Murder at the Mortuary

by Lee Strauss

  “Was it possible that one of them emptied the envelope?” Basil asked.

  “Yes,” Haley said. “I suppose. However, I can’t think why either one of them would do that.”

  Basil retrieved a paper evidence bag from his pocket. “Miss Higgins, if you wouldn’t mind dropping the envelope inside. I’ll have it dusted for fingerprints.”

  “Of course.” Haley did as instructed.

  Basil motioned to Sergeant Scott who’d arrived with a French Furet camera strapped over his shoulder. Much like Haley had, the sergeant took pictures of the victim and the scene.

  Basil returned the evidence to an inside pocket of his overcoat. “Do you know where Dr. Gupta is now? I’d like to talk to him and the student as well.”

  “Dr. Gupta’s teaching a class at the moment.” Haley glanced at the clock on the wall. “It will be ending soon.”

  “Where would I find his office?”

  “I can take you,” Ginger said. “And, if you don’t mind, I’d like to sit in.”

  “I can’t really—”

  Ginger interrupted him. “I’ve been hired by Mr. James Green, Angus Green’s father, to investigate.”

  “You’ve been hired?”

  “Yes. For money. That means, I suppose, that I’m a private investigator now, and would like to invoke my privileges as such.”

  Ginger hoped that such privileges existed. As she pleaded her case, she worried that the ruse would be obvious. Even so, she ploughed on. “I’ve joined you in interviews before, Inspector. You must admit that the presence of a woman does tend to make the suspect in question more agreeable.”

  Basil’s lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile. This annoyed Ginger but gave her hope she might get her way.

  “Very well, Lady Gold.”

  Ginger cheered her victory on the inside, but outwardly she remained stoic. She shared a knowing look with Haley before leading Basil Reed out of the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  The offices of Dr. Watts and Dr. Gupta were upstairs and to the left of the registrar’s office. Ginger avoided making eye contact with Miss Knight in case the receptionist called on her to retrieve her dog. They found Dr. Gupta in the middle of eating a ham and mustard sandwich. The office was situated next to Dr. Watts’, but only half its size. Ginger supposed Dr. Gupta would take over the more spacious area once Dr. Watts officially retired.

  Dr. Gupta blinked in surprise at seeing them, then waved them in. He stood, rubbed his palms on his trousers, and extended his hand. “Chief Inspector Reed, nice to see you. Hello again, Lady Gold.” He motioned to empty chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

  Ginger eased into the chair closest to the door and shifted it slightly from the one Basil had taken.

  Dr. Gupta pushed the remnants of his lunch aside. “What is this about?”

  “I was called here by Miss Higgins,” Basil said. “The cadaver that arrived at your mortuary this morning looks suspiciously like a second murder.”

  Dr. Gupta’s eyes flashed with dismay. “I don’t understand.”

  “Did you sign for the cadavers this morning when they arrived, Dr. Gupta?”

  Dr. Gupta nodded. “I did. Miss Higgins was there.”

  “Did you check the bodies?”

  “Well, no. I had a class to teach and waiting for the shipment—it had been delayed—had caused me to run late.”

  “So, you didn’t check the registration envelopes.”

  “No. I planned to return to the mortuary after my lunch. Why? Were they also empty?”

  “One was,” Ginger said. “There was a body with a bullet wound.”

  “Do you usually sign the cadavers in?” Basil asked.

  Dr. Gupta clasped long, slender fingers together and rested them on his desk as he leaned in. “Well, no. Dr. Watts usually did that. But when his wife’s health declined, and he was no longer around, I took on the responsibility.”

  “The corpse in question is currently unidentified,” Basil said. “Would you mind coming with us to view it. Perhaps it’s someone you know.”

  Dr. Gupta sprung to his feet. “Certainly.”

  Ginger, Basil, and Dr. Gupta headed back downstairs and into the corridor where a stout and balding cleaner pushed a trolley of cleaning supplies. Dr. Gupta greeted him as they passed. “Good day, Mr. Morgan.”

  Haley wasn’t in the mortuary. Perhaps she’d gone to the cafeteria for lunch or perhaps to a midday lecture. Both corpses were gone.

  “Where did they go?” Basil asked.

  “Miss Higgins would have put them into the cold storage,” Dr. Gupta said. He studied the labels on the stack of drawers along the far wall and opened one. “This is the unregistered one that came today.” He studied the cadaver’s face.

  “Do you know him?” Ginger asked.

  Dr. Gupta shook his head. “No. And I’m grateful for the fact. We need to find out who this poor fellow is so that his next of kin can be properly notified.”

  Basil removed a notebook and pencil from his pocket. “That is precisely what I intend to do. Tell me, Dr. Gupta, what’s your relationship with Miss Matilda Hanson.”

  Dr. Gupta stiffened. “What do you mean?”

  “She was here with you this morning, was she not? Before Miss Higgins arrived?”

  “Yes, but, she needed help with something. She’s one of my students.”

  “What did she need help with?”

  “An assignment. She’s fallen behind in some of her classes.”

  “I see,” Basil said. “Do you know where we might find Miss Hanson?”

  “Many of the students return to their rooms over the lunch hour.”

  “Do you know which room she’s in?”

  Dr. Gupta hesitated. “No.”

  “He lied about not knowing where Miss Hanson’s room is,” Ginger said, as she and Basil headed to the registrar’s office.

  “I know.”

  Miss Knight’s smile brightened at the sight of Basil Reed, and she patted at her chignon, the soft bun at the nape of her neck, and tilted her head as he approached.

  Ginger recognised the response. Subconsciously the lady was preening. Ginger had fallen prey to the impulse herself. Basil Reed, with his suave and debonair good looks, had that effect on women. Ginger despised the competitive emotion it stirred in her and swallowed it down.

  “Miss Knight,” Ginger said before a flirtatious banter could start. “We’re looking for Miss Matilda Hanson.”

  Basil added, “If you could be so kind as to direct us to her room.”

  “Of course, Inspector. Typically, we don’t give out private information, but since you’re the police. . .”

  While Miss Knight searched through her files, Ginger slipped into the back to collect Boss who snoozed in the exact spot she’d left him.

  Ginger put on her coat and scarf, then tied Boss to his leash. “Time to go, lazybones.” When she returned to the lobby, Basil stared at her, or rather Boss, with a hint of anxiety.

  “Don’t tell me you’re still afraid of my little dog.”

  “I’m not afraid of him. I’m just not comfortable around animals, as you already know.”

  “But, Boss—” Ginger stopped. For a moment she’d forgotten that she and Basil were no longer friendly. “Never mind. Did you get the address?”

  “It’s room six in the building across the street.”

  The weather had improved and the sun peeked out from behind wispy clouds, and the air smelled very much like spring.

  Basil knocked on room six, and the door swung open. Matilda Hanson’s expression switched from expectant to dismayed in one short second. “Yes?”

  “I’m Chief Inspector Reed, and I believe you know Lady Gold. May we have a word?”

  Miss Hanson stepped into the passage. Her look of disappointment of a moment ago had turned into something else. Fear flashed behind the girl’s eyes, but of what?

  “This is my dog, Boss,” Ginger said, hoping her terrier’s presence
would help to calm Miss Hanson’s nerves.

  The girl wrung her hands with uncertainty. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  Basil ignored the question. “I understand that you were with Dr. Gupta this morning when the cadaver shipment was delivered to the mortuary.”

  Matilda Hanson’s eyes moved nervously between Basil and Ginger. “Yes, so?”

  “Did you notice anything unusual?”

  “I don’t know what you mean. The mortuary was quiet and clean, and that’s quite normal. Miss Higgins arrived at nearly the same moment as the cadavers. Perhaps you should ask her if something was out of the ordinary.”

  “Did you have a look at either cadaver?” Basil asked

  “No. The container bags were sealed.”

  “So, you didn’t see the accompanying envelopes?”

  “No.” Miss Hanson’s eyes darted between Ginger and the inspector. “Pray tell, what is this all about?”

  Basil persisted. “Did you ask Dr. Gupta for help with something?”

  Miss Hanson’s face drained of colour. “Did he. . . Did he say?”

  “I’m asking you, Miss Hanson.”

  “I had an inquiry about a personal matter. Dr. Gupta promised discretion.”

  So not a discussion on a late assignment, Ginger thought. Dr. Gupta had been protecting her.

  “Can you tell us what you talked about?” Ginger asked gently. “We wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

  Miss Hanson’s hand-wringing was pronounced, and Ginger had to hold back from cupping them with one of her own to still them.

  “Miss Hanson?” Ginger prodded. “You can trust me.”

  Ginger could see Miss Hanson’s emotional turmoil roll behind her eyes like ocean waves, crashing to shore as she burst into tears. “I’m in trouble, my lady.”

  This time Ginger closed the space between them. She spoke softly. “Are you in the family way?”

  Miss Hanson sobbed into her handkerchief. “Yes.”

  That explained the personal matter. “Is Dr. Gupta the father?”

  Miss Hanson pulled back sharply. “Oh, no! Lady Gold, you mustn’t think such a thing.”

  Ginger wondered if a disastrous romance with a boy from Miss Hanson’s home village was to blame.

  “My life is ruined!” Miss Hanson dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Surely, it’s not,” Ginger said. She glanced over at Basil who looked quite uncomfortable at the turn this interview had taken.

  “It is,” Miss Hanson insisted. “I’ll lose my scholarship, and I’ll have to abandon my education!”

  Basil cleared his throat. “How is Dr. Gupta of help in this situation?”

  The girl’s sobbing came to a sudden stop as a new problem became apparent. Abortions were illegal in England, and if Dr. Gupta had been arranging that type of help, he would have his licence suspended.

  “He, uh . . .”

  “Most doctors would be able to recommend homes for women in this particular type of crisis,” Ginger said, giving Miss Hanson a way out.

  “Yes, that’s it. Dr. Gupta said he would find me a place.”

  Ginger studied the young lady’s face, distress and anxiety drawn in fine lines. So ironic when, if Ginger were the one with new life growing inside her, she’d be filled with joy and celebration. She and Daniel had wanted children, but none had come for them. She’d moved past the bitter disappointment over time, but she couldn’t quite understand the justice of God, as children came to those who didn’t want them when her arms had burned with longing.

  Ginger wasn’t in the position to question God, nor could she complain about her life, which was jolly good in so many ways. She produced a smile. “You know, being a woman,” she said, “I could be of some help to you, Miss Hanson. Would you be willing to come for tea at my home?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ginger pretended not to notice how Matilda Hanson hung tightly to the door frame of the Crossly, as Ginger raced through Central London. Her passenger reminded Ginger of Haley who had a very distinct dislike of riding in motorcars this side of the Atlantic. Ginger liked to believe it was because Haley couldn’t adapt to traffic that operated on the left-hand side of the road, rather than a concern for Ginger’s skills as a driver. Ginger was a terrific driver! Boss, who had his nose poking out of the window in the back seat, certainly seemed to agree.

  At a crossroads, Ginger noticed two brunette ladies standing side by side on the pavement. Ginger tensed with shock. She recognised them both: Felicia chatting with Emelia Reed! A third lady, tall and heavy with child, joined them. Dr. Marie Stopes. What on earth were the three of them doing together?

  “Is everything all right?” Miss Hanson asked just as the motorcars around them started honking their horns. The commotion caught the attention of the ladies on the corner, and Ginger caught Felicia’s startled expression.

  “Lady Gold?” Miss Hanson pressed.

  “I recognised someone.” Ginger said as they passed the women on the corner. “My sister-in-law, Felicia, in fact. I thought you’d be meeting her today, but it looks like she’s not home.”

  Instead of driving down the back lane and parking in the garage, Ginger parked in front of the Hartigan House wrought iron gates. The back entrance near the kitchen was for servants, family and family friends, not first-time guests.

  Miss Hanson stared at the exquisite three-storey limestone residence with envy. “This is your house?”

  Initially surprised by Miss Hanson’s question, Ginger concluded that the girl hadn’t interacted with posh society before now.

  “It’s my family home,” Ginger explained as she opened the gate and led Boss and her guest through to the front door. “I was born here and lived here until I was eight. My father married an American lady, and I lived with them in Boston until just last summer.”

  “If I might be a bit forward, Lady Gold, may I ask, happened to your mother?”

  Ginger stilled. Her own mother had died after giving birth to her, but she didn’t want to tell that to a young woman with child. She answered vaguely, “She passed away when I was young.”

  Thankfully, Pippins was there to greet them when they entered, and the subject was dropped.

  Ginger watched Matilda take in the grand entrance hall with its polished black and white tiled floor, an impressive chandelier hanging from the height of the second level, and windows that let in natural light on either side of the double-panelled front doors. Along the base of the curving, emerald-green carpeted staircase stood a row of Areca palm plants in huge ceramic pots that had been imported from India. Matilda gaped in awe. Ginger tried to imagine what it would be like to see it with fresh eyes of the working class.

  Pippins took their coats.

  “Pippins,” Ginger said, “this is Miss Hanson. She’ll be joining me for tea. Please let Lizzie know that Boss is home, and have Mrs. Beasley prepare refreshments.” She smiled at Miss Hanson. “Miss Hanson and I are famished. Oh, and ask Clement to put the motorcar in the garage.”

  “Right away, Madam.” Pippins tapped his thigh, and Boss followed him out.

  Miss Hanson remained doe-eyed as she took in the splendour of the sitting room. Ginger got the distinct impression that the girl wasn’t from a family of means. She had mentioned a scholarship.

  “Where are you from, Miss Hanson?”

  “Cheshire. My family is in textiles.”

  “I understand textiles did very well over the war.”

  “Yes, and for some time after it.” A shadow flashed behind her pale eyes. “But . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “We’ve fallen on harder times since. There was a fire, and some men died.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  The good times may have provided an educational trust, but the hard times could put Matilda Hanson into a financial bind. Enough that she’d do something illegal to stay afloat? Something that involved her in a situation as morbid as moving corpses?

  Grace arriv
ed with a tea tray, and Lizzie followed behind with a tray of sandwiches. Miss Hanson eyed them hungrily.

  “Anything else, madam?” Lizzie asked.

  “Not at the moment. I’ll ring if I think of something.”

  The maids bobbed at the knee and left quietly.

  Ginger poured the tea and waved at the sandwiches. “Please help yourself.”

  “I don’t mind if I do.” Though straining to remain ladylike, Miss Hanson gobbled her food, and Ginger had the feeling the girl hadn’t had much to eat recently. Aside from a barely noticeable stomach bulge, she was just a rack of bones under her paisley-printed day dress.

  Ginger nibbled on a triangle wedge, hoping to set her guest at ease. Once Miss Hanson had had a chance to finish eating, taken a moment to pause, and sipped her tea, Ginger felt it time to ask the hard questions.

  “Was it a boy from home?” For some reason, Dr. Brennan flashed through her mind, and she was relieved when Miss Hanson answered to the contrary.

  “Yes. He worked at my father’s factory.” Her eyes welled up, and a tear escaped. “He’s one of the men who died in the fire.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Ginger said gently, then asked, “How far along are you?”

  “Three months.”

  “You must bring the child to term,” Ginger said gently. “The other way . . . is dangerous. Many unfortunate women have died from backroom operations, and some have even been sent to jail.”

  “But how can I? My father will cut me off of what little resources come my way, and I can hardly raise a child on my own. I have no means or vocation. As it is, I can barely manage, and room fees are due soon.” Miss Hanson spoke in a whisper, her grief expressed like a low growl. “I’d be doomed for the workhouse along with my child.”

  “Your circumstances are not to be envied, I understand that.” Ginger felt the thrill of a new idea bubbling to the surface. “However, there is a way for you to save your child and continue your education.”

  “How?”

  “You can stay here! We have plenty of empty bedrooms, and my staff is as discreet as they come. I’m friends with a local vicar, and I’m sure we can find a loving family to adopt your child.”