Three Bodies in London

by L. A. Nisula

  “The Covent Garden one.”

  “And you said it was yesterday?”

  I nodded.

  “Just a second.” She put down the device she’d been working on and left the workroom. She was back in a minute with a small box that had the bird in it. “They send all the repairs that can’t be done on-site here every evening. He just came in this morning, and no one’s claimed him yet. Let’s see what we’ve got.”

  She poked at the hinges on bird’s message compartment with several small tools until she was able to remove one side of the hinge and slide the panel out from that end. “There is something inside here. No note, but you said you got the paper out at the aviary. It’s wedged in by the dent in the side. Let me try this one.” She tried several of the little tools in the rack in front of her until one gave enough leverage to unwedge the item. Then she had to ease it out through the tangle of dented metal and misplaced gears without doing more damage. It was a good bit more complicated than it had looked at the aviary.

  “Here we are. I think I can grab it now. And there it is.” Miss Ferris pulled out something that looked a bit like a rubber ball that had been mangled somewhere along the line. She examined it herself, turning it a few times to see the various sides, then held it out to me. “It’s a cabbage, I think.”

  I took it from her and stared at it. She was right. A small, red rubber cabbage. “Why would someone send that?”

  Miss Ferris shrugged. “If they’re sending some child a farm set, it’s a very inefficient way to go about it. What will they do when they get to the chickens? Send each egg separately?”

  “So probably not a child’s toy, or not sent as one.” I handed the cabbage back to her.

  She slid the panel back into place on the bird’s front and started poking around the panels on the back that would give her access to the gears inside. “It must mean something. Were there any clues in how it was sent?”

  “The return address was for Apsley House. At the time, I thought it seemed an odd place to use, particularly as they used the actual street address, not just the name of the house, although I suppose the clerks taking down the information would have noticed that name.”

  “You said Apsley House? Like Wellington?”

  “That’s right. I thought it was some sort of a joke. Maybe they were sending someone something for their toy soldiers or something.”

  “Well, what do we know about Wellington? Defeated Napoleon at Waterloo. Terrible prime minister. Boots.” Miss Ferris shrugged. “Not much help, I’m afraid. And no cabbages. I can’t think of any cabbages, can you?”

  I tried to think of any cabbage references. “Just cabbages and kings.”

  “And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings. But I suppose the sea would be Nelson, wouldn’t it? Not Wellington.”

  “I suppose it could have been the only address whoever it was could think of when he was standing there, but that would be very bad planning.”

  “It would. And who uses the street address for Apsley House? Here we go.” She got the back panel completely removed and was looking at the works inside. “You said the Covent Garden aviary? Who was working that day?”

  “One was called Patty and the other Angie.”

  “Not surprised. They know what they’re doing. And they were right about the reversed map gear. That’s what caused the crash.”

  And caused a bird set to go to the scene of a robbery to crash into the scene of a murder. “So someone repairing the bird mistakenly put the gear in backward?”

  “No, that’s not possible,” Miss Ferris said with certainty. She picked up a small pair of tweezers and removed a gear from the back of the bird and laid it in the palm of her hand so I could get a look at it. “See how there’s a notch in the gear, right on the edge of the hole? That stops it from being put in wrong. Someone had to cut another notch to get it to fit. And the side of the gear that should be facing up as you’re assembling it is painted in the center. This one’s blue.” She flipped the gear over so I could see that one side had a small blue ring around the center hole and the other didn’t. “It’s meant to indicate size, but it’s always on the side facing up so you can’t make that kind of mistake.”

  “So it wasn’t an accident? Someone deliberately set the bird to go to the wrong location?”

  “It looks that way. I don’t know why you’d do that, though.”

  “Is there someone named Silas here?”

  “Silas Barlow. Why?”

  “They were talking about a Silas when the bird broke. They thought he was drunk when he fixed it.”

  “He probably was, but that makes it less likely that he’d have done this. He wouldn’t be coordinated enough to cut the new notch. But someone here must have.” She looked at the bird. “I’ll put him back and try to keep an eye on him. See if anyone seems too interested in getting him.” She put the gear back where it belonged and started to re-attach the bent panels.

  “Thanks for your help.” As an afterthought, I added, “And thank Miss Shepherd when you see her next. I wouldn’t have known who to consult otherwise.”

  “No trouble. It’s the most interesting project I’ve had here in a while. You don’t mind if I tell her the details, do you?”

  As Miss Shepherd had clearly told her all about the case involving the shop, I doubted what I said made much difference. “It’s fine. I was going to go to the shop and let her know anyway. I didn’t really have time to explain why I needed the information when I was there.”

  “I’ll fill her in tonight, then. I mean I probably would have anyway, so you know, but it is nice to have permission.” Miss Ferris put the cabbage back in the bird than nodded to the door. “I’ll walk you out. It gets confusing down here. When they designed this place, they didn’t put any thought at all into how it would be used, just how it would look as people passed by outside. You should see the sorting office. I don’t know how any letters get into the right mail sacks in there.”

  Miss Ferris brought the mechanical bird with us out to the large workshop area and left it on a shelf with other broken birds. She collected another one to work on, then led me to the main staircase and gave me directions to get back to the main entrance. As I made my way back to the street, I tried to figure out what it all meant. The bird had been sent to the scene of the murder on purpose, which in a way made more sense than sending it to the scene of a robbery, and in a way made no sense at all. It was certainly a complicated way to get the address to someone, but perhaps a good way of hiding it. At least it gave me something to tell Inspector Burrows if he should try arresting me again.

  While I doubted Wellington was connected to the whole thing, I still stopped in the first bookshop I passed and went to poke around their section on the Napoleonic Wars. A quick scan of titles didn’t give me any new ideas, and the few books I pulled from the shelves and flipped through might have held answers if only I’d known what I was looking for. I quickly gave up and bought myself a few novelettes from a rack near the door. They would take my mind off the case against me, if nothing else.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  When I got back to Nell Lane, Mrs. Fitzpatrick was in the front hall watering her yellowing ficus plant. In the short time I’d been staying with Milly, I’d learned she spent a good bit of every day in the front hallway, watering her plant, dusting, sorting mail, and mostly watching the front door to see who came and went. “Good afternoon, Miss Pengear. Did you have a successful outing?”

  I held up my stack of books. “I found a few things to read.” I knew that wasn’t the sort of news she was hoping for, certainly not the sort she could pass on to others—as information, never gossip—which was why I left out the rest of my morning. Let her think it had taken me all morning to find a few books.

  “Well, Milly went out with that nice Mr. Radford. And you got a parcel. I left it in your room.”

  That was curious as I hadn’t ordered anything, and I didn’t think anyone from home would be sen
ding something. “Where was it from?”

  “I don’t know. It was on the rug when I went to get the post. Someone must have sent it.”

  There’d probably be a note, then. “Thank you, Mrs. Fitzpatrick.” I didn’t know which I liked less, Mrs. Fitzpatrick going into our rooms, or her thinking Mr. Radford was a nice man, or her knowing so much about our comings and goings. And I had no idea what sort of parcel I’d be receiving. I hadn’t bought anything large enough to make it worth having it sent to Nell Street since I’d been in London. I supposed Milly might have used my name somewhere, but that really wasn’t like her. And the easiest way to figure it out, of course, was to go upstairs and have a look at the parcel.

  The first thing I did when I got back to the rooms was to see if there was any way to tell that Mrs. Fitzpatrick had been inside. I had the feeling that the times we really needed to know she had been, would be the times she wouldn’t tell us. But there wasn’t any sign someone had been looking around. No moved furniture or misplaced items. That was a pity. I would have liked to find some tell that would let me know when she’d been poking around. I dropped my books on a chair and went to look at the parcel.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick had brought the parcel all the way through to the bedroom, which was a little worrying. I didn’t like the idea of our landlady being quite so free with the rooms, particularly one as nosy as Mrs. Fitzpatrick. At least she hadn’t opened the package, although it looked as if she’d read the card as it wasn’t attached to the parcel, and I didn’t find it until I had stopped looking and picked the whole thing up to open it then spotted the card underneath. There was nothing helpful on the card, though, just my name and the Nell Street address. No shop name or logo that would tell me what was inside, or even a return address to give a clue. I didn’t think much of it beyond noting how unhelpful it was, and unwrapped the parcel.

  Inside was a pair of gloves. I had definitely not purchased any gloves while I’d been in London, so their appearance was quite a mystery. They were a perfectly normal pair of gloves. A sort of rusty brown that I would never have chosen myself, and a sort of suede that was probably murder to clean. Not the metaphor I should be using at the moment, I decided.

  There was a label inside the top glove. I pulled it out so I could read it. Two overly cute cupids were holding a banner upon which was written Miss Stearn’s Fine Ladies’ Wear, Euclid Avenue, Cleveland. That made no sense. Who would be sending me gloves from home? The only reason someone there would think I was in need of gloves was if they’d found a pair of mine they’d thought I’d brought with me, and then they would have sent those gloves on, not a new pair that I didn’t recognize.

  Unless Mr. Farmington was somehow involved. I dropped the gloves at once and got a pair of my own from my suitcase to put on before I handled them again then started to hunt for a receipt or an invoice or a note that would explain their arrival, but stopped almost at once when I noticed a stain on the index finger of the glove on top. The right glove, I realized. A closer look showed me there were rusty stains on all the fingers of both gloves. Hard to see with the color of the gloves, but definitely there once you looked. Rusty red stains. Exactly what one would imagine dried bloodstains looked like. I quickly re-wrapped the gloves and set out for Scotland Yard.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  As I hadn’t been summoned to Scotland Yard, I had to wait in the general line with everyone else so the clerk at the counter could send a note up to Inspector Burrows and he would hopefully agree to see me. It gave me plenty of time to consider what I was going to write in the note I sent up to him. It had to be something that would make him see my evidence was useful and urgent. But when it was my turn, I was stuck with the clerk who was staring down his nose at everyone with a look that said he was quite certain each and every one of us was wasting everyone’s time. I had the feeling that, if I said I had discovered a pair of bloody gloves, he would write something dismissive on the form and I would never get upstairs. I settled for the shortest recitation of the facts possible. “Miss Pengear to see Inspector Burrows with some new evidence.” At least he wrote that down correctly.

  I was sent along to the next waiting area, where there was nothing to do but wonder if they stopped letting people up at a certain time, if the fact that I was already signed in would matter if they did, and how late Inspector Burrows stayed, or if he’d even be in his office at all. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to spend the time, but I was eventually called up to another desk and given the paper that would let me take the elevator to the detectives’ floor.

  The constable who’d seen me at the George Street crime scene the day before was waiting for me when I got out of the elevator. I was rather glad it wasn’t the one who’d arrested me, as nice as he’d been about it. “I have some information on the case.”

  “So you said. What sort?”

  So I was being screened to see if I had something useful. At least I knew he would listen. “Blood-stained gloves.”

  That had definitely not been what he was expecting. It was also enough for him to lead me through the lobby area and back to the offices without another word.

  Inspector Burrows’s office was in the middle of the area set aside for detectives’ offices. It didn’t seem to be a particularly desirable area, or one so bad that they stuck people they wanted to ignore there, which told me nothing at all except that he probably didn’t have a window. The constable opened the door with the neatly-inked card saying “Burrows” beside it and poked his head in. “Miss Pengear to see you, sir, regarding blood-stained gloves.”

  “All right, Constable Lipson, send her in.”

  Constable Lipson held the door for me as I went in and closed it part-way behind me. Inspector Burrows’s office had the dimensions of a large broom closet and I wondered if my assessment of him being in a middle range of inspectors had been wrong. He had managed to fit a desk, a set of file cabinets, two chairs, and a hat rack in the space, although I doubted he’d be able to get to his desk chair if someone was sitting in the guest chair. Of course, as the guest chair currently had a stack of papers on it, that didn’t seem to be much of an issue. I picked up the top folder and looked at it, but it had nothing to do with my case. Neither did the one under it.

  “Your files are on my desk. I pulled them out as soon as reception told me you were coming up.”

  That had probably been a sensible thing to do, both to review the case and so I wouldn’t do just what I had been doing. And as he hadn’t sounded surprised, it wouldn’t have surprised me to learn the latter was the main reason he’d taken them. “I thought it was worth a try. How did your raid work out?”

  I don’t think he’d been expecting that question. “It wasn’t my raid; I just helped with the processing. Very few arrests. Most of the evidence was inconclusive or missing altogether. Couldn’t make anything stick to any of mine. Including your friend, although I did suggest he might want to have his straps shortened or invest in some pins next time. I thought you didn’t know anyone in London.”

  “I don’t really. I just felt bad for him. He seemed like a nice fellow.”

  Inspector Burrows almost laughed but turned it into a sigh. “Miss Pengear, you are impossible.”

  At least he was smiling as he said it. “Really, Inspector, I don’t think so. Merely highly improbable.”

  “I don’t doubt it. So what was it you wanted to see me about?”

  Remembering my actual mission sobered me quickly. I took the parcel out of my bag and placed it on his desk. “As I said, blood-stained gloves.”

  Inspector Burrows leaned forward and pushed aside the wrapping paper. “Are they yours?”

  “No, and the tag is from a shop I’ve never been to.”

  He used the end of his pencil to slide the tag out where he could see it. “Miss Stearn’s Fine Ladieswear, Euclid Avenue, Cleveland. Is there such a place?”

  “As Euclid Avenue? Yes. As Miss Stearn’s? I don’t know. There very well could be, but I usually shop a
t the main department stores, so I wouldn’t know. I’ll ask Milly when she gets back, but I didn’t want to wait for her before I brought them here.”

  “Milly is that cousin?”

  I nodded.

  “Where is she?”

  “Out with a gentleman.”

  “I see. And how did you end up with these?”

  “They were slipped through the mail slot downstairs of Milly’s building. Mrs. Fitzpatrick, the landlady, brought them up and put them on our dresser.”

  “How did she know they were meant for you, and why was she able to get into your room?”

  “No idea on the second, I certainly wouldn’t permit it if I were the one paying the rent, and as to the first, there was a card tucked under the string. I thought it was there...”

  Inspector Burrows moved the paper around until he found the card where it had fallen onto his desk. “It doesn’t look like an address card, does it?”

  “And no return address either. That was the first thing I looked for. I haven’t had anything sent to Nell Street since I’ve been here.”

  Inspector Burrows kept looking at the card. “No postage, either. Was there anything stamped on the package? Something that would say how it was delivered?”

  “Mrs. Fitzpatrick thought it came with the rest of the mail since that was when she found it, but I didn’t see any postage on it.”

  Inspector Burrows slid the paper out from under the gloves and looked it over carefully, but there were no delivery markings anywhere. Then he looked at the card again, frowning.

  “You seem even more concerned about this than I am.”

  “That’s because I know something you don’t. When I arrested you, I went to order a warrant to search your flat. Very common when you have a good suspect. It’s part of why I kept you waiting so long.”

  “Only part?”

  He almost smiled. “That and I wanted to see what you’d do when forced to wait. Also very common with a good suspect. When I got it this morning, I’d already decided you weren’t the only suspect and released you, so I didn’t think it was necessary to execute it at that time, but imagine if I had.”