Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

Here he paused, muttered soft in the ear of Mr. Marsden, and waited till he had his response. Then he continued:

“At this point I should like to call the first witness, Mr. Gabriel Donnelly, a surgeon. He has performed a postmortem examination upon the deceased. I call him before me now to give testimony upon the cause of death.”

Mr. Donnelly rose from the chair whereon he had been seated and walked heavily to a place before Sir John. He appeared quite exhausted, poor man, for I knew it to be so that he had been up most the night performing the autopsy upon the victim. However, in the exchange with Sir John that follows, his voice was strong and confident.

“Mr. Donnelly, could you tell us briefly your experience as a surgeon?”

“Gladly. I had seven years’ service in His Majesty’s Navy, ending in 1768, at which time I practiced briefly in London and subsequently for two years in Lancashire. I have lately returned to London to resume my practice here.”

“And have you, in that time, performed other postmortem examinations?”

“Many. Particularly in the Navy did I have occasion to do so. I should say that the number would stand at something over twoscore — fifty, give or take.”

“Very good. Would you now tell us what you determined to be the cause of Teresa O’Reilly’s death?”

“I will, sir.” Yet before beginning, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “She met her death by a single stab wound to the heart. It was administered at a point only slightly below the sternum — that is to say, the breastbone. The instrument that caused her death, a sharp, narrow blade, was directed at a moderate upward angle into and through the great cardiac vein and held in place, probably until the victim stopped struggling. As a result of this sort of wound, there was a good deal of internal bleeding but little at the point of entry.”

(At this point I ought to say that Mr. Donnelly’s testimony, far from confusing the members of the jury, seemed to interest them greatly. This motley collection of men, most of them ill-educated, if educated at all, leaned forward as one as the anatomical details of Teresa O’Reilly’s death were presented. I noticed not one but two of the twelve grope on their dirty shirts to find the sternum, then the precise spot below it where the wound was inflicted.)

“Was there anything unusual about all this?” asked Sir John.

“Why, yes, sir,” said Mr. Donnelly. “What was unusual was the precision of the wound. The fact that it was perfectly placed, that only one upward thrust was made, sets it apart, in my experience, from the common death by stabbing, which is usually characterized by many wounds and much external bleeding. The heart, you see, is well protected by the body. It is surrounded by a cage of ribs and lies behind the sternum, a very strong, flat bone, which serves as its shield. Most do not know this, and as a result would continue to inflict wounds in the thorax and abdomen of the victim until a mortal one is struck. Death from a single thrust is, I would say, quite unusual.”

”And what,” asked Sir John, ”do you infer from all this?”

“Simply that he who caused the death of Teresa O’Reilly knew something, perhaps a great deal, about human anatomy. He knew the location of the heart and the most direct route to it.”

“Though I intend to call you back, I now have one last question for you, Mr. Donnelly. It is this: In my summary, you heard me say that Constable Perkins arrived at the place the body was found at eight minutes past the hour of six, at which time it was still warm to the touch. Could you, from that, give some opinion on the time of the woman’s death?”

“Not a very exact one, I fear. It could have been any time from half an hour before to only minutes before her discovery in that yard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly. That will be all for the present.”

Thus dismissed, the surgeon returned to his place. The coroner’s jury, released from the thrall in which they had been held by his testimony, came suddenly alive with murmurs and whispers. It was necessary for Sir John to call them to order.

“I remind you, gentlemen,” said he, “this is a solemn proceeding. Any discussion or comment among yourselves at this point is out of order and quite improper.”

Having spoken in so severe a manner, he then lightened only a little in summoning Maggie Pratt to witness. So it was that when she came forward, it was with trepidation and uncertainty.

“Will you give us your full name. Mistress Pratt, for the record which Mr. Marsden is keeping?”

“Margaret Anne Pratt,” said she in a small voice, cowering a little.

“Did you get that?” he asked Mr. Marsden, who grunted affirmatively in response. “I must ask you in your further replies to speak up louder. But now. again for the record, you earlier gave your occupation to me as ‘seamstress, currently unemployed.’ Do you wish it to stand so?”

“Uh, yes. sir.”

”Your age?”

“Near as I know, twenty-two.”

“You identified the corpus of Teresa O’Reilly to Constable Perkins, did you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Could you explain your relationship to the deceased?”

“Sir?”

“Were you friend or acquaintance? Did you know her well?”

“I knew her well enough, I reckon. We shared a room in Angel Court.”

“Then you must have known her very well indeed.”

“Not so well as that. She had it in the daytime, and I had it at night.”

“A curious arrangement,” commented Sir John dryly, “but no doubt practical in certain circumstances. Tell us what you know of her.”

“Well, I know she was Irish, and she come here about two years past of a place she was forever speakin’ of called Waterford. She was about my age, give or take a bit, and, uh, that is surely all I do know of her.”

“And that is surely not a great deal.”

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps I can help you remember more. How did she earn her way?”

“Well, sir, I cannot be sure, for the room was hers in the daytime, and I was certainly not one to poke my nose in where it was not wanted, but I believe she had gentleman friends. They give her money.”

“How many such friends did she have?”

“Oh, many, sir. She was a real worker, that one, and bold as brass.”

“So what you are telling me is that she was a woman of the streets, a common prostitute.”

“You might say so, sir — though I am not one to pass judgment on another.”

“I dare say not,” said Sir John, “for I doubt you are in a position to do so.”

At that, one or two in the jury who had caught the implication of his remark burst out in sniggers and giggles. Again, Sir John called them to order, though in a somewhat more indulgent manner than before.

“Were there any of these ‘gentleman friends,’ as you call them, who visited her often?” he asked. “Any whom she mentioned by name to you?”

She opened her mouth right quick, and the thought came to me that she would give the name of him who had passed me in Angel Court. But then, perhaps thinking better of it, she shut her mouth tight, saying not a word and giving no name. I saw this, as did those in the jury — though Sir John, in his blindness, did not.

“You hesitate,” said he.

“I’m trying to remember,” said she. “But no, sir, I can think of none. Teresa just took who come along, and she feared none. Big as most men, she was — twice my size — and she could handle herself, if it come to it.”

“She would not easily wilt to a threat then?”

“Oh no, sir.”

“Nor would she hesitate to defend herself if she felt in danger?”

“Not her.”

“All right. Mistress Pratt, enough of that. Let us to the information you gave me when we talked last night in the yard off New Broad Court. What did you tell me then?”