Chapter 9
Nine
NEW SCOTLAND YARD, THE VICTORIA EMBANKMENT
On the ride to the Embankment, I explained what Mr. Burke had eventually shared due to subtle persuasion and a little assistance from Rupert, regarding the chief inspector looking for information about that old case.
“Blackwood,” Brodie repeated the name with a frown. “It’s been a long time since I heard the name.”
“You worked on the case?”
He nodded. “Aye, with Joseph Martin. I had just made inspector, and he was the constable on duty when the poor young woman’s body was found.”
Our driver stopped before the main entrance of the “Yard” as it was called, what was now the main headquarters of the Metropolitan Police.
It was several stories tall, an imposing red-brick and stone building that was rumored to also include meeting rooms for high-ranking officials and offices for the growing Criminal Investigation Department.
That included Chief Inspector Abberline, and a morgue where bodies were received for further inspection by medical professionals as part of a growing need for their services.
Personally, I considered there to be no difference between Abberline and bodies in the morgue.
He was quite despicable, incompetent, and not to be trusted, as noted by others as well as myself, and merely waiting out the time until his pension. It would come none too soon, as far as I was concerned.
A plain-clothed young man rose from his desk and greeted us as we entered the lobby.
“Yes, sir…madam,” he added with a somewhat curious look at myself. “How may I assist you?”
Brodie handed him the note from the Home Secretary’s office.
“And this would be in the matter of?” he inquired.
“The matter of the recent death of Chief Inspector Dawes,” Brodie replied. “The body was brought here and is presently in the morgue.”
The young man nodded. “And you are?”
“Angus Brodie and Lady Mikaela Forsythe, private consultants. I spoke with Inspector Dooley earlier.
“Of course. I will advise him that you have arrived.”
We waited as the clerk, who was quite young, made a telephone call presumably to Mr. Dooley, who arrived promptly. He nodded in greeting.
“I’ve made the necessary arrangements for you to inspect the body.” He indicated that we were to follow him.
“Perhaps the lady would care to wait in one of our private offices,” the young clerk suggested.
“I assure you, the lady has no doubt seen more dead bodies than yourself, Mr. Davidson,” Mr. Dooley informed him as we proceeded past what was referred to as the booking desk, down a long hallway past a meeting room where the meeting had just adjourned, then toward the part of the building opposite the embankment.
Constables and plain-clothed men emerged from the large room, including Chief Inspector Abberline, who immediately exchanged glances with Brodie, then stopped Mr. Dooley.
“As you well know, Mr. Dooley, the examination rooms are out of limits to the general public.”
“Yessir, well aware. However, this is on direct orders from the office of the Home Secretary.”
Mr. Dooley did not wait for a response but motioned for Brodie and me to follow him.
“I might say, a pleasure as always…” I said no more as we followed Mr. Dooley through a set of double doors with signage that noted a holding area and morgue with four private offices.
The door to one of the offices opened, and an older woman emerged with reddened eyes as she sniffled into her handkerchief.
She was accompanied by an attendant who escorted her past as another door, much the same as in a hospital with a glass viewing window, opened.
A man in a white bibbed apron emerged with a clipboard in hand and proceeded into another private office.
Mr. Dooley motioned for us to follow him. “This way, room number eight.”
In spite of the fact that Brodie was no longer part of the MET, there was that note of respect in his voice.
“As you requested, I made certain the clothes be made available for you to inspect as well,” he added as he held the door open, then nodded to an attendant.
“Dawes is the name,” Mr. Dooley informed the attendant with thick glasses, who was also dressed in a white bibbed apron.
He went to a wall with several compartments, opened one and pulled out an examination table with a sheet over.
I had seen a number of bodies since that first case with Brodie. It was the nature of the inquiry business that not all cases involved small four-legged thieves with a penchant for rubies and diamonds.
However…
There was always that initial reaction—a bit of shock quickly pushed aside with other matters of importance, and my own habit of quickly pressing on.
“And the clothes?” Brodie inquired.
“On the counter as requested,” the attendant replied and indicated a long counter along the wall where men’s garments had been laid out.
They included a shirt badly stained with what had to be blood, vest, jacket, trousers, a pair of men’s undergarments, stockings, and boots.
“The body first,” Brodie indicated, and the attendant swept the sheet back much like a magician about to reveal whether or not a body had disappeared.
It had not and gleamed under a series of overhead electric lights, skin a shade of white with a green tinge about the edges, dried blood on the throat and chest above a paunch of belly, and manly parts on full display.
“A little discretion in consideration of the lady,” Mr. Dooley insisted, and the sheet was returned over the lower part of the chief inspector’s body.
As Brodie made his inspection, the attendant proceeded to point out three wounds on the body, all around the throat and neck.
“One wound would have been sufficient to accomplish wot the murderer wanted,” he commented.
I had taken out my notebook—that did seem to be a better alternative that viewing the chief inspector’s naked body—and made note of Brodie’s observations.
“And there are bruises about the neck as well…”
I made that note of that.
“And bruising about the ribs as if struck a blow with a boot after the man was down. And torn nails on the fingers.”
I added that to the notes.
“Blotchy blue patches on the stomach,” Brodie lifted the far edge of the sheet. “And on the upper right leg.”
“I noticed that as well,” Mr. Dooley commented.
I found his observations to be most interesting as I added yet another note.
He lowered the sheet back into place. “His clothes,” he indicated and proceeded to the counter.
“As you see, the shirt is quite bloodied,” the attendant pointed out. “Which is consistent with the wounds on the throat.”
Brodie made no comment as he inspected each garment, making note of a stain on the left lapel of the jacket. He wiped a finger across the stain, then tasted it.
“Sticky and sweet,” he commented as he exchanged a look with Mr. Dooley.
I added the note as he then continued his inspection, including the boots.
He picked up one then the other. “Smooth, no marks.”
I had no idea what that might mean, but added it as well.
Brodie stood back from the counter, deep in thought, as he finished his inspection of the garments.
“That will be all,” he said then and thanked the attendant for his assistance.
I returned my notebook to my bag, and we followed Mr. Dooley from the examination room, past other examination rooms and offices to the main entrance of the building.
“I will call on you later to discuss everything,” Mr. Dooley informed us rather abruptly.
I then saw the reason for his hasty farewell as Chief Inspector Abberline rapidly made his way toward us.
One of the advantages of being very near the ‘Yard’ was that there were several coaches on the street, either arriving or departing. Brodie waved down a driver and we climbed inside.
“Are ye all right, lass?” Brodie asked as we departed Scotland Yard and Chief Inspector Abberline.
“The look on yer face was concernin’ when the attendant first pulled back the sheet.”
“Quite all right,” I assured him.
I wasn’t about to admit that it was a bit of a shock compared to other bodies I had seen in the past. Not so much the wounds, which were dreadful. Not surprising, considering the description Mr. Dooley provided, but other…things.
“Other things?” He inquired.
Oh, for heaven’s sake!
“The poor man did seem a bit lacking in certain parts.”
“Certain parts?” he repeated.
He was deliberately being difficult. I saw it in the amusement in that dark gaze.
“Manly parts,” I blurted out, since it seemed he wouldn’t be satisfied until I explained.
“And ye are an authority on this?” he commented with straight face.
He could be such a devil.
“I do appreciate that you are not similarly afflicted,” I explained. “Although, perhaps it is a condition that sets in when one is dead.”
He coughed through laughter and finally brought himself under control once more.
“I will remind ye of that, Mikaela Forsythe.”
He continued to use my titled name when making a point.
“I look forward to it, Mr. Brodie.”
It was late in the afternoon when we arrived back at the Strand. Neither of us had eaten, and the first order of business was early supper at the Public House.
The meat pie was delicious and warmed me through.
I chatted briefly with Miss Effie, now Mrs. Cavendish. She was a cheerful woman with round cheeks, eyes that sparkled, and a demeanor that tolerated no nonsense from her customers, the workers that arrived at end of day.
Mr. Cavendish had accompanied us, and presently made the rounds of those he knew, blocking the walk area with his platform, then moving on before putting in a take-away order for two pies: one for the hound.
“He gets right put out if I don’t bring one back for him,” he commented. “You spoilt him with that, Miss Mikaela.”
“Surely not,” I replied and had Brodie include the two take-away meals on our total.
After supper, we returned to the office. I poured us both a dram of Old Lodge whisky while Brodie built up the fire in the coal stove.