Page 37 of Molly Boys
Dr Shaw had already arrived and was crouched low to the ground. Beside him, looking pale and worried, stood his assistant Richard Lowcroft, who’d obviously accompanied him from the inquest.
“Inspector.” Shaw looked up with a scowl.
“What have we got this time?”
“See for yourself.” Shaw nodded to the snow-covered shape sprawled across the ground at the edge of the alley.
Archie hunkered down next to the surgeon. The victim was lying much the same way as Charles Wakefield had been, on his stomach, his head turned to the side. He wiped away a layer of the snow from the side of the victim’s face, exposing blonde hair almost the exact shade of Lord Stanley’s. For a moment Archie’s mind substituted the poor dead man for the handsome lord and his stomach clenched.
Shaking away that terrible image, he turned his attention back to the victim. The eye that was exposed by the tilt of his head … well, Archie couldn’t tell what colour they were; they appeared to be frozen, making them appear cloudy.
“Inspector.” Shaw turned toward Archie, his expression troubled. “We’ve already identified him. It’s David Perkins, the son of the chief commissioner.”
Archie cursed under his breath. “Are you sure?”
Shaw blew out a long breath. “He’s been running tame in the police houses where his father has been stationed since he was a boy. We all knew him.”
“Christ.” Archie rubbed his jaw as fat snowflakes once again began to drift down. “Has the chief commissioner been informed?”
Shaw nodded again.
“Are the injuries the same as last time?” Archie watched as the falling snow moved to hide the victim’s face once more.
“Yes, same puncture wounds, same exposure of the spine, but there’s more this time,” Shaw replied.
“More?”
Shaw leaned forward and very carefully scooped the snow from the back of the victim’s neck.
“What am I looking at?” Archie frowned, almost cringing as Shaw poked his finger into a small circular wound at the base of his skull.
“It looks like a borehole,” Shaw mused. “Like with the Wakefield lad, I won’t be able to give you any answers until I get him thawed out and the autopsy performed, but if I had to hazard a guess, I’d say the killer tried to gain access to the victim’s brain.”
“His brain?” Archie looked up from the corpse sharply. “What the hell for?”
Shaw shrugged. “Why would he do any of this? I just don’t know. It’s almost like…”
“Like?”
“Like he’s experimenting,” Shaw said as he stared at the body thoughtfully. “Pushing further each time.”
“To what possible end though?”
“That’s the question, isn’t it?”
Archie glanced around the narrow, filthy alley covered in snow. “I can’t imagine we’re going to get much from his surroundings. I suspect it’s just another dump site.” He glanced up at the windows of the buildings lining the alley. “Even in the dark, he couldn’t have done the killing here, too many potential witnesses.”
“I agree,” Shaw hummed. “This would have taken time, privacy, and room to work.”
“Though why dump him here and not at the water’s edge like Charles Wakefield?” Archie stood and looked down the alleyway. “He’s still close enough to the river to have been brought by boat. Bringing him by cart would have been difficult during the night with the fresh snow falling, and bodily carrying the body through the streets comes with the risk of drawing attention, so why risk it? Why not just dump him along the banks? What is different about this one?”
“I imagine it has something to do with this.” Shaw scraped some of the snow from one arm and part of the corpse’s exposed back; the skin was mottled with bruising.
“He beat him?” Archie scowled, muttering under his breath as his mind tried to process the information. “Maybe something about this killing or this victim frustrated him? Maybe he didn’t get what he wanted,” he mused.
“It’s possible.” Shaw shrugged. “I really couldn’t speak as to the mind of a killer, that’s your job.”
“When was the body discovered?”