Page 16 of Murder on the Brighton Express
“Don’t come any closer.” Victor accompanied his warning with a hand extended to ward me away. “I’ve found her.”
All I could see were a pair of lace-up boots attached to a woman’s legs. One of the ankles was twisted at an unnatural angle. The rest of the body was hidden by the bushes.
I heeded Victor’s warning at first, but after some thought, I decided I had to see the body. There might be clues on it and two sets of eyes were better than one.
Although I’d solved a few murders, I’d rarely seen a dead body. Falling from a great height would cause considerable injury. Despite steeling myself, I wasn’t prepared for the sight of poor Ruth Price. She was bloodied and broken, her skin discolored with bruising, her limbs askew.
I turned away and drew in a few deep breaths before looking again. This time, I was more clinical, taking in as many details as I thought might be necessary.
“There’s a lot of blood,” I said. “That indicates that the impact with the ground killed her. No one heard her scream, so we can rule out an accidental fall from her compartment window. That leaves suicide or she was pushed out by someone. I don’t believe she planned to kill herself and if she didn’t scream, she must have been rendered unconscious in her compartment first.”
Victor crouched near her head. “It’s impossible to tell if she was struck first. I doubt even an autopsy could determine that. But I do agree with you. Given all the blood, she must have died here. Are you sure suicide can be ruled out?”
“I suppose not entirely without speaking to someone who knew her state of mind, but she made plans to meet me upon our return to London. People who are about to kill themselves don’t make arrangements for rendezvous.”
I asked Victor to look away while I lifted her skirts. Her petticoat and bloomers were still in place and showed no rips, so I was reasonably sure she hadn’t been sexually forced. I lowered her skirts then checked her pockets. Empty.
I was about to stand when I noticed something. “Does that mark on her neck look out of place to you? I don’t think a fall would have caused such a straight injury.” It looked to me like she’d been strangled. If her airway had been cut off by strangulation, that would render her unconscious.
Victor looked closer. “It is very straight but there’s so much bruising, I’m not sure. A medical professional should know.”
We walked back to Balcombe, where we alerted the local sergeant to the body. I advised him to contact Scotland Yard and ask for Detective Sergeant Forrester. Even though it wasn’t Monty’s case, I hoped requesting him would change that.
It did not. The team that arrived at the site where we waited was led by Detective Sergeant Fanning. I’d met him when investigating the murder of a polo player in June. While not outwardly hostile toward me during that case, he’d been disinclined to listen to me. He was also rather incompetent. He agreed with the Balcombe police who’d already forbidden me from getting close to Ruth Price’s body, even though I explained that I’d already seen it. Apparently my ‘delicate female sensibilities’ would find it too overwhelming and they didn’t want a fainting woman on their hands in addition to a dead one.
“Very well, I won’t come any closer, but may I draw your attention to the straight mark on her neck. It seems out of place compared to the rest of her injuries.”
While most of the men dealt with the body, I searched the area again with Victor and some of the constables. By the time Ruth’s body was ready for transportation, we’d found her purse with coins strewn about, several hairpins, and a second tortoiseshell comb. There were no letters, books or papers.
I traveled back to Balcombe with D.S. Fanning and two of his men, while Victor preferred to ride separately with the Balcombe police. I took the opportunity to tell Fanning I’d caught the same train as Ruth Price and been the one to alert D.S. Forrester when I didn’t see her get off at Victoria Station.
“Forrester says you were alarmed,” he said. “Based on what evidence?”
“She didn’t leave the carriage at either of the other stops and she didn’t get off before me at Victoria Station. Her compartment was empty.”
D.S. Fanning reached into his jacket pocket and removed a pencil and small notebook. He flipped to a blank page and wrote my name followed by my statement. “Did you hear a scream?”
“No.”
He lowered the pencil. “How well did you know her?”
“I met her in Brighton. She asked me to help her with something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. She said she’d tell me when we returned to London.”
“Why you?”
“I don’t know.”
“She must have needed a lady detective.”
“There’s no need to add the word lady before detective.”
He looked confused. “But youarea lady, Miss Fox.”
I sighed, then told him everything I thought he ought to know, from the moment I first noticed her on West Pier watching the Pridhursts, tonotseeing her when I passed her compartment as the train rolled into Victoria Station.
