Interviewing the Dead Page 4

  ‘I wasn’t going to suggest that you were,’ Matthew replied in self-defence. ‘It’s just that ... well, I mean ... well, you don’t expect...’

  ‘You don’t expect to find a woman working in medicine, you mean? Keep them at home, fill them with babies, don’t admit them to university courses that lead to some sort of meaningful career and all will remain right with the world? Typical!’

  ‘I never said any of that!’ Matthew protested.

  ‘No, but your face did!’ the woman replied accusingly, then leaned out of the doorway and looked down the corridor at the sound of approaching voices. ‘Here comes Dr Carlyle now, so at least we’ll be left with a door intact.’

  She stepped back inside the room as Carlyle walked down the corridor and shook Matthew’s hand. ‘Welcome to my little world, Mr West. And I see that you’ve already met my daughter Adelaide.’

  At Carlyle’s invitation, Matthew stepped into the mortuary along with the man who’d accompanied the surgeon down to the basement and who was introduced to him as Detective Inspector John Jennings of Scotland Yard.

  ‘He’s here in connection with the death of this lady on the slab,’ Carlyle added with a wide flourish of his arm. Then his face dropped as he looked across at the body of the woman lying on what looked like a marble tombstone. ‘Why is this woman still fully clothed, Adelaide? Did I not request that you strip her and prepare her for dissection?’

  ‘You did indeed, Father,’ Adelaide replied with a disgruntled nod in Matthew’s direction, ‘and I had begun that process by combing her hair, with newspaper underneath it, in accordance with normal practice. If you examine that newspaper, which is now lying on the bench by the sink, you will note the abundance of headlice. I was in the process of washing my hands when this oaf threatened to batter the door down.’

  ‘This “oaf”, as you call him, is a clergyman of my acquaintance,’ Carlyle admonished her gently. ‘His name is Matthew West and he is of the Wesleyan persuasion, but do not add that to your list of grievances against him. He has an interest in all those alleged manifestations of evil spirits in the lower areas of the city.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him any more gentle with doors,’ Adelaide muttered as she walked over to the corpse. ‘Will you be anatomising her this evening? Only I’ve arranged for Constance and Emily to call round for a late supper at home, at which we have much business to discuss.’

  ‘And I must not presume upon our relationship to keep you from your appointed mission in life,’ Carlyle said indulgently. ‘Leave the lady as she is and we may ascertain how much Mr West has learned of my methods. No doubt Inspector Jennings would also benefit from being a passive observer. So off you go and leave me some supper.’

  Adelaide departed with another scowl at Matthew and Carlyle led him to the stone slab on which the woman lay, fully dressed, but with a face that glowed brilliant white under the gaslight above her, like some alabaster effigy of a dead monarch in a cathedral. Inspector Jennings walked a few paces behind Matthew and all three men gazed down at the body.

  ‘You will of course recall what I had to tell you, during our last conversation, of the methods employed by Professor Bell in Edinburgh,’ Carlyle said to Matthew, ‘so let us see how you employ them. Feel free to investigate beneath the clothing, should you be so inspired, since the lady herself is hardly in a position to protest.’

  Matthew stared long and hard at the woman whose unseeing eyes were pointed at the gaslight above her before venturing an opinion. ‘A lady in her late forties, or perhaps her early fifties, almost certainly of a respectable middle-class background,’ Matthew pronounced. ‘Perhaps a schoolmistress, or an assistant to some gentleman of commerce here in the city. She is well dressed and well fed. The boots are clean, suggesting that she was not accustomed to walking the streets. There are no obvious marks of violence upon her, so I assume that she passed from this life peacefully, perhaps in her own home. There is a somewhat pungent smell about her, so perhaps she worked as an assistant in some pharmacy shop.’

  He looked up and saw Carlyle’s face creased with merriment. Then he looked back at Jennings, who had a broad grin on his long face beneath the drooping, greying moustache.

  ‘Tell him, John,’ Carlyle invited the inspector.

  Jennings took obvious delight in advising Matthew, ‘She was aged twenty-five or thereabouts and she was a convicted prostitute.’

  ‘Surely that cannot be right!’ Matthew protested. ‘Her face is quite lined, most noticeably around the eyes and mouth and the latter appears to be somewhat pursed, as it often is with ladies approaching middle-age.’

  ‘That is because of the life she led,’ Carlyle told him. ‘Had you bothered to open her mouth, as you were entitled to do, you would have noted immediately that she no longer had possession of her teeth. That explains the downward droop of her mouth, as the dentures no longer provide the skeletal framework for it. Opening the mouth would also have exposed your senses to the unmistakable reek of stale gin.’

  ‘What I was smelling was not gin,’ Matthew asserted in his own defence. ‘It was — and still is — hanging in the air and I have been working among derelicts for long enough to recognised the smell of gin. So what is it?’

  ‘Formalin,’ Carlyle told him. ‘A liquid used extensively in my work, in order to preserve things from decay, like that lady on the slab. I would have treated her with it, had my daughter completed the task of undressing her. But since I have already determined the cause of her death, that is probably no longer necessary, unless Inspector Jennings requires that I do things by the book. Given the frequency with which formalin is employed in this room, it is hardly surprising that the place is suffused with its very distinctive, and somewhat clinically sharp, aroma.’

  ‘What else did I miss?’ Matthew asked dejectedly.

  ‘Well, first of all, what led you to believe that she was a member of the professional middle-class?’

  ‘The gown she’s wearing,’ Matthew explained. ‘It’s a little worn through use, but it must have cost a considerable sum from a quality draper’s store when new.’

  ‘No doubt it did,’ Carlyle agreed as he lifted the hem and invited Matthew to examine the stitching on its inside. ‘What does that tell you?’

  ‘That it was been taken up at some time in the past, clearly,’ Matthew replied, a little annoyed at so basic a question. ‘Even I can see that.’

  ‘But you didn’t, did you, since you didn’t even bother to look?’ Carlyle reminded him. ‘You were so convinced by superficial appearances that she was a respectable middle-aged lady that you allowed that prejudice to deflect you from examining the facts. And clearly the gown was not made for the lady wearing it, since while it is an everyday occurrence for garments to be lengthened when people grow taller, it would be a rare event indeed for the owner of a gown to have it shortened some years after coming into ownership of it. People grow taller over time, not so much shorter that they need garments taken up.’

  ‘And presumably whoever gave her the gown also gave her those clean boots?’ Matthew conjectured.

  Carlyle shrugged his shoulders. ‘Who knows? All we can see is that the boots are clean, which may mean — as you rashly deduced — that the lady who was wearing them was not accustomed to walking the streets. But that does not exclude her from the oldest women’s profession, does it, Inspector Jennings?’

  ‘Indeed not, Doctor,’ Jennings agreed, still regarding Matthew with an amused grin. ‘She worked in a house of assignation in Cleveland Street, off Whitechapel Road. The boots no doubt belonged to the lady who ran the house and were loaned to Millie — that was the lady’s name, Millie Clements — for the purpose of her work, since the gentlemen she entertained liked to disrobe their ladies as part of the entertainment.’

  ‘You also missed the clue my daughter provided regarding the headlice,’ Carlyle added, seemingly determined to maximise Matthew’s humiliation. ‘No self-respecting middle-class lady would be found sufferin
g from those these days. Not even poor Millie here, if she could have afforded to wash her hair in one of those commercial preparations that can be acquired at any pharmacy. But one may reasonably conclude that all her ill-gotten gains, at least that portion of them not retained in advance by the brothel madame, went on gin.’

  ‘So I missed a few salient details,’ Matthew admitted, becoming annoyed by Carlyle’s pleasure in pointing them out, ‘but you surely exceed yourself when you claim to have determined the cause of her death without even undressing her.’

  ‘That wasn’t necessary, as I already explained,’ Carlyle reminded him. ‘Again, if you had taken the time to look a little more closely at the lady’s clothing, you would have noticed the grubby marks in the centre of the white frill with which the top of the gown is decorated.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And it resembles nothing more clearly than sweaty finger-marks. Immediately below that point, on the human body — male or female — is the throat and inside the throat something called the ‘hyoid bone’, which protects the larynx. It can be fractured in only one way of which I am aware and that is during the process of strangling one’s victim by embedding one’s thumbs in their throat. If you lift that frill that you ignored the first time, you will see, as I did when attracted to that area by the red marks just above it that the woman was indeed strangled to death, during the course of which the hyoid was fractured. Regard.’ Carlyle leaned forward and pulled back the frill and Matthew was forced to look away in distaste from the mangled purple mess that had once been a throat.

  ‘So she was murdered?’ Jennings asked.

  Carlyle nodded. ‘She was indeed — do you wish me to do a complete examination, to rule out heart attack or alcohol poisoning?’

  ‘No, that’s all I need, Doctor, and thank you,’ Jennings replied. ‘I’ll get back to Leman Street without delay and give them the glad tidings. We’ve already buckled the last client she had and he has a track record for clobbering prostitutes. The madame’s only too anxious to avoid prosecution by admitting that our man was dragged off her by the hired muscle in the place who’re supposed to protect their “ladies” from this sort of thing, so this should be a walk in the park. Send us your account in due course.’

  With that he took his departure, leaving Matthew standing in the centre of the room feeling foolish and not a little embarrassed. He was roused from his gloomy reverie by the sound of clinking glasses and turned to see Carlyle in the act of pouring two measures of brandy. He beckoned Matthew into the small office area in the corner, partitioned off from the dissection area by a glass panel.

  ‘Don’t try to insist that as a man of the cloth you don’t drink,’ Carlyle grinned, ‘because if so you’ll be unique in your profession. Assuming that this was your first dead body, then you’re probably ready for a quick brandy. Regard it as a medicinal remedy prescribed by your doctor, then come and sit down and tell me what brought you down here in the first place.’

  Matthew shook his head. ‘As you may not perhaps be aware, those of us who follow the strict teaching of our founder John Wesley are opposed to alcohol in all its forms.’

  ‘And your justification for this illogical stance?’

  ‘It robs men of their senses. Every day in our public houses we see the sad consequences of men and women losing their inhibitions because their grip on reality and social etiquette has been overpowered by drink.’

  ‘So if you were admitted to this hospital with, say, a broken leg,’ Carlyle said, ‘you would foreswear any administration of chloroform and allow the surgeon attending you to set the fracture while you were fully awake and alert to the pain?’

  ‘Of course not,’ Matthew said.

  Carlyle sighed. ‘Then, my good sir, you are a hypocrite, because chloroform — more than mere alcohol — robs people of their senses. Most particularly their sense of pain.’

  ‘But since I am not in pain, why should I require to consume the liquor in this glass?’

  ‘Because I say so and I am the one with the medical qualifications. As I said already, regard this as a prescription from your doctor and drink it up like a dutiful patient. It will serve to calm your nerves.’

  ‘But I do not feel my nerves to be in any way disturbed.’

  ‘You perhaps will when I advise you of why Inspector Jennings was really here and how that woman on the slab came to die.’

  It fell silent for a moment before Matthew asked timorously, ‘She was killed by some creature from the other world?’

  ‘No — she was killed because the man who choked the life out of her mistook her for one.’

  ‘He was another of those who had succumbed to the evil influence of alcohol?’

  ‘Yes and no. But first, might I ask what makes you think that these manifestations of plague spectres are the product of alcohol?’

  ‘A logical deduction,’ Matthew replied. ‘I applied your reasoning process to the recent reports of creatures emerging from their graves to claim the souls of the living. They all involved the consumption of alcohol in public houses. Every person who claims to have had a ghostly encounter was either in a public house, or returning from one.’

  ‘Except for Edwin Tyler,’ Carlyle told him. When Matthew raised an eyebrow in enquiry, he added, ‘He is the man currently in custody for the murder of Millie Clements. He appears to have been sober at the time and had not consumed alcohol since the previous evening. He is a crane operator in the West Dock and it is instant dismissal to be under the influence of liquor while operating one of those things. He arrived at the brothel in the middle of the afternoon, after he finished his shift in the docks and appeared perfectly normal. Then, for reasons that are currently unexplained, he began screaming at Millie, using words such as “Devil”, “evil” and “hideous” and by the time that the bully boys who guard the girls in there were able to kick down the door Millie was dead and Edwin Tyler was seeking to justify his actions by claiming that she was “one o’ them Devils from the plague pit”, to employ his own words. And do you intend to drink that brandy, or shall I attempt to return it to the bottle?’

  ‘Drink it yourself, if you prefer,’ Matthew invited him as he handed over the glass that had remained, untouched, in his hand throughout their conversation. ‘But why is Scotland Yard so interested in the murder of a prostitute? They’re common enough around here, aren’t they?’

  ‘Does you remember the man they named “The Ripper”?’

  ‘Of course, since it was barely five years ago and I was just completing my ministry training here in Whitechapel. Are you saying that he’s returned and that he’s this “Edwin Tyler”?’

  ‘No, of course not. For that matter “The Ripper” was never identified and has seemingly abandoned his sickening career. But the people of the East End have long memories for matters such as that and a man who kills a whore while seemingly in the grip of madness is likely to stir up rumours that the bogeyman of nightmare has returned. Inspector Jennings has been dispatched down here to prevent more public panic — God knows we have enough of it on the streets already, thanks to this plague nonsense.’

  ‘So why have you become involved in what, when you remove the “Ripper” memory, is just a straightforward murder?’ Matthew asked.

  Carlyle shook his head. ‘You consider it to be straightforward when a man undergoes a delusion such as that, in the middle of the afternoon, with virtually no alcohol in his system?’

  ‘Perhaps he’s suffering from some sort of insanity,’ Matthew offered, although he was aware of the weakness of this explanation while he was offering it and was hardly surprised when Carlyle gave vent to a ‘tut’ of frustration.

  ‘He’s already been examined by two Mentalists while being held in secure custody in Leman Street and he displays none of the standard symptoms of mental infirmity. Nor is he able to offer any rational explanation for his behaviour, so that’s why Jennings came to me.’

  ‘And why you?’

  ‘Because he i
s aware of my interest in poisons, which I have been experimenting with for some years now.’

  ‘I’m glad I foreswore that brandy,’ Matthew joked, then wished he hadn’t when Carlyle’s face registered his disapproval. ‘Do you say that this man Tyler was poisoned? And if so, how do you explain all those accounts of people who underwent terrible delusions when they were merely intoxicated?’

  ‘At present I don’t, and I can’t,’ Carlyle admitted. ‘But following my recent highly controversial lecture on the subject of poisons that affect one’s judgment to senior officers at Scotland Yard, the deputy commissioner instructed Jennings to consult with me. He arrived down here only yesterday and we’ll be working together on the Tyler case.’

  ‘Is Tyler still suffering from his delusion?’

  ‘It would seem not, but I’m fascinated by the possibility that he may not be the only one who can “see things” while sober. If a man can suffer from such an hallucination hours after consuming the poison — if we assume for the moment that it was somehow connected with his alcohol consumption the previous evening — then why not all the others who’ve reported earlier manifestations?’

  ‘So you think that once this poison is consumed, it’s capable of acting upon one’s senses for ever?’ Matthew shuddered. ‘That’s a terrible thought and one can only extend one’s deepest sympathy to those afflicted.’

  ‘You’re beginning to sound like a preacher again,’ Carlyle grinned. ‘But at least you seem to have accepted that these alleged visitations from the grave really are some form of delusion.’

  ‘Did I ever suggest otherwise?’ Matthew challenged him. ‘Why would a man of God such as myself lend credence to the possibility of the souls of the departed returning from the grave to haunt us? Or to bring us messages of love and hope, for that matter? This necromancy that seems to have become some sort of public entertainment in recent years is severely condemned by the Bible and everyone who follows its teachings.’