by James McGee
For a moment, Sawney wondered how Dodd had known who it was and then, as the door swung shut, he saw the tiny spyhole cut into the wood at eye level. He noticed too that the doctor’s hands, like his apron, were heavily stained with dark, viscous matter.
Sawney nodded towards the sack. “Second helpin’, as promised.”
“Bring it,” Dodd said. He turned abruptly, candle flickering, leaving them to follow him down the ramp.
At the bottom of the ramp, lit by candles set in niches around the wall, the stabling arrangements were no different to those of a normal livery yard. There were enough wooden-sided stalls in the low-roofed chamber to house half a dozen horses, as well as space for two carriages, standing abreast. The floor was layered with straw.
Various items of tack hung from hooks around the sides, while against one wall there stood a workbench and a selection of tools. On the floor next to the bench was a large, square basket. From the moment they reached the base of the ramp Sawney had been aware of the sickly odour. It grew stronger the further they advanced. It wasn’t coming from Maggett’s load, Sawney knew. It was emanating from the square basket. It was a smell Sawney recognized.
Dodd pointed to the workbench.
Sawney nodded to Maggett, who lifted the sack on to the table. He did it without effort, as if the contents were weightless. Sawney took the knife from his belt and cut the ties around the neck of the sack. Maggett tipped the body out. Sawney used the knife to cut away the bandages. Maggett straightened out the legs and, in a curious, almost reverential gesture he crossed the dead woman’s hands over her breasts.
“Picked fresh today,” Sawney said, throwing his companion an odd look. “Ain’t that right, Maggsie?”
Maggett said nothing, content to remain watchful, and silent.
Dodd bent over the corpse and examined it closely. He lifted and replaced each limb in turn, kneading the blue-grey flesh with thumb and palm. He manipulated the wrist, knee, ankle and finger joints. He pulled back the sunken eyelids and opened the corpse’s lips to examine the teeth. Maggett was reminded of an ostler checking the health of a sick horse. Finally, he stepped away and nodded.
“The quality appears to be acceptable.”
Sawney gave what he hoped was an equally nonchalant nod. Inwardly, he breathed a sigh of relief. “You want us to give you an ’and takin’ it inside?”
The offer was met with a dismissive shake of the head. “That will not be necessary. I will see to it. You may, however, dispose of those –” Dodd nodded towards the basket. The smell was very strong now.
Bugger, Sawney thought. “Not a problem. Maggsie?”
“Leave the basket,” Dodd instructed.
Sawney picked up the empty sack from the bench and stood by as Maggett lifted the basket lid.
The stench seemed to erupt out of the hamper. Sawney jerked his head away quickly. Beside him he heard what sounded like a gag reflex deep in Maggett’s throat and saw the big man’s eyes widen.
“Jesus!” Maggett breathed. He threw Sawney a look. “We’ll need another sack, Rufus.”
Sawney looked around. There were some empty straw sacks lying next to one of the stalls. He went and picked one up.
Dodd appeared to be taking no notice. He had turned away and was re-examining the newly delivered cadaver.
Maggett was standing with his lips clamped closed. It looked to Sawney as if the big man was trying to hold his breath. Quickly, Sawney placed the open end of the sack over the top of the basket. Then, tipping the basket on its side, the two men transferred the first part of the load. It was smoothly done, due to Maggett’s strength and Sawney’s ability to keep the head of the sack over the basket all the way through the switch. Sawney tied off the head of the sack and the two men repeated the process with the basket’s remaining contents. Sawney caught Dodd’s attention, nodded towards the workbench, and raised a questioning eyebrow.
Dodd nodded and watched as Sawney dragged the empty basket to the bench and tipped the newly arrived corpse into it. He had to bend the knees and press down on the top of the head to get the thing to fit before he was able to close the lid.
“All yours,” Sawney said, when the task was done. He wiped his hands on his jacket. “You sure you can manage?”
“Quite sure, thank you.”
“Right,” Sawney said. “We’ll be off then.”
He nodded to Maggett, who swung one of the sacks on to his shoulder. Sawney hoisted the other one.
“You may let yourselves out, gentlemen,” Dodd said. “I will be along directly to secure the door.”
Sawney paused.
“Was there anything else?” Dodd said. His head turned.
“I was thinking,” Sawney said. “About the next one. When would you be wantin’ to take delivery?”
“I’m not certain. I’ll know after I’ve examined tonight’s consignment. Return in twenty-four hours. I will advise you then.”
“Right you are.” Sawney tapped Maggett on the arm and the two of them headed up the ramp.
Back on the street, Maggett took a nervous look around. He nudged the sack over his shoulder. “What the bleedin’ ’ell are we goin’ to do with these? I thought we’d got shot of them.” He stared anxiously at his companion. “Rufus?”
“Chris’sakes, shut up and let me think!” Sawney snapped. He bit his lip. He should never have offered to take the bloody things back. If he hadn’t made the offer, it was possible that Dodd would have hung on to them. It was his own fault for putting the idea into the man’s head, giving the doctor the impression that the deal had been on a sale-or-return basis, which was a damned stupid way to conduct trade in dead bodies; so much for the doctor’s comment about him showing shrewd business acumen. In reality, it had been a poor transaction, with the doctor taking the choicest morsels and leaving the rest for them to dispose of; like a chewy piece of gristle left on the side of the plate. Too late to do anything about it now. Alongside him, Maggett was shuffling his feet, anxious to be on the move.
“We can take them to Bartholomew’s,” Sawney said eventually. “It’s on the way.”
“It’s a fair bloody walk,” Maggett said doubtfully. “You sure?”
“I know it’s a fair bloody walk, Maggsie, but ’ave you got a better idea?”
“What about Chapel Street? It was them as made the first offer.”
“Yeah, but that was when they were in good nick. Don’t think they’ll be interested in seconds.”
“We could dump ’em,” Maggett suggested.
“I’m not bloody dumping them. Not when we might still make a bob or two. No, we’ll try Bartholomew’s. You never know. Now, you comin’ or not?”
Maggett sighed and nodded. “Whatever you say, Rufus.”
“Right then, that’s what we’ll do.”
Cursing under his breath, Sawney turned up his collar and, with the sack draped over his shoulder, he led his companion down the deserted street. This, he thought, was all he bloody needed.
Five minutes later it began to snow.
11
“Well, well.” Surgeon Quill looked up. “Officer Hawkwood. Back so soon? This is indeed an honour.”
The surgeon was standing over one of the examination tables, scalpel in hand, paused in mid slice. Laid out before him was the body of a man. Quill had already begun his dissection. A Y-shaped incision had been carved into the corpse’s chest from each shoulder to the base of the sternum and on down to the pubic bone. The skin had been peeled back to reveal the ribcage, muscles and soft tissue that lay beneath. Each of the surgeon’s brawny forearms was streaked red to the elbow.
“You’ve got a couple of bodies,” Hawkwood said. He was in no mood for preamble. He tried not to look at the bloody mess on the table and suspected that Quill was probably grinning inwardly at his discomfort.
“I do indeed. In fact, I have several.” The surgeon extended an arm to encompass the examination room. The movement shook a gobbet of blood from the scalpel b
lade on to the floor. Quill appeared not to notice the splatter. He paused only to wipe the blade on his filthy apron and raise an eyebrow. “I take it you have specific ones in mind?”
“They were delivered this morning?”
“Ah, yes, indeed.” The surgeon nodded.
“I’d like to see them,” Hawkwood said.
The surgeon showed his teeth. “I thought you might. This way.”
Hawkwood followed the surgeon to a table in the centre of one of the vault’s dimly lit alcoves. Retrieving a candle from a nearby niche, Quill held it aloft. A sheet covered the table and its contents. It was almost as filthy as the surgeon’s apron. Quill drew it back.
“Behold,” he said.
Hawkwood sucked in his breath, and stared down. A chill moved through him that had nothing to do with the temperature in the vault.
The discovery had been made in the early hours, by two Night Patrol constables. The officers had been making their rounds, protecting the capital from rogues, vagabonds, creatures of the night and assorted mischief-makers, when the snow began to fall. Already cold and miserable, the pair had decided to seek temporary shelter inside the archway at the entrance of St Bartholomew’s Hospital, with the intention of fortifying themselves for the rest of the patrol with a pipe of tobacco and a warming sip of grog from the small flask each of them carried.
It was as they were scurrying towards the hospital entrance that sharp-eyed Constable John Boggs alerted his companion, Constable Patrick Hilley, to the two figures skulking inside the hospital gates. Neither of the patrolmen was particularly inquisitive by nature, despite their office, and in the normal scheme of things would probably have hesitated before proceeding. But both men were aching from the cold and did not relish seeking alternative shelter by venturing further than they had to in the snow flurries that were beginning to swirl around them. Also, the quick snifter of grog had served to imbue them with a sense of confidence they might not otherwise have enjoyed.
Somewhat inevitably, it was Boggs, the younger of the two, who broke into a trot first, holding his lantern aloft, announcing his identity and calling for the shadowy figures to show themselves.
The two figures appeared to be male. One was of average height, his companion was taller, a lot taller, and big with it. Each bore a load of some kind, but as the underside of the archway lay in deep shadow it was hard to make out details. Boggs saw the ease with which the bigger man moved with the object on his back, unlike his companion, who seemed to be struggling with his burden. Both had shown an impressive fleetness of foot, though with two constables in pursuit, it was hardly surprising.
It soon became clear to the constables that the fleeing men were now empty-handed. Whatever they’d been carrying had been left behind in the rush to evade the constables’ clutches.
Arriving at the hospital entrance, Hilley and Boggs watched their quarry fade into the darkness beyond the falling snow, knowing it was pointless to follow. Not too dispirited at the thought, the constables returned to the archway to see what the disappearing duo had discarded.
Lanterns held high, they approached with some caution. A short way inside the entrance, arranged against the wall, were three large wicker hampers. Hesitantly the constables lifted the lid of each hamper and peered inside. All three were empty. The two men looked at each other, mystified.
Then Hilley spotted the sacks. They were lying between the last hamper and the wall, and looked as if they’d been flung there in a hurry. While his companion raised both lanterns overhead to shed light, Hilley took out his clasp knife and, with shaking hands, cut through the binding of the nearest sack. He was already conscious of the awful smell.
Hilley was the first one to throw up. Boggs wasn’t far behind him.
* * *
“Intriguing,” Quill said. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
God Almighty, Hawkwood thought. He stared down at the horror before him and nodded dully. He tried to close his nose against the smell, but it was impossible.
Quill used the scalpel as a pointer. “As you can see, incisions have been made in both cadavers, allowing access to the internal organs, a number of which have been removed.”
“Organs?” Hawkwood said.
“Spleens, kidneys …” Quill began, then looked at him. “You don’t want the entire list?”
“No,” Hawkwood agreed.
“Curious that many of them are digestive in nature,” Quill mused.
“Is that important?” Hawkwood asked.
“I have no idea,” Quill said cheerfully, and then pointed. “As you can see, sections of skin have also been excised from the forehead and cheeks, the upper arms and thighs, the calves and the back.” The surgeon turned. “You’re going to ask me if it was the same person, aren’t you?”
“Was it?”
The surgeon looked down at the bodies and frowned. “Well, the similarity’s striking; especially with regard to the facial excisions. Whoever wielded the knife on these poor women certainly did so with the same degree of skill as the person who removed the facial skin of the body I examined earlier.”
“You mean they had medical knowledge?” Hawkwood said.
“Almost certainly.”
“A surgeon?”
“Quite probably. If not, then it was definitely someone with an intricate understanding of anatomy. I can also tell you that the procedures were carried out not only post mortem but post burial. They were found outside St Bart’s, I understand?”
Hawkwood nodded.
The surgeon pursed his lips. “Not an unusual occurrence.”
Quill was not wrong. The three wicker hampers stowed inside the hospital entrance gates were proof of that. They had not been left there by a forgetful hospital porter. They had been placed there deliberately, for the convenience of the resurrection men. Most of the gangs were in league with hospital staff; porters or dissection-room assistants working on behalf of surgeons, and the baskets made it easier for the sack-’em-up men to transport bodies, especially if they needed to deliver the merchandise to their customers in multiples.
The surgeon gazed at the remains and frowned. “Though, I confess it’s unusual for bodies to be in this condition prior to delivery. Interesting that all the teeth are still intact.” Quill inserted the blade of the scalpel between the nearest corpse’s lips and levered open the mouth. “See?”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Hawkwood said.
“And the hospital has denied all knowledge?”
Hawkwood nodded. He suspected, however, that if the Night Patrol men had arrived ten minutes later, the bodies would have been in one of the hampers and probably on their way to the dissecting room. The hospital would have been unlikely to query the cadavers’ condition. Hospitals were so hard up for specimens they’d probably have accepted the things, no questions asked. It had been the thieves’ misfortune to be spotted before the bodies were picked up. They hadn’t even had the chance to drop them in a hamper. Even so, the discovery might have gone unreported if the two constables had opted to forget what they’d seen and go find somewhere else to have a drink and a smoke. They probably would have done just that, if they hadn’t leapt to the assumption that they were dealing with victims of cruel murder rather than medical malpractice. While Hilley had remained with the bodies, his partner had alerted Bow Street. It had been the two constables’ reports and description of the awful wounds that had aroused Hawkwood’s interest. He stared down at the dead grey flesh.
“You look perplexed, Officer Hawkwood,” Quill said.
“I am,” Hawkwood said. “I’m wondering how and why a dead man did all this.”
James Read’s expression was one of incredulity.
“What exactly are you telling me, Hawkwood? That you expect me to believe the individual who violated the women’s corpses and the person who murdered and mutilated the Reverend Tombs are one and the same?”
“Surgeon Quill seems to think so.”
“Is that what he said?�
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Hawkwood hesitated. “Not exactly, but he said it was a possibility. Parts of the women’s skins had been removed, including around the face. He said whoever had done it knew their anatomy.”
Read looked sceptical. “The bodies were found outside a hospital. They originated from there, surely?”
“No. The constables saw them being delivered. In any case, porters wouldn’t have left bodies either in sacks or in that condition. Hospitals don’t dump bodies, they take them in. They certainly don’t leave pieces of them lying around. They’re far too valuable for that. It was Hyde. I know it was.”
The Chief Magistrate sighed. “It seems to me that we – you – don’t know anything for certain. And even if it was Hyde, why would he be cutting up dead bodies?”
“He’s a surgeon. It’s what he does.”
James Read’s expression continued to mirror his doubt. “You think he was one of the men who left the bodies?”
“I don’t know. Either way, I doubt he dug them up. And he must have a roof over his head. He needs a place to work. Which means someone’s helping him.”
Read shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, Hawkwood, I fail to see it. This is all pure speculation. Colonel Hyde’s dead. He took his own life. You saw him die.”
“I saw him jump. I didn’t see him die.”
The Chief Magistrate sat back in his chair and steepled his hands. “So, what of the bodies recovered from the church? You visited Quill, you saw the remains – or had the memory slipped your mind?”