City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (4 page)

“It is impossible to overstate the
significance of this last point.  It suggests a killer with anatomical
knowledge.  Chapman had her kidneys and ovaries removed and apparently taken.  The
murder weapon was a knife about four to six inches in length and extremely
sharp.  As sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel.”

A tickle of excitement began in Trevor’s
throat. “Are you suggesting that the killer could be a physician?”

Inspector Eatwell slapped a palm to
the table in protest.  “I hardly feel a beast such as this could be a man of
medicine, nor a gentleman of any sort, for that matter.”

“Educated at Cambridge!” scoffed a
detective from the back of the room.  The other men snickered.

Trevor scribbled in his journal:  
”Doctor?”

“Were they raped?”  The voice came
from the back.  Abrams.

“No,” Phillips said.  “Whatever his
game, that’s not it.”  He looked directly at Trevor.  “Earlier you said the
killer had been in a frenzy, which I’ll admit is a logical assumption, but one
the facts don’t support.  Our killer is vicious, certainly, but methodical. 
The victims showed no signs of struggle and there was very little blood at the
murder sites.”

Trevor looked up from his journal. 
“But there were mutilations, even organs removed…. Why no blood?” 

“There’s very little bleeding after
death, Detective.   Once a heart stops beating, blood begins to gel in the
veins and arteries of the body.  Perhaps they were smothered or strangled
first, or it’s possible that the first wound was so well-placed the victims
were dead by the time they hit the ground.  In the Chapman case especially,
there was far less blood that one might expect, so quite possibly the killer
drained blood from the body.”

“Drained blood from the body?” Rayley
Abrams asked the question that everyone else in the room was thinking. 
“Wouldn’t that take a rather long time?”

“Anywhere from twenty minutes to an
hour,” Phillips said.  “Depending on his skill and experience level.”

The room sat in silence while the
detectives digested this information.

“Could the two women have been killed
someplace else and their bodies dumped at the site where they were found?”
Trevor finally asked.  “Draining blood would take a certain kind of equipment
wouldn’t it?  Something less portable than a knife?”

“I doubt even a madman would risk
being seen dragging a dead body about the streets of London, Detective.”
Inspector Eatwell interjected coolly, as again snickers arose from the back.

“Tubes and hypodermics are really all
that’s required,” said Phillips.  “A bottle or pan to catch the blood, of
course.  It’s more a matter of having the skill to tap the right vessels in the
right places and the ability to find them quickly in the dark.”

“So we are speaking of a doctor,”
Trevor said. 

“That is a possibility, but one I
present reluctantly,” Phillips answered, his face suddenly looking old and
tired.  “I find it hard to accept that such barbaric crimes could have been
committed by someone who has undertaken the Hippocratic Oath.”

“This line of thinking utterly
circumvents the issue of motive,” said one of the detectives in the front row,
his voice sharp with protest.  “People kill for a reason.” 

“Indeed,” said the man seated beside
him.  “Jealousy, greed, lust, revenge…something logical that one can
understand.  But who could possibly benefit from these deaths?  There has to be
some way, beyond the obvious similarity of their profession, that these women
were connected.”

Not necessarily, Trevor thought.  The
strong have always preyed upon the weak, perhaps for no other reason than
because they are weak.  And there were few creatures in London more vulnerable
than an aging East End prostitute. 

“In this particular case,” Phillips
said, “I’d say that method trumps motive.  Why these women died isn’t as
important as how.”

An uneasy buzz ran through the
crowded room.  Trevor printed “method over motive” in large letters in his
notebook, then glanced back at Abrams, who was still leaning against the wall. 
For the briefest of moments, the eyes of the two men met.  

“Motive is quite naturally the
beginning of all criminal inquiry,” Eatwell said, ignoring the doctor and
directing an adamant nod toward the detectives in the front row, like a
professor congratulating a promising pupil.  “It will narrow the list of
suspects faster than rounding up every man in London who happens to have skill
with a knife.”  

“I only know this,” Phillips said,
beginning to cram his notes back into his over-stuffed satchel.  “Working at
top speed it would have taken me forty-five minutes to drain a body and remove
four organs.  True, this fiend may not be a gentleman, but he does have knowledge
of the surgery.  Now, if there are no further questions, I must be excused, for
I do have other cases to contend with.” 

Eatwell watched him shuffle out with
obvious relief and waited until the door was safely shut before he again
addressed his detectives.

“Gentlemen, on the table before me,
you will find the physical evidence gathered at the site of the Chapman
murder,” Eatwell said.  Trevor scribbled down the meager inventory as his
fellow detectives rose and milled around the table.

-Three pennies

-Two farthings

-Two brass rings

-Portion of bloodstained envelope
bearing the name SUSSEX REGIMENT and postmarked August 28

-One leather apron

“Not exactly the purse of a duchess,
was it?”  Rayley Abrams said softly.  “Poor wretch.  What do you make of this
Sussex Regiment post?”

“A client, perhaps,” one of the men
said.  “Or a brother.”

“More likely a son, given her age,”
said another. 

“I can’t see what the letter would
have to do with the death,” said a third.  “Some bloke wrote her…lover, son,
brother, what does it matter?”

“The significance is not that she
happened to have a letter,” Abrams said.  “But the fact that most of that
letter is missing.  I’ll see if any men with the last name Chapman are
stationed with Sussex.”

“And what of this?” one of the men
asked, lifting the leather apron gingerly from the pile.  “It’s the kind they
use in slaughterhouses to keep the blood from their clothes.”

“There are at least two
slaughterhouses in Whitechapel,” said Abrams. “A butcher would have access to
knives by the dozen.”

“And the skill to dissect a human
body?” Trevor asked, arching an eyebrow.

“At least a butcher would know how to
drain blood,” Abrams said.

“And would he be able to remove
organs as skillfully as these were removed?  Phillips as much as said it was
too well done to point to an amateur.”

“Phillips has a love for drama,” one
of the detectives said, leaning between Trevor and Abrams to idly flick a penny
with his fingertip.  “When you two have been with the Yard as long as the rest
of us, you’ll see that he can’t resist throwing in some bizarre theory with
each coroner’s report.”  Most of the men were filing out by now and, after a
pause, Abrams turned to join them, leaving Trevor to gaze thoughtfully at the
items before him.

“Expecting to find his calling card,
Welles?” Eatwell asked, as he was erasing the blackboard.

“It could very well be here, Sir, if
we knew where to look.”

“Hmmm, nice to know murder is so
simple for our first-rank detectives.  I’m sure you and Abrams will have our
killer off the streets before tomorrow teatime.”

Trevor stood hesitantly.  He’d never
known how to respond to Eatwell’s sarcasm.  “We’ll try, Sir,” he finally said,
backing out of the room.

“Better do more than try,” snapped
Eatwell, and he beat his erasers until white dust flew across the table, slowly
settling over the last worldly possessions of a woman named Anne Chapman.

CHAPTER THREE

September 9  

4:10 PM

When Leanna opened her eyes, Tom was staring
down at her with a half-curious, half-worried expression.  Behind him, Galloway
was pacing.  Leanna struggled to raise her head.

“You’re missing your cue,” Tom said. 
“You’re supposed to ask ‘Where am I?’”

“I know where I am,” Leanna said,
pushing away the damp cloth someone had placed on her forehead.  “Grandfather’s
study.  But where is everyone else?”

“Mama and the big boys have retreated
to the parlor to nurse their own shock,” said Tom, letting a small smile slip. 
“Tell the truth, did you fake that faint?  It was an admirably efficient means
of clearing the room.”

“Of course not,” Leanna said.  “You
know I don’t faint.  At least I never have before, and I remember when
Grandfather was trying to teach us how to dissect a rabbit that you were the
one who…. How long was I unconscious?“

“Just a few minutes, but long enough
to give me time to confer with Mr. Galloway.  We have to talk fast.  They’ll be
beating on the door any minute.”

“It might be prudent,” Galloway said,
“for you to leave Rosemoral for a few weeks.  Take a holiday of sorts while
your family has the chance to get used to the idea.”

“They’ll never get used to the idea,”
Tom corrected him.  “But at least until the paperwork is finalized.”

“A holiday?  I’ve never been anywhere
alone in my whole life.  Mama doesn’t even let me ride into town without – “

“You wouldn’t be alone, Leanna. 
Galloway thinks you should go to London and stay with Aunt Geraldine.  She’s settled
in Mayfair and, more to the point, she knows the situation.  Apparently she is
the only one other than Galloway whom Grandfather included in his plan and she
understands it, Leanna.  All of it.  She was the one who suggested you come to
her home.”

“I hardly know her,” Leanna said, her
mind jumping to a memory of a large, jolly woman with a booming voice and
pockets full of candy.  

“But I do,” Tom said.  “The first month
I was in school she sent me a message inviting me to dinner at her home in
London and ever since…  You’ll be happy there, Leanna.”

“I don’t follow any of this, Tom. 
Why didn’t you tell me Aunt Geraldine was back in London, or that you’d been to
see her?   It makes no sense.  She didn’t even come to Grandfather’s funeral.”

“She was there,” Tom said firmly.  “In
the back.  Apparently in disguise, and apparently a good one because I didn’t
recognize her.” 

Leanna looked questioningly at
Galloway.

“Leonard knew he was dying,” Galloway
said gently.  “When he told Geraldine the terms of his will, they concocted
this plan.  Part of it is that your mother and the older boys shouldn’t be
aware that Geraldine was even back in the country.  Otherwise, her home in
London wouldn’t be a very effective hiding place, would it?  Tom knew of her
presence but he was sworn to secrecy.”

“Yes,” said Tom.  “But until today I
didn’t know why.”

Leanna’s head was swimming at the
thought of her grandfather, Aunt Geraldine, and Galloway all scheming together,
three elderly people going to such trouble to shield her from what would undoubtedly
be a very rough time. “But to stay in hiding at her own brother’s funeral…”

“Oh, I think she rather enjoyed
that,” said Galloway and Tom laughed. “Your aunt loves a challenge, Miss
Bainbridge, and I can’t think of anyone better suited to assist you through
this unique social transition.”

Leanna shook her head, at last fully
alert, as if she had broken through layers of water to reach the surface.  She
inhaled sharply.  “So everyone thinks I should run, is that it?”

“Not run, Miss Bainbridge, but, if
you can take refuge for a month or two –“

“I’ll be back to school in a few
weeks,” Tom said.  “And then I’ll come see you.   In the meanwhile, Galloway
can set up an account you can draw on by wire, so you’ll have funds.”

“Within the week,” Galloway promised.

“But how do I get to London and what
do I do for money in the meantime?”

“Heavens, Leanna, don’t be such a
dolt.  You’ll take the train and you’ll be living with Aunt Gerry, who will
hardly be charging you rent.”

“I have brought funds for just that
purpose,” Galloway said, glancing at the door from which came the sounds of
conversation, the low murmur of Gwynette’s voice, the shrill yelps of William’s
indignation.  Tom put a finger to his lips and slipped out the door to divert
them.

“I cannot accept your money,” Leanna
said.

“I expect my loan is secure,”
Galloway said, with a smile, and it hit Leanna for the first time that she was
a wealthy woman.  That while she had been in her swoon it was as if she had
been transported, carried to a new country with different customs and a
language she had yet to learn.  The implications were too much to deal with at
the present, though, so she let her mind drift to trivial things.