Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“And what, pray tell, was that?”

“Well, sir, if you wouldn’t mind stepping over here to where she’s lyin’.” I guided Sir John for the three necessary steps. “When I come back, and before the crowd started to come, I took a closer look at her with the lantern, and I saw her dress was unbuttoned and just pushed together, like. So I ventured a look — I know we’re not supposed to disturb things but I thought it might be important. May I now, sir?”

“Yes, of course.”

Except for a cursory glance upon our arrival, I had not looked at the victim lying against the gates. The ugly wound at her throat was quite visible as Mr. Brede held up his lantern for us to see. Then he knelt beside her and pulled open her frock. Though certainly not experienced at viewing the dead and having little knowledge of the sort of damage possible to the human body by a determined assassin wielding a knife, I was not then, nor have I ever been, what one might call squeamish. Nevertheless, I was so shocked at what I saw that my stomach took a sudden, nasty turn. I turned away in disgust.

“I know you can’t see, sir, so you must take my word she’s quite bad cut-up in her body.”

“Jeremy, can you be more specific?”

“Yes, sir, I’ll try.” I took a deep breath to begin and was suddenly aware of a bad odor compounded of blood and bodily organs, a slaughterhouse smell. “There’s a big long cut from between her breasts to as far down as I can see. Then there are cuts under the breasts and the skin has been pulled back and sort of tucked to her sides so her inwards are exposed. There’s a deal of blood, and some stuff like thick, bloody rope has been pulled out of her.”

“That would be the intestines,” said Sir John. “You’ve told me enough, Jeremy. Cover her up, Mr. Brede. Come, let us get away from the smell.”

It was done, and we retired some several steps back. Yet once released, the odor seemed to follow us, pervading the air all round.

“When I saw how bad she was cut up, I looked beneath her and found there was blood had soaked through her dress onto the stones. So it does seem to me her throat was cut from behind, as is usual, then she was turned round, so to speak, and dropped down as she is now and all that cuttin’ of her middle was done.” He paused, then added: “I blame myself in this. Sir John.”

“How is that, Mr. Brede?”

“Well, I came by here after midnight and took a look down the alley from Bedford Street. The moon was higher then, and I could see fairly well, and all seemed well, so I went on to St. Martin’s Lane, where most of the trouble is. Perhaps if I’d come and taken a look, I might have caught the villain who done this deed, might even have prevented it.”

“Not likely, Constable. There is an element of chance in these matters. You should put it out of your mind, for you have conducted yourself well, particularly in handling that crowd of rowdies before we came. I commend you.”

Then did Sir John turn in my direction. “Jeremy, I must send you and Mr. Brede for Mr. Donnelly. You have visited his new surgery. Can you find it?”

“I’m sure I can, sir.”

“Then you and Mr. Brede must find a stable open at this hour, get a wagon, and rouse Mr. Donnelly. This poor woman is not for the Raker.”

“I know just such a place on Half Moon Street,” volunteered Mr. Brede.

“Then go, both of you. I shall remain with Mr. Bailey. Send Bailey back to me with any potential witnesses he may deem worthy of interrogation.”

“We’ll be back as soon as ever we can,” said I.

Mr. Brede said nothing and would continue saying nothing until we reached the stable. He did, however, point his club threateningly at the drunken man, as we passed him by, as if to say. Remain exactly where you are. The unfortunate man, whom I took to be under arrest, was sitting where he had fallen. He stared back at us, blank and befuddled.

The next time that I saw the fellow was in Sir John’s courtroom at Number 4 Bow Street. He had been taken in by Mr. Bailey, as I understood, after they had finished a canvass of buildings and houses nearby which had yielded nothing; none who slept near the gates had been awakened by cries; the woman, whose true name was yet unknown, had been murdered in silence.

Sir John had fared better. Four of the women brought to him by Mr. Bailey had information to give — yet all gave similar information. Each was allowed separately to view the victim’s face (though not the horrible wounds on her trunk); each identified her only as “Polly” though one said the woman was known in St. Martin’s Lane as “Tuppence Poll,” for having sold herself for so little when she was greatly in need. All but one had heard of her fierce argument with a “foreigner”; only one had actually been witness to it, and her name was Sarah Linney. Two said that he was a Jew named Yossel and described him as a “high-ripper” — the sort of thief who robbed prostitutes of their earnings, often at knife-point. They were greatly incensed and certain he had murdered their sister, Polly; all said they feared for their own lives.

As for myself, after assisting in the delivery of the corpus to Mr. Donnelly’s surgery, I returned with Sir John to Bow Street. There, to my disappointment, I was sent up by him to perform my usual household duties. It was then but seven in the morning, and Annie Oakum and Lady Fielding were sitting at breakfast in the kitchen when I entered. They jumped from the table eager to know all about the matter that had taken Sir John and me away before dawn. Their questions put me in an awkward state. He had cautioned me to say nothing of what I had seen or heard. “Not even to Lady Fielding?” I had asked him. “Perhaps especially not to her,” he had replied. So what was I to say when they came asking to know details of every sort? I allowed only that Sir John had been called to begin a homicide inquiry. (It seemed safe to say that, for nothing short of such a homicide would have brought him out at such an hour.) They were, of course, not satisfied with that and continued to question most vigorously. At last, I threw up my hands and told Lady Fielding and Annie that they must ask Sir John if they wanted to know more, for he had instructed me to say nothing. They took it as a challenge. Lady Fielding told Annie to do the buying in Covent Garden that day and find out all she could on the street; whilst she would make inquiries at the Magdalene Home for Penitent Prostitutes — news from the outside always seemed to find its way there. For me — I took it as a form of punishment for my silence — there was more scrubbing to be done. Since I had recently given a shine to the stairs, I was condemned to do the same to the floors of the kitchen, our little-used dining room, and the sitting room as well.

After breakfast, which I quite devoured so hungry was I, I went quickly to my task. Lady Fielding left. Annie went out and returned (pleasing me with her report that she had learned little but that the victim was a woman). All the while I worked with great enterprise. Whilst I was in no wise fond of scrubbing and such like, I was well practiced at it and knew that if I pleased myself with the job I did, I should certainly please Lady Fielding. Thus I managed to finish not long after noon, at which time I made straight for the stairs and, descending to Sir John’s courtroom, I went to wait until I might learn more of the progress of the inquiry.

I opened the door quietly and just as quietly found a seat near the door. As I settled myself, I found Sir John concluding with a case of disputation between a Covent Garden merchant and a builder. From the little I heard, I concluded that the builder had erected a permanent stall, of which there were an increasing number in the Garden, that the stall had subsequently collapsed in the first heavy rainstorm, ruining not only the structure but a full day’s supply of fruits and vegetables, as well.