Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (17 page)

"
That was Dr. Lindsay from the clinic. ‘Myra’… that woman wants to see you. Don’t worry I’ll handle it. I’ll go see what she wants.
"

"
I’ll go with you,
"
said Edward as he steadied himself with the cane.

"
I don’t think you should,
"
replied Roger as he put on his coat.
"
You’re in a vulnerable state. Go home and get some…
"

"
I’m going with you,
"
Edward said sternly. He had to see her one last time. He had to see how she had been able to deceive him. Only then could he move on.

_ _ _

"
Keep the change,
"
mumbled Callum as he tossed some money to the cab driver, then bolted up the front steps of 13 Queens Terrace. The flight from Heathrow to Glasgow had been the longest hour and a half he had ever experienced. He’d tried to ring Ruthie McArthur from a payphone before boarding and tried again when he landed. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his gut
.

His hand rapped on the door… and it creaked open under the impact of his knuckles. He saw the inside brass chain, from which had Ruthie first peered at him, dangling down, broken.
This i
s not good.
Slowly he reached into his shoulder holster and pulled out his Walther P38 pistol.

He started to push the door open as carefully as he could, keeping his finger on the trigger. He needed to keep his wits about him. As the sun was already setting, he needed his eyes to adjust to the dimming light. He continued pushing the door ever so slowly to give him a bit of extra time.
Don’t want to shoot the sweet old lady by mistake.

C-R-E-A-K!

Blast this old door! So much for the element of surprise.

Passing through the foyer, he debated whether he should call out for her. What if the intruder was still there? He paused as he approached the door to her living quarters, straining as he listened for any sound or movement. Steeling his resolve, he burst into the room with his pistol held aloft in front of him. Nothing.

To be more accurate, there was no-one present. Callum’s eyes quickly processed what lay before them: the room, which only recently had been tidy and orderly, was now in shambles. Papers were strewn about, knick-knacks broken. It was déjà vu, for this building. Callum recalled the crime photos of the flat upstairs, seventy years ago, after Ruthie’s father had found Agatha Gilcrest’s bloodied body. The similarities made Callum’s heart skip a beat or two. It was unnerving. He opened his mouth to call out for Ruthie when he heard a
squish
.

The sound accompanied the sensation
of
having stepped into a puddle. Callum looked down and saw a river of blood swirling around his brown leather shoe. He followed the meandering crimson stream to the adjacent room, where he saw the body of Ruthie McArthur face-down on the floor.

Chapter
XIX

Callum was in shock. Stunned. Uncertain of what to do next.
Who could have done this? Why?
His eyes darted about the room looking for a phone to ring up 999 for an ambulance.

That’s when he noticed it. Or to be more specific, noticed what wasn’t there. Something was missing from the fireplace mantle. There had been several framed photos, and one of them had been taken. An obvious empty spot, next to Ruthie’s tenth birthday —a faint imprint in the dust where the frame had been.

His thoughts of the missing frame were interrupted when he heard Ruthie moan. He flew to her and knelt down next to her. She struggled to turn over.

"
Try not to move,
"
he whispered softly.

"
Detective Toughill?
"
she coughed.
"
Is that you?
"

"
I’m his grandson, remember?
"

She struggled again to turn over, with more determination. Reluctantly, he helped her rather than try to fight her. Blood trickled from a gash on her head, and there was also blood seeping from a bullet wound in her abdomen.

"
Who did this to you?
"
asked Callum.

"
'Twas a man… he was…
"
whispered Ruthie through a mouthful of blood.
"
Like the men who threatened ...father... and your... grandfather.
"

"
My grandfather?
"
Callum started.

"
Hushhh,
"
hacked Ruthie.
"
No time left... for me...
"

"
Save your strength. You’re going to be all right.
"

"
You’re a… terrible liar…
"
she wheezed, using precious strength, struggling to talk. Callum was about to say something when she shushed him and continued,
"
Your grandfather… tried to prove Otto Slade’s innocence and was… ruined for doing so.
"

Callum blinked,
"
He didn’t botch it?
"

Callum shook his head. Why didn’t his grandfather say anything about it? As if reading his thoughts, Ruthie replied,
"
He continued in secret, but to protect his family, he swore an oath that he would take the secret to his grave.
"

He then noticed that Ruthie was grasping for her throat. He panicked. She couldn’t breathe. He tried to reposition her. She struggled against him, her hand grasping a silver chain and tugging on it. But lacked the strength to pull it off.

"
Help me,
"
she whispered. Callum nodded as he lifted the chain gently. Her breathing was becoming more labored as she struggled to speak,
"
Take it.
"

He pulled it over her head and saw that a large ornate silver pendent was attached to it. It looked like a variation of St. George slaying the dragon. Not the usual one that was used on the United Kingdom’s half-sovereign for over a century, as this one did not depict a knight on horseback, but rather the dragon under the knight’s foot and his sword held aloft about to strike.

"
Message… from grandfather…
"
She gasped for one last gulp of air, and with her last breath whispered,
"
dragonslayer…
"

. . .

Natalie waited with Myra in her office, unable to take her eyes off her unusual patient. She saw Myra’s eyes light up when she saw Edward enter, and watched as she sprinted out of her seat. Myra was obviously taken aback when Edward stepped away from her, raising his cane slightly for protection.

"
Eddie? What is it?
"
inquired Myra, clearly hurt by his aloofness.
"
Are you all right? How is your leg?
"

Edward’s tone was cold,
"
I don’t know who you are, but I must ask you not to call me that.
"

Natalie could see the anguish in Myra’s face. Edward’s words were like sharp icicles plunged into her heart.

"
I’m Myra Hoffman…
"
insisted Myra. She again reached out for him and he physically pulled away, hobbling to the chair furthest away from her, as she continued,
"
I know I’m your mother. You knew it too. You called me
Mommy.
"

"
My client was in shock after falling down a flight of stairs. I don’t think he was really aware of you,
"
Roger retorted as he positioned his chair between Myra and his client.

"
No, Sir!
"
cried Myra
. T
hen
,
turning to face Natalie
, she said,
"
Tell him. Tell him what happened. How I remembered what happened that night in the dining lounge!
"

Natalie tried to speak, but Myra turned to Edward and continued to ramble,
"
I remember you woke up crying from a bad dream and I held you to calm you down. I remember our maid made me some tea to calm my nerves... then I felt... dizzy...
"

"
What was the name of the maid?
"
asked Roger with a curt tone.

"
The name of the maid?
"
Myra repeated as she struggled to remember.
"
It’s on the tip of my tongue. That’s still fuzzy but… but… I remember how, Eddie, here, fell asleep in my arms and then… then… I woke up and everyone was gone. The room started to flood… I was locked in… I couldn’t find the key.
"

Edward cut her off,
"
Myra Hoffman is my mother. She carried me off of the
Titanic
; she and my father are in England and will be celebrating their 75th wedding anniversary next week.
"

Natalie could see the enthusiasm drain from Myra's face, as she slowly sank into the nearby chair.

"
No! It’s not possible. I am Myra Hoffman. I…
"
Myra paused. Her brow furrowed, then she looked up at Edward,
"
Did you say ‘next week’? No, Archie and I were married on Christmas Eve 1909. I have a locket with our pictures in it. Archie gave it to me for our second wedding anniversary. I had it with me in the hospital… before I was brought here.
"

Myra’s hand flew to her bare neck as she looked over at Natalie, her eyes imploring. Natalie wished she could speak words of comfort to Myra but could only shake her head,
"
I’m sorry Myra. You didn’t have any locket when you came to us.
"

Roger turned to Natalie.
"
Is there some kind of blood test we can do to prove to… this woman that she’s not related to my client?
"

"
No. Blood type tests only narrow the paternal side. However…
"
She paused to gather her thoughts.
"
A colleague of mine, in England, can profile DNA…
"

"
DNA? What is that?
"
asked Roger.

"
Deoxyribonucleic acid, it’s the molecule that contains the genetic instructions used in the development and functioning of all known living organisms. It’s apparently hereditary in humans, and my colleague is able to determine paternal and maternal relationships between parents and children.
"

"
How so?
"
asked Edward.

"
Well medically speaking we all have 23 pairs of chromosomes. Half come from the mother and half from the father. He will be publishing his findings very soon. I can ask him to run tests on both of you. It may be of value to his research.
"

"
What would you need?
"
Roger asked.

"
A sample of blood, I believe.
"

Roger looked over at Edward who nodded in agreement. Roger then reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a document, which he handed to Myra.

"
We’ll go along with the test but in the meantime, here is a written warning instructing you to never contact my client again. If you don’t comply we will seek a restraining order.
"

Myra didn’t take it. Roger set it on Natalie’s desk. Myra reached out for Edward instead. He made no eye contact with her as he hobbled out of the room.

Natalie watched helplessly as Myra began to shiver. Even Natalie suddenly felt cold.

Chapter
XX

Dragonslayer?
Callum was numb. He had experienced the loss of friends and family through death but he had never witnessed it firsthand. He could still feel the weight of her in his arms, but she was gone. Her humor, her experiences, her memories — they were all gone. Who could do such a thing? Why? What did it have to do with his grandfather? Why now, after all these years? Who was still left?

Call the police,
he told himself. Yet, it was the Glasgow police that had somehow been involved with the cover-up of Agatha Gilcrest’s murder, seventy years ago. If Ruthie was telling the truth, that same police force turned on his grandfather and ruined him for investigating the truth.
Would they betray him now?

Still he couldn’t leave her body here like this. Placing the pendant in his pocket, he looked around in the darkness for his satchel case. Where was…?