Murder at the Mortuary_a cozy historical mystery Read online

“But how can I? My father will cut me off of what little resources come my way, and I can hardly raise a child on my own. I have no means or vocation. As it is, I can barely manage, and room fees are due soon.” Miss Hanson spoke in a whisper, her grief expressed like a low growl. “I’d be doomed for the workhouse along with my child.”

  “Your circumstances are not to be envied, I understand that.” Ginger felt the thrill of a new idea bubbling to the surface. “However, there is a way for you to save your child and continue your education.”

  “How?”

  “You can stay here! We have plenty of empty bedrooms, and my staff is as discreet as they come. I’m friends with a local vicar, and I’m sure we can find a loving family to adopt your child.”

  Had Daniel lived, Ginger knew that they would’ve loved to have adopted a child since having one of their own hadn’t been part of God’s plan. Maybe she couldn’t satisfy her own desire for a child, but she could help to bring joy to another barren couple.

  “I want to give my child a chance at a good life,” Miss Hanson said. “But your offer is too generous.”

  “Nonsense. Why else do I have this large house if not to provide a home for my guests in their time of need?”

  “Are you certain?”

  “I am.”

  Ginger found the spark of hope in Miss Hanson’s eyes exhilarating.

  “You’ll have to take a term off from your official studies, but there’s nothing to keep you from studying on your own until the baby is born. Haley has a heap of textbooks you could read.”

  “Oh, thank you, Lady Gold.” Miss Hanson sniffed into her handkerchief. “You’ve truly rescued me from unimaginable despair.”

  When they had finished their tea, Ginger asked Pippins to ring for a taxicab to take Miss Hanson home. “Just continue on with your classes like nothing is amiss,” Ginger instructed. “We’ll arrange for you to move into Hartigan House at the end of the week.”

  “God Bless you,” Miss Hanson said as she embraced Ginger. “You are an angel sent from heaven.”

  Ginger experienced a sense of euphoria at having solved this crisis. It pleased her to help Miss Hanson, and she wondered if there were more she could do to help other girls who found themselves in a similar predicament. The next time she went to St. George’s Church, she would bring the subject up with Oliver.

  Ginger took the wide, curving staircase to her bedroom. She loved the solitude and comfort she found amongst the engraved wood furnishings and the ivory and gold design. Blessed Lizzie had added coal to the fire which added both warmth and ambience. Boss had sneaked in at some point and had curled up on one of the two striped chairs that sat on either side of the broad window.

  Ginger smiled at her pet. “I’m not the only one with a jolly good life, am I, Bossy?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The next morning Ginger and Haley made a trip down to the docks. Though Haley bartered for a taxicab, Ginger had convinced her it would save time if they drove the Crossley.

  “Whoa!” Haley yelped, placing a hand on the dashboard as if that would keep her from flying through the windscreen when Ginger hit the brakes. “You almost hit that motorcar.”

  “Nonsense. There was plenty of room between us.” Ginger paid no heed to the honking horns that blasted around her. “No need to be so uptight, everyone.”

  “I do love your new car, Ginger,” Haley muttered through tight lips. “Wouldn’t it be nice to get there in one piece?”

  “The Crossley is not in danger.”

  “Says the woman who banged up the Daimler.”

  “That was not my fault!” Ginger said, defensively. “The man in front of me slammed on the brakes, and the roads were slippery.”

  “If you say so,” Haley relented. She gazed out of the window and covered a yawn with her gloved hand.

  “You worked late last night,” Ginger said as she pressed the accelerator.

  “I had assignments to finish at the library.”

  Ginger understood that life at Hartigan House could be quite disruptive at times and not conducive for successful study and concentration.

  “Did you get the snaps developed?”

  Haley’s brow folded. “You mean the photographs?”

  Ginger nodded.

  “Yes.” Haley patted her handbag. “I have copies in here.”

  “Good.”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask you before now,” Haley said, “but how did your interviews with the inspector go?”

  “Dr. Gupta claims he had nothing to do with the missing registration, and that he barely had a chance to view the body much less tamper with the accompanying paperwork.”

  “I’m not sure that’s exactly true,” Haley said. “Emptying an envelope would take only a moment. I didn’t have my eyes on him the whole time.”

  Ginger sniggered. “So, you had your eyes on him.”

  Haley scoffed in return. “I’d be dead not to be affected by his dapper style. But I’m a professional.” She feigned offence. “I look beyond the surface, Ginger. Good-looking people are just as capable of wrong-doing as us plainer folks.”

  Ginger ignored Haley’s self-deprecation. “Miss Hanson is in distress.”

  “Oh?”

  “The family way.”

  “Oh, dear. Does Dr. Gupta know?” Haley’s expression soured. “Is Dr. Gupta—”

  “No, Haley. He was attempting to . . . help Miss Hanson.”

  “I see.”

  “I’ve invited her to stay at Hartigan House until the baby is born,” Ginger said.

  “That’s quite the undertaking,” Haley replied.

  Ginger glanced at her friend. “You don’t mind, do you?”

  “Of course not. It’s your house, after all. And I think it commendable that you would go out of your way to help her. That doesn’t mean she’s not guilty.”

  “Surely, not of murder,” Ginger said.

  “Maybe not. But if Miss Hanson was in need of money, she might’ve gotten involved with something criminal. Something connected to those unregistered bodies.”

  Ginger conceded. “We’ll be able to watch her more closely when she moves in.”

  “When’s that?”

  “At the weekend.”

  Haley stared out of the window as the docks came into view. “And how was it with Inspector Reed? I can’t imagine it was like old times.”

  “It was deuced awkward, that’s what it was.” Ginger bristled against the heaviness that clenched her heart every time Basil Reed’s name was mentioned. “He’s made his choice, and I have to live with it. Move on. Step out with new people.”

  Haley arched a dark brow. “Like Dr. Brennan.”

  Ginger sighed. “Yes.”

  “You don’t sound too happy about it.”

  “Let’s just say, I won’t be stepping out with him a second time.”

  The air at the North Quay smelled of seaweed, wood rot, and horse manure. It was called the West India Dock because most of the imports such as coffee, sugar, and rum came from the West Indies. Hundreds of barrels full of imported goods lined the docks while horse-drawn lorries lined up to haul them to their next destination. Blasting black smoke into the air, a tugboat chugged with the effort of pulling a steamship into port.

  “I’m not sure what we’ll learn here,” Haley said as she took in the activity. Men marched on and off the ships and hauled gear and supplies up and down the dock. “It’s like searching for a needle in a haystack.”

  “Sometimes one finds the needle,” Ginger said, optimistically.

  “True,” Haley said. “Usually by feeling a poke in the behind.”

  Ginger laughed. “You can be quite vulgar at times.”

  A couple of men whistled as Ginger and Haley walked by.

  “’ey fellas, look at what we ’ave ’ere.”

  “Pretty girls, are ya lost?”

  “I’m available to ’elp you out!”

  The last comment garnered a round of belly lau
ghs.

  “Speaking of vulgar,” Haley said, unamused. “I suppose we do stick out like a sore thumb. Especially you.”

  “Me?” Ginger said.

  “Your deep red jacket and high-heeled boots are like a beacon.”

  Ginger, about to protest, closed her mouth instead. Haley, though also in a skirt, wore her usual brown tweed ensemble and blended in with the sepia surroundings. “I suppose I didn’t think my wardrobe through,” she said.

  The dockworkers were too busy to give them much of their time. Men hauled heavy sacks of sugar off a ship. A man in a striped suit under an overcoat supervised.

  Ginger squinted at the boxy man with a prominent square chin and wearing a trilby hat.

  “I recognise that man from Pinocchio’s restaurant.”

  “A mafia guy?”

  “Perhaps.”

  A worker brushed by, and Ginger waved him to a stop. “Excuse me.”

  When the worker turned around, Ginger gasped. “Marvin?”

  Marvin Elliot’s youthful face collapsed into a deep frown. “Missus? Whatcha doin’ in these parts?”

  “Miss Higgins and I are doing some research. You might remember Miss Higgins from the SS Rosa.”

  Marvin tipped his flat cap. “I do.”

  Ginger and Haley had met Marvin and his young cousin Scout on the vessel that brought them to England from Boston. Scout had cared for Boss in the kennel and had been most helpful in a case that occurred on board. Ginger found herself feeling quite maternal toward the lad, but had grown fond of both of them. Though impoverished, they were both proud and had refused charity. Ginger extended help in the form of small jobs, and more broadly with the creation of the Child Wellness Project that provided hot meals for them and other children in similar straits.

  “I didn’t know you worked at the docks.” Ginger said. Though only a youth, Marvin had the strength of a man. The lad had been doing physical labour for most of his life.

  “I got taken on at the beginning of the year.” Marvin shifted the weight of the sugar sack from one shoulder to the other.

  Ginger indicated the man who appeared to be in charge. “Might you know who that gentleman in the striped suit is?”

  Marvin’s eyes darkened at the question, and he lowered his voice, “That’s Bugs.”

  Ginger remembered Geordie Atkins’ recollection of Angus’ drug dealer: Something like Insect or Pest.

  Marvin stepped closer. “’E works for Derby Sabini.”

  “The Italian mafia leader?” Ginger asked.

  Marvin nodded. “I’d stay clear of ’im if I was you, missus.”

  Ginger unfolded a poster shot of Angus Green. “Have you seen this man hanging around the docks?”

  Marvin set his load down at his feet and stared at the photo. He bunched his lips and shook his head. “Never seen the fellow in me life.”

  Haley held out the photo she’d taken of their John Smith from the mortuary. “How about this man?”

  Fear flickered behind Marvin’s eyes. “That’s Evan Jones. ’E works here on the coffee and sugar dock. Is ’e dead?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Ginger said. “Please do be careful here, Marvin.”

  Marvin bent his knees, hoisted his sack over his shoulders, and headed to a lorry waiting for him to unburden himself. Ginger felt a physical pang of worry for Marvin. Involvement with Charles Sabini in any fashion didn’t bode well.

  Once the lorry was fully loaded, the driver snapped his reins, and the horse whinnied as it trotted forward. Ginger watched until the driver reached his destination—a four-story brick building further down and across the street.

  “Now why would someone be killed over sugar and coffee?” Haley said. “Unless there’s more to it than that.”

  “Like cocaine?”

  “That would be my guess.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “The lab results of the soil samples should be ready,” Haley said when Ginger drove her back to the medical school. Instead of dropping Haley off, Ginger parked her motorcar. “I’m coming in.”

  Dr. Brennan had taken the call and left a handwritten note for Haley: I knew you’d be interested. The soil sample has traces of horse manure and cocaine. I’ve let Scotland Yard know.

  Haley arched a dark brow. “Cocaine? That’s interesting since he didn’t have any barbiturates or narcotics in his system.”

  “Angus Green had cocaine in his system, and Evan Jones had it under his nails,” Ginger mused.

  “And both had traces of horse manure,” Haley added

  “Mr. Green and Mr. Jones had to have been to somewhere horses are kept before their deaths,” Ginger said.

  “The same place?”

  “How could one tell? Horses are kept everywhere.” Ginger sighed with frustration. “It’s another needle in a haystack.”

  The mortuary telephone rang, and Haley answered. Ginger watched her friend’s expression grow from curious to enlightened. She scribbled something on a notepad that lay next to the phone.

  Haley thanked her caller and returned the receiver to its cradle. She raised a finger and grinned. “I think I’ve found the needle.”

  “Oh?” Ginger said hopefully. “Please do tell.”

  “After you and the inspector left for your interviews yesterday, I took a closer look at Evan Jones’ body. I’m not authorised to do a postmortem on my own, but it’s not a problem for me to look for exterior indicators such as bruising.”

  “Was he bruised?” Ginger asked.

  “Yes, but not in a way that would indicate a physical altercation with another person. Just typical bruising one would expect from a person who did physical labour.”

  “Then what did you find?”

  “An animal hair.”

  “Like a dog?”

  “Horse,” Haley stated. “It was stuck in the matting of Mr. Jones’ hair. I checked under the microscope myself and had Dr. Brennan confirm. Definitely horsehair.”

  “So, the man rode horses. It’s not uncommon.”

  “True. That’s why I called on a horse breeder, a self-proclaimed equine expert called William Peet. In his ‘expert’ opinion, this sample isn’t from your run of the mill horse. The breed is . . .” Haley paused to pick up her note, “. . . an Akhal-Teke, originating from Turkmenistan, and new to England since 1877.” She stared at Ginger. “The hair sample is unusually silky, unlike any horsehair sample I’ve ever examined. According to Mr. Peet, the only place in England he knows of that’s training an Akhal-Teke horse is a place in Little Italy, just north of Clerkenwell called Saffron Stables.”

  “Clerkenwell is Sabini’s stomping ground,” Ginger mused. “What was our dockworker Evan Jones doing there?”

  “My question, exactly.”

  Ginger placed a palm on her hip and jutted her chin forward. “Haley Higgins, are you ready for another trip in the Crossley?”

  Haley groaned. “If you promise not to get us killed on the way there.”

  The stable was located in a field down a long cobbled drive off the main road.

  “Are you sure this is the right place?” Ginger asked.

  Haley flashed her notebook where she had an address written down. “This is the one Mr. Peet gave to me.”

  The stable was a sizeable rectangular barn made of wood and stucco. A couple of training rings and a running track were located behind the structure. A gruff man dressed in work clothes and a flat cap greeted Ginger and Haley with a scowl.

  “Whatcha want?” Suspicion ringed each word.

  Ginger extended her gloved hand. “I’m Lady Gold, and this is my companion, Miss Higgins. I’m interested in buying a horse.”

  “We don’t sell horses ’ere, madam.” He spun away as if he’d sufficiently dismissed them. Ginger was undaunted.

  “Perhaps, but maybe I could speak to the trainer. I’m particularly interested in acquiring an Akhal-Teke, and it’s my understanding that there is a horse of that breed at these stables.”

  The
man turned and narrowed his inset eyes. He took a step towards them. “Who toll ya dat?”

  Ginger patted her handbag to reassure herself that her Remington was there should she need it. “Was I misinformed?”

  “Maybe we should go,” Haley said.

  A female voice called out. “What’s going on here, Fred?”

  “Nosy parkers. Says day wanna buy an Akhal-Teke.”

  The lady was dressed in a flannel shirt and a pair of jodhpurs—riding trousers that flared out at the thighs and fitted snugly over the calves—and leather riding boots. She wore her hair short and tucked under an equestrian helmet with straps hanging unfastened under the chin.

  “I’m Miss Jane Ellery, one of the trainers here. I’m afraid we don’t have any horses for sale at the moment.”

  Ginger smiled warmly. “I’m Lady Gold, and this is my companion, Miss Higgins. Would it be possible for us to view the Akhal-Teke? It would help me in making a decision on what breed of horse to buy.”

  Jane Ellery moved her lips back and forth, working out her decision. “Follow me,” she finally said. Perhaps she missed the company of the female persuasion. Or she was just curious.

  Ginger and Haley traipsed after Miss Ellery who walked with long, confident strides. Inside the stable, they were hit with the scent of manure, horse sweat, and hay. Stalls lined one side of the stable, most occupied by a single horse. Ginger stopped to rub the nose of a friendly Arabian who searched her palm for a snack.

  “Hello, fellow,” Ginger said. “I’m afraid my hands are empty.”

  “That’s Final Verdict,” Miss Ellery said. “He’s a champion.”

  “He’s lovely,” Ginger said.

  “You’re a horse owner, I gather.”

  “I was when I lived in Boston,” Ginger said. “I love to ride and have been looking for just the right horse for my life in London.” This statement wasn’t entirely false. There was an empty stable behind Hartigan House, and it had crossed her mind more than once that she’d like to fill it with horses again. Or at least one horse.

  Miss Ellery led Ginger and Haley to a stall in the middle of the stable and opened the gate.

  Ginger couldn’t help but gasp at the beauty of the animal that stood before her.