Chapter 15
Thursday, 27 September, 1888
Alastair found her just outside the main entrance to the hospital, leaning against one of the brick arches. Her face was unnaturally pale, a handkerchief knotted in thin fingers. He lightly touched her elbow.
Jacynda’s red-rimmed eyes rose to meet his. I found him.
Without a care what others might think, he wrapped his arms around her, giving a gentle hug. I am very sorry, Jacynda.
Feeling awkward, he released his embrace. She didn’t appear to have taken offense at his gesture.
They say he committed suicide.
My lord, Alastair murmured. Why would a man do such a thing?
She actively kneaded the handkerchief with both hands. He didn’t kill himself.
This must be very difficult for you—
No! she retorted. Her tone earned them a startled look from a passerby. I know Chris. He did not kill himself.
Caught by her ferocity, he acquiesced. What do you intend to do?
I want you to examine him.
He shook his head. I have no expertise when it comes to…post mortems.
Do you know someone who does? Someone who is…discreet?
The last question puzzled him. Yes. My partner at the clinic, Dr. Cohen, has performed autopsies. I could request he examine your…particular friend.
Lover, Alastair. He was my lover!
I’m sorry…your lover.
Her anger seemed to fade. How do I get him to the clinic?
Where is he?
St. Georges-in-the-East, the parish mortuary, she said, stuffing the handkerchief into a pocket.
I’ll make the arrangements. I’ll send someone for you after Daniel has completed his examination.
No, I want to be there. When shall I meet you at the clinic?
An autopsy is no place—
When, Alastair? she pressed.
He sighed. She wasn’t going to permit him any quarter. Allow me three hours. If all went well, the autopsy would be complete before she reached the clinic. He disliked lying to her, but no woman should see such a sight.
Thank you. I appreciate your help.
Do you need me to summon a hansom?
No, I want to walk. I need to think things through.
He leaned closer, returning his hand to her elbow. You are not alone in this. I will help as I can. It is not right for you to face the coming months alone.
A puzzled expression was his answer. Before he could pursue the matter further, she fled down the steps to the street.
Daniel Cohen gave his partner a dubious look over the top of his glasses. You do bring mixed news. The donation was a godsend. However… He gestured toward the body on the examining table. What have you gotten us into, my friend?
Alastair sat at the other table rolling bandages, creating a neat stack. I promised we’d determine this poor soul’s manner of death. It has been ruled a suicide. I doubt that will change.
Daniel shoved his glasses up the bridge of his nose. I see.
Just review the coroner’s findings. It is Jacynda’s opinion that the fellow did not kill himself.
Jacynda? When he received no reply, Daniel stepped closer and studied the corpse. Did he leave a final note?
Yes. Rather cryptic according to the coroner, Alastair grumbled. He believes this fellow took a hefty dose of laudanum before flinging himself into the river.
Attempting to escape the previously mentioned lady, perhaps? Daniel queried.
Alastair’s bandage rolling grew more agitated. Hardly.
Who is this Jacynda person? You’ve never mentioned her before.
Miss Lassiter lives at the boarding house.
Ahhh. Now the murk clears a bit. A pause and then, Shield the table, will you? We don’t want our patients to think we do a brisk business in corpses like Burke and Hare.
Alastair rose and positioned a movable screen to shield their work. It’s a sad commentary that we’d make a better income by grave-robbing than treating the living. He made a final adjustment. How long will this take?
We should have sufficient time before the clinic is set to open,
Daniel replied. He leaned over, inspecting the body. Handsome young man. He opened the corpse’s mouth. River debris present.
Amazingly healthy teeth, the like of which I’ve never seen.
Glancing up, he offered, If you wish to return in an hour or so, I’ll be able to tell you more.
Alastair shook his head, removing his coat and tossing it over a chair. Rolling up his sleeves, he replied, Go on. I’ll assist as I’m able.
Good lord, what happened to your arm?
Alastair eyed the bandage, which sported a sizeable patch of dried blood. I was assaulted in the street. It’s the sole injury.
Fortunately, I didn’t have the donation with me at the time.
Thank God on all accounts. Did you file a report with the police?
No need. I couldn’t identify the rogues if I stumbled over them, Alastair fibbed. He’d know them, all right; one would be limping and the other using hand signals to communicate. After you finish, I’ll be in need of a dressing change.
A nod returned as Daniel bent over the deceased’s head, examining something that had caught his notice. Now that’s particularly interesting…
Alastair watched in fascination as his partner thoroughly examined the body and then performed the autopsy. Daniel muttered to himself the entire time and refused to explain what he’d found until his work was complete.
You see the rope fibers embedded in the flesh? Daniel asked.
He held a candle close as Alastair trained the magnifying glass on the dead man’s wrist.
I do now. I never would have thought to look for them. He shook his head in amazement. I am astounded at what you’ve found. I had no notion of what a corpse could reveal to the trained eye.
The wound on his head was the tip-off. I found wood splinters in it.
A truncheon, perhaps? Alastair asked, recalling the pair in the alley. Any number of street toughs carried them for protection.
Possibly. As with some of the other injuries, the head wound occurred before he went into the water. Most of the marks were from being pummeled by debris in the river. I hazard to state that he endured some degree of…coercion before his death.
You mean he was tortured? a woman’s voice asked.
The doctors turned in unison. Both had their sleeves rolled to the elbows. Dr. Cohen was shorter than Alastair, dark in complexion with an unruly shock of hair.
You shouldn’t be here, Alastair cautioned.
Her eyes drifted to Chris’ recumbent form. She jerked them away, focusing instead on Alastair’s disapproving face. Beneath her mantelet, the time interface buzzed in recognition of Chris’
ESR Chip. After she gave the watch a tap, it fell silent.
Are you Miss Lassiter? the other physician asked, stepping away from the body to wash his hands in a basin.
Yes.
I’m Daniel Cohen. I am sorry we meet under such unpleasant circumstances.
Thank you.
Daniel explained, In answer to your question, he wasn’t tortured in the conventional sense. However, he was vigorously questioned.
Meaning?
He has considerable bruising over his right ribs. One of the ribs is broken. The injuries occurred before his death.
Cynda finally allowed her eyes to rest on her lover. Though decently covered from the waist down, his chest displayed an incision from the Adam’s apple downward, closed with neat stitches. Nausea rose at the mutilation. What had she expected them to do? They couldn’t him put on a Post-Bed and have the computer spit out the autopsy results. They’d have to open the body. At least Chris’ family wouldn’t see him this way.
She hid her hands behind her skirt so the docs wouldn’t notice their shaking.
Did he drown?
Toweling his hands, Daniel shook his head. He was deceased before his time in the Thames. There is no river water in his lungs.
Cynda took a deep breath and let it out in relief, her hands falling to her sides. Thank God, she whispered. She saw their puzzled looks. Chris was mortally afraid of water. It would have been the worst way for him to die, to feel it close over him. She bit her lip to hold back the tears. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a suicide.
Then that is some comforting news, at least, Daniel replied.
Cynda dug in a pocket. They found a bottle on him. She handed it to Alastair. He squinted at the label.
I cannot make anything of it. He passed it to the other doctor.
After a moment, it came right back. Neither can I, Daniel replied. It’s too damaged. That is a pity, for I suspect the laudanum was a diversion.
Diversion? Alastair asked. He filled the washbasin with fresh water and scrubbed his hands vigorously.
Daniel settled onto a chair, propping his feet on a nearby bench. A diversion to misdirect the coroner’s attention away from the ligature marks, the lack of water in the lungs, and so forth.
How did the coroner miss all that? Cynda pressed.
A shrug. Often they see what seems most logical, and are disinclined to look much further. A combination of elements would have directed his decision: the final note, the stones in the pocket, the laudanum. In his defense, a coroner’s pay is not the best. With the recent spate of killings, they have far too much work piled up.
Daniel! Alastair barked sharply.
The medico’s face blossomed in embarrassment at his insensitive remark. My apologies, miss. I meant no disrespect to this gentleman.
None taken, Dr. Cohen, she said. Her attention returned to Chris. He seemed so somber, unlike the prankster she’d known.
She expected him to leap off the table, tear off the fake stitches and shout, Gotcha!
The police must be notified, Alastair said as he toweled his hands.
No police. I will handle this myself, she said.
Miss Lassiter, Daniel began, it is our duty as physicians to report a suspicious death. Surely you would rather have—
No police.