by Ford, P. F.
Slater knew the reason they were both quietly brooding was their complete lack of progress in finding out what had happened to Ruby, or Ruth, or whichever of the two was the real her. People don’t just walk out, leave everything behind, and simply disappear. There had to be an answer, but they were no nearer to finding it now than when their inquiry had first started.
Slater’s unspoken thought, that he was sure Norman shared, was that the reason they hadn’t found an answer yet was simply because they had allowed their desire to catch Jones and Clinton to become the focus of their enquiries. Perhaps a vital clue had been right under their noses all the time, but because they both had revenge in mind they’d missed it.
They were guilty of letting Ruby down. Slater suggested they should have a weekend off to clear their heads, and Norman agreed. They would start again with renewed vigour on Monday morning.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Slater knew that sometimes the best thing to do when you have a problem on your mind and you’re making no progress is to step away from it for a day or two and focus on something completely different. That’s often the time that you make the most progress because you allow your subconscious to work unhindered.
However, if you take a weekend off and just carry on focusing on it anyway, you often get nowhere and can even begin to question everything you’ve done so far and start going backwards.
Shared guilt had caused Slater to do nothing but think about what he and Norman might have missed. One look at Norman on Monday morning confirmed to Slater that they had both had unhappy weekends and, instead of coming back refreshed on Monday morning, Slater thought the pair of them were, if anything, even more jaded.
It was probably fortunate they had Steve Biddeford as the third member of the team, Slater thought. At least he was bright and cheerful. Or at least he was trying to be. After half an hour of listening to the other two complaining about how they were letting everyone down, Slater could see even he was beginning to falter.
‘I know I’m the junior partner in this team,’ he said, finally. ‘And it’s probably not my place to say, but don’t you two think you might achieve more if you were to adopt a more positive attitude?’
‘What?’ said Slater, glaring at Biddeford. Norman was looking his way too, but Slater was surprised when he offered some encouragement instead.
‘Go on,’ he said. ‘You are a member of this team, and you are allowed a voice. So go ahead, say what you think.’
‘Well,’ began Biddeford, ‘I have a lot of respect for you two guys, but have you heard yourselves today? I came in this morning, happy and refreshed, raring to go, and I’ll I’ve done is listen to you two prattle on about how bad you feel and how you should have done better. You’re beginning to depress me. Isn’t this an inquiry about a missing girl? Or is it all about you two and how you feel?’
Before he could say any more, his phone began to ring. Saved by the bell, thought Slater, knowing his face was like thunder.
‘I’ll just take this,’ Biddeford said, indicating his mobile phone, stepping away and turning his back on them.
‘He’s got a point you know,’ said Norman to Slater, as Biddeford took his call. ‘We’re not exactly setting a great example, are we?’
Slater was struggling to come to terms with yet another person suggesting he was being negative. But the more he thought about it, the more he realised Biddeford was right. Here he was with a missing person to find and all he could do was feel sorry for himself.
‘Yeah,’ he agreed, reluctantly. ‘He is right. But I don’t understand why I’ve become so negative all of a sudden. What’s happening to me?’
‘Now that,’ explained Norman. ‘Is what can happen to you when the world seems to turn against you.’
Slater was sceptical.
‘You got suspended and nearly lost your job for something that wasn’t your fault,’ explained Norman. ‘That’s the world turning against you. Trust me. I’ve been there as well, remember? And I can tell you it made me pretty negative too.’
Their conversation was interrupted by a sudden excitement in Biddeford’s voice as he continued his phone call.
‘You have? Really? Where? Are you sure? How sure? 85% sounds pretty sure to me. Let me get a pen.’ He rushed back to find his notebook and pen. ‘Okay. Go ahead. How do you spell that? Okay. Got it!’
He looked at Slater and Norman, who were now fully tuned into his excitement.
‘Later today I should think,’ he continued into the phone. ‘Give me your number and I’ll call you back as soon as I know. Fabulous news. I’ll get back to you shortly. Promise. Thank you.’
He cut the call, looking immensely pleased with himself. Slater looked at him expectantly.
‘Well?’ said Slater. ‘It must be good. You look as if you’re going to burst.’
‘I’ve got some good news, and I’ve got some bad news,’ said Biddeford, almost shaking with excitement. ‘The good news is I think we might have found Ruby. The bad news is if it is her, she’s dead.’
Slater didn’t know how to feel, and neither did Norman, going by the look on his face. He was torn between delight and dismay.
‘I don’t understand,’ said Slater, confused.
‘Well, I hope you don’t object,’ said Biddeford, ‘but you two were getting so caught up with following the trail after Jones and Clinton, I wondered what I could do, from behind my desk, to keep trying to find Ruby. It occurred to me that the original investigation might never have circulated a description to the UK mortuary database, and even if they had, they probably only circulated Ruth’s original photo and description.
‘Now we know from Mrs Webster that Ruby likes to change her hair colour quite often. I don’t know much about hair, but I do know you can’t keep bleaching it without doing it a lot of damage. But suppose she wears a wig? That way she could change her hair colour every day if she wanted and still there’d be no damage.
‘But then I thought if she was in a mortuary, on a slab, there might not be any wig at all. So I figured it wouldn’t do any harm to circulate a doctored photo showing Ruby with short hair and see if there was an unclaimed body out there somewhere.’
There was a short, stunned silence, finally broken by Norman.
‘Wow! How good are you?’ he said. ‘I’d take my hat off to you, if I was wearing one.’
‘Steve,’ said Slater, with true gratitude, ‘d’you really think we’re going to object to you using your initiative like that?’
Then, turning to Norman, he said, ‘See. I told you he was good.’
Biddeford beamed with obvious delight, and Slater let him bask in glory for a couple of seconds before he interrupted. ‘Okay. So, you go to the top of the class, but this information’s only good if you share it with us.’
‘Oh, err, right. Yes, of course.’ Biddeford thumbed through his notebook.
‘That was a guy called Sid Murgatroyd. He’s a pathologist in the mortuary at Gravesend in Kent. Apparently they have a female body that washed ashore a week ago. They’ve done a postmortem and everything, but the local police have got nowhere because this person has never been reported missing, and with no ID they have no idea who she is, or where she’s from. Another couple of weeks and she would probably have been put on the backburner and forgotten about.’
‘We need to get down there and see if it’s her,’ said Slater. ‘Call your friend Sid back and tell him we’re on the way. All three of us.’
‘What, me too?’ asked Biddeford. ‘I thought I was desk duties only.’
‘It looks like you’re the only one here with the brains to keep this inquiry moving,’ said Slater. ‘We can’t afford to leave you here today. We need you with us.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sid Murgatroyd was in his late 30s, although his youthful good looks and thick dark hair, which seemed to flop in his eyes at every opportunity, made him look a whole lot younger. He greeted them rather formally, and for the first couple o
f minutes, Slater thought he was going to be hard work. But once Murgatroyd seemed to realise he had a captive audience who really wanted to hear what he had to say, he soon relaxed into an easy style that Slater thought probably made him a joy to work with.
‘So, here she is,’ said Murgatroyd, sliding the long refrigerated drawer out of the wall. ‘I’m glad somebody’s interested in finding her. I hate it when we can’t even give them their rightful name. It just doesn’t seem right, you know?’
He unzipped the bag to reveal her face. It could be Ruby, thought Slater. But it was difficult to be really sure.
‘So I can finally put a name to her,’ said the pathologist. ‘But is it Ruth or Ruby? I’m confused.’
Slater gave him the short version of the story behind this mysterious girl with two names.
‘So which is this? Ruth or Ruby?’
‘This is Ruth,’ confirmed Slater. ‘But in this guise, definitely appearing as Ruby. If you see what I mean.’
‘Are you sure that’s her?’ asked Norman.
‘I wasn’t sure when I called first thing, but dental records confirmed it, while you were en route,’ said Murgatroyd.
‘Why’s her face all blotchy? And why is the end of her nose black?’ asked Biddeford.
‘I’ll get to that in a minute,’ said Murgatroyd mysteriously.
‘And you say she was fished out of the river a week ago?’ asked Slater. ‘She disappeared six months ago. Surely if she’d been in the water for six months there would have been a lot more decomposition?’
‘That’s correct,’ agreed Murgatroyd. ‘And that’s one of the reasons I find this case so interesting, and why I’d love to help you guys get to the bottom of what happened to her.’
‘You’re making this sound like quite a mystery,’ said Norman. ‘Why the puzzle?’
‘If you’ve seen enough here,’ said Murgatroyd. ‘I’ll put her back to bed and we can go to my office where I can explain much better.’
‘Yeah. I think so,’ said Slater. ‘There’s not much we can do for her here.’
Back in his office, Murgatroyd settled his guests and then began to explain just why this body was so interesting.
‘She washed ashore a week ago,’ he began. ‘There’s nothing special in that, I’m afraid. All around the mouth of the estuary bodies come bobbing ashore. Mostly they’re people who have drowned trying to cross the channel and sneak ashore illegally, but we do get the odd one washed downstream too. I suspect this one came downstream from London.’
‘Does that mean you think she drowned?’ asked Slater.
‘She definitely didn’t drown,’ said Murgatroyd. ‘There was no water in the lungs. But there are suspicious circumstances that make me wonder what really happened.’
‘Go on then, doc,’ said Norman, intrigued. ‘Explain these suspicious circumstances.’
‘You said Ruth, or Ruby, disappeared six months ago. This one floated ashore a week ago, so, if it’s her, I’m sure you must be wondering where she had been for the intervening six months?’
‘She was involved in the sort of activity that can get a girl into some serious trouble,’ said Slater. ‘She could have been on the run, or incarcerated. I only wish we knew.’
‘How about she was in a freezer?’ asked Murgatroyd.
‘Jeez.’ Norman said, shaking his head. ‘Are you serious?’
‘The blotchy face. The blackened end to her nose. It’s freezer burn,’ the young pathologist explained. ‘You should see her toes and fingers.’
‘Yeah. But-,’ began Slater.
‘And she was still frozen deep inside when we pulled her out of the water,’ finished Murgatroyd.
‘Shit!’ said Norman.
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you exactly how long she had been in the freezer, but my guess is six months wouldn’t be out of the question.’
‘What else can you tell us?’ asked Slater.
‘She’d had sex shortly before she died. We found traces of frozen semen inside her. And she was pregnant, about 10 weeks or so.’
‘The fact she’d had sex doesn’t surprise me,’ said Slater. ‘She was a hooker, after all.’
‘Pregnant?’ said Norman. ‘That would be a tad careless for a hooker, wouldn’t it?’
‘So what did she actually die of?’ asked Slater, finally.
‘Anaphylactic shock,’ said Murgatroyd. ‘Her airways closed and she suffocated.’
‘You mean like an allergic reaction to a bee sting?’ asked Biddeford.
‘There are all sorts of triggers,’ explained Murgatroyd. ‘It can be anything from an insect bite, or sting, through to eating the wrong sort of nut.’
‘Do you know what caused hers?’ asked Slater.
Murgatroyd smiled.
‘It just so happens, anaphylaxis is something I’m very interested in,’ he explained. ‘So when I get one to deal with I tend to look into it as closely as I can. After doing a detailed analysis of her blood, I can tell you quite definitely, she was allergic to, and sent into shock by, Brazil nuts.’
‘Brazil nuts?’ echoed Norman and Biddeford together.
‘So this is just a tragic accident?’ asked Slater, disappointed by the findings. It seemed an anti-climax, somehow.
‘In normal circumstances, with a body that’s recently deceased, I’d say yes,’ agreed Murgatroyd. ‘But in this case all I can tell you is yes, she was killed by her allergy to Brazil nuts. Can I confirm it was an accident? No way. As far as I’m concerned, the very fact she was kept deep frozen for six months makes it a suspicious death. But that’s what you guys have to prove.’
There was silence in the room as Murgatroyd finished giving his report. Slater felt stunned, and it looked like Norman and Biddeford were too. Eventually he spoke.
‘Can we have a copy of that report?’ he asked.
‘Of course you can,’ said Murgatroyd. ‘It’s been ready and waiting for someone to pick it up and run with it. Now I’ve got a name for her, I’d like to find out why she ended up in here as an unknown. I’ll do anything I can to help.’
‘How about a DNA profile from that semen sample?’ asked Slater.
‘I was hoping you wouldn’t ask that,’ replied Murgatroyd, ruefully. ‘Every time I do one of them it eats a huge hole in a small budget.’
Then, more optimistically, he added, ‘But I can find out what the blood type is without breaking the bank, and it won’t take long to do.’
‘Thank you. That would definitely be a start,’ said Slater. ‘I’m sure we’ll need to talk again.’
‘No problem. You’ve got my mobile number. Call anytime.’
‘Have we gone forward here, or taken several steps back?’ asked Norman on the drive back. He wasn’t sure what to make of this latest discovery.
‘It’s going to be a bit of a disappointment if it turns out to be an accident,’ said Biddeford, gloomily.
‘If it was an accident, why put her in a deep freeze?’ said Slater. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Even if you were a client who didn’t want to risk getting exposed to a scandal you could just run. The body might not have been found for days, but at least it would have eventually. No, putting her in a freezer just isn’t right. I can’t believe we’re dealing with an accident.’
‘If you had an allergy like that you’d probably know, wouldn’t you?’ asked Biddeford.
‘How do you mean?’ asked Slater.
‘She was in her 20s,’ explained Biddeford. ‘She must, surely, have eaten a Brazil nut at some time in those 20 years and found out she was allergic. And if she did, she would know not to eat another one. You have to be careful when you have an allergy that might kill you.’
‘Suppose someone gave her some food with Brazil nuts as an ingredient?’ asked Slater.
‘I dunno. I suppose that could have happened,’ conceded Biddeford. ‘But then we’d have to determine if it was done on purpose or accidently, wouldn’t we?’
‘Is it just me,’ Norman interrupte
d, bored of the to-ing and fro-ing about nuts. ‘Or does it seem like an amazing coincidence that her body should suddenly appear just as we’ve locked away Jones and Clinton? Just suppose you were an outsider watching us. You might think now we’ve got what we wanted, we’re about to forget about Ruth. If you were that outsider, could you think of a better way of rekindling our interest?’
Nobody said anything to this, so after giving them what he considered ample time to respond, Norman continued.
‘Ok. So maybe it is just me.’
‘It’s not that I disagree with you, Norm,’ said Slater. ‘But if it is murder, and the body was hidden in a deep freeze, it’s reasonable to assume only the murderer knew where it was. So why release it now?’
‘Maybe they have to empty the freezer for some reason,’ said Biddeford. ‘Or maybe they were so confident we’d stop looking now they thought they were in the clear.’
‘So why not do it three or four months ago when it was obvious the original investigation didn’t care? They would have been in the clear then.’
There was a frustrated silence, and Norman knew they were all wrestling with the possibilities.
‘There’s another thing I have a problem with,’ said Slater. ‘Why would a high-class hooker have sex without using a condom? I thought they all used them nowadays what with the risk of infection. And surely getting pregnant isn’t part of the plan.’
‘Can a hooker have a boyfriend?’ asked Biddeford.
‘Hundreds,’ said Norman. ‘That’s what they do.’
‘No, that’s not what I mean.’ Biddeford shook his head. ‘What if she meets someone she actually likes and falls in love with? I mean sex with all the other guys is the job, right? They pay, she obliges, it’s just a business deal. It means nothing. But suppose there’s a guy she likes. He doesn’t pay, and she doesn’t do it for the money. It’s for love. It’s special to them both so they don’t use condoms. Maybe it becomes so special she wants to settle down with him. And because she doesn’t use the condoms she gets pregnant. Could that happen?’