Person or Persons Unknown (16 page)

“Check just below the breastbone,” said I to him. “See if there is a small wound there.”

He did as I directed, then held his fingers up to the light. “By God, there it is, Jeremy, just as you said. There’s so little blood come out of it I missed it altogether when first I looked. She’s been stabbed by a very narrow blade — one thrust. That’s what done her in!”

I glanced at Mr. Tolliver. He was leaning forward to stare, fascinated in spite of himself.

Mr. Bailey covered her as best he could, stood up, and came back to the entrance of the passage.

“It’s murder, right enough,” said he. “Now, Mr. — what is your name again, sir?”

“Tolliver.”

“Now, Mr. Tolliver, if you could tell me, how did you happen to notice the body of this poor girl here?”

He thought about that a moment. “Why, I don’t know, exactly. I finished late tonight at the stall, washing up and so forth. I locked up and started home down this street, as I always do. Come to think of it, I always take a look down this passage when I walk this way after dark — so as not to be surprised by some villain.”

“And that was when you saw her?”

“That was when I saw something. It could’ve been a drunk collapsed from too much gin — common enough in this district. But I stopped and stared, and whether it was the head hung so low, or whatever it was, I thought it best to look. I felt her pulse — there was no pulse — but she was still warm, as you yourself discovered. Then I looked about for help and spied you two passing by. You had the look of authority, and so I hailed you.”

“And that is all? You saw nobody down the passage?”

“No. The light is poor, as you can see, but as near as I could tell, there was no one.”

“And you didn’t hear anything?”

“No, not in the passage.”

“No footsteps, nothing?”

“Not then — only your own as you came down the street.”

“Where does this passage lead, do you know?” He knew that, I was sure. I wondered why he asked.

“I think it must lead to St. Paul’s churchyard. I’ve heard that it does, though I’ve never had cause to go down it.”

That registered sharply. Polly Tarkin had been found against St. Paul’s churchyard fence in the alley that led from Bedford Street. Perhaps it had been the assailant’s intention to take this body to the fence and carve it up as he had Tarkin’s. If that were so, then it would mean he was still about — down this dark passage, or in one of the houses crowded along the way.

“If you will pardon my asking, sir,” said Mr. Bailey to Mr. Tolliver, “what is in that leather packet you have tucked under your arm?”

I myself had noticed it but thought so little of it I did not wonder what it contained.

“Why, my knives are inside. I carry them home every night,” said Mr. Tolliver.

“Knives, is it?”

“Yes, knives. I’m a butcher. They are the tools of my trade.”

“Ah yes, so Jeremy said. Would you mind, sir, opening it up so I might have a look at them?”

“Well, I…”

Clearly, he did mind, yet to show that he had nothing to hide, he brought the packet from under his arm, untied it, and carefully opened it. On the chamois leather, eight knives of diverse sizes and shapes were displayed, each in its separate pocket. Even in dim light they glinted as Mr. Bailey removed them, one by one, for inspection. Each was clean of blood, and not one had a blade narrow enough to have inflicted the sort of wound I had seen on Teresa O’Reilly’s body and the one described by Mr. Bailey on the nameless girl in the passage. Indeed Mr. Bailey must have realized that, for when he had concluded, he nodded and thanked Mr. Tolliver kindly for his cooperation.

Then, waiting until the packet of knives was safely wrapped (even offering his hand in tying the leather thongs that secured it), Mr. Bailey told the butcher that much as he regretted it, he must detain him for a bit until such time as Sir John had arrived, for the magistrate would surely have questions for him.

Then to me he turned and directed me to fetch Sir John. “But, Jeremy, I want you to go back the way we came. Stop at the Jewish church, and if all’s quiet there, tell Constable Cowley to come here to Henrietta Street. Tell him to see can he borrow a lantern from the priest there. Then I want you to go on to Tavistock Street, and if the surgeon’s about, the Irishman …”

“Mr. Donnelly,” I put in.

“That’s him. Ask him to come here, too. Then, of course, on to Bow Street to fetch Sir John. Offer my apologies for breaking into his evening, but due to the circumstances, he’ll want to be here. Got all that, have you?”

“Certainly, Mr. Bailey.”

“Oh, and have Mr. Baker give you a lantern, too. We need light here.” He nodded, dismissing me. “Off you

go.”

And indeed I went.

There was no problem at the synagogue. Maiden Lane was even quieter than Henrietta Street. Constable Cowley seemed near half-asleep on his feet.

“Go on, take him, send him away,” said Constable Langford. “If a great mob did attack us, I do believe he would sleep right through it.”

“I need to be moving around,” said Cowley.

“You need to be sleeping in the daylight hours instead of playing in bed with that would-be wife of yours.”

“We’ll be married soon. You’ll see.”

“Why buy the cow when you’re getting your milk free?” Constable Langford must have thought he had made a great joke, for he laughed most heartily at it.

I rapped hard upon the door. A minute later, shutters opened above and Rabbi Gershon’s head popped out.

“You, Jeremiah! Is something wrong?”

“Oh no, I was just wondering, sir, if you might have a lantern we could borrow.”

“Certainly! Of course! I’ll be right down with it.”

I liked not the notion of leaving Mr. Langford alone, if only for an hour, and so I offered him one of the two pistols I carried. “If you shoot into the air, we’ll hear and come at quick-time. We’re just a street away.”

He accepted it and tucked it into his belt.

Then the door to the synagogue opened, and Rabbi Ger-shon handed out the lantern. I thanked him and promised its return, but said nothing about why it was needed. It would have upset him greatly to know that another woman had died.

I gave over the lighted lantern to Constable Cowley and urged him on his way. Then on to Tavistock Street and Mr. Donnelly.

Having no idea just how the doctor spent his evenings, I feared I might find him away. Yet light shone beneath the door to his two-room surgery as I arrived, somewhat out of breath. I took a moment to regain it, then knocked upon his door.

After a moment’s pause, I heard footsteps and then his voice from the other side.

“Yes? Who is there?”

“‘Tis I, Jeremy Proctor from Bow Street.”

He slipped the bolt and threw open the door. “What a fine surprise,” said he. “Come in, come in.”

“I cannot, much as I would like. I’ve been sent to summon you to Henrietta Street. There’s been another woman found dead.”

“Ah, sweet Jesus, when will it end? Was she cut up all horrible like the last?”

“No, sir, she was not. It was done quite like the first — a small wound just below the sternum — an upward thrust through the cardiac vein.”

In spite of himself, he laughed. “Why, Jeremy, I do believe you’re quoting me. You were present at the inquest, weren’t you?”

“Yes, sir, I was,” said I, blushing.

“All right then, I’ll fetch my bag and be with you in a moment.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot accompany you, for I must be off to alert Sir John. It was Mr. Bailey and I who were called to the scene by him who discovered the body.” I then gave him the exact location of the passage on Henrietta Street and advised him to go round by Maiden Lane and Bedford Street. “Cutting through the Garden can be right risky at night.”

“I’ll do as you say.”

“And bring a lantern, if you have one,” said I, backing away, “for it is dark in that passage in spite of the full moon.”

“Go then, Jeremy, but come back and visit when you’ve more time to spend.”

“I will, sir! Goodbye, sir!”

Then I turned and flew down the stairs.

It was difficult running with the pistol and empty holster at my waist, and so I soon slowed to a fast walk. Mr. Bailey had not bade me run, had in fact sent me first to the synagogue and to Mr. Donnelly. If I were in a great rush, it was not at his direction but out of consideration to Mr. Tolliver. He must indeed feel badly repaid for the kindness he showed in stopping to see what ailed that poor girl in the passage. How long would they detain him? Surely Mr. Bailey could not suppose that Mr. Tolliver could be guilty of such a vile crime. If he but knew the many kindnesses that he had shown me — and to Lady Fielding before she became Lady Fielding — he would simply have ascertained the pertinent facts and sent him on his way with thanks.

Instead, he had insisted upon looking at Mr. Tolliver’s collection of knives as if he were suspect in the crime. Why, of course a butcher would have knives! Any fool would see that plain. Benjamin Bailey was no fool, but there were times when he showed a certain lack of… of —

Thinking thus, I was perhaps not near as observant as I ought to have been. I had just crossed Russell Street when, from an entry, a hand reached out and grabbed me firmly by the left arm and jerked me to a halt. I turned about sharply, throwing off the grasp as I grabbed for the pistol with my own right hand.

“Here, chum, leave that barking iron be. You and me, we got things to discuss.”

He stepped from the shadows into the dim light given by the streetlamp at the comer. In that instant I recognized him as Mariah’s “protector” — him whom I had dubbed the bully-boy. He was the last person in London I expected — or wanted — to see at that moment. Yet as I stood there staring, within me duty contended with curiosity — and curiosity won.

“What would I have to discuss with you?” I asked in a manner much colder than I felt just then. I seethed inside.

“Well, first off, I hear you been asking about me. I want to know what for.”

“I can tell you that. I wanted to learn your relation to Mariah, the Italian girl.”

I could not have expected his reaction to that — for he laughed, yet not as any ordinary fellow might; his was a whinnying, high-pitched, almost girlish giggle.

“My relation is it?” — still snickering — “Well, I ain’t her father, and I ain’t her brother. I ain’t even her cuz, so I guess that ain’t the kind of relation you mean. Am I right?”

I said nothing; but the distaste I felt for him must have been evident as I began to pull away. I turned and started to walk off.

“Awright, awright, I’ll give it you straight,” he shouted after me. “I owns her.”

Stopping in midstep, I asked myself if I had heard correct. I came back to him.

“What did you say?”

“I says I owns her — much to m’sorrow. Now hear me out.” He talked earnestly, as one who wished to do business. “When her people went back to where they’re from, I got her to stay. We dorsed together, got all lovey-dovey; I turned her out proper. Then I took her to Mrs. Gould — best house in the Garden — right around the comer on Russell Street. There’s girls on the street who’d give anything to get inside — but not her, not our Mariah. The long and short of it is, Mrs. Gould pays me ten ned for her, which is quite generous, not knowing how she’ll perform, like. And she didn’t perform worth a damn. She sulked, she spat, she scratched, and screamed. Mrs. Gould called me to her and demanded her money returned and said I could have the little blowen back. Well, by God, you don’t argue with Mrs. Gould, she got some real villains at her call, so I up with the full wack, ten ned, and I took Mariah back. I’d no choice but to put her out on the street myself, but to do that I had to take a flogger to her and buy her some proper duds. So I spent a bit on her and I keep her fed. She brings in a few shillings a day, but she ain’t a real worker, if you get my meaning. So the long and short of it is, if you want her, you can have her, for you’ve an interest in her. All I want is my ten ned back. I call that a square bargain.”

Reader, as you might suppose, if I seethed before, I was now at my boiling point. It was all I could do at that moment to control my anger. My hands trembled; I clasped them behind me so that he might not see. The very idea of offering another human being, a woman, for sale would have made me shudder uncontrollably under different circumstances, yet I would not show to him such a sign of revulsion, for he would sure take it as proof of weakness. Striving for the same control over my voice, I attempted a reply to his huckster’s pitch.

“And what would I do with her then?”

“That’s up to you, chum. Keep her out on the street, if you like. Dorse with her in your own little love nest. Marry her, if that’s your mind.’

“I will say this: I have not ten guineas to my name, nor anything like it. Yet if I did, I should pay it quite immediate, if only to get her away from you and that terrible life you have forced her into.”

“Nothing would suit me better, chum, believe me.” Then he stepped close and whispered: “You say you ain’t got the wack, and I believe you, but listen to me. You’re in a good position to get it. There’s a good lot of bit flows into Bow Street — fines, swag lifted from scamps, and that. It’s not like the Beak would miss it if you helped yourself, maybe a little at a time. It’d be” — and then he let loose that hideous giggle again — “it’d be like stealin’ money from a blind man.”

That was when I left him where he stood. I’d heard enough. In fact, reader, I’d heard far too much.

Sir John had insisted upon cutting across Covent Garden, even though he had often warned me against venturing there at night. When I had reminded him of this, he had then said, “You’ve a brace of pistols by your side, have you not?” It was then I told him I had but one, for I had given the second to Constable Langford that he might use it to summon help. After a grunt and a long silence, he had muttered, “Very sensible.”

After taking him from the dinner table — he had but just finished his meal — I had waited while Annie fetched his hat and coat. During this brief space of time, it was Lady Fielding — and not Sir John — who had directed a great volley of questions at me. Was it truly Mr. Tolliver who had found the girl’s body? she asked. Why was he being detained? Does Constable Bailey suspect him? How could he? And so on.