled up, and DCI Kilmer motioned for the two of us to get in.

  “Where is the body this time?” Violet asked as soon as her butt hit the seat.

  “The Sherlock Holmes Museum.”

  “Well, there’s a little bit of irony,” I muttered as the car sped away from the curb, taking us to the new crime scene.

  The Sherlock Holmes museum, on Baker Street, wasn’t actually that far from the Chipotle where Brianne worked. I sent her a text, letting her know that if she was around, there was a lot of murder-related excitement right here.

  Unfortunately, there was also chaos. Baker Street wasn’t in and of itself a main thoroughfare of London, but it was close enough to at least a couple of main streets that the fact that it was the current home to the media circus, it was leading to, yet again, ridiculous traffic problems.

  I had a feeling the media was about to change tactics: no serial killer could be allowed to go unchecked if the discovery of his victims led to such traffic jams.

  It took a few minutes, but thanks to the flashing lights on the car and tactical use of the sirens to go with it, the car carrying DCI Kilmer, Violet, and I eventually pulled up to one of the most famous pop-culture related museums in the world.

  The Sherlock Holmes museum was housed in a red-brick building, with the ground floor being painted white. Next door was Hudson’s restaurant, with a Beatles’ memorabilia shop on the other side. The fancy red velvet barrier ropes on bronze posts had been replaced with yellow crime scene tape, and the fancy late-1800s-style cop “guarding” the front door had been replaced with modern constables. With a flash of his badge at the front door, the three of us were led through, while reporters hurled questions at us – ok, at DCI Kilmer and at Violet, not at me – that were promptly ignored.

  “Miss Despuis, is it true the Metropolitan police have put you in charge of this case?”

  “Do the police have any leads?”

  “Is this related to the killing at King’s Cross yesterday?”

  As soon as the door was shut behind us, the questions were cut off, and we made our way upstairs.

  “The body was found first thing this morning, as soon as the first staff arrived,” DCI Kilmer explained as we climbed a narrow staircase. “They called us straight away, and it was pretty obvious what killed her.”

  Sure enough, right around the woman’s neck was a thick, purple bruise. I was no pathologist, but it wasn’t a stretch to assume she had been strangled as well.

  Much like the other victim, this woman had obviously been dressed up as well. However, rather than wearing a suit, this woman was dressed exactly like a woman from the late 1800s, complete with corset, a long, blue dress and even a fancy hat. Yes, it was obvious that whoever was killing the people was putting on a show.

  The woman was spread across a long settee, beige in color, right underneath the spot in the wall where the letters ‘VR’ – Victoria Regina – meaning ‘Queen Victoria’ in Latin, had been shot into the deep red patterned wallpaper. Two sconce lamps on either side shone dramatic light onto the victim.

  There was not a doubt in my mind that this was all done on purpose. This crime scene had been staged almost perfectly, and it was like the killer was taunting the police and Violet to be just as good as Sherlock Holmes.

  I had to admit, despite the fact that it was horrifying and incredibly creepy, there was something very artistic about the way the body had been set up. Looking around at the faces of the police officers, I could tell that it had had the desired effect. They were worried; the brash confidence that they were going to be able to solve this case no matter what just wasn’t there. Instead, their faces read the fear of being blasted in the media. The fear of another body appearing in a couple of days. The fear of being labeled failures, of not being able to find the serial killer.

  Violet, on the other hand, looked exactly like she did at any other crime scene. She examined the body, being careful not to move anything, and was busy looking in the victim’s mouth when Jake walked in.

  “As much as I’m sure you think you can do my job for me, I am a pretty good pathologist,” he said to Violet as he strode confidently towards the body and opened his bowler bag, pulling out the equipment he was going to need to do his on the spot examination. He looked up and flashed a smile at me, which I returned
immediately. It was like every time Jake entered the room I was in, the temperature rose a few degrees, and my heart swelled with pleasure.

  “Perhaps if you had appeared sooner, I would not have had to begin a physical examination myself,” Violet replied, and Jake shot her a look that somehow only he could get away with. I would not have envied any police officers who gave her the same look.

  “I guess I’m just not as important as you; I only found out about this body fifteen minutes ago. Now, if you’ll excuse me, feel free to look around and look for more clues while I get started on this. I assume you want the time of death first?”

  “Yes,” Violet replied. “Although judging by rigor mortis I believe she was killed later than the last victim; perhaps a little bit after midnight.”

  “What do you even need me here for?” Jake joked as he got to work.

  Violet stepped away from the body and began looking around the rest of the room. It was small and cramped; there were at least ten police officers in the room, not to mention all of the equipment, and I was starting to feel a little bit claustrophobic.

  “All right,” Violet announced a moment later in a loud voice. “Everybody out!”

  It appeared I wasn’t the only one annoyed by the people in the room. A low murmur of dissent broke out, and Violet clapped her hands. “I mean it. None of you are doing anything useful, you are all just here to gawk at the body. There are too many people, you are contaminating my crime scene, get out.”

  “Your crime scene? You’re not even with the police,” a voice called out from somewhere in the room.

  “Neither will you be if you do not get out right now.”

  DCI Kilmer eventually nodded to the group of officers. “Do as she asks. I want you to start canvassing the neighborhood; see if anybody saw anything suspicious happening out here, especially around midnight.”

  This time, while there was some unhappy grumbling, the officers knew better than to disobey a superior, and they stalked out of the room unhappily, leaving only Violet, Jake, DCI Kilmer and myself. It was definitely a much more manageable number of people.

  “Good, now maybe I can hear myself think,” Violet muttered.

  For everyone’s sake, I hoped so.

  Chapter 11

  As Jake worked on the body, Violet began inspecting the room, while DCI Kilmer muttered something about working on the canvas and left quickly. I made my way towards the window, looking out onto Baker Street where reporters and curious bystanders were huddled against the blue and white police tape, trying desperately and in vain to get a look at something a little bit exciting to do with the murder.

  I couldn’t help but smile when I spotted Brianne walking towards the group, though she didn’t stay long. I knew she was curious, but she also wasn’t morbid.

  Eventually, I stepped away from the window and began looking around the room myself. It reminded me a lot of my grandmother’s house, with little knickknacks and items absolutely everywhere. Above the door that led into the next room was an old rifle and a spear, the wall was covered in paintings and some sort of animal skull. Two bookshelves on either side of the mantle were filled with both books and other knick-knacks, a small writing desk featured a violin and various smoking paraphernalia. On the mantle was an old-style clock, a couple of statues, and some candles and fancy holders. A small, round table in front featured a classic deerstalker hat Sherlock Holmes is so known for, a magnifying glass, and in a homage to Doctor Watson, a stethoscope and a very primitive pacemaker. A chair in the corner was covered with books about all sorts of topics, and a table against the window next to the body was set as if Holmes and Watson were getting ready for morning tea.

  I couldn’t see how any of this had anything to do with the murder.

  “Was there any identification on the body?” I asked nobody in particular, and Violet answered.

  “There will not have been,” she said. “The killer is far too careful for that. However, there are other ways to identify a person than by cards carried on their body.”

  “So you know who this is, then.”

  “I do not know her name, however, I do believe I know where we can find out who she is. Her skin has the faint aroma of chlorine if sniffed carefully, the way someone who spends a large portion of their time in a pool would smell.”

  “Well, forgive me for not having sniffed the murder victim’s skin at close range,” I said with a smile, and Violet shook her head.

  “It is important when investigating a murder that not a single step is skipped. If it wasn’t for that smell, it would have been far more difficult to determine this woman’s identity. On top of the faint smell, if you look closely at her hairline a number of the hairs right at the front of her scalp have been torn, which is common among swimmers who are constantly putting on bathing caps, which make it so easy to pull out a few hairs.”

  “Okay, so she spends a lot of time in a pool,” I said. “There have to be a whole bunch of them in London.”

  “Yes, but look at her tan line.”

  “Her tan line?” I asked.

  “Yes, pull up her dress and you will see what I mean,” Violet said. I did as she asked and saw that halfway down the woman’s thighs, sure enough, there was a pretty obvious tan line.

  “Okay, so she has been out of the country recently, because I’m pretty sure there’s literally nowhere in England where you can get a tan like this at this time of year, and absolutely nobody would go into a tanning booths with shorts on.”

  “Good,” Violet said, and I scrunched my face, trying to figure out what my brain was trying to tell me.

  “So we have a woman who spends a lot of her time in the pool, and who was swimming outside of the country recently.” A link formed in my brain, and I made my way up to the woman’s shoulder, where I checked to see what her tan mark on her arm looked like. It was just a normal tan, like she had been wearing a tank top or something. “The top of her suit was sleeveless, which means that it probably wasn’t a wetsuit. Besides, if it was a wetsuit, she would have presumably been wearing it in open water and not in a pool, so she wouldn’t have that chlorine smell anyway.”

  “Excellent, Cassie. Keep going.”

  “Since she was in a pool, given the shape of the tan line, it looks like one of those suits the swimmers wear at the Olympics. Was she a professional swimmer?”

  “Parfait,” Violet said with a smile and an enthusiastic clap of her hands. “You have figured it out perfectly.”

  “Great, so what we need to do now is find a list of professional swimmers in England who might have recently been overseas swimming.”

  “I am way ahead of you,” Violet replied, holding up her phone. “At this time last week, there was a World Cup swimming event in Australia, which took place in an open air pool.”

  “And seeing as December is the middle of summer in Australia, it would’ve been very easy for the swimmers to get a tan from their suits while at the meet,” I finished.

  “That is correct,” Violet replied. “Luckily, with it being such an important event in the world of swimming, I was able to Google a list of competitors, and found that there were four women from the UK competing. One of them, Marnie Phillips, looks exactly like our murder victim.”

  Violet handed me her phone, which was open on a Google search for Marnie Phillips, and sure enough, the woman whose smiling face wearing a full racing suit and a bathing cap, with swimming goggles hanging around her neck, was the same woman now lying dead in front of us.

  “Poor woman,” I muttered, shaking my head and handing the phone back to Violet. “I suppose the next step is to go find out where she lived?”

  “Yes,” Violet replied. “If you don’t mind, could you go find DCI Kilmer and ask him to get an address for us?”

  I nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “That sure is something,” Jake said as he watched the two of us. “I can now tell you for sure that Violet was right; Marnie Phillips was killed sometime between midnig
ht and two o’clock this morning. But somehow, that doesn’t seem quite as impressive after just having seen you figure out who she was.”

  “Thanks,” I grinned, giving Jake a quick wave as I made my way back down the stairs and out to the Street, where I found DCI Kilmer passing orders to a couple of uniformed officers.

  “What do you have?” he asked as soon as he saw me.

  “We need an address for Marnie Phillips,” I replied. “She’s a swimmer at the World Cup level for England, and she is our murder victim.”

  DCI Kilmer let out a groan. “Great. That’s just what we need; someone in the public eye who’s a role model as our murder victim.”

  “Can you get me the information?”

  “Yes. Of course. I’ll get it upstairs to Violet in the next five minutes.”

  Chapter 12

  Half an hour later, Violet was finished inspecting the crime scene, and the two of us made our way to Marnie Phillips’ address. She didn’t live too far from Baker Street, just a couple of blocks away from Camden Town underground station, on the other side of the park from Baker Street.

  Through her Googling, Violet had discovered that Marnie Phillips was married, and we were about to have to give her husband some very, very bad news.

  Ringing the buzzer to be let in, a part of me really hoped there was going to be no answer. After all, if we couldn’t find the husband, we couldn’t tell him his wife was dead.

  Unfortunately, I had no such luck. Ten, maybe fifteen seconds after ringing the buzzer at the bottom, a man’s voice replied.

  “Yes?”

  “Mr. Phillips, my name is Violet Despuis and I’m working with the police. Could you let me and my associate up?”

  “Of course,” came his answer, and a moment later the front door buzzed, indicating that it was unlocked and ready for us to enter.