by Lee Strauss
Ginger leaned towards Haley and whispered, “Where’s Dr. Watts?”
Haley whispered back, “His wife is very ill. He’s recently taken leave to be with her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ginger liked the elderly man, almost as much as Haley did. Dr. Watts was a highly esteemed forensic pathologist and an excellent mentor to Haley.
Ginger watched Dr. Watts’ replacement with interest. He wore a grey wool and cashmere suit with its cuff-bottom trousers. His blond and wavy hair, parted on the side, was oiled back behind small ears. The enthusiasm in his eyes showed his love for teaching, and the lines on his face proved that he smiled often.
“Forensic science is a burgeoning field, and the implications for crime detection and solution are exciting,” Dr. Brennan said. “Imagine, a simple fingerprint leading to a conviction. Under the same circumstances in former times, the culprit would’ve got away with murder.”
Dr. Brennan reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and removed a magnifying glass. “Our fictional friend, Sherlock Holmes, is never without one of these.” He presented it like a flag. “And neither should you be. Please access yours.”
Ginger reached into her handbag and removed a new magnifying glass from its protective velvet bag. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t procured one before now.
Dr. Brennan held a forefinger in the air. “Turn to the person next to you and compare each of your fingerprints. What pattern do you see? Arches? Whorls? Loops?”
“I already know what mine are,” Ginger said. “Do you?”
Haley scoffed. “Of course. My ridges form arches.”
Ginger laughed. “And mine, whorls.”
Ginger offered her palm and Haley gripped Ginger’s fingers, examining each one.
“You are correct,” Haley said, offering her fingertips for Ginger’s examination.
Ginger studied Haley’s ridges under her magnifying glass. “I find it amazing,” she said, “that, despite a mere three basic patterns, every single fingerprint is completely unique to its owner.”
Haley agreed. “So very unfortunate for the criminals around us.”
When the group had completed the task, Dr. Brennan said, “Now, take a look at the fabric of your frock. Examine each fibre and select one in particular. What colour is it? Is it bright and new or faded and worn? Is the texture smooth or rough? Perhaps there is a partial stain—what caused it? Tea? Wine? Blood?
Wanting to blend in with the student body, Ginger’s wardrobe choice was a soft pink Coco Chanel with a v-line dropped-waist wool dress trimmed in braids and buttons in the same fabric. She accessorised with a white cloche hat with black ribbons, flesh-coloured silk stockings, and black Mary Jane leather shoes. Under the magnifying glass, the strands of wool looked like earthworms.
“I spilled coffee on my sleeve this morning,” Haley said, staring at the spot on her rayon blouse with her magnifying glass. “Even though I thought I’d cleaned it thoroughly with water, under the magnifying glass I can see traces of it remaining.”
“Let me see,” Ginger said, and Haley extended her arm towards her. Ginger hovered her own glass over the area. “Interesting. What once was hidden, has now been revealed.”
Chapter Two
While the students were busy examining the threads of their frocks, Dr. Brennan pushed a trolley to the front of the room. A medium-sized item was covered with a cloth, and Ginger’s curiosity was piqued.
With the flair of a circus showman, Dr. Brennan whisked the cloth off the mystery item, and a murmur filled the room.
“This is a Victor Magic Lantern. It’s a slide projector I brought back with me from a recent trip to America.”
The cylinder-shaped projector looked like a metal canister lying horizontally with a bottle top forming the lens. It was fastened to a metal plate-like base and had a long thick cord that Dr. Brennan plugged into a power socket, presumably with a voltage adaptor attached.
Dr. Brennan held up a thick black rectangular apparatus. “I simply insert the transparency of the photograph into this card and place it into the cavity between the light and the lens. The lantern transfers the image to the screen on the wall behind me. This way we can all see at the same time what I’m referring to.”
Ginger had seen movie projectors before, and though she’d heard about projectors for still images, this was the first she’d seen.
“If someone could please switch off the lights,” the professor said.
The room grew dim, and Dr. Brennan produced the first image on the screen behind him.
“A microscope, an instrument everyone in this room is familiar with.”
The next image was a glass slide with a dot of red. “And this is a speck of blood.” He faced the class. “What kinds of things can we determine by examining a spot of blood under a microscope?
Haley raised her hand. “Whether the health of the victim was normal or compromised. Blood type can also be determined with the right testing.”
“Very good, Miss Higgins. What other trace substances can be examined and tested?
Students began to call out.
“Skin.”
“Saliva.”
“Barbiturates.”
“Narcotics.”
“Yes,” Dr. Brennan said. “Anything else?”
Ginger raised a hand. “Soil?”
For the first time since the introduction, Dr. Brennan stared directly at her. “Soil? An interesting idea, Lady Gold.” His gaze rested on her—a mite too long, in Ginger’s opinion—before continuing. “In response to your query, yes, soil can be examined and tested, even in trace amounts. What kind of information would you hope to find?”
“Location,” Ginger said. “Say, for example, you find a trace amount of soil under a patient’s or corpse’s fingernail. Could you pinpoint where the soil came from?”
Dr. Brennan hummed. “I imagine you could find a general area, such as if the soil came from a beach or a barn. If you’re fortunate, there might be something specific about the region, for instance, the pH levels and mineral concentration that could pinpoint it more specifically.”
Dr. Brennan smiled, deepening the crevices around his mouth. “Does that answer your question, Lady Gold?”
“Yes,” Ginger said. “Thank you.” Hope tingled inside her. If the lab results could pinpoint where the soil found under Angus Green’s fingernails came from, perhaps they could find the scene of the crime.
Dr. Brennan wrote on the blackboard, and the students produced pens and notebooks to mark down the assignments.
“Now I know why you wanted to take this class,” Haley said, through the rustling of papers.
“I can’t let this case grow cold, Haley,” Ginger whispered. “Felicia is barely speaking to me.”
“It’s not your fault.” Haley turned her dark-eyed gaze to Ginger. “You know that, right?”
Ginger blinked.
“Ginger, it’s not your fault. Angus Green was in some kind of trouble, and frankly, I’m glad you didn’t get pulled into it. If it weren’t for me being in the right place at the right time, he’d still be considered missing.”
“But, Felicia—”
“Felicia is angry and needs someone to take it out on. You just happen to be that person. She’ll come around.”
“I hope so.”
Dr. Brennan excused the class, and Ginger checked her wristwatch. The shiny new Swiss-made ladies Rolex had been a Christmas gift to herself, and even weeks later, she couldn’t help but admire it. The round face was housed in a dainty square shape made of nine-carat rose gold and had a delicate matching band.
“I have some time before Clement is due to pick me up,” Ginger said. “What are you doing now?”
“I was thinking of visiting the library.”
“Is anyone in the mortuary?”
Haley frowned. “Ginger.”
“I just want one more look.”
“The body hasn’t changed in two weeks.”
“H
ow long will it be here?” Ginger worried that the case would grow cold once the body was removed. Scotland Yard’s mortuary was at capacity, which was why the body was still at the school.
“Until the Yard releases it for burial,” Haley answered.
“That could be anytime,” Ginger said. “Especially if Superintendent Morris signs off the case and it goes cold officially.”
Haley wrinkled her nose at the mention of the superintendent’s name. Neither Ginger nor Haley was a fan of Scotland Yard’s top man. A previous encounter had confirmed that he was neither skilled nor intuitive. Unfortunately, these positions were often obtained as a result of who you knew rather than from rising to the top through hard work and ingenuity.
“Fine. But only for five minutes,” Haley said.
The mortuary at the medical school was in the cellar. Though sterile, the outside of the high windows was covered with winter grime creating a dull, eerie hue, even when the electric lights were lit. When the giant lamp over the ceramic autopsy slab was clicked on that changed, but at the moment, the slab was empty and scrubbed clean.
A wall of refrigerated cabinets lined the far wall, and Haley opened the one that contained the body of Angus Green.
The first time Ginger had seen Angus Green was on the stage of the Abbott Theatre playing opposite Felicia. He had been energetic and determined with a palpable sense of self-confidence. The body that lay before her possessed none of the essence of the young man she remembered.
“It must be so hard on his father,” Ginger said. “When I visited the family home, he was pretty harsh in regards to his son.”
“He’s probably berating himself for that worse than you are,” Haley said.
Mr. Green senior had dismissed his son’s disappearance as an act of a spoilt, irresponsible youth. “I should revisit him,” Ginger said. “Maybe he can shed new light on the case now that he knows his son was in real trouble.”
A loud bang caused them both to jump, and Haley pushed the cabinet closed. Ginger spun towards the sound.
Matilda Hanson stared back. She must’ve been behind the door because neither she nor Haley had noticed her when they came in.
“Oh, hello,” Matilda said. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I dropped a book.”
“Hello,” Ginger said. “Though we just spent the last hour together, we haven’t been officially introduced. I’m Lady Gold.”
Matilda Hanson extended a hand. “I’m Matilda Hanson. You’re sitting in on the course?”
“I am.”
“Dr. Brennan’s brilliant, isn’t he?” Miss Hanson’s cheeks flushed as she sung the professor’s praises, solidifying Ginger’s suspicions that the pretty girl had aspirations that went beyond medicine. So often, a woman’s work and education path became secondary to finding a suitable husband.
“What are you doing in the mortuary?” Haley asked. Ginger thought her question rather bold since she and Haley hadn’t a legitimate reason for their presence in the room. However, Haley was, due to her passion and intelligence, Dr. Watts’ top student and intern.
Miss Hanson displayed a book. “Dr. Brennan asked me to retrieve this.” She pasted on a smile and strolled to the door. “Nice to meet you, Lady Gold. Toodle-oo.”
“Nice girl,” Ginger said when Miss Hanson had left.
“More intelligent than she lets on,” Haley said.
“To get into medical school, you’d have to be,” Ginger said. “I just wonder if she was really here to retrieve a book.”
“Do you think she’s been snooping in the mortuary?”
Ginger shrugged. “Or worse?”
“Like what?”
“Tampering with cadaver registrations?” Ginger offered.
“The accompanying envelope was empty,” Haley said. “The registration documents were missing.”
“Exactly.”
“Or maybe she was just here to retrieve a book,” Haley said. “Your time in the war has warped your mind, Lady Gold.”
Chapter Three
Ginger loved dancing, so suggesting a gala to the administration of the London Medical School for Women seemed like a grand idea. Since she’d agreed to foot the bill, Doctor Watts and his board of directors had been easily persuaded. February was such a dreary month in London and most of the elite were hungry for a diversion.
Lizzie helped Ginger with the sheer black tulle evening gown, scandalously worn over a flesh-coloured slip. Having one’s own Regent Street dress shop had its advantages, and Ginger loved this new arrival. It had continuous vertical bands of pewter sequins alternating with rows of black bugle beads. The beads and sequins created a floral pattern along the v-neckline and the hem that ended mid-calf. Wearing black patent leather T-strap shoes, Ginger spun slowly in front of the full-length mirror in her bedroom. The way the gown sparkled in the electric light was breathtaking.
“It’s stunning, madam,” Lizzie said, her eyes bright with admiration.
“Thank you, Lizzie. You don’t mind looking after Boss while I’m out?” Ginger tried to take him with her whenever she could, but tonight would be impossible.
“Of course, madam. Boss and I are chums.”
Hearing his name, the little terrier’s head popped up, and he tilted his pointed ears towards their voices.
“If you’ve finished with me, madam,” Lizzie said, “I can take him now.”
Ginger grinned at Lizzie’s enthusiasm. The young, pixie-like maid’s affection for Boss was sincere, and Ginger was grateful that she had someone she could trust with her beloved pet.
Ginger patted her leg. “Bossy, come.” Boss immediately jumped off the bed and went to Ginger’s side. She swooped him into her arms, being extra careful not to let his nails catch on her frock. “Be a good boy, Boss,” she said playfully. She kissed his soft head and then handed him to Lizzie.
“I hope you have a good evening, madam,” Lizzie said, bobbing slightly.
“Thank you, Lizzie. Take care of my pup.”
“I will, madam, I promise.”
Though Lizzie was capable, Ginger preferred to do her own cosmetics and hair. Before sitting in front of her dressing table, she played a Bessie Smith record on her gramophone to get into the mood.
Ginger added deep purple shadow to her eyelids, shaped her eyebrows into thin, dramatic arcs, and applied mascara to her eyelashes. The effect caused her eyes to look larger and inquisitive. She pursed her lips and finished them with a warm red lipstick. Only a decade ago, a made-up face like this could get a woman thrown in jail for indecency or worse, but in these modern times, Ginger was considered a sophisticated young lady.
Ginger selected a pearl and crystal tiara with decorative crystal spears fanning upwards and set it at a slight angle on her head. She curled the tips of her bob and positioned them under either cheekbone.
Voilà!
Given Felicia’s sour mood of late, Ginger was surprised that she had agreed to join her and Haley. Ginger hoped an enjoyable evening out would bring her sister-in-law a much-needed distraction and hopefully soften the grievance she held against Ginger.
Both Haley and Felicia were in the entrance hall where Pippins was helping them into their coats.
“There you are,” Haley said. “The taxi’s been waiting for ten minutes.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind the extra fare,” Ginger said. Pippins held her long fur-trimmed coat open for her, and she slipped slender arms inside. “Besides, I believe we’re still waiting for Grandmother.”
Ambrosia Gold, the family matriarch, made an appearance. She stubbornly gripped the passing Victorian age, keeping to the démodé fashion of long skirts and corsets, along with a grey bun swept up loosely on the top of her head. Offering her arm to the elder Lady Gold, Ginger assisted her down the stone walk and through the iron gates to where the black taxicab waited.
Felicia, seated beside Ambrosia, made a point of looking out of the window, apparently not on speaking terms with her grandmother either.
Haley mumbled in Ginger’s direction, “Rather frosty in here.”
“I’ll say.”
The ride through London was bumpy but uneventful. Ginger would’ve preferred to drive the Crossley herself, but both Haley and Ambrosia had vetoed the idea. Haley had protested because it wasn’t safe to drive in the dark—Ginger saw right through that ruse. Haley just didn’t like her driving. Ambrosia said it wasn’t done in polite society. What would people think? She’d go by taxicab or not at all.
Ginger had given in with a playful pout. At least this way, she could have as much champagne as she liked.
The gala was to be held at the Hotel Cecil, a luxurious hotel overlooking the River Thames. Exotic red carpeting covered the dining room floor. Round tables dressed in bright white linen, contrasting red napkins, polished cutlery, and white china dishes filled the room. Lush red velvet curtains framed tall windows, and the extended ceiling was embellished with hand-painted gold ribboning. Potted palm trees imported from Africa were stationed at the entrances.
Much of the upper crust of London was in attendance along with members of the science and medical community. When Ginger had learned that the medical school for women was low on the list of societies to receive city funding, she knew she had to jump in and make a splash. She was happy to see familiar faces in attendance. Her overly friendly neighbour, Mrs. Schofield, whom Ambrosia found taxing with her cheeriness and tendency to know all, stood with her grandson Alfred. Ambrosia pretended not to see the elder Schofield, and Ginger did the same for Alfred, who apparently was on the prowl for a wealthy widow. Sour-faced Lady Fitzhugh and daughter, Meredith, were followed by poor, beaten-down Lord Fitzhugh. Ginger only knew them casually, so didn’t feel obligated to stop to chat.
A pianist tickled the keys of a grand piano, and later, a small orchestra would lead the dancing in the ballroom across the grand hall.
Lady Gold and her following checked in their coats and headed to the table reserved for them near the podium where the speeches would take place.