01 - Memories of the Dead by Evelyn James

Clara liked the question
even if she had no answer, it sounded like something a real detective would
think.
    She edged a little further
around the table trying to keep her eyes off the floor until she had fully
screwed herself up for the sight of blood. She would not faint! She told
herself sternly, especially not in front of Oliver. Mind over matter, she
insisted inside her head, just think of it as spilt red ink. She shoved down
all her fears, slammed them behind some mental door where they couldn’t disturb
her and told herself she was stronger than her hysteria.
    And then her foot caught on
something and she looked down.
    Oliver came back in the room
as Clara was biting down on the scream welling in her throat. She stood rigid
and could almost feel the warmth draining from her face.
    “I say, are you all right?”
Oliver took her arm gently, “You’ve gone ever so pale. I should have warned you
we hadn’t moved the body yet.”
    Somehow he manoeuvred her into
a chair even though she had gone stiff with shock.
    “Would you like a drink of
water?” He asked.
    Clara shook her head, she
didn’t think she could swallow without gagging. The body of Mrs Greengage lay
sprawled out at her feet. The clairvoyant’s face was a horrid grey colour, her
eyes were wide-open and starring at the ceiling. There was a fiery red hole in
her chest.
    She was wearing slippers.
Clara found herself fixating on that one detail, perhaps because it was easier
than trying to consider the whole dead body, or perhaps because they were what
she had caught her foot on.
    “I should have warned you.”
Oliver repeated apologetically.
    “It is perfectly all right.”
Clara managed to find her voice, “I should have expected it.”
    “Your first body?” Oliver
asked.
    “I saw the odd one in the
war.” Clara admitted, “But not like this. Someone lying dead in a hospital bed
is very different to this.”
    “Well you are doing grand. My
first body, I couldn’t stop shaking for an hour after seeing it and quite a few
of the young PCs have been quite ill when they see their first.”
    “I don’t intend being ill.”
Clara said firmly.
    “Jolly good. So what do you
want to do now? I could ask the constable to escort you home?”
    “No!” Clara said hastily, “No,
I have a job to do and a little fright won’t stop me.”
    “Good for you.” Oliver patted
her awkwardly on the shoulder.
    “Could you stop saying that,
you sound like my old P.E. teacher.”
    “Oh.” Oliver looked uncertain,
“Shall I just get on with what I was doing then?”
    “Please do.”
    Clara drew in a deep breath as
Oliver set about arranging his camera tripod and re-installing the cleaned
lens. She found she was irresistibly, and inexplicably, drawn to studying Mrs
Greengage’s corpse. The clairvoyant had removed her jewellery and her black
shawl and seemed to have been in the process of preparing herself for bed.
    “She wasn’t expecting another
visitor.” Clara said suddenly.
    “You think so?” Oliver asked
as he rearranged his flash powder.
    “You don’t wait up for a guest
half ready for bed.” Clara cast her eye around the room, “There is a dressing
gown on the armchair.”
    “So she didn’t expect her
killer.” Oliver shrugged, “Is that important?”
    “I don’t know. But it does
mean whoever did it came some time after the séance. Time enough for Mrs
Greengage to start to get ready to go to bed.”
    “Mind your eyes.” Oliver
announced as he let off the flash and the room lit up brilliantly for a second.
    “What do the police think?”
Clara asked as she rubbed her eyes and the room came back into focus.
    “You think they tell me
anything?” Oliver laughed, “I just do the photographs, most of the detectives
think I am no better than the boys who clean out the police stables!”
    “Really?” Clara was genuinely
surprised.
    “Most of them don’t understand
the concept.” Oliver sighed, “Don’t get me wrong, some do.