Edward Marston - The Repentant Rake

After a thorough examination, Ecclestone stood back and clicked his tongue.

'Well?' said Jonathan.

'He was strangled to death, Mr Bale.'

'I thought he was stabbed through the heart.'

'He was,' agreed Ecclestone, 'but only after he was dead. That's why there was so little blood. When death occurs, the circulation of the blood ceases.'

'Why stab a dead man?'

'To make absolutely sure that he was dead, I imagine.'

'The murderer took no chances,' noted Jonathan gruffly. 'He not only strangled and stabbed the poor fellow, he beat him about the body for good measure.'

'What makes you think that, Mr Bale?'

'Look at those bruises, sir.'

'That's exactly what I have done.' He squinted up at the constable. 'You were one of the men who found him, I understand.'

'That is so.'

'Then I'll warrant he was face down at the time.'

Jonathan was impressed. 'Why, so he was.'

'And had been for a little while, if my guess is correct.' He pointed a stick-like finger. 'Those are not bruises you can see, Mr Bale. When the blood stops being pumped around by the heart, it gradually sinks to the blood vessels in the lowest part of the torso. In this case, to the chest and stomach, which have a livid hue. After a certain amount of time, the purplish stains become fixed and take on the appearance of large bruises. I've seen it happen so often. No,' decided Ecclestone, gazing down at the corpse once more, 'I suspect that death was swift, if brutal. Someone took him unawares and strangled him from behind, putting a knee into the small of his back as he did so. If you turned him over, as I did before you came in, you'd see the genuine bruise that's been left there.'

'I take your word for it, sir.'

Ecclestone was brisk. 'So, the cause of death has been established. My work is done. It's up to others to discover the motive behind the murder.'

'It could hardly be gain,' argued Jonathan. 'There were valuable rings on his fingers and money in his purse.'

'It was fortunate that you came along before anyone else found him.'

'I know.'

'Do you have any notion who he might be?'

'None, sir. There was no means of identification on him.'

'Hardly an habitue of Paul's Wharf, that's for sure.'

'Quite,' said Jonathan. 'You won't find a suit of clothes as costly as that being worn in a warehouse. He's a gentleman of sorts with a family and friends who'll miss him before long. Someone may soon come forward.'

'And if they don't?'

'Then we'll have to track his identity down by other means.'

'Do you have any witnesses?'

'Not so far, sir. My colleague, Tom Warburton, is making enquiries near the murder scene this morning. When I spoke to him on my way here, he had had no success. It was late when we found the body. The wharf was deserted at that time of night. We are unlikely to find witnesses.'

'What was a man like this doing in such a place?'

'I don't think that he went there of his own accord, sir,' said Jonathan solemnly. 'I begin to wonder if he was killed elsewhere then dumped near that warehouse.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Because of the state of his apparel. When we found him last night, the back of his coat was covered in dirt, as if he'd been dragged along the ground by someone. There were a few stones caught up in the garment.' He took them from his pocket to show them to the surgeon. 'Do you see how small and bright they are, sir? You won't find any stones like this in the vicinity of the warehouse.'

'You've a sharp eye, Mr Bale.'

Jonathan put the stones away again. 'These may turn out to be useful clues.'

'I hope so. Well,' said Ecclestone, pulling the shroud over the corpse, 'I've told you what I've seen. A young man cut down in his prime by a sly assailant. A powerful one, too. The deceased would have fought for his life. Even with the element of surprise in his favour, only a strong attacker could have got the better of him.'

'Unless he was groggy with drink.'

'I detected no smell of alcohol in his mouth.'

'Oh.'

'You can rule that out.' The surgeon turned and walked out of the morgue. Jonathan followed him, glad to quit the dank and depressing chamber. When they stepped out into the fresh air, he took several deep breaths. Ecclestone paused to stare up at him.

'Is there anything else that I can tell you, Mr Bale?' he asked.

'No thank you, sir. You've been very helpful.'

'This was no random murder.'

'What do you mean?'

'It did not happen by accident on the spur of the moment. If you or I wished to strangle someone, we'd never do it as quickly and efficiently as that. Do you hear what I'm saying, Mr Bale?'

'I believe so. It was not the work of an amateur.'

'Exactly. This man has killed before. Often, probably.'

'A hired assassin?'

'Certainly not a person to turn your back on.' He licked his lips and closed one eye. 'You said earlier that you'd have to find out the victim's identity by other means.'

'The search will begin this very morning, sir.'

'Where?'

'Among the most exclusive shoemakers in the city.'

'Shoemakers?'

'Yes,' said Jonathan, producing the shoe that had been picked up at the wharf by an inquisitive dog. 'I want to find out who sold him this.'

'What happened to you, Mr Redmayne?' said Jacob in alarm. 'Your face is bruised and your coat is torn. Is that blood on your sleeve?'

'Yes, Jacob,' said Christopher, putting his satchel down and removing his coat, 'but you'll be pleased to know that it's not mine. A highwayman made the mistake of trying to rob me and had to be put in his place.' He flexed both hands. 'My knuckles still hurt from the fight.'

The servant blenched. 'A highwayman?'

'Don't worry. I learned my lesson. On the following day, I put safety before valour and joined a party of travellers on their way to London. It slowed me right down but gave me an opportunity to nurse my wounds. I spent the second night at an inn with my companions. And here I am,' he announced, spreading his arms. 'Home again, with no harm done.'

'I wouldn't say that,' argued Jacob, inspecting his master's coat. 'How on earth did you get involved with a highwayman in the first place?'

'Because I was reckless.'

'That's a kind word for it, sir.'

'I'm in the mood for kind words. Remember that.'

Christopher sat down at the table, and Jacob disappeared into the kitchen with the coat. When he came back, he brought a glass of brandy on a tray Giving him a nod of gratitude, Christopher took the glass and sipped its contents.

'You sensed my needs exactly, Jacob,' he said.

'That's what I'm here for, sir.'

Jacob Vout was the only servant at the house in Fetter Lane. As a result, the old man had to combine the duties of cook, butler, valet and ostler, volunteering, for no extra payment, to assume a paternal role as well from time to time. Devoted to Christopher as a master, he occasionally treated him like an erring son and spoke with a candour that blurred the social divisions between them. Christopher tolerated it all with good humour. He knew that Jacob watched over him with a mingled sense of duty and affection, and he was reminded of the way that Susan Cheever treated her father, though he liked to think that he had none of the truculence of Sir Julius.

'I dare not ask if the visit was a success,' said Jacob tentatively. 'If you were set on by a villainous highwayman, it obviously was not.'

'A minor irritation, Jacob, that's all. It's out of my mind already. I've far more pleasant things to contemplate,' he said as he thought of Susan Cheever again. He manufactured a frown and rolled his eyes. 'But you're quite correct, Jacob. The visit to Northamptonshire cannot, I fear, be construed as a success.'

'Oh. I'm disappointed to hear that.'