Page 86 of Evil at the Essex House
Hiram looked from me to his daughter’s body and back. And flushed. “This is outrageous.”
The morgue assistant looked guilty, but didn’t move to cover Flossie’s body any more than it already was.
“There isn’t enough left of her face to identify,” I explained, even as I fought back a shudder. “We have to look at the rest.”
“And do either of you know what my daughter’s body looks like?” Sarah pinned both Christopher and Crispin with a fulminating stare. They both shook their heads, Christopher looking very chastised indeed, and a bit nauseated, while Crispin’s face bore a preternatural solemnity that indicated that he, at least, had seen plenty of women’s bodies in his life, but wasn’t about to admit it right now.
“We’ve seen her bare arms and legs before,” I pointed out. “Although I will say I never noticed the scar.”
“Scar?”
I pointed. It was on Flossie’s lower arm, at least three inches long, and it was recent enough that both the injury itself, and the stitches that had held it together afterwards, were clearly visible, like a white millipede traveling up Flossie’s arm from her wrist to her elbow.
Sarah pulled the tip of a finger down it, tears gathering in her eyes. “She got this in the kidnapping attempt at Vassar a year and a half ago. This is my daughter.”
She turned to the morgue assistant and repeated it. “This is my daughter.”
He nodded. “Thank you, madam. And may I express my condolences on behalf of the City of London. We are sorry for your loss.”
Sarah inclined her head. “Thank you.”
There didn’t seem to be much we could say after that, and we were intruding on a private moment anyway—the farewell between Florence and her parents—so I tugged on Christopher’s sleeve and nodded to the door. He snagged Crispin and then all three of us sidled sideways. The mortuary assistant saw us go, and gave us a brief nod in acknowledgement, but neither of the Schlomskys reacted.
It wasn’t until we were practically out of sight, that Sarah Schlomsky’s voice reached us. “Miss Darling?”
I stuck my head back into the room. “Yes, Mrs. Schlomsky?”
“We’re only here in England for a few more days. We could postpone our departure, but…” She swallowed, “London is no longer a place we want to linger.”
No, that was perfectly understandable.
“We’ll stay until we can make arrangements to take our daughter home with us—” She glanced at the morgue assistant, who nodded, “but I could use some help packing up Florence’s belongings. Since you were friends…”
She trailed off suggestively.
“Of course,” I said, since it was the right thing to do, and furthermore, it was the only thing I could do. It wasn’t as if I could refuse. “I would be happy to help.”
“Thank you.” At least she sounded grateful. “I’ll call on you sometime this afternoon, if that suits.”
“Please do,” I said politely.
So that was that. Sarah turned back to her daughter’s body, and we turned into the corridor and out of the mortuary into Golden Lane.
We walked in silence for the first minute or two, just enjoying the summer heat and sunshine after the cloying coldness of the morgue. And when we reached the Hispano-Suiza, parked in the lot beside the mortuary, we stopped for a cigarette and to enjoy the sunshine a bit longer before getting in.
“Was it me,” Crispin asked, offering his cigarette case around, “or did something about that not feel right?”
I plucked a fag out of it and nodded. “The fact that Flossie is dead, and we can’t even look at her face and recognize it? Yes, St George, I would say that something about that felt very much not right.”
He rolled his eyes and turned to Christopher, who took a cigarette with a nod of thanks. “That’s not what I meant, Darling, and you know it.” Crispin dropped the case back into his pocket and pulled out a lighter.
“What did you mean, then?” I leaned forward so he could light up for me.
“Well…” He hesitated, with the flame two inches from my nose. “The scar, for one thing.”
“The one on her arm?” I pointed to the cigarette.
He finally did as he was supposed to with the lighter, and nodded. “I didn’t recognize it. And I swear I must have seen Flossie’s arm before.”
