Murder at the Mortuary

by Lee Strauss

  “Splendid,” Ginger said, pretending she hadn’t seen the paper. “I’ll go and have a look.”

  She found Dorothy and Emma in a friendly tête-à-tête.

  “I went to a film last night,” Dorothy was saying, “with my sister.”

  “Ohhh, how exciting,” Emma replied. “Which film did you see?

  “The Audacious Mr. Squire.”

  “With Jack Buchanan? He’s so dashing! Did you love it?”

  “Yes! And you’ll never guess who we saw while we were standing in the queue to get in?”

  “Your reverend!”

  “He was walking by and waved when he saw me. He’s so nice.”

  Ginger cleared her throat, and her employees snapped out of their huddle. “I understand a new shipment of frocks has arrived.”

  Dorothy turned so red, Ginger thought she would combust. The floor clerk rushed to the cardboard box and quickly opened it, pulling out a copy of a fashionable French design with a lingerie collar and godet flounces with a bow at the hip.

  “Ooo, so lovely,” Emma said. “If the factories are making such nice dresses so quickly, seamstresses like me will be put out of work.”

  “Oh, no,” Dorothy said. “There’ll always be those who want an expensive and unique gown, isn’t that right, Lady Gold?”

  Ginger inclined her head. “I believe so.”

  The day went by uneventfully with a nice stream of customers and a desirable number of sales. Ginger skipped lunch allowing the others to go and then left early for the day. After a quick bite to eat at a nearby restaurant, she hopped into the Crossley and headed to east London. It didn’t take long for the affluent neighbourhoods to blend into areas where the poor lived. The Elliot’s street was compiled of tired, run-down terraced houses—no more than shacks.

  The motorcar was a sore thumb on this street, and Ginger tried to keep her peripheral vision directed towards it as she waited for Scout or Marvin to answer the door.

  “Scout? Marvin? It’s Mrs. Gold.” Ginger hadn’t been using her title when she first met the cousins on board the SS Rosa when she travelled from Boston to Liverpool.

  The door opened, and Scout looked up at her with his impish grin. “’Ello, missus. ’Ow are ya?” Scout Elliot was a slip of a lad with skinny arms and legs, crooked teeth that seemed too large for his mouth, and spiky, dirty-blond hair.

  He motioned for her to come inside. Ginger had visited Scout before, so she wasn’t surprised by the smell of mould or the stack of dishes in the sink. She doubted the wooden floor of the small house had seen a broom since the war.

  “I’m well, thank you, Scout,” Ginger said, lingering in the doorway, positioning herself where she could see both Scout and her motorcar. “How are you?”

  “Splendid, missus. Better dan eveh.” The waif snapped his braces, (what Ginger had learned to call suspenders in Boston.)

  “Are those new?” she asked.

  “Yes, missus. Marvin bought ’em. He’s rich now, ya know.”

  Ginger kept her expression still, a trick she’d learned during her service in the war, but she was immediately troubled.

  “Is that so,” she said, scanning the small room, taking in details that she hadn’t noticed at first with her attention on Scout. Shiny man-sized shoes. New wax candles. A loaf of fresh bread.

  There was no way Marvin could honestly be making enough money as a dockworker to afford these.

  Which meant he was making it dishonestly.

  Ginger’s stomach clenched with worry. “Where is Marvin now, Scout?”

  “Workin’. At them docks. As soon as I turn thirteen, I’m gonna get a job there.” He snapped his braces again. “Then I’ll be rich too.”

  Scout’s gaze landed on the trousers in Ginger’s arms. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s a pair of trousers I found for Marvin. I suppose he doesn’t need them now that he’s making so much money.”

  “I ’spect not, missus.”

  Hanging on a hook near the door was an old tweed jacket and on the shelf above it a flat cap. If Marvin was out, they shouldn’t be there either. Ginger motioned to them. “Marvin bought himself a new coat and hat?”

  “Yes, missus. He looks right dapper in it.”

  “I see. Then he wouldn’t mind if I borrow these?”

  “I ’spose not. But why would you want old scrappy things like that, missus?”

  Ginger shrugged playfully. “I can’t reveal all my secrets.”

  “Oi, missus!”

  “I’ll have them washed before I return them.”

  “I don’t think Marvin will want ‘em back.”

  “I’ll donate them to the jumble sale at the church, then.”

  “Good ’nough.”

  Ginger grabbed the coat and hat. “I’m glad to see you’re doing well, Scout. I’ll see you around.”

  “Okay, missus. Bye.”

  Ginger sat pensively in the Crossley and stared at Marvin’s old clothes. She worked her lips as she made a decision.

  She searched the street to make sure no one was about then reached behind her back to unfasten the buttons on her skirt. She wriggled it out from under her behind, shifting her hips awkwardly beneath the big steering wheel, catching the waistband on her garters and the hem on her French Perugia heels. She should’ve taken them off first, and now they lay toppled on the floor.

  Quickly, before anyone might tap on the window and catch her in her stockings, Ginger put on the trousers inching them up over her silk stockings with some difficulty. Ginger had worked up a sweat by the time she finally had them on.

  Then, despite her promise to Haley, Ginger put the Crossley into gear and headed towards the docks.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The smell from Marvin’s jacket made Ginger’s nose twitch, and the rough collar scratched along the back of her neck. It was quite possible that lice had made a home amongst the fibres, but Ginger couldn’t think of that right now. Her red bob tucked into the flat cap nicely, and the trouser legs were long enough to conceal the small bows on her pumps. She slouched and altered her gait to that of an awkward and lanky lad—another skill acquired during the war.

  There were plenty of items to hide behind: stacks of crates, barrels, rows of horse-drawn trolleys. Ginger kept a lookout for horse dung. She’d hate to ruin her shoes.

  Despite her disguise, Ginger felt uncomfortable walking alone along the docks, especially without her Remington. At least with Marvin’s get up, she didn’t stick out so much. She had to find Marvin and get out. The lad was in trouble, there was no doubt. Ginger just hoped she wasn’t too late to save him.

  Just then, she spotted Marvin skulking out of the run-down brick building that housed whatever nefarious deals Bugs managed from there. Ginger didn’t dare call out, so she picked up her pace to follow him. Ginger kept her chin down, glancing at the building while keeping tabs on Marvin. What was going on inside? Was it where the bodies in the mortuary had been executed?

  The lights clicked out, and though she couldn’t make out the two men who left the building, they got into a motorcar and drove away.

  Catching up with Marvin, Ginger called to him softly. Marvin spun around at the sound of her voice, his jaw dropping at the sight of her. He glanced furtively around, making sure no one was watching and joined her behind a parked lorry.

  “Mrs. Gold! Whatcha doin’ ’ere?” His brow buckled in confusion. “Why are you wearing my coat and cap?”

  “I was looking for you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think you’re in trouble.” Ginger held his gaze. “I know you’re in trouble. Marvin, come home with me, and we’ll sort it out.”

  “I can’t come with you, missus. You need to leave.”

  “Not without you.”

  “Please, missus,” Marvin pleaded. “It’s dangerous.”

  “I know it is, Marvin. I know. That’s why you need to come with me. Now.”

  “It’s too late.” Marvin’s
face twisted in regret. At that moment, Ginger glimpsed the child inside. “I’ve done summat stupid.”

  “Marvin . . .”

  Something closed up behind Marvin’s eyes. “Stop being such a meddlin’ busybody, missus. Just leave me alone!”

  Marvin pivoted on his heel and jogged away.

  A lump formed at the back of Ginger’s throat. Hard and sharp. She felt as if Marvin had slapped her.

  “What have you done, Marvin?” she whispered. There were plenty of children in need on the streets of London. Ginger knew she couldn’t save them all, but she’d hoped she could save the Elliot cousins. She felt bereft as she watched Marvin disappear out of sight. The sense that he was slipping through her fingers overwhelmed her

  Having failed at her mission, Ginger slogged back along the docks towards her motorcar. She kept her young man persona intact. She slowed as she passed the Sabini building and cast her gaze about before ducking in behind a stack of crates. If she could just take a peek inside, maybe she could find out what went on in there.

  The windows were too dusty and filled with cobwebs to see inside. Not daring to try the front door, which was exposed to foot traffic, she searched for another way in. There was a broken window at the back of a heap of smelly refuse. Ginger, with her gloves on, punched away the ragged edges of the glass. An empty crate served to give her leverage, and she eased herself over the sill and inside.

  The place had been cleared out. Room after room was empty of everything except odd pieces of debris. Ginger had expected to find the offices filled with desks, chairs, filing cabinets, maybe even a dead plant. The storage area had been cleared out too. Where were all those sacks of sugar and coffee? Ginger scanned the area looking for clues.

  The building was frightfully cold with not a single fireplace lit. A quick examination of the nearest hearth indicated that a fire had been lit in the recent past. Finding a box of matches, Ginger quickly struck one. Dusk had descended causing the world to fall into darkness.

  A bone-cracking type noise caused the hairs on the back of Ginger’s neck to stand on end. Was someone there? She wasn’t about to call out. Perhaps it was just the old building settling.

  When one match died out, Ginger ignited another.

  Her eye caught a small amount of white substance on the wooden floor. She squatted to examine it more closely. A powder of some kind. She dipped her finger into it, smelled it and rolled it between her fingers. Not sugar. Cocaine? She’d heard cocaine came to England in the form of white powder. She wiped the floor with a handkerchief, folded it with the powder inside, and deposited it into her pocket.

  It was time to go. Ginger lit another match and headed for the front entrance. She didn’t have to perform acrobatics to climb out of the window now that it was dark.

  It was in the main corridor with her last match that Ginger saw the wires. Ordinary telephone wires were placed out of sight and along outside walls, so this must be something else. Knowing that she didn’t have much time with her match, she picked up her pace. If only she’d had her handbag, she would have had access to her torch.

  The wires led to the middle of the building, ending at an ominous-looking black box. A clock face was attached.

  Ginger’s pulse surged. A bomb? Was that the noise she’d heard earlier? The timer starting? She had to crouch low to see the numbers. One minute and three seconds!

  The flame from her match burned the tips of her fingers, and she let it fall to the floor.

  Get out.

  Get out.

  Get out!

  Feeling her way along the passage in the darkness like a blind man, Ginger moved as quickly as possible. Her breath grew rapid. Her heart beat in her ears.

  Ginger had made a turn before she found the bomb, but where?

  Sweat trickled down the back of her neck. Her hands grew sticky. She had to keep calm, or she’d die there.

  She came to a break in the corridor. She’d turned right getting here, she’d need to go left to get out. Correct?

  Go. Go. Go.

  A light flashed in the windows. Someone’s torch? She sprinted toward the beam. The door had to be there somewhere.

  Then it slammed open.

  A torchlight in her face blinded her. Who was it? The mortuary killer?

  “Ginger!”

  Ginger almost fainted at the sound of Basil’s voice.

  “Bomb!” she shouted.

  Basil grabbed her hand, and they ran.

  Five steps.

  A loud explosion and Ginger felt her feet leave the ground as she was catapulted through the air.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Ginger! Ginger!

  Ginger moaned as awareness dawned, eyelids cracking open, Ginger saw the blurry face of a man. She sensed she knew him.

  “Ginger? Are you all right?”

  Ginger gradually became aware that she was sprawled along the ground. She’d survived the blast, but was she hurt? She wiggled her fingers and toes and moved her head.

  “Ginger!”

  Basil’s voice was loud beside her ear. She felt the warmth of his hand on her shoulder.”

  “Basil?”

  Basil was on the ground beside her. “Thank God! I thought you were de—”

  “I’m not.”

  Ginger shifted, and Basil helped her into a sitting position. She checked all her limbs and joints. “I don’t think anything’s broken, but I’m certain I’m going to feel this tomorrow.” Her hat was missing, and her feet were bare.

  “My Perugias,” she whimpered.

  Basil’s forehead crumpled. “Your what?”

  “My shoes.”

  Basil pulled himself to his feet, limped about as he worked out his own bumps and bruises, then scouted the area. He found the first one, then the other, and handed them to Ginger. She groaned. “They’re a mess.” She slipped the muddy and scratched pumps onto her feet, and Basil helped her stand. She wobbled as a wave of nausea washed over her.

  “Do you need to sit down?” Basil asked.

  “No, I’ll be all right. I just need a moment.”

  Ginger became aware of the bright headlights of the police vehicles. “What’s happened?”

  “We got a tip that drugs would be moving out of Sabini’s building, but it looks like we’re too late.” Basil frowned at the building that was now aflame and crumbling to the ground. “Bloody snitch in the Met. Sabini’s always one step ahead. Our evidence is up in smoke.”

  Ginger remembered the cloth in her pocket. “I found a white powdery substance on the floor and wiped it with Marvin’s handkerchief.” She handed it to Basil. “I’m afraid the handkerchief isn’t the cleanest.”

  “This is fantastic, Ginger!” Basil removed a paper evidence bag from his pocket and carefully dropped the handkerchief inside. “We may have something on Sabini after all.” He studied her. “Are you going to tell me why you’re dressed like that?”

  Ginger suddenly felt self-conscious. She was used to looking her very best, especially in Basil’s presence. “I came here to look for Marvin. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.”

  A smile formed on Basil’s lips. “You never cease to amaze me, Lady Gold.”

  Basil’s tender gaze stayed on Ginger, and she shuffled uncomfortably. “How did you know I was here?”

  “Haley called. She had a strong feeling that you might’ve come to the docks, and when she couldn’t find you at your shop, or at home, or at the medical school, she became worried. I saw movement in the building when I pulled up and figured you’d gone inside to snoop around.”

  Basil grabbed Ginger by the shoulders and stared intensely into her eyes. By the light of the moon, Ginger could see his inner turmoil, sense his anxiety.

  “I was so close to losing you,” he said softly. The gap between them narrowed. The reflection of the flames flickered in Basil’s gentle gaze. Ginger’s heart began to thrum. Was he actually going to kiss her? Would she let him?

  “Chief Inspector Re
ed! Have you caught the culprit?”

  Ginger groaned. The thunderous voice belonged to Superintendent Morris whose figure approached with the heavy lumbering of a bear. Tall and barrel-chested, the superintendent’s overcoat looked uncomfortably small, but Ginger doubted very much that was the reason for the deep scowl lines on the man’s thick face.

  “Has this man been arrested?” the superintendent demanded.

  “Superintendent Morris,” Basil said. “This is Lady Gold.”

  The bear’s jaw dropped, and Ginger almost smirked. It wasn’t often Superintendent Morris was left speechless.

  “Well, well, well, Lady Gold! Why in heaven’s name are you dressed like that?”

  “I was doing a bit of reconnaissance,” Ginger explained.

  “On whose authority?” the superintendent growled. “You’re simply interfering in police business–again.”

  This wasn’t the first time Ginger had crossed paths with the superintendent and found herself at loggerheads. She placed a hand on her hip, felt the fresh bruise there, and let her arms drop to her side. “I’ve been hired privately,” she announced with an air of defiance.

  “Can I assume you have no legal right to that building?” Morris waved to the burning remains behind him. “I should have you arrested!”

  Basil held up a palm. “Lady Gold may have discovered the evidence we need to prove cocaine was smuggled into England. Perhaps it would be best if we worked together.”

  Morris harrumphed then poked a thick finger into the air. “I’m warning you, Lady Gold. I won’t hesitate to throw you in gaol if you cross the line again.”

  The big man snarled at Basil before heaving away.

  Basil glanced at Ginger sheepishly. “He’s all bark and no bite.”

  Sergeant Scott jogged over. “There’s something you’ve gotta see.”

  Ginger scanned the area for the flat cap she’d borrowed from Marvin. Basil, following her gaze, saw it first. He squatted to collect it for her.