Page 3 of Method of Revenge (Spencer & Reid Mysteries #2)

Chapter Three

J ust before noon, Leo finished the postmortem report on Gabriela Carter, enclosed the papers in a manila folder, and started on foot for Scotland Yard. The walk there took only a few minutes, and as Jasper had said he’d be out interviewing Eddie Bloom and the victim’s husband, she was willing to bet he wouldn’t be in his office when she delivered the report. After his acerbic attitude earlier that morning, she intended to avoid him.

Jasper had always been prickly, but that morning, he’d flared from hot to cold with more alacrity than usual. He was grieving, of course. Losing the Inspector, who had been his father in every way but in blood, must have set him adrift. She grieved the loss of the Inspector too, but Jasper’s absence had also left her feeling a bit wayward. A part of her had been, dare she say it, happy to see him that morning. A sentiment he hadn’t reciprocated.

Just outside the Yard, Leo stopped at a vendor’s cart, entering a sweet-smelling cloud of baked sugar and currants. She purchased two still-warm Chelsea buns and continued toward police headquarters, where Dita would be on duty as a matron.

Dita had been out of sorts after seeing Gabriela Carter’s dead body on the dance hall floor. She’d always marveled at Leo’s ability to work with the dead. Corpses, even the idea of them, made Dita feel ill. Her distaste was so acute, she had never set foot in the Spring Street Morgue. Not even into the lobby. However, with the benefit of a night’s sleep between herself and the event, it was possible Dita would recall more details about the Carters’ table. It had been in her direct line of sight, after all, and she had been actively watching the crowd.

Since Jasper might not bother to ask Dita about what she’d seen last evening, Leo would.

Holding the packet of buns in her hands, she greeted the front desk receiver at the Yard, Constable Woodhouse. The constable never gave her a difficult time and always allowed Leo to carry on into the building freely. So, when he held up his palm to indicate that she should hold, Leo was startled enough to trip to a stop.

“Who are you here to see, Miss Spencer?”

Her lips parted in surprise. She couldn’t recall the last time he’d asked her that. “I’m here to see Miss Brooks on the matron’s floor and to deliver a report to Inspector Reid. Why do you ask?”

He cleared his throat, looking bashful. “Just protocol, miss.” He tipped the brim of his hat, and she took it as a sign that she should carry on. She did, though strangely disconcerted.

Constable Woodhouse had never been one to treat Leo with disdain or suspicion, unlike many others tended to do at the Yard. She was well known there, thanks in part to her family’s infamous murder, but also due to the late Inspector’s affection for her, and his support when she eventually expressed an interest in working alongside her uncle at the morgue. Because Gregory Reid was so beloved, and because he’d been the former Police Commissioner’s closest friend, no one complained about the odd arrangement. Now, however, both the Inspector and Sir Nathaniel were gone, and she wasn’t sure for how much longer her uncle would be able to keep his position.

Leo took the first flight of stairs, her destination the uppermost floor. There, several former bedrooms, in what had once been a royal residence, were now used as holding chambers for women and children brought in under arrest or for questioning. She and Dita would take tea there rather than go across the street to the Rising Sun public house where many of the officers gathered. Most of them were still skeptical that matrons were needed on the force at all. The eight women currently employed by the Met as citizen volunteers were all related in some way to a police officer; Dita’s father, Sergeant Byron Brooks, was a longtime, upstanding officer in the Carriages Department.

Despite those family connections, the officers weren’t comfortable around the matrons. In Leo’s experience, most felt the same discomfort when around her too. Things had been even worse for her since the events that had unraveled with the former police commissioner. There were many at the Met who would have preferred to let Sir Nathaniel get away with his misdeeds rather than face another cycle of bad press in London’s newspapers. But Leo refused to let her unpopularity at Scotland Yard prevent her from going about her business.

She was coming off the first flight of narrow stairs into a busy corridor of offices and turning for the next flight when she heard her name called through the commotion.

“Miss Spencer?”

A strange cinch and swirl of her stomach accompanied the voice. She took her foot from the bottommost step and turned to find a young, uniformed officer smiling at her.

“Constable Murray,” she said, feeling distinctly timid. She hadn’t stopped to consider that she might see him this morning.

For a few weeks now, she’d been providing detailed descriptions of John and Jane Does that came into the morgue for The Police Gazette , which Constable Murray edited and organized. The daily digest was distributed to the stations in every division, listing details of stolen goods and wanted criminals, the descriptions of both oftentimes accompanied by drawings. That way, officers in one part of London could keep an eye out for those wanted in connection to a crime committed in another area. The Gazette had been a constant presence in the Inspector’s home. Leo used to enjoy reading older copies bound for Mrs. Zhao’s kitchen stove, then questioning the Inspector about which cases had been solved.

When Constable Murray approached the morgue with the idea of running descriptions of unidentified bodies to help the divisions solve missing persons cases or murder investigations, she’d thought it would be a brilliant addition. The idea had come too late to help Jasper with his Jane Doe case, but Leo was excited by the prospect of helping to identify future unclaimed bodies. Ever since January’s investigation with Jasper, she’d longed to be useful in some way for other cases. Typing postmortems and inquest reports was serviceable, of course, but rather dull and monotonous.

After bringing several descriptions to the Gazette office at the Yard, she’d found Constable Elias Murray to be affable and good-natured in addition to somewhat handsome. Still, she’d been bowled over a little more than a week ago when he’d invited her to a chophouse one evening.

Leo stepped toward the officer now, awkwardly holding the paper-wrapped Chelsea buns in her hands. She and the constable pressed against the wall of the corridor so as not to cause a logjam in the crush of foot traffic.

“I don’t have a description for you today,” she said after another tongue-tied moment.

“That’s quite all right. I just wanted to say hello.” Heat infused his cheeks. With his pale Scottish complexion, complete with ginger hair and freckles, that was easily done.

“I see,” she said, eager to be on her way to the matron’s floor. The buns were losing their warmth. “Hello.”

Constable Murray laughed, his cheeks still a bit flushed. “I enjoyed spending time with you last week. I wondered if you might like to dine out again soon.”

She was not so startled this time. Only somewhat baffled and slightly wary. The officers here usually viewed her as an oddity. Indecent, even, since ‘decent’ ladies did not work in morgues.

“Oh. Again?” She cringed at her inept response.

He coughed, looking even more amused now. “Only if you’d like to, of course.”

“I would,” she said quickly. “Forgive me, I just wasn’t sure if you would ask. The last time we shared a meal, I spoke more about autopsies than is deemed polite.”

At this he belted out a laugh, and Leo jumped.

“I thought it was scintillating dinner conversation. Far more interesting than anything having to do with the weather or fashion or politics,” he said, then dipped his head in a departing nod. “I’ll call on you later this week.”

She bid him a good day, relieved to retreat to the stairs and climb to the matron’s floor. The odd jumble of her nerves kept her frowning as she joined Dita in the empty duty room.

“Oh, good, I’m famished,” her friend said, reaching for one of the Chelsea buns. She pulled back at Leo’s expression. “Gracious, you look like a thunder cloud. What has you so upset?”

She wiped the frown from her lips and decided it might be time to tell Dita about Constable Murray. Dita listened, rapt, as they ate their buns, her eyes growing round with delight.

“Why didn’t you say anything before now?”

Leo shrugged. “I’m not sure anything will come of it.”

Dita arched a brow. “Do you want it to?”

“I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter.” She hadn’t come here to discuss Elias Murray. “I’m more interested in hearing if you’ve been able to remember anything else about last night.”

Dita sighed and bit into her bun. “Not really.”

“What about Andrew Carter, the husband? He must have left the table before Mrs. Carter began convulsing since he didn’t return until after she was already dead?—”

Dita held up her hand. “Leo, please, you know I can’t stomach talking about dead bodies, especially while I eat.”

She apologized and then sealed her lips. Dita’s sensibilities were exactly what hers ought to have been, she supposed, but the topic of death and corpses had never fazed her, and she couldn’t bring herself to pretend that they did.

They finished eating, Dita sending Leo annoyed glances as she chewed. Finally, she swallowed her last bite and sat back in the chair. “All right, you may start with your questions. Though I can’t promise I won’t still feel ill. It was an awful sight, seeing that poor woman dead on the floor. She’s probably younger than we are, and it must have been so painful for her…”

Leo frowned. She hadn’t considered Mrs. Carter’s pain during her last minutes. Of course, they would have been excruciating. Why hadn’t she thought of that? She squirmed in her seat, questioning her empathy—or lack of it.

“I want to help find out who poisoned her,” Leo said, “so that they can be held accountable for what they did. You had the better view of their table while we were seated.”

If only she’d been seated where Dita had been, she’d have the memories to explore in fine detail.

“But I had no reason to pay attention to a woman with her husband. I saw the wedding bands on their fingers and figured they were hitched,” Dita said, shrugging.

She’d been far more interested in sneaking looks toward the table of gentlemen behind her. “I understand, but do try, Dita. It usually takes twenty or so minutes for arsenic to begin taking effect, so she must have ingested it right around the time we arrived.”

Dita’s thin, jet eyebrows furrowed as she visibly tried to remember. “If that is the case, then she was with her husband at that point. I noticed him when we arrived. Don’t tell John,” she added with a wink.

Dita had a shameless fondness for handsome men and openly admired them. However, the worst she would ever do was flirt and dance with them. It was PC John Lloyd with whom she was truly enamored.

“Do you recall when Mr. Carter left his wife’s side?” she asked.

Dita shook her head. “No, but as I’ve already said, I do remember seeing the woman in the hooded cloak you spoke of. Having a hood drawn up indoors was odd, I thought. She obviously didn’t want her face being seen. She and Mrs. Carter were seated alone at the table. I think it was right around the time you urged me to go dance the polka.”

“They were talking?” Leo asked.

“Yes, and Mrs. Carter appeared quite serious.” Dita lifted a shoulder. “But as I figured the woman in the cloak wanted her privacy, I tried to give it to her. I suppose that was the wrong decision.”

“Not at all,” Leo replied, “and what you’ve told me will be helpful.”

“Should I tell Inspector Reid?”

Leo thought of Jasper’s cutting remark to not tell him how to do his job earlier at the morgue. That hadn’t been her intent, but it shouldn’t have surprised her that he’d jumped to a different conclusion. He’d always been easy to provoke, even when she wasn’t necessarily trying.

“Yes, and anything more you can recall. I’m sure he’ll come speak to you today.” She hoped he would, at least. Leo stood and smoothed her skirt. “I should get back to the morgue.”

Dita stood as well, though she froze as soon as she was on her feet. “Wait, I do remember something else. It might not be anything important but…” She closed her eyes, as if trying to recall it more clearly. “I was distracted by the woman’s hood when I noticed it, and it made me forget the very first thing I saw.”

Leo waited, holding her breath.

“Mrs. Carter took something from the woman’s hand and put it into her handbag,” Dita finished.

“Do you know what it was?”

“No. She whisked it out of sight, and then the hood drawn up on her companion caught my attention, and I didn’t think of it again.”

Her handbag. Gabriela Carter’s purse had been among her personal possessions when the body arrived at the morgue. As she did with every new arrival, Leo had thoroughly catalogued the contents. The black velvet brocade purse with a brass kiss lock had contained common things a woman of her status would carry: a paper tube of lip rouge, a hair comb, a lace-trimmed handkerchief embroidered with her initials in one corner, and a small round mirror.

The only item that had given Leo pause had been the folded photograph of the two young children, clearly deceased but staged to look as if they were still alive. The little boy and girl, both probably aged two or three years, had been propped up together on a wooden rocking horse. Eyes and lashes had been painted on their closed eyelids. She could see every detail of the picture in her mind and shivered again, as she’d done when she first found it.

It was the only thing in the purse that didn’t belong. She had no evidence that the cloaked woman had given it to Mrs. Carter, but it seemed most likely. Two dead children. One dead young woman. How were they connected? Though Jasper would heartily disapprove, Leo was determined to find out.

When she arrived in the detective department to leave Gabriela Carter’s postmortem report on Jasper’s desk, she was met by Constable Horace Wiley. As he was so adept at reminding her, visitors to the department were to present themselves to him, and then he could decide who—if anyone—would see to them and their complaints. Unlike Constable Woodhouse, his strange behavior today notwithstanding, Constable Wiley never failed to uphold this rule. Or at least try to, because Leo had no intention of following it.

“Good afternoon, constable,” she said as she tried to walk swiftly past his desk. He jumped from his chair to block her.

“State your business, Miss LeoMorga ,” he said, drawing out the puerile moniker he’d given her a few years back. She ignored it, as she always did in the hope that he would cease using it.

“I’m simply leaving this report on Inspector Reid’s desk.” She held up the manila folder containing her typed report and tried to edge around the constable’s stout frame. But Wiley was built like an ice box and was just as cold in his demeanor toward her.

“You may leave the report with me,” he said, extending his hand. Leo pulled it out of his reach.

“I would rather leave it on the Inspector’s desk myself.” She didn’t trust Constable Wiley in the least. The man was an arrogant toad. On several occasions, when Gregory Reid had still been alive and at the Yard, she’d witnessed the constable turning away women who’d come to make valid complaints regarding abuse, missing children, and other violations of the worst sort. He often refused to allow them to speak to a detective, telling them they were wasting valuable police time with their “overactive imaginations.”

“Shall I fetch the chief, then?” Wiley asked. His snide threat was enough to make her roll her eyes. Detective Chief Inspector Coughlan would likely give the constable a good dressing down for fetching him over such a trifling matter, and it was something she would enjoy seeing. However, it would still cast her in a poor light. Already, the chief had asked Jasper to limit Leo’s presence at the Yard.

Reluctantly, she handed the slim folder to the constable. He plucked it away, grinning smugly. He then had the audacity to open it. “This about the Carter murder?”

“I’m quite sure you aren’t authorized to look at that report.”

He scoffed at her reprimand and continued to peer at the papers inside the folder. “Mr. Henderson was in this morning, wanting to know the cause of his daughter’s death. He wasn’t pleased at all that the coroner was taking so long.”

Leo dismissed the jab at her uncle. “Henderson?”

The name sparked a memory. It took a few moments, but her mind brought it forward at last. A newspaper article. A gossip column.

“Gabriela Carter’s maiden name was Henderson?” she asked.

Wiley scowled at her. “What about it?”

Leo smiled sweetly at him; she always enjoyed the moment they could part ways. “Thank you, constable. You’ve been most helpful.”

He looked offended. “I have?”

“Yes, and please, do see a doctor about that blue tinge around your mouth,” she called over her shoulder as she left the department. “I see it all the time at the morgue. A respiratory malfunction, if I recall. Extremely worrisome.”

She resisted the temptation to look back, but she was almost certain Wiley would be seeking out a mirror in a panic to check his mouth. Jasper would have chastised her for teasing the man, but she put the unpalatable Constable Wiley to the back of her mind as she made her way from the Yard.

Leo needed to get to Fleet Street before the newspapers closed their offices for the day. There was an article she needed to find.