Page 11 of Molly Boys
He glanced up from under the brim of his bowler hat, his dark brown eyes narrowing in the dim early morning. In the near distance, he could see tiny pinpricks of light from the assembled constables’ shuttered lanterns.
“Ove’ ‘ere, Inspector,” a voice called out, almost snatched away by the howling of the wind coming from off the river.
The scent of rot and sewage hung in the air. Bazalgette’s newfangled sewer system may have eased London’s near-constant cholera outbreaks and dulled down the god-awful stink of the river, but the Thames still reeked like an open cesspool even during the freezing winter months.
The smog hung heavy on the sickly grey light of the dawn as Archie stepped down onto the muddy banks of the Thames. Rather than sinking in, the ground crunched under his heavy boots, the rows and divots of mud frozen solid. His breath snaked from his nostrils like a fine diaphanous mist and a snowflake as delicate and graceful as a fairy wing brushed his cheek. He glanced up and another skimmed his dark sooty lashes. He watched as the heavy, cloud-laden sky filled with minute flakes which danced andswirled on the currents ofthe wind. It wasn’t enough to settle yet, but they’d likely have a heavy layer of snow underfoot by nightfall.
Ignoring the errant flakes swirling around him, he approached the nearest constable and recognised him as Tom Merritt, one of the more capable of his men. Tom at least knew when to keep his mouth shut and do his job.It was a shame that couldn’t be said for certain others under his command.
“Inspector.” Merritt inclined his head in acknowledgment.
“Constable,” rumbled Archie’s voice. “What have we got?”
“See for yourself, sir,” Merritt replied, his expression grave.
He stepped aside to allow Archie to view the crime scene. From the periphery of his vision he saw a younger constable, one of the most recent recruits if he wasn’t mistaken. The boy leaned over and braced his hands on his knees as he heaved mercilessly, the contents of his stomach splashing across the hardened ground.
“Remove him, please,” Archie said, scowling, “before he vomits all over my crime scene.”
Merritt nodded to one of the other constables standing closest to him and they both moved to grasp the young man’s arms and tug him away.
Not sparing another thought for the young constable or his stomach, Archie’s attention locked upon the body splayed out on the frozen bank. He approached slowly, taking in the details of its position and surroundings before becoming aware of the shocking white pallor of the skin and the patch of dull orange hair.
The victim was completely naked. From the look of the back and the shape of the hips, he’d guess the remains were that of a male, a small and slender one at that. The head was turned to the side, looking toward the docks. He moved alongside the body and crouched, reaching out and brushing the victim’s coppery hair back to study his face; one dull, glassy green eye stared blankly from the half of his face that was exposed. It was indeed a young man, his pretty face a chalky white, his mouth slightly open.
“Christ, he looks young,” Archie muttered to no one in particular as he lifted his gaze to take in the rest of the victim’s body.
The boy was sprawled on his stomach and spread-eagled. It looked more like he’d been carelessly discarded rather than deliberately posed. His pale skin was stark against the dark mud surrounding him. Rope burns were torn into the flesh of his wrists and ankles. The poor boy had struggled and fought against the restraints, that much was certain.
His limbs bore strange puncture marks at methodic intervals, but most sickening by far was the neat surgical incision running the length of his back. The edges of the wound were partially folded back,revealing his spine and other intimacies of the inner body that shouldn’t be seen. His own stomach rebelled for a moment before he brought it under control, and he felt a brief moment of sympathy for the young constable who’d vomited. The sight was enough to effect even the most seasoned of them.
“Has the surgeon been summoned?” Archie asked, his brow folding into a deeper frown as he studied the boy.
“No need.I’m here now,Inspector,” a voice replied from behind him.
Archie twisted his body to glance up at a familiar heavy-setfellow with dark hair, a thick handlebar moustache,and freshly shaven cheeks.
“Dr Shaw.” Archie lifted his chin in greeting and pushed to his feet. He turned to fully face the doctor,but Shaw’s gaze was already fixed on the pale naked boy discarded in the mud.
“Can’t say as I was too pleased to be pulled from my warm bed.Peg was spittin’ feathers at being woken so early, but I can see why I was needed.” He stared at the body. “Do you know who he is?”
“Not yet.” Archie watched as Shaw dropped to his haunches much as he had done moments earlier. “You ever seen anything like this before?”
Shaw reached out and tentatively touched the long vertical wound along the spine. He clucked his tongue. “Not outside of a dissection class,” he mused aloud. “Looks like whoever did this managed to open the upper layers of skin without damaging anything below. Takes some practice to make cuts like that.”
“You think it was someone with medical knowledge then?” Archie asked.
“It’s possible,” Shaw mumbledas he pressed the skin of the body and lifted the edge of the stiff corpse slightly to see the underneath. His lips pursed in thought as he tilted his head slightly.
“What?”
“Not sure yet.” Shaw glanced up to the swirls of snowflakes filling the air and raised a hand to scratch at his jaw. “I can’t be sure until I perform the autopsy, but I think they might’ve bled him.”
“What?”
“These markings.” Shaw pointed to the puncture marks. “They’re made from needles positioned directly over his veins and arteries, and look at this.” Archie watched as Shaw shifted the body once again.
“What am I looking at?” Archie asked.