Death on Hanover Read online

  Samantha had a foot on the first step when she realized Haley hadn’t joined her but instead had headed around the side of the building to where the body had been found. Samantha hurried to catch up.

  She found Haley nibbling her lower lip as she scanned the area with dark eyes. Samantha followed her gaze, wondering what Haley was looking for and what the doctor could see that Samantha couldn’t, beyond drying-out grass and clumps of weeds growing along the foundation.

  To Samantha’s astonishment, Haley drew out a magnifying glass from her purse, tugged on her slacks, and squatted. Systematically, she scoured the area where the body had lain.

  “What are you doing?” Samantha asked.

  “Looking for trace evidence. Somebody dropped the body, and maybe that somebody left something behind.”

  Samantha watched with interest as Haley produced a pair of tweezers and plucked what looked like a piece of dried mud off the lawn.

  “Dirt?” she asked.

  “Yes, but what kind?” Haley said. “It looks like harbor muck. There’s nothing like it on this sod. Could’ve come from the bottom of the killer’s shoe.” Haley retrieved a small paper bag and dropped the clay bit into it. Samantha wondered what else Haley carried in her purse.

  When Samantha and Haley finally entered the church, they slipped into an empty pew at the back. The priest said the benediction prayer then, with a train of boys dressed in white cloaks behind him, headed down the middle aisle to the front door.

  Congregants genuflected, a bend in the knee as they faced the golden embossed tabernacle before filing quietly out of the church. Samantha recognized Mrs. Breen, who’d stopped within hearing distance to gossip with a group of gray-haired ladies.

  “I knew instantly that he was dead,” Mrs. Breen said. “With the blood on his neck and the fact he wasn’t breathing.”

  One lady responded with a deep look of concern. “How awful, Doreen. You’ll have nightmares.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Mrs. Breen said. “I know you have trouble sleeping, Ethel, but I sleep like a baby.”

  The older ladies took their commiserating outside.

  Samantha nudged Haley and lifted her chin. “Mr. Mulryan appears to be having a serious chat with that tall gentleman.”

  Haley hummed. “Let’s draw closer.”

  The men huddled in, their backs toward Haley and Samantha as they quietly approached.

  “I told you I’d get you the money,” Mr. Mulryan insisted.

  The stranger replied calmly, “You’ve got two days.” He placed his hat on his head and turned, nearly running into Samantha.

  “Oh, hi there,” he said with a smile. Samantha was used to appreciative looks from the opposite sex. Her blond locks tended to catch the eye, both a blessing and a curse. She batted her eyes. “Hello, Mr.—”

  “Delaney.” The man removed his hat. “Are you new to St. Stephen’s? I think I would’ve remembered seeing you.”

  “Just visiting,” Samantha said. “I’m here with my friend, Dr. Higgins.”

  Mr. Delaney raised a brow in interest. “A lady doctor?”

  “A pathologist, actually,” Haley stated proudly. “And assistant medical examiner. I’d like to have a word with Mr. Mulryan. I hope we didn’t interrupt.”

  Mr. Delaney’s eyes darkened as he placed his hat on his head once again. “Not at all. I was just leaving. It’s been a pleasure to meet you both.” He strutted out without looking back, and Samantha couldn’t help but shiver. Mr. Delaney was the type of man whose bad side was probably atrocious.

  Mr. Mulryan stared at Mr. Delaney until the man disappeared from the church. His skin was pale, and he plucked a handkerchief from his cotton suit pocket and patted at the sweat droplets that had appeared on his long forehead. “If you’re here about the body,” he said, “I’ve already told the police everything I know.”

  “Are you sure you didn’t recognize the victim?” Haley asked.

  “No. I’ve already said so many times.”

  “Is Mr. Delaney a regular attender?” Haley continued.

  “Sometimes,” the secretary struggled to keep his impatience at bay. “Not always. Now, I don’t understand the meaning of this questioning. I need to attend to church matters.”

  6

  Haley had never had the chance to examine the spot where her brother’s body had been discovered. She’d received word of his murder while living in London. By the time she’d returned to Boston, any trace evidence that might’ve been found had long since been trampled upon, blown away, or dissolved in the rain. Having made it back from London just in time for the funeral, she’d only seen Joe’s body after it had been cleaned up and embalmed and was lying in a coffin. The bruises on his face and hands had been covered with makeup and the injury to his neck hidden by a high-collared shirt and black tie.

  “Hey, Doc.” Mr. Martin joined Haley in the morgue where she was positioned over a microscope. “What’s up?”

  “It’s a piece of clay I found where our John Doe was dropped. I think the killer might’ve dragged it there.”

  “A piece of dirt?”

  “Yes. A piece of dirt. It was out of place on the sod, which was also dried out, but clearly topsoil.” Haley sighed. She knew this was a long shot, but it was a shot, at least, one she hadn’t got with Joe.

  “And?” Mr. Martin prompted.

  “With its silty, hardened appearance, it looks like it may be from the harbor. I’m going to send it to the laboratory to confirm.”

  “So—”

  “If we can determine where this piece of clay came from, we might be able to find the scene of the crime,” Haley said. “At least narrow it down, anyway.”

  “The riverbank is a long stretch,” Mr. Martin added—quite unhelpfully, Haley thought.

  Dr. Guthrie meandered out of his office and stared Haley’s way with a look of indecision on his face. “Dr. Higgins, might I have a word.” His bushy white eyebrows darted in Mr. Martin’s direction, making it clear that whatever he had to say was for Haley’s ears only.

  She felt a shot of worry. Had Mr. Martin done something her boss objected to? She hoped not. It wasn’t that easy to find a competent intern, and Haley had spent valuable time training him. Then again, she couldn’t expect Mr. Martin to stay forever.

  Was it her, then? Had Detective Cluney called? Maybe Mr. Mulryan had filed a complaint about her brash questions from the evening before. It wouldn’t be the first time the detective had got into a flap about her “infringing on police business”, but he usually took his beef directly to her. If he’d by-stepped to Dr. Guthrie, then the detective was really put out.

  “Dr. Guthrie?” Haley started as they moved into the man’s office. “Is something wrong?”

  “What? No, no. Have a seat. No, don’t bother, this won’t take a minute.”

  Her curiosity roused, Haley waited. “Yes?”

  Dr. Guthrie swallowed. “Has Mol—Miss McPhail, has she mentioned. . . anything?”

  Good heavens. Dr. Guthrie, with his mop of wavy white hair, blistering blue eyes behind crinkled skin, pointy knees and elbows, and an Oxford degree, was consulting Haley on matters of the heart. She knew that Molly and Dr. Guthrie had struck up a friendship a while back, had shared a breakfast or two together, but then it appeared that interest had faded. At least for Molly. Her companion hadn’t mentioned Dr. Guthrie in some time.

  That was odd, now that Haley thought about it. Molly loved to discuss Haley’s work with her over their evening meal. How had they continued to do that without speaking of the chief pathologist?

  “Mentioned what, Doctor?”

  Dr. Guthrie had all the finesse of an awkward teenager. “Do you think . . . it’s just that. . . well, our last encounter didn’t go. . . And I wondered if—”

  Haley came to his rescue. “Would you like me to give Miss McPhail a message on your behalf?”

  “Would you?”

  “Of course.”

  “Very well then.” Dr
. Guthrie held his chin as he paced in front of his desk. “Tell her, I regret being insensitive…no, I’m sorry for not… no—”

  “Maybe you should write it down,” Haley suggested.

  “Yes, you’re right.” Dr. Guthrie scratched his head. “Thank you, Dr. Higgins.”

  Haley bit the inside of her lip as she returned to her desk. This side of Dr. Guthrie was endearing.

  “What’s so funny?” Mr. Martin said.

  “Oh, nothing. Dr. Guthrie just needed some advice. Now, if you think you can hold the fort, I have a few errands I’d like to run.”

  “I’ll keep it afloat, Doctor.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Martin.”

  Haley grabbed her hat, gloves, and the folded copy of the Boston Daily Record sitting on her desk, and left.

  Haley lived close enough to the hospital that she often walked, but today, because of early morning rain, she’d driven her DeSoto, which was serendipitous as she now needed it.

  She considered herself fortunate, as a female, to even own her own car—something that most American women could only aspire to. If they were lucky, their husbands owned one and would let them drive, but it was rare to see a broad-brimmed hat behind the wheel.

  Hanover Street, once a billboard of prosperity and opportunity, now had dirty-faced men sitting idly against the corners of brick buildings where they smoked cigarettes and looked worried. By noon, the soup line on Huntington would snake several blocks, and Haley despaired for what would happen to the homeless in the brutal winters so typical of Boston.

  Parking in front of the Boston Daily Record, Haley clasped her purse and went inside.

  The receptionist, a middle-aged lady lacking a wedding band—much like herself, Haley thought—greeted her cordially.

  “I’d like to see Miss Hawke,” Haley said. “If she’s in. Please tell her it’s Dr. Higgins.”

  The receptionist’s eyes rounded at the news of Haley’s title, a common response by most of those who didn’t know her, then did Haley’s bidding. Shortly afterward, Samantha breezed into the lobby. “Haley, what a surprise!” She lowered her voice and added, “And a breath of fresh air. Good grief, I’m sick of working with men all the time.”

  Haley laughed, then said, “Can I treat you to lunch? It’s work related if that makes a difference.”

  “I’m sure I can sneak away. Mr. August is demanding, but he doesn’t require me to starve. I’ll just grab my things.”

  Haley grabbed Samantha’s arm. “Also, I was wondering about the photographs—”

  “Yes,” Samantha said knowingly. “I’ll bring them along.”

  They’d just gotten comfortable in Haley’s car when Johnny Milwaukee’s fingers gripped the edge of Samantha’s open window. “Hello, lovely ladies.”

  “We’re just going for lunch, Johnny,” Samantha said. “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to scoop you.”

  Haley smirked. Journalists had their own versions of the truth.

  “I’m not accusing you of anything, doll,” Johnny said.

  Haley would’ve sworn that the cocky man’s eyes twinkled. He tapped the hood of the DeSoto. “Have fun!”

  Samantha scowled, and Haley chuckled.

  “What’s so funny?” Samantha said. “The man’s a menace.”

  “I think you like him.”

  “I do not!”

  Haley pinched her lips together, and Samantha protested again. “Seriously, Johnny Milwaukee gets under my skin. He’s arrogant, conceited, uh . . .”

  “Attractive, funny, smart.”

  Samantha seared Haley with a look. “Maybe I’m not the one who likes him.”

  Haley chuckled lightly. “Stand down, soldier. Anyway, I didn’t pick you up to talk about your colleagues.” Haley pulled onto a side street in front of one of her favorite coffee shops. “Have you eaten here before?”

  Samantha shook her head. Haley wasn’t surprised. Samantha’s financial burdens weren’t enviable, and if there was one thing Haley had learned about her new friend, it was that she was frugal.

  “They have great Reubens,” Haley added.

  “I don’t like sauerkraut,” Samantha said, still pouting.

  “How about turkey?”

  Samantha sighed. “Yes, thanks. Sorry for my moods. Johnny’s a rat, but I shouldn’t take my frustration out on you.”

  “It’s okay,” Haley said. “I probably deserved it.”

  The coffee shop was a long and narrow “hole in the wall” with red vinyl booths along one side and a row of chrome stools parallel with a counter on the other. Haley and Samantha claimed the last empty booth.

  When the waitress arrived, Haley ordered a Reuben on rye for herself and a turkey and Swiss for Samantha. “My tab,” she added.

  “That’s really not necessary,” Samantha said, but Haley suspected otherwise.

  “I asked you because I want something from you.”

  “The photographs of the crime scene.”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought you were chummy with one of the police photographers?”

  Haley lifted a shoulder. “I’m pushing the line with Detective Cluney. He doesn’t like me nosing in on his cases.”

  Samantha scoffed. “Even though you’re the one that solves them most of the time?”

  “Not most of the time,” Haley replied humbly. “Some of the time. Anyway, can I see them?”

  Samantha removed the large manila envelope from her messenger bag. “Johnny caught sight of these, but I stopped him from getting a good look. I told you he was a pain in the derrière. Excuse my French.”

  Haley grinned then pulled the prints out of the envelope, but before she could have a look, the waitress returned with a pot of steaming coffee.”

  “Coffee, ladies?”

  Both Haley and Samantha pushed white mugs toward the server, and she poured.

  “Cream and sugar are on the table.”

  Haley motioned for Samantha to go first, and she made a second attempt at viewing the photos. The images made her blood grow cold.

  “Something wrong?” Samantha asked.

  Haley pulled an envelope out of her oversized purse, removed a photograph, and handed it to Samantha.

  “That’s Joe.”

  “Oh. Yes. I see the similarities.” Samantha could sense the weight of Haley’s sorrow and she knew nothing she could say would make things better. With a gentle look she said simply, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” Haley brushed a curl off her face. “I know it’s been a while since Joe’s been gone, but sometimes it feels like it just happened yesterday.” She smiled weakly. “The human psyche is so fragile.”

  Samantha returned the photograph and changed the subject back to the case at hand. “What did you find out about your tiny piece of clay?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s from the riverbank. I’ve sent it to the laboratory for confirmation.”

  Like Mr. Martin before her, Samantha relayed the obvious. “The riverbank’s a long piece of real estate.”

  “Yes, but it’s smaller than the whole of Boston.”

  Their meals arrived, and Haley felt a little concerned at the aggressive way in which Samantha attacked her sandwich. On closer look, Samantha did appear rather thin. Such was the sign of the times.

  Once her initial stab of hunger appeared to have abated, Samantha asked, “Did you notice anything in my photographs? Something I’ve missed?”

  “See that bit of white sticking out of the pocket?”

  “Oh, yeah, the note.”

  “I wouldn’t show the police these. They wouldn’t match up with the ones Jack took.”

  “Jack?” Samantha wiggled a brow. “You’re on first-name basis, are you now?”

  “We’ve been friends for a while.” Haley would not say more about that.

  Samantha took the hint. “I didn’t notice the note until after I shot the photographs. I knew I didn’t have a lot of time. Mrs. Breen only stepped away for a few minut
es, and then Mr. Mulryan came back.”

  Haley hummed. “There’s something about Mr. Mulryan that doesn’t sit right with me.”

  Samantha agreed. “He certainly acted suspiciously. Not exactly pals with Mr. Delaney.”

  “Yet close enough to get reprimanded by him.”

  “What does Mr. Delaney do, I wonder?” Samantha asked.

  “That’s a good question. How would a person find out?”

  Samantha blew through pursed lips. “I have a contact at the paper who knows everything and everyone in Boston.” She snorted with derision.

  “Let me guess,” Haley said. “Johnny Milwaukee.”

  7

  The bull pit was in an uproar when Samantha returned to her desk after lunch with Haley. Telephones rang, the telegram rumbled, and bells clanged as madmen got to the end of the line on their typewriters and beat the level to push the roller back into place. Samantha, once again, felt behind the eight ball.

  “What happened?” Samantha said, dismayed. “What’d I miss?”

  Johnny looked up from his typewriter. “Babe Ruth just hit his six hundredth home run.”

  Samantha wrinkled her nose. That was it? “All this excitement’s over baseball?”

  “It’s not just baseball, doll, it’s Babe Ruth. He’s somethin’!”

  Samantha removed her hat and gloves and settled into her chair. “Plays for New York, right?”

  “Sure, but he’s a Boston boy. Played here first. Damn shame they sold him.”

  Samantha shrugged. “Maybe they’ll buy him back one day.”

  Johnny leaned back in his chair, cigarette in hand, and put his feet up on his desk. “Now, there’s an idea!” He kept his gaze locked on Samantha. She knew he got a kick out of making her uneasy, and she could never tell for sure if his interest in her was purely professional or not. Either way, it hadn’t stopped him from asking her out on more than one occasion. She prided herself that she’d said no to him every time, except for when it benefited her job as an investigative reporter.