“What gave you reason to suspect foul play?” The coroner pointed to his paper. “It says here in my report from Scotland Yard that you’re investigating.”

  “I couldn’t conceive of a reason why a young man in his prime, in apparent good health and top athletic form, would die without warning.”

  “Go on.”

  “Then Dr. Gupta informed me of his autopsy findings. Mr. Edgerton died of a rare occurrence of secondary drowning.”

  “Yes, I’ve been informed.” The coroner’s chin fell as he read from his report. “Water trapped in the lower part of the lungs constricting oxygen flow to the brain.” He returned his focus to Basil. “Any reason not to assume water emergence was a mere accident?”

  “Garrett Edgerton was an expert swimmer as are all the team members.”

  “But now we know that he didn’t submerge himself in the river. Perhaps he lost his footing in the bathtub?”

  “According to the postmortem report,” Basil said, “there were no abrasions to Mr. Edgerton’s skull, something that would provide a reason for him to become unconscious for the length of time it would take to inhale the water.”

  “What is it, exactly, you are suggesting, Chief Inspector?”

  “It’s my theory that Mr. Edgerton was held forcibly underwater. Long enough for him to struggle and inhale but not long enough to lose his life at that moment.”

  “As you said, Chief Inspector, Mr. Edgerton was in top athletic form. Surely he would’ve resisted?”

  “There were bruises on his wrists, sir. Somebody held him in a tight grip.”

  “If that were the case, why did he not report it?”

  “That is precisely what I’m investigating, sir.”

  “I see. And do you have suspects in mind? Motives?”

  “The investigation is ongoing.”

  “I’ll need a little more than that, Chief Inspector, if I’m going to give you the charge you desire.”

  Basil’s gaze moved to Ginger, and she nodded a subtle encouragement. They were in the middle of the mire now.

  “At the moment I’m investigating three persons of interest, sir. Mr. Brooks, Mr. Ainsley, and Mr. Ramsey.”

  A wave of gasps and murmurs filled the room with three rather bold protestations from the named men.

  “Order!” the coroner demanded. To Basil, he asked, “And motives?”

  “In the case of Mr. Brooks, anger at Mr. Edgerton taking his place; with Mr. Ainsley, jealousy arising from a suspected liaison between his wife and the deceased; and with Mr. Ramsey, possible dope dealing.”

  After a moment of stunned silence an uproar erupted.

  “Enough! Enough, I say,” the coroner shouted. “Do be quiet, or I’ll have you all charged with contempt.”

  The coroner shuffled his papers. “As you know, this is not a trial but an inquest. As a result of the evidence given today, I’m declaring Mr. Garrett Edgerton’s death manslaughter by a person or persons yet unknown.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Well, that was jolly well awful,” Felicia said.

  Ginger couldn’t have agreed more. Basil had left them to see to Thurston and Beatrice, helping them outside to their automobile. Ginger hoped Mr. Edgerton had had the foresight to keep his driver waiting.

  Dr. Gupta joined them with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m so sorry to have sprung the results of the lab reports on you like that, but I’d only just received them myself. I fear your husband hadn’t come prepared to be interviewed by the coroner in such a manner.”

  “Garrett must’ve known who attacked him,” Felicia said. “It’s a wonder he never told anyone.”

  “Perhaps he had his reasons,” Ginger said. “Shame, humiliation. Guilt?”

  Dr. Gupta tipped his hat. “I’ll leave the sleuthing to you two fine ladies. Please give the chief inspector my regards.”

  Felicia’s attention was now focused elsewhere, and Ginger looked in that direction to see. Constable Braxton had once again caught her eye.

  “If you will excuse me, Ginger, I’m going to say hello to Constable Braxton and thank him for his help in solving this case.”

  “Haven’t you already thanked him,” Ginger said. “And he hasn’t solved this case.”

  Felicia smirked. “Either way, I’m bound to do my duty as a thankful citizen. I’ll find my own way home.”

  “Don’t you have to work today?” Ginger said.

  “Oh, yes. I’ll find my way to the shop.”

  Ginger watched as Felicia sashayed across the room, the hem of her silvery-grey crepe de Chine frock caressing her calves, and hoped her sister-in-law would keep within the bounds of propriety. If not for her own sake, then for poor Ambrosia’s!

  Basil returned with a deep frown etched on his face. Even when serious, his brooding hazel eyes captivated Ginger. She linked her arm with his. “Are they all right?”

  “I wouldn’t say so. I’m afraid they have a long road ahead before either of the Edgertons smile with sincerity again.”

  “It’s so sad.”

  They walked outside to Basil’s Austin, and he opened the passenger door for her. She slipped inside and checked her lipstick and hair in the rearview mirror. When she’d finished, Basil readjusted it for his use without complaint, a sure sign he loved her.

  “What’s next?” Ginger asked.

  “We need to find the person guilty of the crime that led to Garrett’s death.”

  “Obviously, but do you have a plan? What’s your next step, Chief Inspector?”

  With a half grin, he threw the question back at her. “What would you do, Lady Gold?”

  “Determine who had a motive. Who had a reason to get into a heated argument?”

  “Sounds like a rather lengthy discussion,” Basil said. “Shall we make a list over luncheon?”

  There was a cosy French bistro nearby, warmly decorated in tones of yellow and red, which Ginger frequented, and thankfully, a round table with two matching wrought iron chairs was available. Ginger ordered their famed French onion soup, whilst Basil stayed with the more traditional English meal of steak and kidney pie.

  As they waited for their orders to arrive, Ginger asked, “Might I have your notepad, love? And your pencil? I find it helps me to see things once they’re written down.”

  Basil removed his notepad and pencil from his jacket pocket and handed her both items. She opened the notepad to a blank page.

  Ginger created two columns. “Names and motives. Who’s first?”

  “Harry Brooks,” Basil said. “Over seat seven.”

  Ginger scribbled the name and motive, then said, “Garrett didn’t actually take it from him. The coach was responsible for that.” She spoke as she jotted down the next suspect. “Jasper Ainsley, jealousy.”

  “If he was jealous about Brooks, why would he assault Garrett?”

  “He found out that Garrett was also enjoying the company of his wife, but it was too late for Mr. Ainsley to replace Garrett as well.”

  Basil grinned. “Good motive, Lady Gold.”

  “Thank you, Chief Inspector,” Ginger replied playfully. “Next?”

  “Bernard Ramsey. Perhaps Garrett discovered Ramsey’s fondness for illicit drugs and threatened to report him.”

  “He’d have lost his spot on the team,” Ginger said as she jotted the notes down. “Perhaps even been expelled. Excellent motive.”

  Basil elaborated. “He might’ve been under the influence of drugs, got into a scuffle with Garret, and managed to get the upper hand. I’ve seen the effects of cocaine on men in France. As you know, it was widely used by the troops before the government realised how addictive it was.”

  “What about Howard Pritchard?” Ginger asked. “Mr. Pritchard downplays his childhood friendship, but perhaps it was deeper than that. Perhaps Garrett betrayed a loyalty in some way?”

  “Holding a bloke’s head underwater could be a crime of passion,” Basil said. “It’s among our weaker motives.”

  Ginger agreed, then added, “That leaves Miles Brassey, Jude Fellows, John McMillan, and Jerry McMillan.”

  “Those fellows have weak or no motive at all,” Basil said.

  Ginger glanced at Basil regretfully. “I hate to do this, love, but I must.” She wrote down Thurston Edgerton’s name.

  “No,” Basil said. “That’s nonsense.”

  “You’re too close to it,” Ginger said. “Take a step back and look at it through your eyes as a detective and not as a friend. When you accompanied the Edgertons to their vehicle after the inquest, did either of them have anything to add?”

  “No. I do know that Thurston and Garrett had a difficult relationship, and they didn’t see much of each other as a rule.”

  “Did they argue?” Ginger asked with caution.

  “Not more than most parents do with their children.”

  “Has anyone asked Thurston what he was doing the night before the race? What if Garret upset his father to the point where Thurston lost his control and wanted to teach his son a lesson?”

  Looking disgruntled, Basil picked up the notepad and flipped through until he found the page he wanted. He quoted, “Stayed in that night with Beatrice, finalising details for the party at the boat club.”

  “So, they’re each other’s alibi,” Ginger said. Basil narrowed his gaze in disapproval but relented. “It’s a motive worth investigating.

  “I’ll call in later to confirm what they said.”

  “I’m sure they were,” Ginger said. “Like the police often say, it’s a matter of form.”

  Basil grunted, but his eyes flashed with a look of esteem for Ginger. She smiled back but jumped her gaze to a plant before her detective husband could see she was keeping something from him. She hoped she was wrong about Thurston, for Beatrice’s sake.

  Their meals arrived, and they spoke of other things. Perhaps they should go and watch a play in the West End or a performance at the opera house?

  They talked about music and American films. Ginger loved how she and Basil enjoyed more than just murder in common, though, all the while, Ginger couldn’t forget about the names she’d written down: Harry Brooks, Mr. Ainsley, Bernard Ramsey, Howard Pritchard, and Thurston Edgerton.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The next logical step was to begin second interviews with the subjects on their new list, and once they’d finished their meal, Basil drove them to the Imperial Institute.

  The senior tutor assisted them in their quest to track down Mr. Harry Brooks, and they found the former oarsman in the courtyard, legs crossed as he sat on one of the benches with a book on his lap.

  Basil thought the young man resembled Garrett in size and looks, though where Garrett had had a playful countenance, Harry Brooks scowled as if he had a thundercloud over his head.

  He spoke first. “What do you want with me? I wasn’t even at the race.”

  “Mr. Brooks,” Basil said, “let us start with a proper introduction. I’m Chief Inspector Reed, and this is my consultant, Lady Gold.”

  Harry Brooks’ gaze lingered on Ginger with mild interest before turning back to Basil. “Like I said, I wasn’t there.”

  “Can you recall where you were the night before the race, Mr. Brooks?” Ginger asked.

  Harry Brooks shrugged a muscular shoulder. “I’m afraid I can’t. Off drinking in some pub, likely, washing my blues away.”

  “Why were you removed from the team?” Basil asked.

  “Don’t you read the rags? The scandal surpassed the reach of the university paper to the London Daily Herald. Mrs. Ainsley and I had an attraction, you could say,” Mr. Brooks said bitterly. “In my defence, she was the one to pursue me, yet ultimately, I was the one punished for it.”

  “Are you saying you were powerless to resist her charms, Mr. Brooks?” Ginger asked.

  Harry Brooks scoffed. “Have you met Carol Ainsley?”

  “A little self-control goes a long way,” Basil admonished.

  “I daresay. Am I here for a sermon?”

  “You didn’t like Garrett Edgerton, did you?” Basil said.

  “I had nothing against him personally.”

  “But he took your place on the team?” Ginger said. “Your place of glory.”

  “If not him, then it would’ve been someone else. What’s this all about anyway? The chap died in full view of dozens of people without anyone laying a hand on him.”

  “The coroner’s report indicated that Mr. Edgerton died as a result of foul play,” Basil said.

  “I know, I was there,” Mr. Brooks said without empathy. “Well, it certainly had nothing to do with me. Like I said, I was in the pubs. I can get you names of people who saw me there.”

  “That would be splendid,” Basil said. “I’ll get an officer from the Yard to contact you.”

  As Basil and Ginger walked back to his motorcar, Basil felt the knot that had been growing in his chest tighten. “That was spectacularly unhelpful.”

  “You never know what nugget might be mined from this conversation at a later date.” Basil loved how his wife always looked at the world through rose-coloured glasses. He could learn a thing or two from her.

  “Have you spoken to the coach, yet?” Ginger asked.

  Basil shook his head. “That’s next on my list, along with Mr. Pritchard if he’s out of the doctors yet.”

  Another enquiry to the senior tutor revealed that Mr. Ainsley had gone, “the boat club more than likely,” and that Howard Pritchard was laid up in his room recovering from “a nasty cold or something.” The tutor gave Basil directions, and he and Ginger walked around the courtyard in search of Mr. Pritchard. After a false turn or two, Basil and Ginger finally happened upon Mr. Pritchard’s room. He responded to Basil’s knock by calling out. “I’m too ill to get the door. Come in at your own risk.”

  Basil glanced at Ginger, with a look that said she was free to stay outdoors.

  “I think not, Chief Inspector,” she said, her pretty little chin tilting up defiantly.

  “Very well. We shall risk together and perhaps die together,” Basil said.

  “Oh, that’s quite morbid, love.”

  Mr. Pritchard reclined on his bed, fully clothed, thankfully. He appeared long, with pointy sock-covered feet reaching the edge of the much shorter bed. He made no move to greet them.

  “You lot are a revelation,” he said, sounding nasal.

  “You were expecting someone else?” Basil asked.

  “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” He pointed at his swollen nose. “No one wants to hang around this red nozzle. What do you want, anyway?”

  “We’d like to ask a few questions about Garrett Edgerton.”

  “Oh, yes. His troubles make my current bout of suffering seem insignificant. I can’t believe he just dropped dead like that. Poor bloke.”

  “How well did you know Mr. Edgerton?” Ginger asked.

  “It depends on what you mean by the question,” Pritchard said vaguely. “I’ve known him since childhood. We were at junior school together. I suppose you could say we were chums back then.”

  “But not now?” Basil asked.

  “Let’s just say Edgerton, and I didn’t see eye to eye on a lot of matters.”

  Basil prompted. “Such as?”

  “The usual. Girls, money, what it means to be here at this uni.”

  “Can you elaborate?” Ginger asked. She tucked the red lock of hair that pressed against her chin behind her ear and flashed the smile that still made Basil grow weak at the knees.

  Pritchard’s eyes locked with Ginger’s, and Basil had to resist hitting him around the head.

  “Not to be insensitive, Mrs. Reed, but Edgerton had a ‘love them and leave them’ philosophy when it came to the ladies.”

  “I suppose that might’ve made some of them angry?” Ginger said.

  “Quite right. If Edgerton had got a pound every time a gal slapped his face, he could have bought his own boat.”

  “Do you have names?” Basil said.

  Pritchard shook his head. “Edgerton might’ve been a cad, but he didn’t kiss and tell.”

  “What did you mean about his attitude toward this uni?” Ginger asked.

  “He didn’t care if he was here or not. He’s got an elitist attitude, sorry, had an elitist attitude. Better suited for the posh hallways of Oxford or Cambridge, but he didn’t have the will to do anything with his life. Many of us are here because we don’t have a trust fund to pay our way for the rest of our lives.”

  So that was his money issues, Basil thought.

  “Where were you the night before the race, Mr. Pritchard?” Basil asked.

  Pritchard had a hanky to his nose, but his eyes relayed his unease at the question. “I don’t know. Who remembers stuff like that? My head’s stuffed. I can barely remember rising this morning.”

  “Try harder,” Basil pushed.

  Pritchard let out a martyr’s sigh. “The night before the race, yes, I was studying. Big exams coming up, you see.”

  “In the library or a study room?” Ginger asked.

  “In my room,” Pritchard huffed. “What is this anyway? Why does it sound like I need an alibi?”

  “As you know, the coroner ruled Mr. Edgerton’s death foul play, Mr. Pritchard,” Basil said. “Can you think of any reason that someone would want to hurt Mr. Edgerton?”

  Pritchard rolled his eyes. “Haven’t I already made a case for that? He was an insensitive cad who, I might add, stole Brooks’ seat in the race.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?” Ginger asked.

  Pritchard smiled crookedly. “I don’t take up with married ladies, Mrs. Reed.” He raised a hand before Basil could protest. “But that’s just me. Edgerton didn’t have such qualms.”

  “I thought he didn’t kiss and tell?” Basil said.

  “Sometimes, rumours fly.”

  “Did Mr. Edgerton ever have a liaison with Carol Ainsley?” Ginger asked.

  Pritchard snorted. “I see why you bring the missus along, Chief Inspector. She’s good.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jasper Ainsley had just finished an afternoon row on the Thames in what looked to Ginger to be a single-person scull. She confirmed this with Basil, who’d spent some time before the race teaching her the different types of boats. “Sculls—where each person uses two oars, one per hand. And sweeps, where both hands manage a single oar.”

 

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