Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

The second victim was found twenty-eight days after the first. Here, as I understand them, were the circumstances of the discovery: Constable Clarence Brede, a man of taciturn nature not well known to me personally, had been making a tour of those streets and lanes beyond Covent Garden as far as St. Martin’s Lane. Circling back on Bedford Court to Bedford Street, where the stews and dives were well filled even at that hour of four o’clock in the morning, he found his way to that narrow alley which led to the churchyard of St. Paul’s. It occurred to him he had not checked it first time round, and so he set off towards the locked gate of the churchyard. There was apparently no one about. A setting moon was low over the church. It provided sufficient light for him to see a large bundle or object up against the spiked bars of the churchyard fence. He hastened towards it, and coming near he saw that it was a body, the clothed body of a woman. She was, for the most part, supine, yet her shoulders were propped up against the fence, and her head lolled forward upon her chest. Any thought he may have had that the woman might simply have fallen there in a drunken stupor was quickly dispelled when he made to slap her cheek lightly to waken her. The cheek was cold. Her head flopped to one side. By the light of the moon he then saw that her chin and jowls had obscured a mortal wound circling her throat.

Immediately he pulled his tinder box from his pocket and lit the lantern he carried with him. Lifting her chin slightly he examined the wound more closely and saw that at its center there had been a good deal of bleeding which was not immediately apparent, for the blood had run down to the collar and bust of her frock, which was of a shade of dark blue called indigo, and been absorbed. It was half-dried and tacky to the touch. Constable Brede left the body where it lay and, with his lantern held high, made a general search of the area. By the time he had satisfied himself that his first impression was correct, that there was indeed no one about, he had returned to Bedford Street. Seizing upon the first nearly sober fellow to happen along, he asked his name and where he lived, then instructed him to proceed in haste to Number 4 Bow Street and inform the first constable met there that there was a murdered woman at the gates to St. Paul’s churchyard, just off Bedford Street. Constable Brede added that if the fellow were to fail to deliver the message, he would be guilty of hindering a constable in the discharge of his duties and would be dealt with severely by Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court. The messenger set off at a tipsy jog-trot, and the constable retired to the gates to stand guard over the corpus.

Thus it came about that I, called from my bed by Annie Oakum, accompanied Sir John and Benjamin Bailey to the site of the second homicide. It was well on to five o’clock, perhaps a bit after, by the time that we reached our destination, and there were in the east gray hints of dawn approaching. If Constable Brede’s messenger had faithfully fulfilled his mission to Bow Street, he must also have told quite a few others along the way about the murder at the churchyard gates, for upon our arrival, we found that a considerable crowd had gathered. There must have been twenty or thirty there, and among them, five or six women. They had congregated at the far end of the narrow alley near the gates, inspired by nothing more than rowdy curiosity. Most were inebriated; a few seemed to have difficulty keeping their feet. They seemed to be pressing in on the constable. But for his part, he held firm, keeping them at bay a good eight or ten feet from the prone figure which he guarded.

“Follow me,” said Benjamin Bailey.

And that we did — Sir John last of all with his hand upon my shoulder — proceeding close in the wake of that giant of a man who had long served as captain of the Bow Street Runners. Mr. Bailey simply pushed through the assemblage, his club held before him in two hands, spilling them right and left as he led the way to Mr. Brede.

“Ah,” said the beleaguered constable, “glad I am to see you. I’ve had to whack a couple, though I’ve broken no heads.”

“Well, you and Mr. Bailey must clear them out. You have my permission to break a few if you must,” said Sir John. “But first I shall give them warning.”

He stepped forward so that he was near nose-to-nose with the front rank.

“I am Sir John Fielding, Magistrate of the Bow Street Court,” he announced. There were grumbles in response.

“I order you to disperse,” he continued. “Any who think they may know the identity of the victim of this attack or have information to offer, I would have you wait in Bedford Street. The rest of you are to return to your dwelling places that we may be free to conduct our inquiry without interruption or bother. I shall give you a minute to clear the area, then I shall bid my constables to drive you out. Any who resist will be subject to arrest, fine, and imprisonment for not less than thirty days.”

Sir John took two steps back and waited. About half the crowd, including all the women in their number, immediately turned about and started for the street beyond. The rest remained for but a moment, exchanging sullen glances, then began backing away, some slowly, most at a quickstep.

“Mr. Bailey, when you and Mr. Brede have seen them to Bedford Street, I would like you to remain there to see that they do not return. You might also interrogate those who may have information to see if any are worth my bother. Mr. Brede, when you have reached the street, please return to me and give your report.” He gave a moment’s pause. “You may proceed, gentlemen.”

The two constables set out with some wide distance between them. Each held his crested club before him in two hands. What was left of the crowd scattered before them. One of the most drunken, however, permitted his legs to become entangled one with the other and fell sprawling before Mr. Brede. Unable to rise, even with the assistance of a whack on the backside administered by the constable, the poor fellow simply scrabbled with his elbows and knees quite without result. Mr. Brede bent down and said something that was lost to me in the clatter of feet on the cobblestones, then he moved on and left him lying. It took but a minute more to clear the alley.

“Have you noticed, Jeremy,” said Sir John, “that there seems to be an increase in riotous behavior, unruly crowds, and the like?”

“Now that you mention it, sir, yes, I have.”

“There was a terrible disturbance in St. Martin’s Lane but a month past and another in Drury Lane two weeks ago near as bad.” He paused, then added, “I do fear the rule of King Mob.”

Constable Brede came back at a jog-trot, pausing only to have a word with him who had fallen. Then, a moment more, and he was with us.

“Mr. Brede?”

“Yes, Sir John, I am here.”

“Then give your report, sir.”

That he did, using far fewer words than I have in describing his discovery of the woman’s body. He was, as I have said, a taciturn man, reserved in nature, one who kept himself a bit apart from the other constables. Not unfriendly was he — simply a bit stiff in his manner — an uncomfortable man who seemed to make others uncomfortable, too.

“Do you believe the attack took place where you found the body?” asked Sir John.

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“Well… why. Constable? What did you find to support your belief?”

“It’s what I didn’t find.”

“Yes?”

“After I saw she was dead, I lit my lantern and went searching in case the killer was still about — though I thought that unlikely. I also kept an eye open for blood spots. They wasn’t any to be found — nowhere in the alley. There was something else, as well.”