Depth of Deception (A Titanic Murder Mystery) (9 page)

Natalie could see Myra struggle. Unable to answer, she began to show signs of agitation. Her breathing began to speed up.

"
Relax, Myra. That’s not important now,
"
cooed the doctor. Normally Natalie asked her patients to imagine a tranquil lake or ocean setting to be their ‘safety place’ but given the circumstances of where Myra was found she chose not to suggest it.
"
Imagine sitting in front of a warm fire place. Feel the warmth embracing you, taking the cold and fear away from you. Let the crackling flames illuminate the darkness in your mind.
"

Myra smiled. She stopped shivering.

"
Let’s go back,
"
continued Natalie.
"
Before you were found in the water, how did you get to the middle of the Atlantic Ocean?
"

"
I was on a boat," replied Myra.

Natalie was pleased they were making quick progress,
"
Can you describe it?
"

"
It’s… big.
"

Hmm… Maybe not as quick.
Natalie wondered if she was going to have enough cassette tapes.
"
Is it a yacht?
"

"
No… larger than a yacht.
"

"
A cruise ship?
"
asked Natalie. Myra frowned as if not understanding the question.
"
Is it a passenger ship?
"

"
Oh, yes,
"
smiled Myra.

"
Are you traveling alone?
"

Myra suddenly bemused,
"
No.
"

Natalie sat up. This was progress.
"
Who else is traveling with you?
"

"
My husband… my son.
"
Myra smiled,
"
And…
"

"
And?
"

"
And someone else,
"
Myra responded with agitation in her voice. She began tapping the arm of the chair with her finger. Natalie carefully moved the tape recorder to a safe distance where the tapping wouldn’t drown out the voices.

She turned back to Myra and asked,
"
Can you see this other person’s face?
"

"
Yes. It’s a woman…
"
Myra’s breathing became labored.

"
What’s wrong Myra?
"

"
I’m not feeling well. I haven’t felt well for most of the trip. It’s odd.
"

"
Why is it odd?
"

"
I have traveled all my life and I have never experienced seasickness. Now I have a weak constitution. I am not capable of keeping any food down, and I’ve been burning up. I feel so dizzy.
"

"
Did you fall overboard?
"
Natalie asked as calmly as she could.

"
No…
"

"
Do you know how…?
"

"
Something’s wrong!
"
Myra's voice started to grow louder.
"
The ship’s engines have stopped. I’ve been asleep, where is my husband? Where is my son? I can’t find them!
"

"
Myra, think of the fireplace,
"
Natalie said soothingly trying to get Myra to calm down.
"
Feel the warmth...
"

"
The fireplace. Oh, I knocked the tea cart toward the fireplace.
"

"
What tea cart?
"

"
My tea. I’m supposed to drink my tea to calm my nerves. My son's teddy bear was under the teacart. Where's my son?
"

Myra started to breathe harder.
"
The state room…it’s on an odd angle. The teacart is rolling past me… things are falling… I run into the adjoining cabin … my son’s teddy bear is floating by… Mr. Fluffy… he wouldn’t leave Mr. Fluffy. Where’s my son? I can’t find my son!
"

Natalie was torn. Should she calm her down? Or let this play out? It could lead to a mental breakthrough. Trying to sound calm and impassive, Natalie continued,
"
Use your other senses. Can you hear anyone?
"

"
I can hear people screaming… the ship is sinking?! It’s not possible…!
"

"
Why is it not possible?
"
Natalie had the feeling she knew what Myra was going to say but she hoped she was wrong.

"
The ship is
unsinkable.
We’re on the
Titanic
!
"

Cha
p
ter
XII

"
Would you like a biscuit, Mr. Toughill?
"
asked the old lady as she poured coffee from the glass hand-pumped cafetière into the glass mug. Callum was impressed by the traditional French press set. It certainly beat the brew he had back home.

"
That would be nice,
"
smiled Callum.
"
Thank you, Miss McArthur.
"

"
Please call me Ruthie,
"
the old lady smiled as she retreated to the kitchen.

"
Are these pictures of your family?
"
asked Callum as he looked at the framed photos on the fireplace mantle. Most were black & white, some were faded and a few were in colour which was surprising for having been taken at the turn of the century.

"
No,
"
Ruthie called out from the kitchen.
"
Most of those pictures were taken by my father. He was a photographer. It was his life and joy. I’ve kept them because I look at them and I see what he saw. The people he knew or the ones he was proud of.
"

Callum looked at some of the photos that had colour tint to them.
"
Are these hand-coloured photos?
"

"
Oh no,
"
Ruthie replied.
"
My father wouldn’t have the patience for that. 'Twas why he took up photography
.
T
hese were early colour photo experiments. In fact, the birth of colour photography was here in Scotland. A physicist named Maxwell, back in the mid-1800’s.
"

Ruthie McArthur returned with a tin of sugar cookies. Callum had hoped for homemade. He took a cookie with a grateful smile. Still, it would satisfy the craving from last night. She pointed to one of the photos of a little girl.
"
That one was me, on my tenth birthday… he captured the colour of my dress and bows in my hair… I so loved that dress.
"

Just last night Callum had read about how Ruthie, only ten years old at the time, had implored her father to go back up and check on Miss Gilcrest. Here was that little girl as an old lady, still living in the same flat beneath the scene of the crime. Normally Callum didn’t trust eyewitness memory but her description of his grandfather was dead accurate. Undoubtedly every detail of that fateful night in 1909 was forever burned into that girl’s memory.

He took a sip of coffee to moisten the cookie, in order to be able to speak again. As he took out his notepad he asked,
"
Did you see the man that your father saw that night?
"

"
No I didn’t, only Father saw him. 'Twasn't Mr. Otto Slade, he was very adamant about that, even to his dying day.
"

"
Why didn’t your father testify at the trial?
"

She looked around nervously, then went and shut the drapes.
Why the paranoid behavio
u
r?
He wondered.

Ruthie returned and in a low whispered voice began,
"
The police wanted my father to testify only if he would point the finger at Otto Slade, but my father knew it 'twasn't so.
"

"
Did he tell them what he did see?
"

"
Aye. But the police continued to be… persuasive to get him to change his mind. But my father was a good God-fearing man and he told them that he would not break the ninth commandment.
"

"
Thou shall not lie?
"
guessed Callum. She peered at him disapprovingly over her eyeglasses, with a stern schoolmarm glare.

"
Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour,
"
quoted Ruthie in an indignant tone.

"
Right,
"
replied Callum sheepishly.
"
Guess I’m not as well versed in the Bible as I used to be.
"

"
You’ve lost your brogue and your Bible, Mr. Toughill,
"
smirked Ruthie.

Callum smiled to himself. Sounded just like his mother. He looked down at what he had written and whispered;
"
In way were the police ‘persuasive’?
"

"
Well, they were very, very cross. The authorities threatened my father with terrible things they would do if he ever made any public comments contradicting the findings of the law.
"

"
They threatened to hurt your father?
"

"
They threatened to take me away. Can you imagine his fear?
"
she whispered. Her hand began to tremble. She set her coffee down.
"
He would get worked up into a frenzy any time I was late from school. He lived the rest of his life in fear. It took me a long time to realize he never blamed me.
"

"
Why didn’t you move away? Why stay right under the flat where the murder took place?
"

"
My father swore that he would never breathe a word of it and would take it to his grave, but, alas, he didn’t want to forsake Miss Gilcrest.
To run away would be easy,
he would say,
with the truth at a distance it would be easy to forget.
"

Take it to his grave?
The very same words Callum’s own grandfather had used.
Ironic.
He wrote what she said, and then asked,
"
Why are you still here?
"

"
This was my father’s home. It is all I have left of him,
"
she said as she wiped her eye with a fingertip.
"
Besides I’d never find a flat this size at the rate I pay.
"

Callum chuckled.
"
Do you remember anything from that night?
"

She nodded, closed her eyes for a moment and winced as if trying to stop the flood of memories. She opened her eyes but they were staring far away.

"
After my father returned with Dr. Adams from across the street, I stole away upstairs. Father had told me to stay down here but I was far too curious,
"
her voice drifted a little, as if to wait for her mental picture to play out.
"
I crept on my hands and knees to stay low. The door to Miss Gilcrest’s flat was open. I could hear my father’s voice as well as Miss Langlea’s… she was Miss Gilcrest’s new servant.
"

Callum scribbled along and circled the word ‘new’.

"
I sneaked in.
I half expected to see Duff, Miss Gilcrest’s dog, but then I remembered that she had been found dead a few weeks earlier. Miss Gilcrest was convinced someone had poisoned Duff and feared for her own life. She was certain someone meant to kill her, and Duff died by mistake. My father assumed that she was overreacting in grief but he decided to humor her. They devised this code that if Miss Gilcrest was in trouble she would knock three times on the floor,
"
Ruthie pointed up to the ceiling above their heads.

Callum already knew the floor of Miss Gilcrest’s sitting room was directly above, and barely looked up as he scribbled ‘poison’ in large letters and jotted a question mark above it.

"
It was because of what had happened to the dog,
"
continued Ruthie
,
"
t
hat I begged Pa to go back up that night.
"