Page 3 of Across Space and Time

“Much appreciated, sir,” Anthony said, bobbing his head respectfully. Hugh rose to his feet, gesturing for Anthony to follow him. The young man was silent as he led him down the hallway and outside, crossing the path to the stone outbuilding that comprised Scotland Yard’s morgue. The coroner and his assistants inside had several corpses in various states of decomposition stretched out on wooden tables across the long space. The smell of death and decay was so strong that both Hugh and Anthony covered their noses with their hands as they entered.

Dr. Ledbetter, who was a former military surgeon, looked up as they entered from where he was studying the bloated corpse of a middle-aged woman that looked and smelled like she had been fished out of the Thames. “Ah, Constable Danbury. I was hoping to hear from you. I had a few questions about the young man you found last night.”

Hugh motioned to Anthony at his side. “Yes, of course. This young man thinks he might know the victim and would like to identify him.”

“Oh, certainly,” Dr. Ledbetter, looking over his spectacles. “Are you ready, son?”

Anthony nodded and squared his petite shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

Dr. Ledbetter led them over to a table where a humanoid shape was draped with a white shroud. “Here,” he said, folding down the sheet from the corpse’s head, only over his chin. A few drops of blood were still smeared on the young man’s cheek, but his face otherwise remained relatively intact.

Anthony inhaled softly and nodded. “Yes, sir. That’s Mallory. Er, Christopher O’Malley.”

Dr. Ledbetter folded the sheet back up over the bloodless face. Hugh glanced over at Anthony, whose thin shoulders were shaking a little. He touched them lightly. “Would you like to step outside with me?” he offered. “I have some questions about Christopher, if you’d be willing to answer them.”

Anthony swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Yes, sir,” he said. He nodded politely to the doctor before turning and hurrying out of the deadhouse.

Hugh glanced at Dr. Ledbetter. “I’ll be back after I talk to him.” Dr. Ledbetter bobbed his head in acknowledgement, too busy writing on a piece of paper to look up. Hugh followed Anthony outside. The area was protected by a stone wall, with several benches placed around the green yard. Hugh gestured to one of them. “Shall we sit?”

Anthony nodded and sank onto one, scrubbing at his nose with the cuff of his sleeve. Hugh reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, handing it to the young man. Anthony took it in silent appreciation, wiping at his eyes and nose before offering the handkerchief back. Hugh shook his head. “It’s all right, in case you need it again. What can you tell me about Christopher?”

“He was a good soul,” Anthony said, scuffing his toe into the ground underneath them. “Kinda brash sometimes, but nothin’ that would make someone wanna hurt him.”

“How old was he?”

“Twenty-four, sir.”

Hugh nodded. Only two years older than himself, a young man cut down in the prime of his life. “What did he do for work?”

Anthony’s cheeks suddenly went pink, and he ducked his head. “Uh… He were a laborer.”

“What sort of laborer?”

“Anythin’ that needed laboring, sir.”

Hugh watched the boy’s face go an even darker shade of crimson. He had a sneaking suspicion that Anthony was keeping something from him. “We found him with his pants around his ankles. Do you know why that might be?”

Anthony hesitated, and Hugh felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew that look. He felt it sometimes inside of himself when he felt eyes on him, studying him, judging him. “Was he… a prostitute?” he asked, his voice dropping a little.

“Um…” Anthony ducked his head.

Hugh glanced around to make sure they were truly alone out there before he gently reached out a hand and placed it on Anthony’s bony wrist. “If that is the case, I won’t tell anyone,” he said softly.

Anthony glanced down in surprise at the hand touching his wrist before looking up into Hugh’s brown eyes. “Uh… Yes, sir, he was.”

Hugh gave him a compassionate smile. “Thank you. Do you know if he was meeting a particular client last night?”

Anthony shook his head. “No, sir. Sometimes we-” He suddenly flushed, clamping his lips together, seeming to realize he had just implicated himself as well. Hugh gave his wrist an encouraging squeeze.

“It’s all right,” he said. Since the attacks on prostitutes by Jack the Ripper, there had been a number of raids on brothels around London, and female prostitutes were punished with hefty fines or jail time. He imagined it was not much different, probably worse, even, for male ones. “I’m not going to arrest you or out you. I only want to know the truth so I can help. I want to find out what happened to him and bring his killer to justice.”

Anthony looked skeptical for a moment. Hugh glanced down at where his hand still rested lightly on Anthony’s wrist, hoping to convey without words that he understood the boy’s proclivities, because they shared them. Anthony looked down at Hugh’s hand, then lifted his light blue eyes back to Hugh’s face. He must have understood what Hugh was trying to convey, because he swallowed hard and nodded. “Thank you, sir. Um, sometimes we go out to meet customers while some of us stay back at the brothel.”

“Did you and Christopher work together at the same place?”

“Yes, sir,” Anthony said with a bob of his dark head.

“Where is it?”

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