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It had taken a great deal of persuasion on my part—and a little bit of threatening on Aunt Butty’s—but we finally got the details of the morgue where Dottie and Harry had both been sent. It was but a short walk from the station, so we braced ourselves against the chill morning air and stepped out.
It was one of those drizzly sorts of mornings so common in London, but fortunately for us, Aunt Butty had her enormous brolly to hand. She put it up immediately and we both huddled beneath as we strode down the walk.
The morgue was in a rather non-descript building which also housed the local hospital. Naturally it was in the basement, as things that people would rather forget about often are.
We passed a young man in a white suit wheeling a gurney down the hall. On it rested a lump covered in a sheet. I decided to pretend I didn’t know what it was.
“Young man,” Aunt Butty said imperiously, “we need to speak with the coroner at once.”
“H-he’s in his office,” he stammered, pointing down the hall. Apparently, he wasn’t used to aristocrats storming the castle, so to speak.
“Very good.” And Aunt Butty sailed on.
I followed in her wake, leaving the poor fellow shaking his head behind him. He’d still be wondering what hit him a year from now.
The coroner’s office was clearly marked with a brass plaque: M. Mortimer, Coroner.
“Rather unfortunate name,” Aunt Butty mused. “It rhymes in a most repulsive manner.” She rapped on the door with the handle of her umbrella, then shoved open the door without waiting for an answer.
M. Mortimer, Coroner, sat behind his desk, staring at us through round tortoise shell glasses. It was hard to tell how tall he was, but he was very round with a fringe of graying hair surrounding a shiny bald pate. He wore a goatee—very out of vogue—and was in his shirtsleeves. A white lab coat hung from a coat stand in the corner.
“Pardon me,” he said, half rising. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my office?”
“I am Lady Lucas,” my aunt announced before I could open my mouth. “And this is my niece, Ophelia, Lady Rample.”
If the coroner was surprised to have two such auspicious persons in his office, he did not show it. “And?”
“And we are here about some murders,” she declared.
That was when I decided to step in before he rang the police on us. I did not need North changing his mind and stuffing me in a cell again. “A dear friend of mine was killed recently. Dottie Hale. Stabbed. Very sad.”
His eyes widened. “The hatpin through the heart?” His suspicions were clearly not allayed. “You were friends with her?”
“My niece has friends in many places,” Aunt Butty assured him. Her inference being that I had friends in very high places indeed, not just the lows dwelt by such as Dottie Hale.
“Er, well, I’m sorry for your loss,” he said somewhat lamely.
“Thank you. I am given to understand that recently there was another, quite similar, murder.”
That surprised him. “There was indeed. A man this time. Also stabbed through the heart with a hatpin.”
“Was he found in a park like dear Dottie?” Aunt Butty asked. Personally, I thought she was laying it on a bit thick.
“No. He was found in an alleyway near his flat.”
Which meant the park wasn’t the connection.
“Odd thing was—”
We both stared at him. “Yes?”
“The hatpin he was stabbed with? It was an exact match to the one that killed Mrs. Hale.”
“A heart shaped hatpin?” I almost whispered.
He nodded. “That’s the one. With lots of little jewels on it. Fake, of course, but pretty. Nothing like the third victim.”
“Third victim?” I managed. Was that why North had let me go?
“The dead woman they found this morning.” He picked up a clipboard and squinted at something. “One Katherine “Kitty” Leonard.”
Aunt Butty and I both gasped, staring at each other with wide eyes. Kitty was dead?
“What happened?” I finally managed.
“Looks like they found in her Hyde Park not far from where they found Mrs. Davis,” the coroner continued. “She was stabbed with something other than a hatpin.”
My heart sank. "It couldn’t be the same killer then, could it?” And if it wasn’t the same killer, then why had North let me go? I wouldn’t have thought him that stupid.
“The hatpin was added later,” he continued, “but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the same killer. Hard to tell sometimes with these things. The hatpin alone is a good indicator the deaths are related, don’t you think?”
Aunt Butty and I gaped at him, but he didn’t notice. He just stared at the clipboard.
“Interesting. The pin was heart shaped like the other two. Killer’s a right cupid, isn’t he?”
––––––––
“ASTONISHING,” AUNT Butty managed as we exited the morgue. She was not wrong.
“I guess that explains why North let me go,” I said. “The murders were obviously committed by the same person, and I have an alibi for Kitty’s death, so...”
“They’re not necessarily the same person,” Aunt Butty pointed out what I was already worried about. “Kitty’s death was different. The hatpin was added later and was not the murder weapon.”
“If North decides to arrest me again, please don’t mention that,” I said dryly. “Although there could be any number of reasons the actual murder was committed with a different weapon.”
“Like what?”
“Perhaps Kitty was suspicious, on guard, unlike the others. She was able to fight back, and he had to stab her with something else... a knife, perhaps. But he brought the pin with him, obviously, so he left his calling card, just like with the others.” Which meant the killings had been planned, not just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Then again, with multiple murders, the whole passion killing defense was out the window.
“Or someone else killed her and made it look like it was the same killer. Or the first killer decided to take advantage of her murder by someone else by sticking in the hatpin.”
“I admit the first is possible,” I said. “But the second option seems a bit unlikely.”
“It would rely on a fair amount of coincidences,” Aunt Butty agreed. “Still, it’s possible, and North is just the sort of man to glom on to such a thing.”
Again, she wasn’t wrong. Unfortunately. “I still think it’s the same killer. I mean, who else would have three matching heart shaped hat pins?”
“Someone who really likes hearts?”
I rolled my eyes. “No, this cupid killer had this planned all along, I’m betting.”
“Do you suppose it’s a mass murderer like Jack the Ripper or Mary Ann Cotton?” She looked positively giddy at the thought.
“Maybe,” I mused. “But based on the relationship of the victims, I’m betting that it’s someone who has a very specific purpose in murdering these people but wants to make it look like there’s a mass murderer on the loose.”
“Perhaps if we look more closely at the victims, we will find our killer. Obviously, Kitty and Dottie were friends at one time and Harry knew Dottie from the Apollyon.”
“And Dottie and Harry both knew and worked with Derby Jones,” I pointed out.
“Did Kitty know Mr. Jones?” Aunt Butty wondered as we climbed into the car and I started the motor.
“Good question. We should go have a look at Kitty’s place. I have a feeling she knew more than she was letting on,” I said. I pulled into traffic to much blaring of horns and barreled down the road heedless of pedestrians.
Kitty’s flat proved to be a short drive from the morgue. Before we knew it, we were pulling up to the rather dilapidated building. I was nervous about leaving my car alone. “Perhaps you should stay here,” I suggested.
“Nonsense.” Aunt Butty strode down the pavement to where a couple of lads were playing some sort of game with tin cans. “You there!” They stared at her. I could imagine how things must have looked from their angle. “I will give you each one of these,” she waved a coin at them, “if you guard that motorcar,” she stabbed a finger in the direction of my vehicle, “with your lives. When I return there had better not be a scratch on it.” And without waiting for an answer, she whirled around and marched back toward me.
“How do you know they’ll do it and not just steal my tires?”
“Trust me.” There was a glint in her eye. “They’ll do it.” I’d no doubt those boys had seen the same glint and that they’d do exactly what Aunt Butty told them to.
“Very well,” I sighed. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure the place will be empty?” Aunt Butty puffed up the rickety stairs behind me. I kept having visions of the treads giving way and us plunging to our deaths.
“Not totally,” I admitted. “She said she lived with her current boyfriend, but hopefully he won’t be at home.”
He wasn’t. No one answered our knock. It was but a matter of a minute or two before I had the lock picked and we were standing inside Kitty’s flat.
It looked very much like it had the day I’d visited previously. The sink was full of dirty dishes, underclothes were strung on a line to dry, and the place smelled of dust and rotting foot.
Aunt Butty wrinkled her nose. “Appalling. How will we find anything in this mess?”
“Very carefully. Why don’t you look around in here and I’ll search the bedroom?”
“Fine with me. Based on the state of this room, I don’t want to see what the bedroom looks like,” she said.
The flat was one of those horrible places that didn’t have its own loo. One had to jaunt down the hall in one’s nightclothes and hope one’s neighbor wasn’t taking his own sweet time. I was very glad I didn’t have to live in such a place.
The only room other than the kitchen area was the bedroom which was just big enough for a double bed. There wasn’t even space for a wardrobe or nightstand. Instead, there were pegs along the wall from which hung numerous dresses, cardigans, cheap purses, and overcoats of varying thicknesses. Shoes were thrown haphazardly under the bed.
A shelf had been nailed to the wall on one side of the bed and appeared to serve as a sort of dressing table. There was a small mirror, a bottle of drugstore perfume, a chipped glass containing a couple of well-worn lipsticks, a box of powder, and a couple pots of inexpensive face creams. There was also a hatpin cushion, currently containing a single cheap enamel hatpin, its head in the shape of a flower. Which didn’t mean anything. I didn’t know a single woman who didn’t own at least one hatpin.
What there wasn’t was any sign of a man living there. I found that very odd, seeing as how Kitty had claimed to live with her new beau.
Perhaps he’d split once he heard she’d died. Only there was no indication of that being the case as the pegs were all full. I would have thought he’d have at least used one, which would now stand empty. And there was no space for male footwear beneath the bed, nor any sign any had been there. The only empty space was just large enough for a single pair of shoes. No doubt the ones Kitty had been wearing when she was killed.
Which left one option. Kitty had lied about the boyfriend. Either she had one, but he didn’t live with her, or she didn’t have a boyfriend at all.
Option one made little sense. If she had a boyfriend, why would she lie about him living with her? I could see her lying about such a thing to Dottie, wanting to make it appear as if she was over her betrayal, but to two perfect strangers? There would be nothing in it for her.
Option two, on the other hand, made a lot of sense if she were trying to divert suspicion. If she had a boyfriend and was happy in her new life, she’d have no reason to harm Dottie in revenge for stealing Archie. However, if she didn’t have a boyfriend and was still pining for her lost love, killing Dottie suddenly became a real possibility.
Except for one thing. The murderer had killed three people, and Kitty had hardly done herself in. No, I was still betting on Derby Jones.
I took a last look around, checking every pocket and even under the pillows. Nothing. So I knelt on the threadbare rug and began turning over shoes. I only had three left when a bit of paper fluttered out of one. It landed on the floor face down.
Dropping the shoe, I scooped up the bit of paper and turned it over. It was a photograph of Dottie and Kitty standing together in front of the Natural History Museum. Both had wide smiles on their faces. Kitty’s eyes sparkled with laughter while Dottie... well, someone had drawn a slash of red lipstick right through Dottie’s face.