The Vaudeville Star

The coroner greeted Ford and waved a hand at him when he tried to introduce himself.

“Yes, yes,” he said dismissively.

“I’m here to visit—”

“Your sweetheart, I daresay,” said the man, chuckling at his own joke.

“No, actually—” Ford began, but the coroner was moving down the long hallway and gestured for Ford to follow.

Ford watched as the doctor stopped to take a sip of tea and munch on a biscuit before he led him to the body lying under a sheet.

“How do you know I came for this one?” Ford asked, not even knowing who was under the sheet.

The elderly doctor smiled and tapped his head. “Well, for one, she was killed by strangulation. All the other bodies I’ve had recently were natural deaths.”

Ford nodded in agreement.

“Two, she’s a foreigner. So I imagine she’s not from around here.”

“Indeed not,” Ford said, admiring the doctor’s thought process.

“Here she is.” He pulled back the sheet to reveal Lourdes.

The red marks around her throat were clear enough and the blade marks across her body revealed the autopsy had been performed. Ford had seen dead bodies before, but the sight of Lourdes lying dead on the table touched something in him.

“Anything you can tell me?” Ford asked. “I mean other than the obvious.”

“Nothing that you can’t see for yourself. She died of asphyxiation. Suffocation by strangulation. Straightforward enough.”

Ford nodded, looking down at the body.

“Knew her?” the doctor asked.

“Friend of a friend.”

“Hmmm. Well, someone strangled her right enough and with large hands, so you are looking for a male. No doubt about that.”

Ford nodded.

“Oh, and it seems she put up a struggle. There was skin underneath her fingernails, so the assailant would have marks on his arms.”

Ford thanked the doctor and turned to leave.

“One more thing. Probably means nothing to you or anyone else. But she was pregnant. Three months along.”

Ruby tried to enjoy Regent’s Park, and Bessie tried to engage her, but it was difficult. Her head pounded, and she wondered at what she had done. She had agreed to tell the police that she had been with King all night, and she had, but she felt stupid. Used.

When the sergeant told her the name of the woman who had been killed, a cold chill had settled over her. Lourdes. The lovely, spirited mistress of King. She knew she had to tell Ford. She had to see him immediately when they returned to the hotel. She would tell him everything, and then they could fix whatever was wrong.

She nibbled on her thumbnail. What would happen to the tour? They still had to finish their London leg and then move on to Paris. But the more she thought about the inspector and his questions, the more she wondered. Why had King asked her to lie? What was he hiding?

He had only mentioned an accident, when in truth it was a death. She looked around the lovely park as people passed them by and gentlemen tapped their hats in deference to them. Ladies pushed their baby-filled prams, and the older children skipped and jumped along.

Everything was so peaceful and cozy, but Ruby was suffocating. King had no right to ask her to lie. If anything, she was angry as well as frightened. He should have told her the truth. His mistress was dead, and he was what? Worried that the police would make a connection and suspect him?

But already his behavior was suspect. No. She wouldn’t go to Ford. First, she would go to King. She wanted to hear from his own lips why he had not told her the truth. She wanted to know what was going on. It was the least he could do after she had lied to the police inspector.

She spent another hour with Bessie in the park until the rain started coming down, and they ran to catch a taxicab to take them back to their hotel. Once there, she separated from Bessie and took the taxi to King’s town house in Mayfair.