The Flesh Market

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The Flesh Market Page 26

by Richard Wright


  And it was done. They had made enough of a mess in the last few weeks to draw attention, as he had hoped. More visible victims, less cleanly concealed. In the end, all he had really done was drop his guard and prepare for the inevitable. William was incapable of thinking beyond his immediate needs (and what cruel, dark needs they were), and was never supposed to have known the difference. After their scrap the previous night, Bill wondered now if he had been as clever as he thought. Still, there would be men on the way to Tanner's Close now if he had judged John Fisher right. The score was the same in the end.

  Nelly would be held awhile, and probably questioned brutally. It would be her final hardship. No matter what came next for her, she would be able to take to it on her own terms, free of the quagmire he had made of their lives. She knew to say nothing. Even when they broke her, and she was so fragile now that he thought they had every chance of doing so, he had been careful never to share with her the details of his business. She would go free in a few days, and remember the money under the boards.

  His own atonement and penance, brutal as it would be, was commenced now. He could face it as a man, free of the grog and the power William had over them. That was the only remaining concern. His partner could not be allowed a moment's suspicion that Bill had seen this coming, or planted the seeds of their downfall. If something went wrong, and William slipped through the net, then it would be Nelly who faced his wrath by proxy.

  Bill had kept abreast of the news, and knew that criminal officers were empowered to investigate a potential crime, gather evidence, and present a case for prosecution. There were only a handful operating under the Police Act, but they were becoming a thing of urban legend. While patrolmen and the Night Watch might wander carefully, hoping not to stumble across situations that merited their attention, and taking bribes of all shapes and sizes to avert their eyes when called to, the crime officers were a different breed. They had a point to prove, and a will to hunt down criminals that bordered on the obsessive. That, at least, was their reputation.

  Bill had looked into Fisher's steel eyes. He believed that if those things were true of any man, then they were true of him. It would have to do. He would place his and William's fates in John Fisher's hands, and trust the man to finish them.

  Chapter 31

  Robert Knox

  Sunday, November 2nd, 1828

  When Knox reached the school, scurrying from one foggy sphere of gaslight to the other with Paterson a few feet ahead (there had been no time to summon a carriage), he found the front doors thrown wide and nobody in attendance. It was eight in the morning and still dark. Anybody could have wandered in, unseen from the street, and rifled. "What is the meaning of this?"

  His fury drew Paterson, halfway through the door, up short. He turned, not understanding. "Pardon sir, it's like I told you. Police are wanting for you. I told 'em no, but they insisted. Mr Fergusson is–"

  "The doors, boy. Why are the doors open?"

  Paterson stared at them, as though seeing them for the first time. "I rushed, sir. I didn't think, sir."

  Knox sliced an irritated finger through the air, silencing him. "I expect very little from you that could be described as complex in nature, Mr Paterson. Cleaning things. Fetching things. Securing this building."

  "Sir, I ..."

  "Enough. Where are they?" Paterson's mouth flapped, and he stared around as though expecting them to pop into existence right before them. Knox stomped past him in annoyance, cane clacking in rhythm, and made for the lecture theatre. As he approached he heard Fergusson's voice, raised and insistent.

  "It's not my intention to obstruct you Mr Fisher, but nor can I allow you to proceed to those rooms. They're not mine to allow you entry to."

  Knox slowed as he approached, lifting his cane as he slipped into the back of the theatre. Below, Fergusson stood in front of the door to the dissecting corridor. Two uniformed patrolmen stood tense, their truncheons out. A third was staring hard at the young man. He was intimidating, this one, and clearly in charge. Knox recognised the stance, one of casual authority and all its attendant levels of threat, from Africa. He had met many military officers cut from almost the same cloth while he had been stationed with the 72nd Highlanders in Cape Town as a hospital assistant. They aped friendship, but as he had found out to his cost, they could turn enemy at the smallest imagined slight. The only thing they would hold true to was the threat of an authority greater than their own.

  The man spoke with a firm, hard edge. Scottish, but if Knox were any judge he had spent time away. There were tiny inflections in his voice that suggested prolonged time spent amongst many foreigners. Given his age, the man might have seen action against Napoleon. Not to be underestimated, if that were the case. Such men built an arrogance and surety from such experiences, as though toiling at war gave them a greater knowledge of the world than any who had not shared the experience. Knox found them tiresome, despite his respect for their service. "Sir, if my men and I wish to enter the corridor there's not much you can do to stop us. Why not let us by easy, eh? As a designated officer of the law–"

  Knox slammed his cane on the first step, making his way down to them as they all turned. "As a designated officer of the law you are not permitted to impose yourself into any private premises without production of a duly signed warrant. You must forgive Mr Fergusson his ignorance on this matter. A promising scientist, but I suspect his focussed dedication in that area may have closed off his mind to other fields of study. Law, for example. It is fortunate that I have lived longer and learned more. Perchance you have such a document about you?"

  Fisher frowned and made a gesture to his men. The truncheons slid into the loops on their belts. "Not at the moment sir, no. I was hoping we might be able to bypass the formality. Do I have the pleasure of addressing Doctor Robert Knox?"

  "You do." He reached the bottom of the steps and stopped, forcing the officer to walk towards him, away from the dissecting corridor.

  "John Fisher, criminal officer of the city of Edinburgh. I've seen you lecture. One of your events for the paying public, in this very room sir. Most educational."

  "And what would have brought a police officer to my lectures?"

  "I find it to my benefit to accrue as broad a range of knowledge as possible sir, especially in my field. All sorts comes in handy, doing what I do."

  "Which is?"

  "Looking at things. Trying to understand them. Making up theories and putting them to the test. Bit of a scientist myself, if you look at it a certain way."

  Knox grinned. He liked this man, and would be wary of him. "You see, Fergusson? Too narrow a focus of study can leave you ill-prepared in your hour of need. On the other hand, Mr Fisher, the world needs its specialists also. What has brought you to our school at this wretched hour?"

  Fisher scratched his head. "Trying to trace a person, sir. Dead person. Carried out from a house down West Port way, we believe. In a tea chest."

  "And then seen in the vicinity of my school?"

  "Not so much, sir. No idea where it went after that."

  "Yet you are at my door. Beyond it, come to that, and without my express permission." Fergusson must have let him in, but Fisher wasn't to be sidetracked.

  "I got to thinking, Doctor, why two ne'er-do-wells might be moving a body about the city in a tea chest. Where they might take it, you see? And watching your lecture made me think of the work you and your peers do with students. Dissections, and the like."

  Knox leaned on his cane, and gave a sigh. "You wondered whether a body might find its way to my door, destined to further the knowledge of man? Why my school, in particular?"

  "Nothing particular about it, sir. You were at pains to point out to the whole room, in that lecture I attended, that you have more students than any other anatomy teacher in the city. More students is more cutting, way I see it."

  "Sound deductive thinking, officer."

  "Supply and demand, sir. I'm guessing you're demanding." He said it
with a straight face, but Knox knew when he was being needled. It delighted him.

  "And thus am I supplied! When was this person seen?"

  "Yesterday evening, sir."

  Knox strode across the room, forcing Fisher to follow in his wake. "Mr Fergusson, have we had any deliveries in the last twenty-four hours?" Fergusson blanched. "Answer the question, boy."

  "We ... we have, sir. Um. Yesterday. Paterson took delivery, and I arrived this morning to check its condition. These officers arrived before I could do so."

  Knox stopped dead, barely concealing his surprise. Fisher came up behind him. "That's intriguing timing, sir. A body delivered here, and right around the time I'm thinking of. Could probably cite that, if I had to get a search warrant. Do I have to get a search warrant, doctor? Only there's a fair chill on the air what with the fog, and you'd be doing me a fair kindness if you'd save me the trouble."

  Paterson had said nothing. The whole walk back from his house, and the boy had kept his mouth shut about the delivery. He would answer for that, and his fawning mother and sister, too. He rallied. "Of course not, Mr Fisher."

  "Officer Fisher, if you'd be so good, sir. Got to maintain proper form in front of the boys." He nodded at the burly looking uniforms, a not so subtle reminder that they were on hand if needed.

  "Of course." He opened the door to the corridor. "Is the body laid out for inspection, Mr Fergusson?"

  "I believe so. Paterson said as much." Knox glanced up the stairs. He was sure he could see a cringing shadow in the doorway above.

  "And did he describe the basics of the subject? Gender? Age? Cause of death?"

  "No, sir. He put it in room one sir."

  The revenant room. Knox gritted his teeth. It was too late to do anything other than see the thing through. "Very well. Yes."

  "May we proceed, sir?"

  Knox had not realised he was blocking the door. He took a breath, and strode into the corridor. A lantern burned further along. Resting his fingers on the handle of the revenant room, noting that the heavy key was dangling from the lock, he looked back. One of the uniforms had blocked off the corridor entrance, barring Fergusson from joining them. "You have a description of the person you are looking for?"

  "Older lady, grey hair, slender enough build for her age. Possibly returned from the dead as an insatiable fiend."

  "What?"

  "A revenant, sir. Could be that she's one of those damned and hungry beasts."

  Knox scowled. Fisher already knew what was in that room, and it was far too late for Knox to cite due process and demand production of a warrant that might buy him time to rearrange the details. Somehow, Fisher had manipulated him to the point of no return. "Did you not think that might be a thing worth mentioning before now?"

  "Not sure what difference it would have made, sir." Fisher kept a deadpan expression on his face. If he was feeling triumphant, he hid it well. "She's either in here or she isn't. You might want to take a step back." Knox did, letting Fisher twist the key and throw open the door. Paterson had already lit the lanterns therein, ready for the creature to be inspected. Fisher saw it immediately, and grunted in what might have been surprise. He gave Knox a look of intense suspicion as he stepped inside. "Well now," he said. "There's a thing. You'll have to forgive my ignorance sir, but is this entirely usual?"

  Knox followed, glancing at the revenant then back at the officer. There was nothing left to do but bluff. "I'm not certain that I follow."

  Fisher made a sweeping gesture over the revenant, which strained upwards in a vain attempt to seize him in its jaws. "Well sir, let's leave aside the matter of whether this old lady is our victim, as it would be the most tremendous coincidence were she not."

  Knox nodded. "From the description you gave, I would have to concur."

  "Good of you, sir. It's reassuring to know that my reasoning stands up to testing. That's what you scientists do isn't it? Test?" Knox nodded, growing impatient. "We'll have her formally identified later. That she's very definitely a revenant, you can plainly see. Are you aware that it is a crime to knowingly harbour a revenant within the city limits, sir?"

  "Of course. However as my doorman and young Fergusson out there will attest, I was not even aware that we had taken delivery of new supplies. The building was closed yesterday in light of the Hallowe'en celebrations the evening before."

  "You did seem surprised sir, yes. Your people take delivery of ... what do you call them ... subjects? They do it without your knowledge?"

  "They know my requirements. I do not supervise the delivery of bone saws or trepanning tools either, though they are just as important to my work."

  "Just so, sir."

  "For all we know, it turned revenant while in this very room, at some point between the hour of delivery and now," Knox added.

  Fisher stared at him, then back at the body. "I suppose it might have. Could you tell me about the manacles, sir? Do you often manacle dead bodies to tables? Or strap their heads down? Or gag them?"

  For a moment Knox was lost, but then the answer occurred to him. Fisher's eyes flickered over his face, taking in his relief with disappointment. The obvious excuse had occurred to the man at the same time. "Yes," Knox said. "Of course I do. So should any anatomist dealing with subjects of unknown provenance, if they have any sense. I know nothing of this body, save that it is dead. Revenants resurrect via dead bodies. I would not care to prepare a subject for dissection only to have it bite a hand off as I delved through its innards. All this?" He smiled. "A precautionary measure. Do you take me for a fool?"

  "Oh, not that, sir. Not a fool." He turned his attention back to the revenant, and pursed his lips. "Just for talking's sake, sir. If one came back, like this lady here, would you carry on? Slice the meat and make your little notes?"

  Knox saw it in the space between Fisher's words. A way out. A loophole. In trying to trap him, Fisher had shown him the way. "If I were to do such a thing, Officer Fisher ... why, it would be a public service, surely? Attending to its safe destruction, even if I were doing so at a more leisurely pace than your officers and their burning torches and hacking blades, is the very point of the law, is it not? Is there a difference in principal between a sword and a scalpel? I'm not sure there is."

  "To cut it, you have to harbour it."

  "To harbour? To offer a home or safe haven to?" He gave a tight smile, and nodded at the creature. "I am not sure this can be said to apply. So yes. Yes, I would proceed. I would slice the meat and make my little notes, and one day perhaps we would know what these things are or where they come from. One day you, and all men who care for order in this world, might have cause to thank me that I did."

  "As maybe, sir. As maybe." He straightened up. "Doctor Robert Knox, by the powers duly invested in me I am seizing this creature on behalf of the City of Edinburgh."

  "You will destroy it?"

  "Formal identification needs to be made. You and your men are free to go, though we'll be needing your addresses first. There will be some details we need to follow up."

  "My school?"

  "Closed, for the moment." He raised his hands as Knox began to protest. "We need to search the place, sir. In light of this. We need to follow due process."

  It was useless to argue, and Knox was not inclined to do so. There was a light at the end of this tunnel, and being free to leave meant also that he would be free to discuss the details with Fergusson, Jones, and Miller. Paterson would need to be brought in too, though it galled him to admit it.

  There was a way forward. The Irish could not be protected, and in truth he had no inclination to do so. They were tradesmen, nothing more. Let them look to themselves. He had work to do. If he could put flesh on the bones of the defence he had improvised, then not only was there no magistrate in the land that could touch him, but he might finally be able to abandon pretence and pursue his work in the full light and glory of the public eye.

  Chapter 32

  Assorted Persons In Custody

/>   Monday, November 3rd, 1828

  Bill had been brought to a small room with a table and two chairs at the end of the little passage of cells, and told to go in and sit. Had William been in yet? Or Nel? The thought of her cowering as gruff men bellowed at her made him shrivel.

  The table was rough-made and battered looking, and he wondered how many prisoners had faced their accusers across the top of it. A lamp was burning on the wall, filling the room with a warm glow. That was something, at least. After two days with only candles to light the darkness, it eased him just to see that glow, though it took his eyes longer than he would have imagined to fully adjust to it. The guard had left him alone in the room, though he doubtless stood outside with a weapon at the ready. Long minutes passed. Was he supposed to spend them growing increasingly fretful? It did not work. Bill knew he was going to be spending a great deal of time in small, locked rooms. One was as good as another.

  John Fisher entered and took a seat. A clerk sat next to him with an open notebook, and began to write. Bill could see the words being formed. His name and address. Fisher's name, rank, and badge number. The date and time. The location of the Watch House. When that was done, the clerk nodded at Fisher, who began. "William Burke," he said.

  "Officer John Fisher."

  "This is your chance, Mr Burke," Fisher said. "When we start the interview, everything will be recorded. Do you understand? If you lie to me and I prove you a liar, you will answer for that in the course of any subsequent prosecution. Juries don't like liars."

 

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