by Elsa Holland
CHAPTER 25
Edith unlocked her bedroom door then made her way down the servant’s stairs and into the surgery.
“Morning, Miss Appleby. I trust you found the Edinburgh Herald?” Price asked. “I receive it after the doctor and I thought it only fitting you received it after me. Given your position in the household, you should receive it before the housekeeper.”
“Yes, thank you, Mr Price. I do appreciate you arranging that, I like to stay abreast of the news.” Mr Price looked very pleased with himself. “Is Dr Vaughn available?” She asked.
“He is preparing to leave, he has been called down to Scotland Yard in London!”
Her heart leapt into a flurry. “Scotland Yard?” That could only mean one thing. “The Little Princess case?” She held her breath.
Mr Price’s smile was full of knowing pride. “Most likely.”
Edith moved through the surgery to the front of the house, intending to knock on Vaughn’s study door. Nerves were firing fight or flight impulses through an already turbulent body. Was there a chance he would take her with him? Surely taking an assistant was acceptable?
She knocked on his study door.
The door swung open and Vaughn towered in the space, satchel in hand. He scowled when he saw her. Damn, he was still upset.
“Price has your instructions.” He went to step past her but not before she saw his gaze drop for a second to her lips. “Now if you will excuse me, I have a train to catch.”
“Doctor?”
He didn’t turn or stop.
“Appleby, is there something we failed to address? The room not to your liking? A pea under the mattress? Unwanted declarations of love?” He headed towards the double doors and back into the house proper.
Edith hurried after him, guilt twisting in her gut. She had to call out.
“Doctor, I heard you will be going to London today on a case—what time will you need me to be ready?”
Vaughn stopped and rubbed a hand over his eyes before looking at her once more as if she was some blighted rash that kept appearing and irritating. He had his Butcher face on and Edith feared that Vaughn was gone forever; spurned men were not usually a friendly lot.
“We have covered this I am sure.” His voice perfunctory and bored. “You will do what I ask when I ask it. Those, I think, were the instructions you managed to follow on day one, and you should continue to do so.” He pushed through the double doors leading into the foyer and headed for the stairs.
Edith hurried after him. The doors hit her hands hard on their backward swing, and she firmly pushed them back open and followed him.
“Doctor? Does that mean you will not need me to come with you?” Please, please say I can come. “I can be ready in moments . . .”
“I have not requested you travel with me, I have requested you seek instruction from Mr Price,” he said, without looking back.
She climbed the stairs after him.
“But . . . but I am your surgical nurse, and I am very well versed in anatomy. I could help.”
He stopped and so did she. She gazed up the handful of stairs between them.
“No.” His regard was cold as he barked out the single syllable.
“Are you punishing me?” she whispered.
“For what?” His eyes dared her to speak it out loud.
“For last night.” Her voice broke over the words.
“Last night?” He walked down two steps and her heart jumped.
“Yes.” Edith stayed her ground even as her breath grew shallower. His face was freshly shaven, and the smell of soap lingered around him. She knew what it was like to feel that scent wrapped around her.
“Are you blackmailing me?” He took the last step down between them to loom over her. In some Pavlovian effect, her body hummed to life at his proximity.
“What?” Damn it, she needed to stay on track. “No, of course not. You just seem so . . . changed.” Her hands went to her buttons.
She thought she saw his face soften just a fraction as he saw the movement, but his eyebrows were still down over his eyes and he was still scowling.
“Miss Appleby, in Edinburgh it is not the practice for a surgeon to take his nurse into the various circles of his medical undertakings. You are stationary, I am mobile. There is nothing punishing or untoward in that arrangement. Now, if you will excuse me I will look forward to the pleasure of your services when I return.” His gaze held hers, communicating something, but she had absolutely no idea what.
Edith watched as he again took the stairs then turned the corner at the landing and became only sounds moving along the corridor.
CHAPTER 26
The Medical Coroner for London, Dr Simpson, removed the sheet covering the corpse, his breath a labored, wheezy sound in the silence. A tap dripped in one of the steel sinks and the room echoed the sounds off glossy white tiles. It took Vaughn a few moments to focus. He’d seen the body in many states over the years, but the sight of her beauty coupled with the graphic rawness of her flayed denudement was in another realm all together.
Vaughn stepped closer. Transport had pressed her soft golden hair against her skull making it look like a cap. Despite the chalky pallor of death, the exquisite bone structure of her face and the flawless quality of her skin screamed the injustice of her defilement.
“Photographs?” He asked Dr Simpson. They’d worked together on one occasion in the past and he had worked on another with the second assistant coroner at Felix’s recommendation. It seemed Dr Cox had delivered on his promise to get him on the case for there had indeed been a lineup of people eager to get involved, most based closer to London than him.
“They will be coming with Inspector Morrison, should be here any minute. Worked on the Ripper.”
Vaughn nodded. “Where can I leave my things?” He had come straight from the train station to Scotland Yard; there had been no doubt about the urgency. The overnight train journey had required a sleeper, yet arrival had been early.
“We’ve booked a room for you at the Metropole, nice and close.” It was an exceptional hotel and a few minutes’ walk at most. Simpson handed him a white coat.
“My office is down the hall—name on the door—you can leave your things there. The inspector on the case will be along shortly, then we can get started.”
Vaughn left his briefcase on the sideboard and walked his overnight satchel down the hall to Simpson’s office, an internal room with no windows and full of filing cabinets. He removed his coat and slipped on the white jacket.
‘ That is unimaginable, impossible . . . ’
He’d played the scene through his mind so many times he wasn’t sure if he now imagined the nuances that passed over Edith’s face at his offer of marriage. She’d been horrified yet, as he replayed it all, slowed it down, there was more. As he’d stepped back, as he’d closed down and protected a heart that had no right to be as hurt as it was, there had been another emotion which passed over her face, something akin to despair, grief, wretchedness. He had initially thought the look reflected her pity for him, and maybe there was a bit of that, but it was deeper, more personal. Her inability to say yes had hurt her, too.
Then there was yesterday morning on the stairs.
‘Are you punishing me?’
He should have simply said yes. He had been shorter with her than professionalism required but he was only human, and she was a haunting reminder of the lost promise of personal salvation. He was damn well panting for the solace she seemed to give him. Even in their discord on the stairs she was a balm, her nervous habit of checking buttons making her even more appealing than her earnest desire to come with him to London.
This distance would do them both good, he would calm down and either plan a more reasonable pace for his courtship or realize the error of his ways and let the whole matter drop. In fact, it would be far wiser to simply step back and take up his old habits.
Vaughn walked down the hall and entered the lab to see a large man in a
black coat leaning against the steel side table.
“Dr Vaughn, this is Inspector Morrison and his assistant, Master Brody,” Simpson said as he continued to lay out instruments and canisters for samples.
Vaughn shook Inspector Morrison’s hand. “Inspector.” He then nodded to the young assistant. “I understand you have photos—they would be helpful to gain some insight regarding how she was found.”
Morrison nodded down at his assistant, who reached into the satchel slung across his chest and drew out a folio. “So, what’s your angle?” The Inspector asked.
Vaughn took the folio and looked back at Morrison. “Your meaning?”
“There are eminent forensic doctors around these parts, but we had to wait over a day for you to be called and to come here. Just wondering who’s doing you favors and what’s in it for you?”
Vaughn laid the photos out on the side bench and ignored the inspector’s question. It wasn’t uncommon for men who hunted criminals for a living to be overly jaded. “Can you walk me through the scene?” He asked instead.
“No.” The inspector crossed his arms. “We are, after all, here to get your assessment on the cause of death, not to hand feed you our assumptions.”
Vaughn looked back at Simpson. “Does he have to be here if he’s not contributing?”
“I’m afraid so, don’t take it personally—he’s a blighter to everyone.”
Vaughn retrieved a magnifying glass, notepad and pen from his case and began to examine the crime scene photos, moving from one to the other and back again.
He made notes as he worked and Dr Simpson joined him yet paid surprisingly little attention to the images.
“I find it interferes with my objectivity,” Dr Simpson said, in answer to Vaughn’s unspoken question. “I’ll start on the measurements, shall I?”
“I’d like you to wait, Dr Simpson. Best we walk the road ahead together.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be analyzing the body?” Inspector Morrison asked. “Simpson’s got a point.”
Vaughn chose to ignore the man again. If the fellow wasn’t going to work together with him on the investigation, he would be ignored.
More time was needed on the crime scene to fully appreciate what had happened to the victim, but he had enough to contextualize the autopsy. After general body measurements and description were taken down, they took samples from under the fingernails and toenails.
“Let’s get them on slides right away.”
They both looked through the scrapings. Vaughn made notes.
“Well?” The inspector raised his voice. “No point in us standing here if you don’t say anything.”
Vaughn pointed to the door but said nothing.
The inspector swore then, and followed by the young assistant, walked the few steps to the body.
Vaughn looked up and met the inspector’s gaze.
“You’ll have my report as soon as yours is complete,” Morrison said.
Vaughn nodded. “It would be easier if someone took notes as we work through this. Inspector, perhaps your assistant could help?” Vaughn asked.
Master Brody stepped forward.
CHAPTER 27
“Well it seems to me that cause of death is quite simply blood loss; the removal of the skin happened post mortem. There is nothing under the nails to indicate a struggle, or that she had clawed at anything to escape. Dr Vaughn, would you agree? Perhaps we can put this to rest quickly despite the dramatic nature of it.” Simpson had that puffed up look ‘experts’ got in front of an audience, but there would be no benefit putting him offside.
Vaughn nodded earnestly then added, “No doubt that will be our finding, however there are a few more items I’m interested in exploring. Let’s see if we can’t give the inspector the ‘something fresh’ he’s no doubt come for.”
Simpson chuckled. “I see, a bit of friendly rivalry. I’m all for that.” He gave Vaughn a wink.
“There appears to be no indication of struggle—as you say, Dr Simpson—no bruising around the wrists, no bruising on the head under the hair. Without the skin, it is hard to say if there was bruising elsewhere on the body.”
Vaughn bent down over the victim’s face and then pressed down on the ribcage to squeeze the lungs, once, twice, drawing in his breath, then pulled back. “Chloroform, a large amount if the odor is still captured in the alveoli this long after death. It’s a volatile agent but the sweet scent is still discernable.”
Dr Simpson and the inspector immediately did the same, while Master Brody stayed right back, face pale and eyes watchful.
Vaughn ran his fingers over the neck, “Note there is no incision in the carotid artery,” then over the wrists, “radial artery”, then groin areas, “nor femoral arteries.” Both he and Dr Simpson then proceeded to check the body for any deep incisions but there were none. “There are no other incision areas, other than on the soles of the feet to exsanguinate the victim. The fastest method would have been through the femoral or carotid arteries. It appears that speed of death was not sought, but as the patient would have been unconscious, neither was there a desire to inflict pain.”
“Are you sure she was put under with the chloroform while being exsanguinated?” Master Brody asked while still writing to catch up on his findings.
Vaughn took a moment to think about that. “No, you’re right it’s an assumption. There would be little point administering it once the body had been drained of blood, I would also assume that there would be blood over a wider range than all landing in the basin if the victim had not been immobilized.”
“That rests on the assumption she would struggle, she may have been resigned.” The young man added and their eyes met. For a moment there appeared as if there were something strange about the boy’s appearance. Like his proportions were off in some way.
The inspector leaned to his assistant and whispered something in his ear that made the boy scowl and look back down at the notes. Vaughn turned his attention back to the body.
“There is no bruising on the wrists, neck or ankles to indicate that the body was hung and yet it was, based on the rope marks overhead in the crime scene photos and that the blood was collected in a basin rather than bled out over the floor. My guess is that she was hung in a harness in order to protect the skin, which appears to be the desired focus.”
“A harness . . .” The inspector said.
They moved to the body proper. “Gut sack was cut but I don’t think that was intentional.” Vaughn noted.
“No,” Simpson agreed. “Genitals removed though.”
“Hmmm,” Vaughn moved the cadaver’s legs open. The external flesh, the labia and clitoris, was not there. “Not sure that was the focus either, more likely a consequence of the skinning, much like the breasts.”
“Not like with Jack. Jack intentionally mutilated the sex organs and made a graphic display of disembowelment. This seems more controlled,” Simpson added.
“Agreed. What do you make of the different textures?” Vaughn asked.
“Looks like a combination of rips and cuts.” Simpson ran a gloved hand over the cadaver’s forearm.
“Hmm, let’s turn her over.” Vaughn and Simpson rolled the body over, settling the limbs and head. The same texture was seen down the back. A long slice ran the full length of the back and between the buttocks, down each thigh and down each arm but not in a perfunctory straight line, but rather as if in a pattern.
Vaughn ran his finger down it then reached for a caliper. “It varies in depth.” Vaughn tested incisions around the wrists, neck and ankles. “Also varies in depth.”
Simpson nodded. “Good find.”
“Meaning?” Inspector Morrison asked.
“The killer is most likely not trained with a scalpel. Someone who is medically trained can’t help but make neat and clean incisions. The way the skin has been removed does, however, show skill.”
“So, Jack and Medicos can be ruled out.”
“And women,” Vaughn ad
ded. “The handling of the body might be possible for a short time but hoisting it up, as well as the work of skinning, requires strength and some height.”
“Height?”
“I’d warrant that the table was not dragged under where the pulley had been hung from the beam nor to thread the rope, possibly a chair was used, which is lower. From the photographs, the room looks to be on the top floor, with the height of the ceiling over twelve feet. This man is, at the very least, five foot ten inches.”
Samples of the gold paint were taken, and some minute slithers of darkish skin that were left behind were also gently sliced and removed for examination. They then removed the gold from around one of the wrists, which did not reveal anything, but something could be seen beneath the gold around the neck.
“Have a look at this.” Vaughn called Dr Simpson over, and the inspector stepped forward as well. Vaughn held the magnifying glass around the neck.
“What are we looking for?” Simpson leaned in.
“Right along the incision line, there is ink—here and here,” Vaughn pointed out.
“It could be a natural darkening of the skin after death.” Simpson said.
“No, we’d see it on the wrists and it’s not there. This is ink,” Vaughn selected a solvent and worked the mark. It did not come off. “This is a tattoo,” he finally said. “This girl was tattooed. And I warrant that, given the removal of the skin, it was a key focus of the crime. We need to check the small bits of skin left on.” They placed the fine lines of skin under the magnifying glass. Vaughn bent down and placed his eye on the lens and adjusted the focus. “These have color, red, blue, green.” They were inked.
“Let me see.” The Inspector stepped forward and Vaughn let him have access to the microscope. Morrison adjusted the lens and swore as Vaughn continued.