Bruce Alexander - Person or Persons Unknown

“Now, that does not seem reasonable, does it, sir?” said Sir John to the Raker.

“Well, it’s like I said. Sir John,” said the Raker, sulking. “Cutting them open and poking round inside don’t seem right to me — shows a lack of respect, it does. It’s not the sort of thing I wants to be part of.”

“Come now, sir, have I not heard you say on more than one occasion that the dead don’t care?”

“Well… yes, but that was different times — not the same thing.”

“I’ll not argue the point with you. You and I have worked together satisfactorily in the past. Let it be done as a favor to me.”

“When you puts it so, sir, I can’t hardly say no.”

“Good. Mr. Donnelly and I will conclude our business quickly, and then you may be on your way.”

With that, the group shifted a bit. The Raker went off to grumble to his gray, ghostlike nags. Mr. Donnelly took Sir John to one side that he might discuss with him, and I — in no wise barred from their talk — followed close with Sir John. Mr. Tolliver, who had waited through the wrangle with the Raker, showing signs of growing impatience, was pulled farther away by Mr. Bailey so that he might have no chance of overhearing what was said between surgeon and magistrate.

Mr. Donnelly’s report was brief and concise. He told Sir John that the dead girl seemed to be no more than fifteen or sixteen. She was killed in the same manner as the first victim, Teresa O’Reilly, and apparently with the same weapon. He had examined the butcher’s knives at Mr. Bailey’s urging, but none was of a size to inflict such a small wound. The body had been warm when it had been found, and still warm when first examined by Mr. Bailey. Since Mr. Bailey had checked his timepiece when summoned at half-past seven, that would place the time of death at not much earlier than a quarter past. In his opinion, the girl had been killed where she had been found, though the young constable who had gone off to search the passage at Mr. Bailey’s direction might possibly discover evidence to indicate otherwise.

“That is all you have for me?”

“At the moment, yes. The autopsy may yield something more.”

“Well, that little you have given me is sufficient to shift suspicion from our friend, Yossel — who is, by the bye, our overnight guest at Number 4 Bow Street. He seemed rather glad to accept our hospitality, seeing that there was a mob in hot pursuit of him.”

“That hideous broadsheet?”

“Exactly. As I see it, because of the matter of time.

Yossel could not have murdered this young girl, for at the time of her death he was in our custody and under lock and key. Since the weapon which killed her was almost certainly the one that was used to kill the first victim — the Irishwoman, O’Reilly — that probably eliminates him also as suspect in that homicide. Which leaves us only with the second in the series, the one for which he was brought to our attention — and we may find him alibi for that one. Sir John paused but a moment, then cocked his head curiously. “Tell me, Mr. Donnelly, could this knife with the narrow blade — I believe it was described to me as a ‘stiletto’ — could such a knife have been used to cut the throat of the Tarkin woman?”

The surgeon hesitated. “Well, I would have to consult my notes on her autopsy, but I would say possibly so — but quite unlikely. The mutilation was accomplished with a serrated blade; I’m almost certain the same knife was used on her throat.”

“Well, it seems then that we have a killer who uses two weapons.”

“For two methods of murder. But there is another possibility, of course.”

“I think I know what you are about to suggest.”

“That there are two murderers abroad in Covent Garden.”

“I must reject that for the moment,” said Sir John, “as too dreadful a prospect even to contemplate.” He sighed and offered his hand to Mr. Donnelly, who shook it warmly. “I thank you, sir, for coming, yet I need not ask you to do your work on her this night. I shall hold an inquest at nine tomorrow on the Tarkin woman. We need to know more about this latest victim before convening a jury — her name, at least.”

“I’ll be there in the morning with my notes.”

“I’m sure you will. The Raker should give you no more difficulty. Let me know if he does.”

I hoped Sir John would prove correct. Mr. Donnelly left us to find him.

Then did Mr. Bailey bring Mr. Tolliver to the magistrate and introduce him as “the one who found the body and hailed us as we was passing by.”

“Well, Mr. Tolliver,” said Sir John, “you come with a very fine character from Lady Fielding. Jeremy, too, has spoken highly of you, and I myself have supped on your meats with great pleasure. In the light of all this, I can only offer my apologies to you for having detained you so long. You may have heard my efforts to play Solomon in the dispute between the medico and the corpus collector — the Raker, they call him; I know not his proper name.”

“I did hear, yes,” said Mr. Tolliver. He sounded a bit grudging, a bit hurt.

“It delayed me, took time that I no doubt owed to you as the first upon the scene of this lamentable crime. This one is, by the bye, the third such homicide in a short period of time. We are quite concerned, as you may suppose.”

“I heard of the earlier two, of course. A butcher in Cov-ent Garden hears it all.”

“I’m sure you do, sir. Perhaps you had heard, too, that the manner in which this unfortunate met her death was quite like that of the first.”

“That I had not until Jeremy here asked the constable to look for the wound especial. I had always thought the boy showed good sense.”

He threw a glance at me. I lowered my eyes modestly.

“Indeed,” said Sir John. “But, please, sir, tell me your story — how you happened upon the corpus, what you may have seen or heard at the time, et cetera. Leave out no details, please, for it is by the details that villains identify themselves and are apprehended. I will no doubt have some questions when you have concluded.”

Then did Sir John take a step back and bow his head in an attitude of listening; he leaned lightly upon his stick and touched his chin, massaging the day’s growth of whiskers there.

The tale told by Mr. Tolliver was the same one he had told earlier to Mr. Bailey, and the words he used to tell it were virtually identical. I forgave him this, instructing myself to remember that a man may make an excellent butcher, yet be altogether deficient in imagination and have no skill at all in the verbal arts. But given thus, it was given swift; and given twice, there was no reason to doubt it.

Sir John remained silent during a long moment afterwards. Then, hearing nothing more, he launched into his interrogation.

“Mr. Tolliver, you have made it clear that you neither saw nor heard anything in the passage at the time you stepped inside to investigate the condition of the body you had spied there. But tell me, what was the condition of the street?”

“Sir?” It was clear he had no idea of what was meant.

“I mean, just before you left it to look at the body — were there many people there? Were there hackneys? Wagons?”

The butcher seemed no little nonplussed by the question. He screwed up his face as he made a painful effort to remember. “I would say, sir, that there were very few people walking on the street, which is not unusual at such an hour. It may well be that all who were there with me on Henrietta were the constable and Jeremy here, and they would have been farther down and across the street. I may have gotten a glimpse of them under a streetlamp, though, for I was not surprised when they come walking along. I heard their footsteps.”