Just Call Me Helen - Completed
Author: CassidyandAnna

Chapter 2
Her Name was Maggie Fitzpatrick

The mortician pulls out the body tray. Red hair, pale face. The victim was beautiful. And she’s absolutely covered in her own blood, skin swollen from tossing in the currents of the sea. Roy shifts away from the body uncomfortably, while I remain in my place.
    “The cause of death is from the stab wounds— there are too many to tell which one was the most fatal,” the mortician says, handing me the papers he has filled out for the victim, Maggie.
    “This one here on the arm stands out,” I say, tracing a crusted line of blood down her bicep with my eyes. “The rest of the wounds were on her abdomen, correct?”
    “Yes,” says the mortician. “There is also bruising on her right eye and around her neck; she may have possibly been beaten before being stabbed.”
    I glance at aforementioned wounds and it only takes me a moment to realize that the killer is dominantly left-handed. My old mentor taught me the tricks of the trade before she was killed on the job— the way the finger-marks on Maggie’s neck are shaped come from a left hand.
    “Poor girl,” I mumble. “She looks awful.”
    Roy clears his throat. “Shouldn’t we look at her personal belongings?”
    I nod, and the mortician moves to get them for us. “What was her name?” Roy asks me while we wait.
    “You looked at the file,” I say, still staring sadly at Maggie. I know what it is like to be beaten when you’re down, and then to have to end that way, I could not even imagine…
    “Yeah! But I was more flabbergasted by the fact that we had an actual case! I mean, we never get actual murder cases, so…I forgot to look at her name…” He smiles sheepishly and rubs a hand against the back of his head, knocking his fedora lower on his brow.
    I roll my eyes and say, “Her name was Maggie Fitzpatrick. Her sister hired us. She died three days ago.”
    “Oh,” Roy says just as the mortician brings us a bag filled to the brim with tulle. It’s a dark emerald green and when the mortician hands the bag to Roy, he’s quick to pass it along to me.
    “Is this her attire from the night she was murdered?” I ask, rubbing the dress. It’s like the nicer ones I have back at home— a ball gown, made from the most expensive silk. “Has anyone claimed her body yet?”
    “Yes,” the mortician says. “Mr. Borislov; he’s running for councilman’s chair.”
    Roy looks up sharply. “What? That crook’s involved?”
    “He was her husband,” says the mortician, shrinking away from Roy’s spastic outburst.
    Roy frowns. “Why that no good son-of-a—”
    “Where did she die?” I quickly interrupt him. “The exact location of death?”
    “On the beach by the old Rosenberg shipping warehouse.”
    “Well, thank you for your time then, sir,” I say, digging through my trench coat pockets for my card. “If you have any further information, please contact me.” I hand the mortician the card and turn to Roy, who’s staring at the body with an almost quizzical look. “Come on, Roy, we’re going.”


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