Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (10 page)

"
Did you see anything?
"

"
Aye. I noticed the loose papers all over room…
"

Callum nodded
.
H
e remembered
the photograph depicting as much. There was certainly nothing wrong with this woman's memory
.

"
I moved toward my Pa’s voice, staying close to the carpet, then froze to the spot. There I saw her, near the fireplace…
"

"
Miss Gilcrest?
"

Ruthie nodded,
"
There was blood everywhere. She was
lying on her back… there was…. n
othing left of her face… it had been smashed in.
"

Callum dropped his pen,
"
Her face?
"

"
The eyes were no longer in their sockets, her nose was shattered and dangling by her cheek… I will never forget the pitiful sound of her moaning.
"

"
She was still alive?
"
Callum gasped. He didn’t consider himself to be squeamish by any means but the thought that poor Agatha Gilcrest had sustained such injuries and was still alive, realizing what had happened and knowing that her life was slipping away, must have been terrifying for the poor old lady.

"
Did she say anything?
"
Callum asked.

Ruthie shook her head as she replied,
"
She tried to… but her jaw was broken. I couldn’t stop looking at her face.
"

Eyes gone? Nose shattered? Jaw broken? Callum was beside himself. He had read the preliminary medical report as well as the court testimony. It always listed the injuries as a blow to the head— nowhere did it say that her face had sustained any injury. To hit someone in the back of the head with a blunt instrument could be done out of desperation or fear, but to inflict such damage while looking at the victim… that was personal. That was an act of rage.

"
I wanted to scream, I wanted to run away,
"
whimpered Ruth,
"
But I couldn’t stop staring at her. I watched as she gasped her final breath, then I nearly screamed as I felt a hand touch my shoulder. 'Twas my father. I was certain he was going to yell at me, but he simply turned my head away from the sight and walked me downstairs to here. I waited for him to get the wooden spoon to rap across my knuckles for my disobedience, but he never uttered a word about it… never. As I think about it now, I guess he knew I would never forget what I had seen… and that was the harshest of punishments.
"

"
Would you know if Miss Gilcrest had any enemies? Anyone who would want to kill her?
"

"
No, she was the sweetest old lady you could ever meet. She always welcomed guests. More than I ever have I dare say,
"
recalled Ruthie with a smirk as she sipped her coffee.
"
Even her former servant, Miss Fergraith, who left her employ when she got married… Oh, I can’t remember the name of the man she married. Anyhow, she would be invited to bring her family to visit Miss Gilcrest for the holidays after she left. Miss Gilcrest had no children of her own, which I guess is why she spoiled Miss Fergraith’s children with presents— treated them as if they were her own grandchildren. Did you ever hear of such a thing? A former employer. That’s how sweet of a lady she was.
"

Callum nodded in agreement as he jotted down every word. Then he traced the tip of his pen to an earlier note,
"
You said ‘new’ servant. Did Miss Heather Langlea replace Miss Fergraith?
"

"
Yes,
"
replied Ruth.
"
No, wait… there was another servant before Miss Langlea… oh, what was her name?
"

Callum watched as Ruthie wrestled with herself, tapping her forehead with her hand as if trying to knock the memory forward.

"
Cleaver!
"
exclaimed Ruthie finally,
"
How could I forget that name! 'Twas the first scandal I was ever aware of where I had known someone personally involved. I remember the day Miss Cleaver was sacked by Miss Gilcrest.
"

Sacked?
Being terminated from a job could be a motive, Callum thought.
"
Why was she sacked?
"

"
Miss Gilcrest discovered that Alice Cleaver had murdered her own infant son. I think the child was also born out of wedlock. Still, it was
a
dreadful realization. What
kind of mother would kill her
own child?
"

"
Good question,
"
Callum said as he scribbled the details as quickly as he could.
Once a killer,
Callum thought to himself. He then looked up at Ruth,
"
Would you happen to know whatever became of Miss Alice Cleaver?
"

Ruthie cocked her head
and said
,
"
Last I recall, she had accompanied another family aboard the
Titanic
.
"

Chapter
XIII

Natalie saw that Myra was under distress and snapped her out of the hypnotic state immediately. Myra began to hyperventilate.

"
No! You have to help me get my memory back,
"
implored Myra as she stood, putting her hand to her neck, her fingertips searching.
"
I need to find my husband and son. I need to find this ship…
Titanic
. Have you ever heard of it?
"

Natalie’s eyebrows raised in disbelief.
Was she for real?
Did this patient actually believe she had been a passenger aboard the most famous disaster of the 20th century? One thing was certain: the panic was real. She was afraid Myra was going to go into shock.

"
Myra. I need you to calm down,
"
replied Natalie as she put her hands on Myra’s shoulders and guided her back down to the chair.

"
Please, you have to help me!
"
Myra desperately pleaded.
"
Do you know where I could find the
Titanic
?
"

At the bottom of the sea...
Natalie thought to herself, then bit her tongue. That would not be the appropriate answer at this time. She took a deep breath and said aloud,
"
Let me look into that. But I need you to relax.
"

"
But...
"

"
We'll continue the session tomorrow...
"

Later, in her office, Natalie sank down into her chair behind her desk. She
had
thought the hypnosis session was going well until she realized that Myra seemed to have succumbed to delusional tendencies, perhaps even suspected borderline personality disorder. Myra’s subconscious mind must have set up obstacles and had created this
Titanic
delusion in order to suppress some sort of traumatic experience. She suspected it had something to do with Myra’s son. Natalie got up and paced about the room. There had to be some way to smash through this mental barrier.

Natalie picked up the old gray hardcover novel that was included with Myra’s personal possessions.
Futility
, by Morgan Robertson
. Her finger traced over the image of the ship sinking next to the iceberg. Was Myra reading this book? Was this the cause of her
Titanic
fantasy? She opened the front cover, where there was a child’s pencil doodle of waves and an uneven rectangle above it… a boat perhaps? She put it back down and leaned on it for a moment.

Her eyes darted about the room as she tried to think what her professor and mentor would have said at this point. She could use a second opinion right about now. She was almost tempted to call him when something caught her eye on the front cover of the
USA Today
magazine she had put on her in-tray. She usually read this fresh, recently-launched newspaper on her commute to work, but today she had been preoccupied the Myra case. Now the headline struck an ironic chord:

TITANIC II
LAUNCHES NEXT WEEK!

This Time It Really Is Unsinkable!

On the same page was a photograph of a very gnarled, wrinkled old man named Archibald Hoffman
sitting next to his son, Edward
. She had seen Edward Hoffman at many charity functions but never had the opportunity to meet him. Even though he was technically a senior citizen, his distinguished looks and youthful energy still made him ‘an eligible bachelor’ in some local New York magazines. Even in this newspaper photo his steel blue eyes radiated a sharp intelligence.

She picked up the paper and skimmed though the article. The reporter referred to Edward as a '
Titanic
Survivor, Author and Expert of the Original Doomed Ship.'

Interesting,
Natalie thought to herself as an idea popped into her head. It would be a little unorthodox as far as psychiatric treatment, but what better second opinion than that of someone who was really there?

She skipped over all the pomp and details about the new ship and found a useful hint that the Hoffmans had their head office here in Manhattan. Natalie looked at her watch as she grabbed the phonebook, and hoped they weren’t already closed for the weekend.

. . .

The first things Edward Hoffman noticed as he entered Dr. Natalie Lindsay’s office were the diplomas that hung on the wall opposite the door.
Impressive for someone so young,
thought Edward. The room had the typical sterile feel of a hospital office, but there were also some obvious feminine touches— possibly an attempt to make it more comfortable. On the bookshelf behind the desk, he noticed a framed photograph of Dr. Lindsay, looking much younger. Next to her in the photo was another young girl with
similar facial features.
A s
ister perhaps?
Unlike the diplomas and assorted knickknacks, this framed photo was dust-free and in a prominent eye-level space.
This photograph i
s special to the young psychologist.

"
Thank you for taking the time to come in on such short notice, Mr. Hoffman,
"
said Dr. Lindsay as she gestured to the armchair in front of her desk.
"
It’s a pity your father declined to join us.
"

"
This sort of thing is not… his cup of tea,
"
replied Edward as he gave his hat and coat to her outstretched hand. He made himself comfortable in the armchair as she placed the articles on the coat rack in the corner.

Since seeing the broadcast on television, Edward had suspected that he would end up becoming involved, somehow. He thought it interesting that this attractive young doctor was dressed so matronly, wearing an exceptionally long skirt. He was certain those had gone out of fashion a decade ago.

"
Now, Mr. Hoffman,
"
began Dr. Lindsay.

"
May I interrupt you for a moment, Dr. Lindsay,
"
interjected Edward.
"
Mr. Hoffman
is my father, and as you have already experienced on the phone with him, he’s a crotchety old goat. Please call me Edward.
"

"
Very well, Edward. And you can call me Natalie,
"
laughed Natalie.
"
I’m guessing you’ve come across… ‘situations’ like this before.
"

"
Well it is safe to say that I’ve met my fair share of
Titanic
-nuts…
"
Edward paused and looked about.
"
I’m sorry, I shouldn’t use phrases like that in here.
"

Dr. Lindsay smiled,
"
Many of our staff do. Just don’t do it in front of the patients.
"

"
Of course. As I was saying, I have met a great many
Titanic
–fanatics and most are quite harmless. Does your patient truly believe she was… aboard the
Titanic
?
"

Dr. Lindsay stared at him for a moment, unable to answer. Edward smiled. He understood the ethical predicament Dr. Lindsay found herself in.

Edward leaned forward,
"
Would it help you to know that I have a PhD in psychology?
"