The Reaper's Touch

by Robert Southworth

  For a moment, Isaac felt himself staring at Faraday who was staring back at him. An awkward silence descended. Finally, it was Isaac that spoke,

  “Shall we start with the first body? I imagine that you have experience with the dead. I shall have need of your experience.” It was an olive branch that he hoped Faraday would accept.

  The Inspector did not reply, but moved to the body and crouched low to enable a more detailed examination. He pulled at the corpse until it lay with its back to the floor. “Well it’s obvious that the musket ball passed through this unfortunate soul before striking the door. Looking at what remains of the face, I would estimate his is approximately thirty years of age. From what I can tell, the gunshot wound is the only injury that he suffered.”

  “So, he was standing with his back to the door.” Isaac crouched down next to Faraday. “Do you see? The entry at the back of the head is far wider. As the ball travels through the body it either deforms or splits apart, the process causes tremendous damage as it leaves.”

  “Agreed, and there are no signs of powder burns or residue on skin or clothing. He must have been shot from a number of feet away.” Faraday turned and surveyed the room. “The desk perhaps?”

  Both men rose, and Isaac led the way to the desk. For the first time, he observed the second victim. As he moved in for a closer look, his right foot struck an item on the floor. He bent and retrieved the item. “Well the mystery of the weapon used to dispose of our friend over there, is at an end.” He placed an old duelling pistol on the desk.

  Faraday closed on the desk and instantly paled at the sight of the second victim. “Is this normal? I have seen many things in the line of duty but this."

  “It is normal for the men we hunt. This is why we have no room for egos in our task, Faraday. Too much rides on us finding those responsible.”

  “I understand.” Faraday’s eyes left the victim. “It is barbaric.”

  “This is what we face at each murder, it is the work of pure evil. Alas, there is little or no evidence and a distinct lack of witnesses. It is like working in a great fog that only allows the slightest glimpse of shadowy figures passing beyond our reach,” Isaac returned his gaze to the second victim. The elderly woman was positioned with her back on the desk. Her arms were outstretched, and the hands fixed to the desk’s surface with long iron nails. It was another crude illusion of crucifixion. The neck had been punctured, which had allowed the precious fluid within the victim’s body to flow freely from throat to desk and then to the floor. There were various other wounds, but Isaac had a feeling that this murder was different; it somehow felt rushed. He looked from the woman, who he believed to be Mrs. Holbrook, to the first victim and back again.

  “What is it?” Faraday asked.

  “It does not seem right. Usually, our killers show off their work. A great symbolic gesture, which dominates its environment. Kostya above the fireplace, Mr. Stand in the field were both an exhibition. The slaughter is designed to catch the eye. This seemed hurried or even a task to be performed rather than enjoyed.”

  “The shooting perhaps?” Faraday suggested.

  “Possibly, no doubt Dr Fitzgerald will provide us with more insight. For now, I suggest we search the household and leave the dead in her capable hands.”

  ∞∞∞

  An hour later, the door to Mrs. Holbrook’s room was flung open. Dr Fitzgerald strode in and placed a large leather bag on one of the chairs.

  “Really gentlemen, this is getting tedious. Perhaps you should attempt to catch these butchers.” For the first time, she looked at the two men. “Oh, who are you?”

  “Inspector Faraday,” he held out a hand.

  “So, they finally dispensed with that old miser, Abberline’s services,” she replied enthusiastically accepting the offer of a handshake.

  “He has been moved to other duties - a promotion of sorts.”

  “Pity – so what have we today?”

  “Two dead, Dr Fitzgerald.” Isaac replied. He pointed the body closest to the door. “That one does not fit the usual pattern for the killers.”

  Fitzgerald moved to the body but spent no more than five minutes examining its injuries. “Clearly, the gunshot wound is the cause of death. You do not need my services for murders like this. A two-year-old child could assess the damage.”

  “It seems his pockets have been emptied, and we do not have an idea to his identity. However, this one,” he turned and gestured toward the desk, “we believe is Mrs. Holbrook.”

  Fitzgerald moved in closer and observed the unfortunate Mrs. Holbrook. Her cheek displayed an emerging flush as if within a rage was building. She did not voice her anger and for ten minutes, she silently examined the elderly woman. Faraday and Isaac asked questions, but were not afforded any insights to the slaughter. Finally, as Fitzgerald straightened her back, she declared that both bodies would need to be transported to the workhouse for further examination.

  “Can you not tell us anything?” Isaac asked, in an almost pleading tone.

  “You will get a full report once I have had the opportunity for further examination,” she snapped. However, it seemed that when she observed the shock on Isaac’s face she added, “You are looking for the murderers of Mrs. Holbrook only.”

  “Pardon?” Isaac replied with a look in the direction of the first body.

  “Mrs. Holbrook is both victim and killer. Her hands and dress are covered in powder from discharging the pistol. It could be possible that a second person standing near could have discharged the weapon, however, if you look closely at her right hand, there is a small abrasion. I believe this has taken place as the weapon was fired. Now if you excuse me, I shall arrange for the bodies to be removed.”

  “Of course; thank you Dr Fitzgerald.” Isaac waited for the doctor to leave the room before turning to Faraday. “I think for us to carry out a more detailed examination of the room we will need to wait for the bodies to be removed. May I suggest that we make enquiries of the residents in the nearby homes.”

  “That would be prudent. Besides, I am not certain that the good doctor wishes for our presence,”

  “She did seem to take the death of Mrs. Holbrook personally, but that is not our concern. We must gather information with all haste.”

  Chapter 18

  As Isaac and Faraday stepped from Holbrook’s abode, a diminutive figure was ascending the steps. The young female, no more than twenty years of age, carried a package draped over one arm.

  “Who are you?” The girl jumped at the harsh tone employed by Faraday.

  “My name is Rebecca, sir,” she replied timidly, then added, “I work for Gamages.”

  Hearing the reply, Isaac stepped forward in front of Faraday and leant closer to the young woman, his eyes focused on the package. “I was not aware that Gamages sold clothing.” He was keen to ensure his tone was not as abrasive as Faraday’s.

  “They don’t sir, Mrs. Holbrook has been kind to me in the past. She helped me get my position at the store. I have skill with a needle and thread, and Mrs. Holbrook was loath to buy new when old can be mended.”

  Isaac was struck by the girl’s beauty, especially the deep brown of her eyes. He was also impressed by her elegant use of language. It lacked the brashness that many Londoners possessed. “You knew the old woman?” he asked, and then immediately bit his lip, cursing the slip of the tongue.

  “Knew – is she dead?”

  “I am sorry.” Isaac placed a comforting hand at her shoulder, to which she visibly flinched. She began to sob and shake her head. He was about to question her, but she seemed to go limp and begin to fall. Fortunately, he acted with adequate speed to prevent serious injury. A few moments later, Isaac stood on the steps with Rebecca in his arms and bemused as to what to do next. He looked to Faraday for suggestions. Faraday pointed back to the interior of the late Mrs. Holbrook’s home.

  ∞∞∞

  William, Jack and Gossup stepped into Blomfield Road, which played host to the
home of Tobias Simms. William imagined it was the half way point for those on the rise or fall in society. He raised a hand, pulled the iron rod, and immediately he heard a bell sound in reply to his action. He listened intently. He could have sworn he heard approaching footsteps. The door opened timidly to reveal an elderly man dressed in an ill-fitting butler’s coat.

  “Yes?”

  “I am William Harkness, working with Scotland Yard. I have business with Tobias Simms.”

  “Mr. Tobias Simms is not at home and therefore, unable to receive guests.” The Butler stepped backwards, and the door began to close.

  William stepped forward preventing the closure. “It is a matter of great importance that I speak with your employer.”

  “He is not home,” the Butler replied, appearing to become agitated.

  “Then tell me where he is,” William replied, angrily.

  “He is at his club and will not return for some time.”

  “Which club?”

  “White’s in St James,” the Butler replied reluctantly.

  “The master of this house is a member of White’s?” William asked, the doubt etched upon his face.

  “Mr. Simms is renowned for his grasp of the political nuances within London. His worth goes beyond mere wealth. Now if you would excuse me, I have duties.” The indignant Butler pressed the door forcing William to step backwards.

  William remained looking at the door for a few moments, before finally turning to his friends. “Well, he was a charming fellow.”

  “You seem to bring the best out in people,” Gossup smirked.

  “It’s a gift. There is nothing for us here. Unfortunately, we must visit White’s, home to the most pompous bunch of popinjays in London.”

  “Aren’t you a member of Whites?” Gossup asked the smirk still on his face.

  “Gossup.”

  “Yes, William?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes, William.”

  ∞∞∞

  As the two men and the unconscious Rebecca entered the kitchen, Faraday immediately sought out water. Isaac lowered his passenger, who was stirring from her enforced slumber, in to a chair.

  “You’ve had a shock. Try to remain calm.” He refused to let go until he knew that she was not going to topple from the chair.

  “It is my fault,” she announced.

  “I am sorry but how could you be responsible?” Isaac was sure that the slender framed female could not have had the strength to carry out the injuries inflicted on Mrs. Holbrook. The driving of the nails through her hands and into the desk would have needed brute strength.

  “I am a Jew. Do you know what it is like for a Jew, living in this city as since the Ripper murders? Have you felt the eyes of suspicion watching your every move? It's made all the worse knowing that those who distrust you, once called you a friend." Rebecca’s face was suddenly filled with rage. “People of my faith were found guilty of the crimes despite the Ripper walking free.”

  “That’s madness.”

  “Mrs. Holbrook told me once that fear moulds people into slavering, unthinking beasts. They lose the ability to see reason. My people have been beaten, spat on, and called whores. Our only crime is to be Jewish and live within the city.”

  “You have been mistreated. I cannot deny that you have been wronged, but why would that make you responsible for your friend’s death?”

  “It is because of me that she decided to act.” Rebecca’s jaw tensed as though she was remembering a great horror. Isaac could tell she was struggling to bring herself to speak of the matter. “I have tried to hide my faith.” Her words were slow and no more than a whisper. “I go to my place of work and then return to my lodgings. I show no outward signs of being a Jew, but they know – they always know. Each day that I walk those streets I am despised. I am called whore, dollymop, and tart.” She paused to take a sip of water. “Then one day as I journeyed back from Gamages, two men grabbed me and threw me into an alley. I called out for help, but my screams were ignored, and some of the good citizens of London even laughed at my torment. They delighted in my misery and never raised a hand as the two men forced themselves on me. What husband will want me now? I am spoiled goods, fit for nought.” She closed her eyes as if trying to fight the images that ravaged her mind. “I have never felt pain like it. However, despite the pain and shame, I picked myself out of the dirt. I stumbled to this place and the caring arms of Mrs. Holbrook. She nursed me back to health and promised she would do all she could to bring an end to the hatred. So, you see, it was because of me; she placed herself in harm’s way.”

  Isaac placed a comforting arm on Rebecca’s shoulder and felt her recoil at his touch. “I cannot take away the hurt that you feel, I can, however, continue your friend’s work and bring the killer to justice.” As he spoke Isaac realised that the investigation carried out by William had been flawed. This was no battle between secretive organisations. These were simply ordinary people trying to obtain justice in a game for which they were woefully outclassed and ill-prepared. “I need to know all of Mrs. Holbrook’s plans, who aided her and what she had learned.”

  “I do not know such things. She told me that she had friends that would assist her. You need to talk to Alfred and Sam. If anyone knows they will.”

  “Who are these men?”

  “They help to run Mrs. Holbrook’s affairs, she is – ,” Rebecca paused for a minute, as if suddenly realising that she was using the wrong tense, “…was elderly.”

  Isaac gave Rebecca a look of sympathy, knowing what it was like to be alone in the world. “These men, where can we find them?” As he spoke the main door to the household of the unfortunate Mrs Holbrook opened and Dr Fitzgerald entered, two men at her heels. They were clearly orderlies from the workhouse judging by their apparel. “Faraday, close the kitchen door, there’s a good fellow.” Isaac did not want Rebecca to see the body of her friend being carried away. “I am sorry, Rebecca, you were telling me where to find these men.”

  “Sam has been with his family. His wife had a difficult birth and needed him close.”

  “And Alfred?”

  “He lives here so I do not understand why he is not present.”

  “What does he look like?” Faraday asked. He had a feeling that the second body was Alfred.

  “No taller than me, very little meat on his bones. In truth, I didn’t care for the man, but he should be here.”

  “He may well be,” Isaac announced. “There is a second body.”

  “He was killed too?”

  “Yes, but his death seems to have come at the hands of Mrs. Holbrook.”

  “Then he must have turned traitor and led the killers to her door.” Her face showed her disgust.

  “Perhaps he was not the only one,” suggested Faraday. “A new family can be expensive.”

  “Do you mean Sam? He was devoted to Mrs. Holbrook. He would rather die, than do her harm.” Her conviction in Sam’s innocent was compelling but Isaac knew he would still need to speak to the man.

  “What is his surname?” Before Rebecca could raise an objection in defence of Sam, Isaac added, “Questions must be asked, and he may provide valuable information in tracking down the killers.”

  “I do not know his surname, but I know where he lives.”

  “Would you be willing to take me there?” She paused before nodding her agreement, as if she were reluctant to. Isaac turned to Faraday. Adding, “I will escort Rebecca, if you would be so kind as to continue to make enquiries with the locals. Oh, would you mind arranging for a constable or two to be stationed outside these premises. It would not do to have the crime scene disturbed.” Isaac tried to be as circumspect as he could, not wishing to sound too dictatorial to the new inspector.

  “I thought we were to avoid working alone.”

  “You will be working with your men, and I shall meet with this man and return immediately to Slaughter Yard. If you cease your investigation by 10pm, then join me at the yard.”

>   “Very well,” Faraday replied, and Isaac noted the unconvinced look on his face.

  ∞∞∞

  White’s Gentleman club was famous, or at least infamous, throughout the social elite of the Empire. It’s true that powerful and serious men stalked its corridors, but it had also accumulated an impressive reputation where vast fortunes were won and lost by its members as they enjoyed their favourite past time, gambling. Bets were made on the usual sporting events, but rumours persisted that sometimes wagers would be placed against the outcomes of trade disputes, elections, and even foreign wars. The club had been in existence since the mid-17th century and in that time many distinguished members had graced its rooms. Royalty and high-ranking politicians from around the globe were commonplace. Although the original building no longer existed, the home of the club had been in St James Street for many years. Sir Simeon Harkness was a member, but he preferred to conduct business away from London. William had been made a member by his father on his 18th birthday. His father had hoped that immersing him in the influential halls of London, amongst those that courted power would convince William to form an interest in the world. He couldn’t have been more wrong, William loathed the club and all that it arrogantly represented.