I went through my introduction again. This time, however, Morton insisted upon injecting himself into the middle of things. “Sheriff Metzger, Cabot Cove,” he said, shooting his hand at Inspector Half.
“That so?” Half said. “Where might Cabot Cove be?”
“ Maine, Inspector,” I quickly said, moving to put myself between them. I told him of Maria’s relationship with Jason Harris and expressed surprise that the body had already been identified. I asked by whom.
“His half brother, stepbrother, something like that. Came in a few hours after we dragged him out of the river.”
“David Simpson,” I said.
“That was his name.”
“He was certain it was his stepbrother, Jason Harris?” I asked.
“Hard to be certain about a body like that. His throat had been slit from ear to ear, it had, and his face pretty badly battered in. Frankly, I couldn’t tell him from Winston Churchill. A bloody mess, that’s what he was, and floating in the river didn’t help.”
“Then how could his stepbrother make a positive identification?”
“Who knows? He didn’t have any hesitation, and that was good enough for me.” He looked at Maria. “What were you, his girlfriend?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to see the body?”
“I… no, I suppose after what you’ve said, it would be better if I didn’t.” She started to cry.
“Inspector, it seems to me there are certain procedures here that should be followed,” Sheriff Metzger said with considerable profundity.
“You’re the sheriff of where?”
“Cabot Cove, Maine. You see, I flew here on behalf of Mrs. Fletcher, who I am sure you know, is one of the world’s most distinguished writers. She also was the person who discovered the body of Marjorie Ainsworth.”
Morton’s comment obviously meant something to the inspector. He smiled-actually, more of a simple parting of the lips-and extended his hand to me. “You’re the one I’ve been reading about. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise,” I said.
Inspector Half seemed unsure of what to do next. He sat behind his desk and rolled his fingertips on its surface. “Happy to oblige you folks,” he said. “If you’d like to see the body, you’re welcome.”
Maria turned and walked to the door. “I don’t want to see him,” she said.
“Let’s go,” Seth Hazlitt said.
“I would like to see the body, Inspector,” I said.
“Jessica-”
“I would like to see the body.”
The Inspector stood. “I warn you, it isn’t a pretty sight.”
“I assure you you won’t have a fainter on your hands,” I said.
The Inspector and I went to a small morgue set up at the rear of the building. Through the window, the Thames rolled by. There was a considerable amount of commercial activity on it, and I couldn’t help but wonder what it had looked like two or three hundred years ago when pirates plied its waters. I didn’t have much time to contemplate history, however, because before I knew it, Inspector Half pulled out a body drawer from the wall and had flipped the end of a sheet that covered a corpse’s face.
I quickly turned away. It wasn’t recognizable as a human face, nothing but a gruesome mass of black flesh, no nose, no eyes, just a fetid blob. Look at it, Jessica, I told myself. You asked for this.
I forced myself to look once again at what the inspector had exposed, “Thank you,” I said. “That’s sufficient.”
By the time we reappeared in the lobby of the constabulary, word had gotten out who I was. Inspector Half personally escorted us to the front door. The desk sergeant asked timidly, “Could I have your signature for me kids, Mrs. Fletcher?”
Half gave him a stern look. “If she wouldn’t mind, Inspector,” the sergeant said.
I quickly scrawled my name on the piece of paper he held out, thanked them once again, and walked out onto the street.
“Why did you have to see the body?” Seth asked. “It’s nothing for a lady to see.”
“Seth, someone had to look at the body. Frankly, I was surprised you didn’t come with me. As a doctor, you’ve seen enough corpses.”
“Yes, but I couldn’t have been any help. I never met the young man when he was alive.”
“Well, I did.”
“Was it as terrible as he said it would be?” Maria asked.
I solemnly nodded and avoided her gaze.
“Who could have done such a thing?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Maria, but we’ll try to find out.”
“Must be near lunchtime,” Morton Metzger said. “I’m hungry.”
“It’s only eleven o’clock,” Seth said.
“My body is all turned around,” Morton said. “Jet lag, I guess. What say we find ourselves a place to get a snack, just to tide us over till lunchtime.”
I wasn’t particularly hungry after viewing the remains, but I wasn’t averse to a cup of tea. We looked down the length of the street and saw a pub at the far corner. “Let’s go there,” I said. “We can call a taxi after we eat.”
The pub was called the Red Feather. We looked through the window. It seemed pleasant enough, somewhat run down, but weren’t most neighborhood pubs? The others started in. I stepped back to take in the entire building, which was only two stories tall. Then I noticed a small sign next to the door:
JIMMY BIGGERS
PRIVATE INVESTIGATIONS
We settled at a table in the main room and ordered Devonshire ham and Silton cheese sandwiches. I asked the owner where Mr. Biggers’s office was; he pointed to a set of stairs to the rear.
“Is he up there now?” I asked.
“Probably asleep. He works nights most times, and sleeps the day away.”
“Do you think he would mind being awakened by an old friend?”
“I didn’t know he had any old friends, new ones either.”
I waited until we finished our sandwiches and tea before going upstairs. I knocked.
“Who in hell is it?” Biggers shouted.
“Jessica Fletcher,” I yelled with equal volume.
There was cursing and the sound of furniture being bumped into before Biggers opened the door. His hair went in a dozen directions, and there was a healthy growth of stubble on his cheeks. He wore an old flannel bathrobe riddled with cigarette burns.
“Sorry to have woken you, Mr. Biggers, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”
“That so? Wouldn’t expect to see you sightseeing Wapping Wall.”
“One of my favorite places,” I said.
He yawned and scratched his belly through a gap in his robe and pajamas. “I intended to call you today,” he said.
“I’m downstairs with friends,” I said. “We’ve finished eating, but if you’d like to join us, we can have another cup of tea, or a beer.”
“I might do just that, Mrs. Fletcher. Give me a minute.”
He took five minutes to join us. Obviously, showering upon awakening wasn’t part of his morning routine. He’d tried to tame his hair but without much success. There were still sleep granules in the corners of his eyes. I introduced him to the others.
“What brings you to this neighborhood?” he asked.
“An unfortunate circumstance,” I answered. I told him about Jason Harris, and how Maria was Jason’s closest friend.
“Friend?” he said, grinning. “If that’s all he saw in you, miss, he was a bloody fool.”
Maria didn’t know what to do, so she looked away. I was embarrassed, too, but tried not to show it. Biggers asked some questions about Jason Harris, which I deftly avoided. I was aware that Morton Metzger was taking in Biggers with narrowed, questioning eyes. He didn’t say anything, but his stare became unsettling. I decided it was time to leave, thanked Biggers for allowing me to barge in on him as I had, and said we’d be in touch.