Murder at the Mortuary: a cozy historical mystery (A Ginger Gold Mystery Book 5)

by Lee Strauss

  In the mortuary, Ginger turned on the electric lights, dropped her handbag on the desk, and scanned the room. The white floor tiles, the washbasins, and operating tables were all scrubbed clean and sanitised. Ginger could smell the bleach cleanser, which meant Frank Morgan had been in here recently. Ginger felt panic rising. There was nothing here that spoke of where Haley had gone. Everything was pristine and in its place.

  Except . . .

  There was a row of filing cabinets along one of the walls where all the records of the deceased were kept. The far one had a drawer that slightly jutted open. Had Haley, in her hurry, forgotten to close it all the way? Ginger rushed to examine it. If she took much longer, Mr. Morgan would come hunting for her.

  A long row of yellow folders sat neatly in green hangers. Only a file at the back stuck up, out of place. Ginger dug the folder out and opened it. Her heart skipped.

  Slipping the file drawer closed she rushed to shove the folder inside her handbag. She had to call Basil.

  Using the mortuary telephone, she dialled the operator for Scotland Yard. She spoke quietly when the constable manning the telephone answered. “Chief Inspector Reed, please.”

  “I’m sorry, he’s not here. Would you like to speak to someone else?”

  “No, thank you.” She hung up the phone and jumped at the sound of the door snapping opened.

  The caretakers’ bald head glistened under the bright lights of the mortuary. “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, Mr. Morgan. I’m sorry for taking so long,” Ginger strapped her handbag over her shoulder. “That was Miss Higgins on the phone. It looks like we got our wires crossed. I can go now.”

  Mr. Morgan snorted suspiciously—Ginger hoped he didn’t catch on that the telephone hadn’t rung—but escorted Ginger to the door without incident.

  Ignoring the honking of irate drivers, Ginger drove directly to Basil Reed’s spacious townhouse. Couldn’t they see she was in a hurry? This could be a matter of life and death! She jerked to a stop and ran to the front door.

  Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she knocked. When no one responded immediately, she knocked more urgently. Why did Basil not have a butler?

  The door opened, and the shock on Basil’s face at seeing Ginger was apparent.

  “Ginger? What are you doing here?”

  Ginger’s eyes settled on Basil’s lips, the memory of their near-kiss somehow making her unable to answer.

  As if noticing his rudeness, he opened the door and waved her inside. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. Come in out of the cold.”

  Basil’s sitting room was a comforting display of dark wood and light furnishings with coal burning low in the stone hearth. There was a vase of flowers on the coffee table—evidence of a woman’s touch. Had Emelia purchased them before she so rashly departed? Was it a simple matter of Emelia adding a hint of femininity to the room or had they been a gift from Basil?

  Preferring to stand, Ginger held out the file. “I can’t find Haley anywhere. I’m worried she’s in trouble. I found this at the mortuary.”

  Basil flipped through the papers inside and frowned. “I’ll be right back.”

  To stay in control of her nerves, Ginger paced the room. Her eye caught a striking painting hanging on the wall. Like Ginger’s father, Basil was a fan of Waterhouse. Ginger stopped to examine a copy of Destiny. A brunette woman in a bright red dress looking over the rim of a goblet eerily resembled Emelia Reed. The nautical background gave the figure a sense of unrest. The dark red of her lips and the longing in her melancholy eyes invoked feelings of thwarted ambition and bridled desire. It was as if the painter had met Emelia Reed himself so accurately did he capture her.

  Ginger pulled her gaze from the painting and moved to the occasional table where a small stack of flyers lay. She picked up the one on top. A Letter to Working Mothers—How to Have Healthy Children and Avoid Weakening Pregnancies. Dr. Stopes’ instructions to the more impoverished working classes on birth control tactics. Was this what Felicia had been doing with Mrs. Reed and Dr. Stopes the other day? Distributing flyers?

  Ginger returned the pamphlet to the stack just as Basil returned. It was apparent what Basil had taken time to retrieve; a pistol holder was strapped to his left arm. The sight of the weapon both comforted and frightened her. Basil wasn’t one for carrying guns, so he must believe Haley to be in danger. Ginger wished she had her own pistol, but it was still trapped in evidence.

  “You said he was your neighbour?” Ginger asked.

  Basil’s lips pulled tight. “He is.”

  Dr. Alan Watts was the man named in the file. Inside was a cadaver registration template used to create false identification for the unregistered corpses. It was identical to the real thing except for the absence of a small official stamp. The file included copies of many false documents going back for over a half a year. Ginger had the sinking notion that each one could be connected to a missing person’s file.

  “I think Haley tried to hide this before she was taken,” Ginger said. “The filing cabinet in the mortuary was askew.”

  Basil stared at her solemnly. “Let’s see what Dr. Watts has to say.”

  DR. AND MRS. WATTS lived five houses down on the same side of the street. Basil knocked on the wooden door. A light was on in the sitting room, and Ginger watched through the net curtains as a shadowy figure stood and left the room.

  Dr. Watts opened the door. His shoulders slumped when he saw Basil and Ginger standing there.

  “Chief Inspector, Lady Gold. This is unexpected.”

  “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Dr. Watts,” Basil said. “May we come in?”

  Ginger had barely closed the door behind her when she blurted. “Where is Miss Higgins?”

  Dr. Watts’ watery eyes rounded. “How should I know?” He shuffled into the sitting room and collapsed into a chair. Smoke billowed from a lit pipe propped up in a copper ashtray on a nearby table.

  “Dr. Watts,” Basil said gravely. “We know you’ve been providing false documentation for the Sabini gang’s murder victims. You realise that makes you an accessory.”

  Dr. Watts picked up his pipe, puffed on the stem, and stared into the fire. His contemplation led him to confess.

  “I did it for Annie. I couldn’t bear to abandon her to a hospital. To stay at home, she needed special, private care. That kind of thing costs a pretty penny. Professors at schools for women don’t get paid that much.”

  “Did someone work with you?” Basil asked. “Dr. Gupta or Dr. Brennan?”

  Dr. Watts shook his head and sputtered, “No. It was just me. When Annie had to go to hospital suddenly, I missed a delivery.”

  “Angus Green?” Ginger said.

  “Yes. I’d arranged to take leave by that point, but I thought I could still make an appearance when the cadaver orders were due,” he sighed. “But Annie needed me, and I kept missing them.”

  “Dr. Watts,” Ginger said urgently. “Haley is missing. We think Sabini’s men might have her.”

  “No.” Dr. Watts’ expression darkened as fear flashed behind his eyes. “Why would they take her? What did she have to do with anything?”

  “She interfered,” Ginger said. “She found out something they didn’t want her to know.”

  “Do you have any idea where they may have taken her?” Basil said. “Please, think!”

  “I-I-I don’t know! Maybe Saffron Stables.” He covered his face with his hands. “Good Lord, what have I done?”

  “Dr. Watts?” Basil pushed.

  The thick skin of Dr. Watts’ weary face became etched with regret. “That’s where they prepare the bodies. Dr. Selkirk embalms them.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  T he Austin 7 roared through the streets of Mayfair as they headed north of London. Basil got more horns honking and fists shaking than Ginger usually did. She started to understand how Haley must feel when driving with her as Ginger was the one now hanging onto her hat.

 
“Do you think Dr. Watts will hang around to be properly arrested?” Ginger asked. She and Basil had left without taking time to make a call to the Yard. Haley’s life was at stake.

  Basil gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes focused on the road. “He won’t go anywhere without Annie.”

  Another man devoted to his wife, Ginger thought. She had to admire the quality—even in Basil who always took Emelia back after her sometimes lengthy wayward affairs. He said he was divorcing her this time, but would he really? If Emelia came back in tears and remorse, would he turn her away?

  The country roads had potholes from the recent rain, and the shock absorbers on even the best motorcars were not enough to absorb the bumps and grooves. At least the Austin had inflatable tyres. Small townships with their church spires poking the sky, and nearby fields dotted with cattle, rushed by causing Ginger to check the speedometer. Basil was driving at fifty miles an hour!

  Ginger’s heart thudded against her chest as they neared Saffron Stables. Would they get there in time to save Haley?

  Basil jerked the motorcar to a stop, and he and Ginger jumped out.

  As usual, Fred was blocking the way. He held out a palm. “No visitors today.”

  Basil flashed his ID. “Police business.”

  Fred remained unmoved. “Show me a judge’s warrant.”

  Ginger’s heart sank. They didn’t have a warrant, and by the time they found a judge and returned with one, Haley could be dead.

  Basil pulled out his pistol. “Sir, please move inside.”

  Fred might be a few crumpets short of a proper tea, but he knew enough to defer to the threat of a bullet. He raised his hands and stepped inside.

  Ginger closed the doors, then searched for rope. Fortunately, there was plenty around.

  “Do you know how to tie a knot?” Basil asked.

  Ginger gave him a disparaging look as she expertly tied Fred’s hands behind his back. “On the ground,” she instructed and then proceeded to tie the man’s ankles together. She finished off by stuffing her handkerchief in his mouth. “You can keep that.”

  The stable was quiet with not a single stableboy or trainer in sight. The horses were gone too.

  Basil kept his pistol at the ready. “Sabini has cleared out.”

  “Haley!” Ginger called. They went to Silver Bullet’s stable, but it was empty.

  “They’ve moved their prize horse,” Ginger said with a growing sense of despair. “They’re moving operations. Haley’s not here.”

  They opened every door and searched every crevice and found only remnants of things one would typically find in a stable like feed, bridles and saddles, and grooming equipment.

  “Let’s search the outbuildings,” Basil said. A door at the back of the stables led to a training ring and beyond that another shed.

  They traipsed through the mud. Ginger grimaced as the cold muck oozed along her Italian Ferragamo shoes. Another pair of beloved shoes ruined. Under normal circumstances, Ginger would be aghast, but she couldn’t give a rat’s tail for them right now.

  A small trail forked off to the far side of the shed. Blood-splatter painted the wooden exterior.

  “I think we’ve found the execution site,” Basil whispered.

  What felt like ice water pooled at Ginger’s knees; her vision grew cloudy. It wasn’t the sight of blood that made her feel faint, but the thought that it might be Haley’s blood.

  Ginger turned to follow Basil to the door, but her shoe had other ideas. The shoe stuck firmly into the muck, which caused Ginger to fall against the blood-splattered wall.

  A small expression of pain escaped her lips.

  Basil rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”

  “My shoe,” she pointed to the defiant Ferragamo. “I think I’ve turned my ankle.”

  Basil quickly rescued the shoe and placed it back on her foot. “Hold onto me,” he said.

  Ginger tested the foot, and pain shot up her leg. She carried her weight as much as possible on her good foot. Basil held her up with one arm, his pistol ready in the other hand.

  When they got to the door, Basil tugged, and it swung open. Inside were a horse trough filled with water and a makeshift autopsy table complete with a tray of embalming equipment. Were they too late?

  “Haley?” It came out like a dry whisper.

  “Miss Higgins?” Basil called loudly. A muffled sound came from beneath the floorboards. A rusted metal ring jutted from one of the planks, and Basil rushed to pull on it. “It’s a door!” He flipped the heavy door open revealing a dank, dark cellar. Ginger crawled along the dirty floor—not giving her silk stockings or her Molyneux frock a single thought—to look inside. A form lay curled up in a ball, hands and feet tied, with a bandanna secured around her mouth.

  “Haley!”

  Basil laid his pistol on the floor, eased down the rickety ladder to reach Haley, and scrambled to remove her restraints.

  Ginger called to her friend, “Haley, are you all right?”

  Haley stared up and whimpered. Ginger could see fear and vulnerability in Haley’s eyes, and it shocked her. She’d never once seen her friend as anything but strong and secure.

  “Please, get me out of here.”

  “I’ve got you,” Basil said. “Let’s go.”

  Basil helped Haley out of the cellar, and she collapsed on the dirty floor. Ginger crawled over to examine her. “What did they do to you, Haley? Is anything broken?”

  “No. I’m fine. I just need to get my breath.”

  “How did you end up here?” Basil asked.

  With a trembling hand, Haley pushed flyaway curls off her face. “I was waiting for the bus. Someone came up behind me and put a cloth over my mouth. I immediately smelt the chloroform, but it worked too quickly.” She nodded towards the cellar. “Next thing I knew I was down there.”

  “We should go,” Basil said. He leaned down to retrieve his pistol, but before he could grasp it, another voice thundered through the room.

  “Stop right there, mister, or the lady gets it.”

  Ginger turned to the voice, and her blood drained to her feet. Lorenzo “Bugs” Bugini filled the doorway.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “Hands in the air where I can see them,” Bugs instructed.

  Ginger saw no compassion or empathy in Bugs’ soulless eyes and discerned it would be useless to try to convince him to let them go. The expression on Basil’s face made it clear he’d come to the same conclusion. Still sitting on the floor, Ginger held her hands up.

  “So this is the scheme,” Basil said, stalling. “Someone becomes a liability to your boss, you shoot them, Selkirk cleans them up and embalms them, and Watts falsifies records to clear them as cadavers.”

  Bug’s chuckled. “You think you’re a smart toff, eh?”

  Basil shrugged. “I know that you’re going to hang for doing Sabini’s dirty work.”

  “I’m the one with the revolver, copper. I think you should be the one worried about dying. You and your two girlfriends.” He waved his revolver at the cellar door. “Now get in the hole.”

  “All of us?” Ginger said, astounded. “There’s hardly room for one.”

  “Do it, or I’ll take you outside and finish this now.”

  Ginger wondered why he didn’t. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed to make a decision that big without consulting his boss. On the other hand, piled one on top of the other, they were sure to suffocate while they waited. Maybe Bugs had figured that out too. Saved him bullets.

  Basil’s pistol remained on the floor out of reach. If she could create a distraction, maybe—

  Ginger tried to stand. “Ow!”

  Haley reached for her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I turned my ankle.”

  Bugs narrowed his suspicious gaze and waved his revolver at them, which gave Basil enough time to dive for his pistol.

  Two shots rang out, and both men dropped to the ground.

  Time seemed to inexplicably stop, a
nd in the sudden silence, Ginger heard her pulse thundering in her ears.

  Basil lay on the ground. A patch of red blossomed on his shirt.

  No! “Basil!” Ginger dived to the inspector’s side.

  Basil stared at her with glassy eyes. “I’ve been hit.”

  Blood oozed from Basil’s stomach. Ginger removed her scarf and pressed it against the wound to stop the flow of blood.

  Haley hurried over and squatted beside them. “Inspector Reed, keep your eyes open. Can you do that for me?”

  She looked at Ginger. “You need to go find help.”

  “My ankle is turned! I wasn’t faking that.”

  At that moment, Ginger remembered Bugs. He lay in a heap, unmoving. “Is he dead?”

  Haley stepped over to the Italian’s fallen body and checked for a pulse. “Yes.” She looked at Ginger. “Don’t let Basil fall asleep. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  Ginger’s mind flashed back to when she had been left alone with the wounded and dying during the war. She knew she had to keep Basil talking.

  “That was very brave of you, Basil.”

  He spoke slowly, “I was only doing my duty.”

  Ginger kept her pressure on the wound. “Does it hurt very much?”

  Basil grunted. “I’ve been shot before.”

  “In the war. I remember.”

  “Invalided out early.”

  “Yes.” Ginger knew that. Basil had suffered a good amount of shame as a result. He’d confessed to her once that it was why he had gone into public service. To make up for his perceived failure as a soldier.

  “Lost a spleen,” Basil added.

  Which meant he was more prone to infection. Pulling Basil’s shirt out of the way, Ginger risked taking a look at the fresh wound. The bullet had entered very close to the scar from his last operation. She pressed her scarf against his skin. The blood flow appeared to be slowing.

  “Good thing you can’t lose a spleen twice.”

  “Ginger, if I—”

  “Shh! You’re not going anywhere.”