Page 43 of The Business of Blood
Croft turned to Dr. Phillips. “Did you summon her to Frank Sawyer’s common house last night?”
Dr. Phillip’s soft grey eyes darkened, and he cast me a guilty glance. “As much as I trust Miss Mahoney’s skills, I’d not call her to Dorset Street, Inspector. Not after Mary…”
“Interesting.” Croft’s glare pierced me like a sharp needle, but I refused to look away. “Consultation over, then. You may take your leave, Miss Mahoney.”
During the exchange, Aberline had followed Croft around the screen and now finished exchanging handshakes with the doctors. “Oh, do stand down, Croft,” he drawled. “I’ve similarly made use of Miss Mahoney’s recollections, and to positive effect. Friends and family of victims tend to watch themselves around inspectors and constables. But they will reveal things in Miss Mahoney’s presence wot have more than once provided a break in my case.” The inspector took a post next to me, tipping his hat. “The London Metropolitan Police is obliged to you, m’girl.”
I smiled at him, but mostly because I found anyone referring to me asm’girlat my age rather hilarious. And not a little flattering.
Croft stood across the table, and I was glad, as we’d have struggled to make room for his shoulders should the three of us stand abreast.
I met his scowl with a toothy—er,toothsomesmile. I prayed my relief wasn’t as palpable to everyone else as it was to me.
“Do pardon me, Dr. Phillips, for calling upon Dr. Bond to attend today,” Aberline apologized. “Croft and I are fair certain Mr. Sawyer met his end by someone other than the Ripper, but we thought a congregation of a few of us Ripper veterans might create a more definitive picture. And I hoped that maybe we could make use of his profiling skills.”
“We were only just discussing theories as to motive,” Dr. Phillips gestured to Dr. Bond, with the scalpel he’d yet to relinquish. “Bond, here, only knows how to cry sexual psychosis, whilst I deduce the killer had clinical motives.”
“See here! Erotic mania often has more to do with violent rage than actual sexual desire,” Dr. Bond defended. “It appears to me that the castration was performed prior to death, and if that isn’t sado-sexual, I don’t know what is.”
“Is that true?” Croft turned to Dr. Phillips, who nodded.
“My examination has led me to the conclusion that the series of events was thus. First, the murderer tied a fully clothed Mr. Sawyer’s hands behind his back, as evidenced by the broken capillaries and bruising he presents with on the wrists and ankles here, and here.” He motioned to a few red, angry circles that would not have been so visible had the corpse not any blood left in it. “The dislocated shoulder and broken clavicle suggest that the killer hung him by both his hands and his left foot whilst he made quick work with the knife. I can tell you, the killer was left-handed.”
“That’s why there were no footprints in the blood, other than Agnes Sawyer’s,” I realized aloud, earning a sour look from Croft. “If he was hung from the low rafter like a pig on a spit, the butchery is easily contained.”
“Very good, Miss Mahoney.” Dr. Bond pointed at the double gashes in Frank Sawyer’s neck, still so prevalent even after Dr. Phillips had tucked his chin down to close the wounds. “Symbolism is very important to this killer, obviously. I’m of the opinion that he knew Mr. Sawyer intimately. This was less a crime of opportunity and more a crime of passion.”
“Could the wife have had anything to do with it?” I ventured, thinking of Oscar’s Salome theory. “Perhaps he was unfaithful. A mistress, maybe? Or her angry husband?”
“An angle we’re considering.” Aberline checked his watch. “But Mrs. Sawyer is a broken woman by all accounts. She claims her husband was a right angel. Without him, she’s bound for the poor house.”
“Guilt can break a person just as easily as grief, I think,” I remonstrated.
“You’ve a rare mind, Miss Mahoney.” Dr. Bond examined me as one might a puzzle with a missing piece.
Or a mystery in need of dissection.
“If we could continue?” The look Dr. Phillips leveled at his colleague rivaled that of Croft’s in its brutality, but he finished his summation. “The killer must have merely unbuttoned the shirt and vest and pulled the trousers to the knees while the man hung by his hands and foot. Cutting first the…”—he flickered a glance at me before continuing—“the sex organ, then emptying the body cavity into the basin with surgical precision, and lastly, slicing the throat with these two deep, Ripper-like gashes. This accomplished, he redressed the man and cut the ropes from around Mr. Sawyer’s hands, letting the rest of the blood drain from the victim’s neck and cavity until exsanguinated.”
We all stared at poor Mr. Sawyer with renewed appreciation for his ordeal. Croft, Aberline, and Bond had given in to the urge to cross one foot in front of the other, pressing their thighs together sympathetically.
I did my very best not to let my lips twitch. It wouldn’t do to let on how aware I was of the gratitude each man felt for what hung between his legs.
Not that any of this was funny, but laughter was as hysterical a response as tears, and I tended to lean toward one rather than the other. Which, to be honest, was no blessing, especially in my profession.
Tears were much more socially appropriate and acceptable, especially where murder was concerned.
“This further indicates that the murderer is not the Ripper,” Croft surmised what we were all thinking. “He always sliced the throats first and conducted his mutilations after his victim had bled out.”
I had the very distinct impression that every man in the room made a concerted effort not to look at me.
I didn’t mind, as I was certain my expression would have invited speculation. My mind rapidly flung itself from thought to thought like a bee unable to commit in a flower garden.
No one seemed to think the Ripper had killed Frank Sawyer. No one but the Ripper, himself. He’d hissed it in my ear back in Crossland Alley. Hadn’t he?
Neither the Hammer nor the Blade believed my assailant was, in fact, who he claimed to be.
Part of me wanted that to be true.
