by Lee Strauss
Ginger stepped away unnoticed by her staff and headed to her study. Pips had done a splendid job in finding her a chair that suited her and didn’t threaten to toss her onto the floor every time she turned in it. Her father’s study comforted her with a sense of his presence. The room was masculine with dark brown panelling. A Turkish carpet lay in front of the hearth, which glowed with burning coal. As a constant reminder, the old painting of George Hartigan as a young man hung on the wall.
“I miss you, Papa,” Ginger whispered.
Boss scratched the door and pushed it open.
“Here, Bossy.” Ginger patted her lap.
She rubbed his chin, and he nuzzled her neck by pushing his wet nose against her ear as if he were whispering something. Reminding her of something.
Haley.
Ginger picked up the telephone and dialled the mortuary. The operator let it ring for a significant amount of time, but there was no answer. Worry spread through Ginger like gooey ink. Haley was always either at the school or at Hartigan House. Her studies kept her too busy for a social life, not that Haley was even interested in one of those.
Ginger asked to be connected to the medical school reception. Hopefully, Miss Knight was still there to pick up. It rang several times, and Ginger was about to hang up when a panting Miss Knight answered.
“Miss Knight, this is Lady Gold. I’m looking for Miss Higgins. Would she happen to be in a late lecture?”
“I’m afraid all the professors have left for the day.”
“Have you seen Miss Higgins?”
“I believe I saw her leave earlier this afternoon. Can I help you with anything else?”
Ginger’s heart sank. “No, thank you, Miss Knight.”
Lifting Boss off her lap, Ginger placed him on the floor. “I have to go, Bossy, and I’m afraid you can’t come this time.”
Ginger collected her coat and headed out through the back door where she ran into Mrs. Beasley.
“Miss Higgins and I will be late for dinner. We have one guest. A Miss Hanson.”
“Yes, madam.”
As Ginger backed her Crossley out of the garage, she said a silent apology to Miss Hanson for leaving her alone with Felicia and Ambrosia.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ginger arrived at the medical school just as the caretaker Frank Morgan was locking the front door.
“Please, Mr. Morgan, may I come in? I’m looking for Miss Higgins. Have you seen her?”
Mr. Morgan scowled. “Which one is that? There’s a lot of young women around here. I don’t know their names.”
“About my height, dark curly hair tucked up at the base of her neck.”
“The gal who spends a lot of time in the basement?”
“Yes,” Ginger said.
“I don’t recall seeing her lately.”
“Would you mind if I had a look? It’s quite urgent.”
The caretaker huffed in defeat. “If you like.”
Ginger wasn’t sure about getting locked inside the building with a man who remained on the suspect list. As far as she knew, the person working on this side of the body-pilfering business wasn’t a killer, but you couldn’t trust anyone involved with the mafia.
“I’ll only be a few minutes,” she said.
Mr. Morgan leaned his portly body against his broom handle. “I’ll wait.”
Ginger hesitated. “What for?”
“So I can lock the door behind you.”
Ginger hurried down the stairs to the mortuary. She doubted Haley would be there, but hopefully she’d left some clue as to where she’d gone. So eager was Ginger to get in and out that she almost ran into Sean Brennan just as he was exiting the mortuary.
“Oh! You startled me,” she said. What was Dr. Brennan doing there? Hopefully, not facilitating another body.
“Lady Gold?”
“I’m looking for Miss Higgins.”
“I’m afraid she’s not here.”
“Do you know where she is? Have you seen her lately?” Ginger heard the worry in her voice.
“No, I don’t. I believe she left this afternoon and hasn’t returned.” Dr. Brennan blocked the entrance to the mortuary like he was purposely trying to keep her from going inside. He watched Ginger in a calculating manner, and Ginger’s unease grew. She was alone in this dark building with two men, who, for all she knew, could be working together. She didn’t even have her pistol to protect her.
“Is there anything I can help you with?” Dr. Brennan asked. He tilted his head and grinned crookedly. Ginger understood his double meaning.
Ginger played along and looked up at him flirtatiously from under her eyelashes. “Haley, Miss Higgins, asked me to pick up something for her that she left behind since I was going to be in the area anyway.”
“What is it? Maybe I can help you search?”
“No, it’s fine. It’s a personal matter. Female items.”
That did the trick. It usually did with men. Sean Brennan tugged on his waistcoat and stepped aside. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.” He added a wink and strutted down the corridor.
In the mortuary, Ginger turned on the electric lights, dropped her handbag on the desk, and scanned the room. The white floor tiles, the washbasins, and operating tables were all scrubbed clean and sanitised. Ginger could smell the bleach cleanser, which meant Frank Morgan had been in here recently. Ginger felt panic rising. There was nothing here that spoke of where Haley had gone. Everything was pristine and in its place.
Except . . .
There was a row of filing cabinets along one of the walls where all the records of the deceased were kept. The far one had a drawer that slightly jutted open. Had Haley, in her hurry, forgotten to close it all the way? Ginger rushed to examine it. If she took much longer, Mr. Morgan would come hunting for her.
A long row of yellow folders sat neatly in green hangers. Only a file at the back stuck up, out of place. Ginger dug the folder out and opened it. Her heart skipped.
Slipping the file drawer closed she rushed to shove the folder inside her handbag. She had to call Basil.
Using the mortuary telephone, she dialled the operator for Scotland Yard. She spoke quietly when the constable manning the telephone answered. “Chief Inspector Reed, please.”
“I’m sorry, he’s not here. Would you like to speak to someone else?”
“No, thank you.” She hung up the phone and jumped at the sound of the door snapping opened.
The caretakers’ bald head glistened under the bright lights of the mortuary. “What are you doing?”
“Oh, Mr. Morgan. I’m sorry for taking so long,” Ginger strapped her handbag over her shoulder. “That was Miss Higgins on the phone. It looks like we got our wires crossed. I can go now.”
Mr. Morgan snorted suspiciously—Ginger hoped he didn’t catch on that the telephone hadn’t rung—but escorted Ginger to the door without incident.
Ignoring the honking of irate drivers, Ginger drove directly to Basil Reed’s spacious townhouse. Couldn’t they see she was in a hurry? This could be a matter of life and death! She jerked to a stop and ran to the front door.
Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she knocked. When no one responded immediately, she knocked more urgently. Why did Basil not have a butler?
The door opened, and the shock on Basil’s face at seeing Ginger was apparent.
“Ginger? What are you doing here?”
Ginger’s eyes settled on Basil’s lips, the memory of their near-kiss somehow making her unable to answer.
As if noticing his rudeness, he opened the door and waved her inside. “I’m sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. Come in out of the cold.”
Basil’s sitting room was a comforting display of dark wood and light furnishings with coal burning low in the stone hearth. There was a vase of flowers on the coffee table—evidence of a woman’s touch. Had Emelia purchased them before she so rashly departed? Was it a simple matter of Emelia adding a hint of femininity to the room
or had they been a gift from Basil?
Preferring to stand, Ginger held out the file. “I can’t find Haley anywhere. I’m worried she’s in trouble. I found this at the mortuary.”
Basil flipped through the papers inside and frowned. “I’ll be right back.”
To stay in control of her nerves, Ginger paced the room. Her eye caught a striking painting hanging on the wall. Like Ginger’s father, Basil was a fan of Waterhouse. Ginger stopped to examine a copy of Destiny. A brunette woman in a bright red dress looking over the rim of a goblet eerily resembled Emelia Reed. The nautical background gave the figure a sense of unrest. The dark red of her lips and the longing in her melancholy eyes invoked feelings of thwarted ambition and bridled desire. It was as if the painter had met Emelia Reed himself so accurately did he capture her.
Ginger pulled her gaze from the painting and moved to the occasional table where a small stack of flyers lay. She picked up the one on top. A Letter to Working Mothers—How to Have Healthy Children and Avoid Weakening Pregnancies. Dr. Stopes’ instructions to the more impoverished working classes on birth control tactics. Was this what Felicia had been doing with Mrs. Reed and Dr. Stopes the other day? Distributing flyers?
Ginger returned the pamphlet to the stack just as Basil returned. It was apparent what Basil had taken time to retrieve; a pistol holder was strapped to his left arm. The sight of the weapon both comforted and frightened her. Basil wasn’t one for carrying guns, so he must believe Haley to be in danger. Ginger wished she had her own pistol, but it was still trapped in evidence.
“You said he was your neighbour?” Ginger asked.
Basil’s lips pulled tight. “He is.”
Dr. Alan Watts was the man named in the file. Inside was a cadaver registration template used to create false identification for the unregistered corpses. It was identical to the real thing except for the absence of a small official stamp. The file included copies of many false documents going back for over a half a year. Ginger had the sinking notion that each one could be connected to a missing person’s file.
“I think Haley tried to hide this before she was taken,” Ginger said. “The filing cabinet in the mortuary was askew.”
Basil stared at her solemnly. “Let’s see what Dr. Watts has to say.”
Dr. and Mrs. Watts lived five houses down on the same side of the street. Basil knocked on the wooden door. A light was on in the sitting room, and Ginger watched through the net curtains as a shadowy figure stood and left the room.
Dr. Watts opened the door. His shoulders slumped when he saw Basil and Ginger standing there.
“Chief Inspector, Lady Gold. This is unexpected.”
“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Dr. Watts,” Basil said. “May we come in?”
Ginger had barely closed the door behind her when she blurted. “Where is Miss Higgins?”
Dr. Watts’ watery eyes rounded. “How should I know?” He shuffled into the sitting room and collapsed into a chair. Smoke billowed from a lit pipe propped up in a copper ashtray on a nearby table.
“Dr. Watts,” Basil said gravely. “We know you’ve been providing false documentation for the Sabini gang’s murder victims. You realise that makes you an accessory.”
Dr. Watts picked up his pipe, puffed on the stem, and stared into the fire. His contemplation led him to confess.
“I did it for Annie. I couldn’t bear to abandon her to a hospital. To stay at home, she needed special, private care. That kind of thing costs a pretty penny. Professors at schools for women don’t get paid that much.”
“Did someone work with you?” Basil asked. “Dr. Gupta or Dr. Brennan?”
Dr. Watts shook his head and sputtered, “No. It was just me. When Annie had to go to hospital suddenly, I missed a delivery.”
“Angus Green?” Ginger said.
“Yes. I’d arranged to take leave by that point, but I thought I could still make an appearance when the cadaver orders were due,” he sighed. “But Annie needed me, and I kept missing them.”
“Dr. Watts,” Ginger said urgently. “Haley is missing. We think Sabini’s men might have her.”
“No.” Dr. Watts’ expression darkened as fear flashed behind his eyes. “Why would they take her? What did she have to do with anything?”
“She interfered,” Ginger said. “She found out something they didn’t want her to know.”
“Do you have any idea where they may have taken her?” Basil said. “Please, think!”
“I-I-I don’t know! Maybe Saffron Stables.” He covered his face with his hands. “Good Lord, what have I done?”
“Dr. Watts?” Basil pushed.
The thick skin of Dr. Watts’ weary face became etched with regret. “That’s where they prepare the bodies. Dr. Selkirk embalms them.”
Chapter Thirty
The Austin 7 roared through the streets of Mayfair as they headed north of London. Basil got more horns honking and fists shaking than Ginger usually did. She started to understand how Haley must feel when driving with her as Ginger was the one now hanging onto her hat.
“Do you think Dr. Watts will hang around to be properly arrested?” Ginger asked. She and Basil had left without taking time to make a call to the Yard. Haley’s life was at stake.
Basil gripped the steering wheel tightly, his eyes focused on the road. “He won’t go anywhere without Annie.”
Another man devoted to his wife, Ginger thought. She had to admire the quality—even in Basil who always took Emelia back after her sometimes lengthy wayward affairs. He said he was divorcing her this time, but would he really? If Emelia came back in tears and remorse, would he turn her away?
The country roads had potholes from the recent rain, and the shock absorbers on even the best motorcars were not enough to absorb the bumps and grooves. At least the Austin had inflatable tyres. Small townships with their church spires poking the sky, and nearby fields dotted with cattle, rushed by causing Ginger to check the speedometer. Basil was driving at fifty miles an hour!
Ginger’s heart thudded against her chest as they neared Saffron Stables. Would they get there in time to save Haley?
Basil jerked the motorcar to a stop, and he and Ginger jumped out.
As usual, Fred was blocking the way. He held out a palm. “No visitors today.”
Basil flashed his identification card. “Police business.”
Fred remained unmoved. “Show me a judge’s warrant.”
Ginger’s heart sank. They didn’t have a warrant, and by the time they found a judge and returned with one, Haley could be dead.
Basil pulled out his pistol. “Sir, please move inside.”
Fred might be a few crumpets short of a proper tea, but he knew enough to defer to the threat of a bullet. He raised his hands and stepped inside.
Ginger closed the doors, then searched for rope. Fortunately, there was plenty around.
“Do you know how to tie a knot?” Basil asked.
Ginger gave him a disparaging look as she expertly tied Fred’s hands behind his back. “On the ground,” she instructed and then proceeded to tie the man’s ankles together. She finished off by stuffing her handkerchief in his mouth. “You can keep that.”
The stable was quiet with not a single stableboy or trainer in sight. The horses were gone too.
Basil kept his pistol at the ready. “Sabini has cleared out.”
“Haley!” Ginger called. They went to Silver Bullet’s stable, but it was empty.
“They’ve moved their prize horse,” Ginger said with a growing sense of despair. “They’re moving operations. Haley’s not here.”
They opened every door and searched every crevice and found only remnants of things one would typically find in a stable like feed, bridles and saddles, and grooming equipment.
“Let’s search the outbuildings,” Basil said. A door at the back of the stables led to a training ring and beyond that another shed.
They traipsed through the mud. Ginger grimaced as the c
old muck oozed along her Italian Ferragamo shoes. Another pair of beloved shoes ruined. Under normal circumstances, Ginger would be aghast, but she couldn’t give a rat’s tail for them right now.
A small trail forked off to the far side of the shed. Blood-splatter painted the wooden exterior.
“I think we’ve found the execution site,” Basil whispered.
What felt like ice water pooled at Ginger’s knees; her vision grew cloudy. It wasn’t the sight of blood that made her feel faint, but the thought that it might be Haley’s blood.
Ginger turned to follow Basil to the door, but her shoe had other ideas. The shoe stuck firmly into the muck, which caused Ginger to fall against the blood-splattered wall.
A small expression of pain escaped her lips.
Basil rushed to her side. “Are you all right?”
“My shoe,” she pointed to the defiant Ferragamo. “I think I’ve turned my ankle.”
Basil quickly rescued the shoe and placed it back on her foot. “Hold onto me,” he said.
Ginger tested the foot, and pain shot up her leg. She carried her weight as much as possible on her good foot. Basil held her up with one arm, his pistol ready in the other hand.
When they got to the door, Basil tugged, and it swung open. Inside were a horse trough filled with water and a makeshift autopsy table complete with a tray of embalming equipment. Were they too late?
“Haley?” It came out like a dry whisper.
“Miss Higgins?” Basil called loudly. A muffled sound came from beneath the floorboards. A rusted metal ring jutted from one of the planks, and Basil rushed to pull on it. “It’s a door!” He flipped the heavy door open revealing a dank, dark cellar. Ginger crawled along the dirty floor—not giving her silk stockings or her Molyneux frock a single thought—to look inside. A form lay curled up in a ball, hands and feet tied, with a bandanna secured around her mouth.
“Haley!”
Basil laid his pistol on the floor, eased down the rickety ladder to reach Haley, and scrambled to remove her restraints.