by Lee Strauss
“Don’t you find it spooky when you’re down here by yourself?” Ginger asked.
“It’s not the dead that worry me. It’s the living that are hard to trust.”
“Oh, that sounds a bit cynical.”
“Maybe.” Haley shifted her handbag onto her shoulder. “But at the moment, I can’t trust my colleagues.”
“They may be innocent.”
Haley’s dark brows jumped. “Someone’s not.”
They headed up the stairs, and when they reached the entrance foyer, they found themselves alone.
“It’s the weekend,” Haley explained. “It’s a ghost town around here on Friday nights.”
“So, no one would notice if we had a look around?” Ginger asked. She nodded to the wing of offices beyond the registrar’s office.
“We’d have to be quick. You never know when Mr. Morgan will show up.”
“The caretaker? Doesn’t he go home too?”
“No. He lives in the building. On the opposite end from the mortuary. He acts as a night watchman as well, sleeping during the mornings while the school is at its busiest.” Haley paused at the door of Dr. Gupta’s office. “Suspecting Dr. Gupta feels wrong somehow. Not to mention trespassing.”
“Someone is aiding and abetting a murderer,” Ginger said, turning the knob. “It’s locked.”
“And we are about to break and enter into someone’s office.” Haley hesitated a moment and then offered Ginger a hatpin from her hat.
Ginger had opened many locked doors in her intelligence work during the war and released the lock within seconds. After retrieving a torch from her handbag, Ginger said, “Best not to draw attention with the lights.”
“Agreed.” Haley produced a torch of her own.
The room felt smaller in the dark. The beam from Ginger’s torch moved along a tidy wooden desk, past a broadleaf lady palm in a terracotta pot, to a set of filing cabinets.
“I’ll check the files,” Ginger said. “You see to the desk.”
“What are we looking for?” Haley asked.
“Motive. The Yard was unable to link any of the staff to the victims, so I’m wagering that money is involved.” She turned to face Haley. “Someone in need of quick and easy money.”
Haley held a letter in her hand, reading it under the light of the torch. Her lips pulled downwards. “I think I might’ve found a motive.”
Ginger stepped to her side. “What is it?”
“A letter from Dr. Gupta’s parents. It appears that our Dr. Gupta is engaged to be married.”
Oh, mercy.
“Haley, I’m sorry.” Ginger knew that Haley held a flame for the handsome doctor, and Ginger was guilty of fanning it.
“No need. It was ridiculous to think there could be a future for us. It would be scandalous. Besides, I’m going back to Boston one day. That’s a long way from India.”
Ginger swallowed at her friend’s declaration. She loved Haley like a sister and would miss her terribly if she ever left. She hoped Haley spoke out of pain. Ginger had started to believe Haley was growing fond of London. She wrapped an arm around Haley’s slim shoulders.
“I’m going to find a wonderful Englishman to sweep you off your feet so you never speak of leaving me again!”
Haley laughed. “Let’s hope you do.”
“Indian weddings are several days long, are they not?” Ginger said, getting back on topic. “I suppose that could cost a lot of money. Motive?”
“I think the bride’s parents cover the cost of the wedding,” Haley said. “Although, there is a postscript here about a sister wanting to come to England to attend college.”
“Dr. Gupta would have to sponsor her,” Ginger said. “Then there’s the cost of tuition. Moving unregistered bodies through the school could look like easy money.”
“True,” Haley said. “Anything of note in the files?”
Ginger shook her head. “Not that I can see.”
After ensuring that everything was left exactly the way they’d found it, Ginger and Haley moved on to Dr. Brennan’s office. Unlike Dr. Gupta, Dr. Brennan’s office was chaotic with papers scattered about his desk and filing cabinets left partially opened.
“Take a good look before touching anything,” Ginger said. “It’ll be harder to remember where everything was in this mess.”
This time Haley took the filing cabinet while Ginger explored the desk. Strewn on top were a notepad, an ink pen, and student papers in the midst of being marked, along with an oil lamp and a half-empty mug of tea. One of the drawers was locked, and Ginger used her hatpin to release it. Inside was a ledger.
Ginger perused the pages then said, “Dr. Brennan likes to gamble. Horses.”
Haley raised a brow. “Horses?” She carefully moved to Ginger’s side.
“It’s a list of dates, races, and horses. Also, winnings and losses.”
“Let me guess,” Haley said. “More losses than wins.”
“You’re correct.”
“Motive, then. He’s got collectors after him. Any of the horses from Saffron Stables?”
Ginger ran a finger down the list of names. “I don’t recognise any. That doesn’t mean they aren’t. I didn’t catch the names of all the horses there.”
A squealing sound filtered in from the passageway. Ginger and Haley snapped off their torches and slipped behind the door. The screech had a rhythm to it like a squeaking wheel. Haley mouthed, “Mr. Morgan.” It was his mop and water bucket.
Ginger’s mind raced. How would they explain their presence to the caretaker should he catch them there? She could only hope he wasn’t going to choose Dr. Brennan’s room to clean first.
The squeaky wheel grew louder as it drew closer. Ginger held her breath. The squeal stopped. Ginger and Haley stared at the doorknob. They heard the sound of a key in a lock, but the knob didn’t move. The light in the office next to them snapped on. Mr. Morgan started humming.
Ginger shared a look of relief with Haley. She carefully placed the betting book back into the desk drawer. They eased out of the door without breathing, and Ginger silently closed and locked it before she and Haley tiptoed down the passage and away from Frank Morgan.
Chapter Twenty
The next morning, Ginger arrived at the medical school and stopped at the ladies’ room. Wanting to look put together in the presence of the only two men she’d stepped out with since arriving in England didn’t make her vain, did it?
Who cared if it did? She’d been back in England seven months—it was about time she had the attention of available men. Ginger added another layer of her Tangerine Sunrise lipstick and adjusted her black cloche hat. She was happy with her choice of a steel-blue crêpe georgette frock. The blouse bodice crossed in front with a matching attached scarf that hung over her left shoulder. Four vertical layers joined the pleated flounce of her skirt, and the slender drop waist belt had a decorative crystal buckle. Her black T-strap shoes had tear drop cutouts—the latest fashion. Ginger looked both sophisticated and professional.
Basil, dressed in his standard Savile Row suit, Italian leather shoes, and tan trench coat, stood, hat in hand, in front of the registrar’s office chatting with Miss Knight. The receptionist played with her hair and batted her lashes—her eyes like saucers. She was taken with the handsome inspector.
“Good morning,” Ginger said as she approached.
Miss Knight’s chin shot up. “Good morning, Lady Gold,” she said before scurrying behind the counter to her desk.
“Good morning,” Basil added with a smile.
Ginger inclined her head. “Shall we?” She had no interest in engaging in small talk.
Basil nodded, and they walked together down the white-walled passage to Dr. Brennan’s office.
When they arrived at Dr. Brennan’s door, Basil motioned his arm like a waiter. “Ladies first.”
Ginger knocked and cracked the door open when beckoned to enter.
“Lady Gold,” Sean Brennan said when she poked
her head in. “What a pleasant surprise!”
“I’m afraid it’s not so pleasant, Dr. Brennan. I’ve come with the chief inspector from Scotland Yard.”
“Oh, dear,” Dr. Brennan muttered as Basil made his appearance. He moved out from behind his desk, now a lot tidier than the evening before, and extended his hand. “Dr. Sean Brennan.”
Basil offered his hand in return. “Chief Inspector Basil Reed.”
Dr. Brennan put a finger to his chin. “Have we met? You look familiar to me.” Then it came to him, and he pinned his eyes on Ginger. “Is he the fellow from Pinocchio’s?” His gaze returned to the inspector. “What the devil is going on?”
“Do you mind if we have a seat?” Basil asked. It was a courtesy question as Basil began to ease into one of the side-by-side chairs even as the words left his mouth. Sitting on the lip of the second chair, Ginger pulled it a few inches away from Basil. She didn’t want it to appear as if they were a couple.
Dr. Brennan tented his fingers on the top of the desk. “Okay, ol’ chap. You’ve got my attention.”
Basil frowned at the familiarity. “I’m afraid another unregistered body has turned up at the mortuary.”
“Oh, dear,” Dr. Brennan said dramatically as he pushed away from the desk. “Not another one. This can’t be good news for the medical school—especially one solely for women. They can frighten easily.”
Ginger harrumphed. “We’re not all so fragile, Dr. Brennan.”
“Yes, of course.” Dr. Brennan had the decency to look contrite. “Please forgive that sweeping generalisation.”
“It’s my understanding that you are among the few staff who have access to the mortuary,” Basil said.
“I suppose that’s true. I teach forensic science and often borrow items from the mortuary for presentation purposes.”
“Like the Victor Magic Lantern,” Ginger said.
Dr. Brennan smiled. “Exactly.”
Ginger quickly explained to Basil, “It’s a state of the art still image projector from America.”
Basil nodded with understanding then said, “The envelope containing vital information about each cadaver is once again empty. We don’t know if the corpses arrive with the envelopes already empty or if the contents are being removed after they arrive here.”
“I’m still not sure what this has to do with me?”
“Have you heard the term, body laundering, Dr. Brennan?”
Dr. Brennan’s thin lip tugged downwards. “No.” His expression was so unguarded, Ginger could almost believe he didn’t have anything to do with this. But she’d learned from her work in the war, that some people could be terrific actors.
“We believe someone, or possibly more than one, is killing people and including them in the cadaver shipment to this mortuary. The victim usually is reported as missing, but is never found.”
“No body, no crime,” Dr. Brennan said.
Basil stiffened. “Until now.”
“So how did the murderer slip up?” Dr. Brennan asked.
“Miss Higgins intercepted the first delivery,” Ginger said, “before the intended recipient could either create new identification papers or just make the file disappear altogether.”
Dr. Brennan leaned back in his chair. “I admit, it’s quite ingenious.”
“Undoubtedly,” Basil said sternly. “And, as you have most likely already deduced, the system needs someone working from the inside.”
“Oh, I see,” Dr. Brennan said slowly. For an intelligent man, it had taken a long time for the penny to drop. “You think that person might be me. But wasn’t it Dr. Gupta who received the body?”
“He wasn’t expecting it, and perhaps you hadn’t expected him to work late.”
Dr. Brennan shook his head in denial.
“Dr. Brennan,” Ginger began. “Do you like to go to the races?”
Sean Brennan jerked at her question and blinked at the sudden change of subject. “Sure, I do. It’s England’s national pastime, is it not?”
“Well, I grew up in America where baseball reigns.”
Dr. Brennan grinned. “I’ve heard of Babe Ruth, Lady Gold.”
“Do you bet on the races?” Ginger asked.
Dr. Brennan’s expression grew grim. “What are you getting at?”
Basil’s glare seemed to ask the same thing.
“I’ve been told that one can lose a lot of money quite easily if one bets on the wrong horse.”
“Are you looking for motive?” Dr. Brennan asked.
Basil answered, “It’s a line of inquiry used when investigating a murder.”
“Yes, I bet on the horses, but no, I’m not in need of money.”
“Dr. Brennan, where were you—” Basil began.
“Inspector, let me save you the trouble,” Dr. Brennan said. “I was entertaining last night. From six o’clock on.” His eyes darted to Ginger, and a sheepish grin crossed his face. “Until I left for work this morning. The gal at the registrar’s office, Miss Knight, can attest to my arrival time.”
Ginger bristled, feeling slighted, even though she knew she had no right to. She and Dr. Brennan had shared a meal together. He had no obligation to her.
Basil glanced at Ginger and then stood. “Thank you for your time, Dr. Brennan. Please don’t leave London.”
“I don’t plan to.” Dr. Brennan moved out from behind his desk.
“Lady Gold, if I may be so bold, would you fancy joining me again tonight? That is if you don’t already have plans?”
Ginger tensed at the man’s impertinence. He’d just admitted to spending the night with a woman who was not his wife. Did he expect to get such privileges from her as well?”
“I think not,” she said tersely. “Good day.”
Basil glanced back at her, a glint in his eye. Drat him for overhearing! Ginger kept her head high and walked towards the entrance without giving Basil a second glance.
Ginger inhaled deeply before stepping into the inspector’s forest-green Austin 7. She knew from experience that when she slid into the passenger seat, she would be overwhelmed by the scent of him. Clean woodsy soap mingled with musky aftershave and the citrusy smell of oil that conditioned the leather seats. Exciting, sensual, and not at all belonging to her.
She sighed again as she closed her door, herself only inches away from the man she’d been trying to avoid—a lion expecting to behave with a lamb in the room. She cracked the window open, hoping a little fresh air would help.
Basil twisted in his seat to stare at her. “What was that all about?”
“What?” she asked innocently. She hoped Basil couldn’t sense her discomfort and drat it all, her attraction!
“Your questions to Dr. Brennan about gambling?”
“Oh, well, like you said, I was looking for a motive.” Ginger didn’t want to confess to breaking and entering the professors’ offices. “Since a horse-racing stable is involved, I thought there might be a connection. It was a leap, I admit. I hope I didn’t overstep.”
Basil turned the engine. “You weren’t far off in your ‘leap,’ Ginger. I’ve had my sergeant look into Dr. Brennan’s finances.” Basil’s gaze steadied on Ginger. “Apparently, the ladies aren’t his only vice.”
Ginger squirmed at the suggestion that she had become a “vice.”
Basil continued, “According to Dr. Brennan’s bookmaker, he’s in arrears.”
“So, he lied about not needing money.”
“Yes.”
Basil signalled to join the traffic on Hunter Road.
“Where are we headed now?” Ginger asked.
“I thought we’d call in at the docks before heading north to the Saffron Stables.”
“What are you looking for at the docks?”
“A connection to our victim, Evan Jones.”
Chapter Twenty-One
They headed east down Guilford Street, southeast through the City of London proper, and then south towards the Thames. Gone were the carefree chatter and fl
irtatious banter they used to both enjoy, and their friendship, it seemed, along with it. Avoiding her own personal emotional discomfort was easier if Ginger kept talking about the case.
“Dr. Brennan isn’t the only one with motive,” she said.
Basil glanced at Ginger. “Who are you thinking about right now?”
“Dr. Gupta.”
“Really? What’s his motive?”
“Well, he could be supporting family members at home. Perhaps a financial crisis has come about,” Ginger suggested.
“Do you have anything concrete, or is that just a supposition?”
“Haley came across a personal item, a letter from his family in India.” Ginger hurried her explanation along, not wanting to give away how Haley came across the personal item. “Apparently, he’s to be married this summer, and his sister wants to move to England to attend university. Dr. Gupta might feel obligated to finance that endeavour.”
Basil whistled. “He might need quite a bit more than interns make, I’d gather. Especially if he’s also bringing over a new wife.”
“I imagine supporting a wife in a new country could be quite costly.”
“Miss Hanson’s motive is worth taking into account as well,” Basil said. “If she intended to abort illegally, that kind of thing costs money.”
Ginger didn’t want to consider the possibility, but desperation drove people to desperate measures. “I could see how one could reason their actions away. The victim was already dead—a crime the perpetrator couldn’t have prevented. Removing the paperwork or providing new paperwork could seem like little effort for the money gained.”
“Exactly.”
“Still, I just can’t believe Miss Hanson is involved. At any rate, she’s keeping the child now and would have no reason to intercept Jane Ellery’s body.”
“She could be doing it out of duress. The mafia types aren’t the kind to let one simply change their mind.”
“I suppose,” Ginger conceded. She hoped Miss Hanson wasn’t being threatened. “What about the caretaker, Frank Morgan?”
Basil glanced at her sideways.
“The caretaker has access to all the rooms,” Ginger explained. “Including the mortuary.”