Dr. Cameron eventually appeared. He was of average height, approximately fifty years of age, I would guess. He was clean-shaven except for side whiskers, with light brown hair that was beginning to gray.
“I was told to expect you,” he said with a brief glance at Brodie. “I’m certain you understand this is a very difficult time. You are with the Metropolitan Police?”
Brodie didn’t bother to explain that it was a private inquiry which might have been a bit confusing.
“We appreciate your assistance in the matter,” he replied. “You may be acquainted with Mr. Brimley,” he made the introductions.
“From King’s College,” Brimley provided.
“I’m sorry, I do not remember. You are a physician?” Dr. Cameron inquired.
“My work took me in another direction, sir—research. However, from time to time I assist as I can.”
I thought his answer quite clever—considering the small laboratory at the back of his apothecary shop. And truth beknown, I would have trusted his medical skills over any other, and had. The bullet wound in my shoulder had healed most excellently.
“I asked Mr. Brimley to accompany us for his expertise in certain matters that could be helpful,” Brodie explained and left it at that.
Dr. Cameron nodded somewhat distracted, I thought.
“We will need to see the body,” Brodie told him and presented the card that the chief inspector had given him.
“Of course,” Dr. Cameron replied, still quite distracted it seemed. Or was it something else?
“If you will come this way.”
We followed him down a hallway past what appeared to be his private office, past another room with door closed, then toward the back of the brownstone.
“This is a most dreadful situation.”
We had finally reached a set of double doors at the rear of the building.
“You must understand. The victim is my brother’s daughter. He asked that her body be brought here rather than the police morgue.”
Brodie and I exchanged a look. This was a development we had not anticipated. But what did it mean?
“I assure you we will make our observations as quickly as possible and not cause any undue difficulty,” Brodie assured him.
I was not at all certain what that was supposed to mean. But it seemed to address Dr. Cameron’s concerns, as he led us into the large room that appeared to serve as a surgery, with overhead lights, a variety of instruments on a metal side table, and of course, an examination table with a sheet drawn over.
“We appreciate your concerns and your assistance in this,” Brodie told him, by way of excusing him so that he andMr. Brimley could conduct their own examination of the body without the accompaniment of Dr. Cameron.
“I see. Yes, well I do have an appointment to prepare for. I will be in my office. You will let me know when you have completed your observations?”
Brodie assured him that he would.
Viewing dead bodies was never pleasant, but over time I managed to steel myself accordingly. It was the unexpected discovery that very definitely had a way of unnerving me. That first shock that eventually gave way to sympathy and the curiosity when we were investigating a case.
My first encounter had been that body in the Nile River on one of my travels, covered in flies.
I reminded myself this was not the Nile, and the body under that sheet was not some poor nameless soul who, it was later discovered, had been a river pirate gone afoul of others.
This was a young woman at the beginning of her life, cruelly murdered and then left at the edge of St. James’s Park like so much refuse tossed away.
I prepared myself in the usual way, with the thought that the most important thing now was to find the murderer, as Mr. Brimley reached for the edge of the sheet that covered her body and drew it back.
Margaret Cameron wore a badly stained blue walking skirt with a short jacket over. Her dark blonde hair was tangled with leaves and twigs.
Her shirtwaist was stained with blood as was to be expected given the circumstances of her death.
