Death on the Lusitania by R. L. Graham

Author:R. L. Graham
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 2024-01-25T00:00:00+00:00

16

WEDNESDAY, 5 MAY 1915

4.05 P.M.

EARLIER IN THE day, Miss Dolan had asked for tea to be brought to her cabin that afternoon, as she preferred to be alone rather than mingle with the other passengers in the saloon. The stewardess had delivered the tea as instructed; receiving no answer when she knocked, she assumed the lady had gone out and let herself into the cabin. The tea service still sat on the sideboard, china pot and cup, silver milk jug and sugar tongs, sandwiches and cakes neatly arrayed on plates.

Gallagher turned to the stewardess. ‘Are you all right?’

She was still shaking, but her chin came up. ‘I’m fine, sir. Thank you for asking.’

The cabin stank of blood and burned feathers. Billie Dolan lay on her back on the bed, fully dressed, her arms loose at her side. Her mouth was open and a little trickle of blood ran from one corner, staining the white counterpane. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. A pillow lay across her chest, with a hole in its centre. The hole and the pillowcase around it were black with powder residue.

‘Jesus,’ Hamilton said softly.

There was a jewellery case on the sideboard too. Gallagher wrapped his handkerchief around his fingers and opened it. Brilliants sparkled in the evening light. ‘No sign of robbery,’ he said.

The door opened and stoop-shouldered Dr Whiting entered, carrying his bag. He bent over the body, removing the pillow. The underside was a mass of blood, as was the front of the girl’s blouse. ‘Shot through the heart,’ the doctor said. ‘She would have died pretty well instantly, I think. Someone knew what they were doing.’

‘Was she assaulted?’

‘I can’t see any bruises on her skin.’

‘When was she killed?’

‘Not long ago. The blood is not yet fully dry. There is no sign of rigor mortis. At least an hour, two hours possibly, but no more. Why the pillow, do you think?’

‘To muffle the sound of the shot.’ Gallagher picked up the pillow carefully by one corner. ‘The pillow also prevented blood splatter. The killer wouldn’t have had blood on his clothes.’

Or her clothes. He stood for a moment, looking down at the beautiful face sunken in death. He would make a detailed search of the cabin, of course, but he doubted if he would find anything. Black anger flooded suddenly through him, anger directed at himself. She had come to him for help, and he had done nothing. He had suspected her of murder when in reality she was the one in danger. He had failed her, in the same way that he had failed Roxanne. He could have – no, should have – done more.

This is getting you nowhere.

He cleared the anger from his mind, looking around the cabin. She had wanted to get away from them, she said, away from them all. Schurz, who she thought was following her. Ripley, who had threatened her. Franklin, her supposed protector. He would need to speak to them all, in due course.

‘Very well,’ he said.

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