Bruce Alexander - The Color of Death

Mr. Donnelly waved his report in my direction. “It’s all about as you might suppose,” said he. “Time of death, approximately ten o’clock. Cause of death, a deep wound to the throat, which severed the jugular vein and the carotid artery. The attack was probably from the rear. Probable weapon, a long knife or short sword. And so on.”

“Would there have been much pain?” I asked.

“I doubt it. The shock would have blocked feeling of any kind. Death would not have been instantaneous, though it could not have taken long to come — no, not long at all. Still, it was an ugly sort of death, particularly for one so young and pretty.”

I took the report from Mr. Donnelly, tucked it away, and made ready to depart. He put his hand to my shoulder and walked with me the few steps to the door opening onto the hall.

“There was one more thing, Jeremy. It’s in the report, so I might just as well mention it.”

“Oh? What was that, sir?”

“The girl was pregnant- less than three months gone, I’d say, but pregnant, nevertheless.” He looked at me curiously, and then said, “You didn’t…? You’re not…?”

“Uh, no sir, I had only known her about a week.”

“Ah, well then …”

“Yes sir, goodbye sir.” I left, greatly embarrassed.

And so I returned to Number 4 Bow Street, saw proof of Annie’s departure, and then sought out Sir John in his chambers. I told him of my delivery of the letter to the Tower and what had transpired there. In general, he seemed satisfied with Lieutenant Tabor’s assurance that a small force of mounted Carabineers would be made available to the magistrate, and that the lieutenant himself would command the force.

“He agreed then to the time and place I stipulated?” Sir John asked me.

“He did, sir.”

“Well then, we must put our faith in him. What else have you for me?”

“Mr. Donnelly’s postmortem report on Jenny Crocker.”

At that, Sir John sighed so deeply that it sounded near to a moan. “Well, read it me. We may as well know all that he can tell us.”

I took the report from my pocket and began reading it aloud as Sir John sat at his desk, hands folded before him, giving it his full attention. I had always been impressed by Mr. Donnelly’s powers of concision. Though somewhat more detailed in description and presentation, the points he covered in the report were roughly the same ones he had made to me as we talked in his surgery. And just as before, the last of them had to do with Crocker’s pregnancy.

Sir John shifted in his seat and leaned forward, indicating to me at least his keen interest in this new matter. When I had done, he leaned back and rubbed his chin a bit in concentration.

“Well,” said he at last, “this is quite interesting. This puts a somewhat different complexion on matters, does it not?”

“How is that, sir?”

“Why, the unmarried woman who finds herself with child is, in most cases, simply the victim of him who has put her in that state. There are exceptions, however. When a woman is bold enough, she may seek payments of money for her and for her unborn child from the father — or from the putative father. She threatens him with disclosure should he refuse to pay up. Men who are in a sensitive position — married, members of the clergy, others who do not wish a scandal of that sort for whatever reason — are particularly vulnerable.”

“But sir, that is blackmail, plain and simple.”

“Indeed it is, Jeremy. In many cases, however, some might say that it is justifiable blackmail, for after all, who will take care of the unwed mother and her babe if she does not take care of herself?”

“Even so/’ said I.

“Even so,” said Sir John, “it is a way fraught with peril. You’ll recall that I said that the woman who attempted such a maneuver would have to be bold. That is because there are three courses of action open to the male victim of blackmail.”

“Oh? Not merely two?”

“Pay up, you mean, or face disclosure?”

“That’s right, sir.”

“No, there is a third course. There is always danger that the intended victim may turn on the blackmailer and murder her, or have her murdered.”

“Do you believe that to be the case in this instance?”

“Not necessarily. I say merely that it is a possibility we must now consider — one among others. But let me put it to you, Jeremy: Do you think this girl, this Jenny Crocker, would be capable of blackmail?”

I gave that a bit of thought, remembering her rather odd relationship with Arthur Robb, the late butler of the Trezavant house. But after all, I told myself, to go from that relatively innocent practice to blackmail was indeed a very great jump. And so, having thought, I gave Sir John a most judicious answer. “Perhaps,” said I.

“Ah, thank you, Jeremy. I do like a firm opinion firmly stated.”

“Well, I … I …”

“Never mind. It was wrong of me to ask. I would not want you to cast a stone at one who could not defend herself.”

Not wishing to end our interview on that rather sour note, I ransacked my brain for some bit of information which might interest him, some triviality to do with the continuing investigation, but all that occurred to me was what I had heard the night before from Mr. Donnelly regarding Zondervan, the Dutch trader.

I put it to him rather casually, for that, no doubt, was all that it deserved. “Oh, by the bye, Sir John,” said I, rising to leave, “did Mr. Donnelly tell you of his dinner at Lord Mansfield’s residence and who it was he met there?”

“No, who was it, pray tell?” He seemed to have little interest in the matter. “Some duke or earl, I presume.”

“By no means. It was that man Zondervan, who lives in St. James Street.”

The change in Sir John was immediate and most impressive. He threw himself forward with such force that he seemed almost to be jumping across the desk at me.

“Tell me that again, Jeremy. Zondervan was at Lord Mansfield’s last night?”

“Well, yes sir, but…”

“Perhaps you’d better give me the entire story.”

Since I knew not what part of it he was interested in, I was obliged to do as he suggested and tell it all, as Mr. Donnelly had told me. And so that is what I did.

When I had done, Sir John sat thinking for a good long moment, saying nothing, merely fidgeting with the wedding ring on his finger. I thought, perhaps, that I had bored him so with my inexpert telling, that his mind had wandered off to more engaging matters. In that case, I decided it might be best to beat a hasty retreat.

“Will that be all, sir?” I asked.

“All for the present,” said he, “but I should like to meet your Mr. Zondervan. He might have some interesting things to tell us. Why don’t you call upon him and invite him here that I might speak with him.”

“What if he does not wish to come, or puts me off to another day? “

“Then you must do as you did with Mr. Burnham.”

“And what did I with him, sir?” “You persuaded him.”

Having no idea how I might go about that and feeling a certain trepidation, I brought myself to the Zondervan residence in St. James Street early in the afternoon; Sir John had requested that I bring him by just following that day’s session of his Magistrate’s Court. What was I to do? How was I to persuade him?

I thumped upon the door with the great hammer-shaped doorknocker hung in the very middle of it. The butler came — the same butler who had twice admitted me when I had come in search of Collier. He frowned at me, not inhospitably, but as one might frown in concentration. Then, of a sudden, did he smile in recognition.

“Now I remember you,” said he. “You’re the young fellow came investigating for the Bow Street Court, are you not?”