Page 8 of Solving Sophronia

“Yes, sir.” The constable broke off from the others and began making his way among the gathered citizens.

Jonathan and Sergeant Lester followed Hutchings to the mouth of the alley, the other constables making a path through the crowd. Jonathan glanced around for Freddy, wanting to ask the lad a few questions, but as soon as he’d gotten the coin in his hand, the boy had made himself scarce. Jonathan didn’t blame him. It wouldn’t improve Freddy’s reputation to be the one bringing the police into his neighborhood.

Nightfall was approaching quickly, and the narrow alley was already cast in shadow. The nearest gas lamp was half a block away. Jonathan blinked, waiting for his eyesight to adjust. Even if it hadn’t been evening, this area of the city was always dim beneath a layer of smoke. “Fetch some lanterns, Hutchings.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jonathan took another peppermint from his pocket and sucked on it as he surveyed the scene. Placing his feet carefully, he studied the ground as he stepped toward the body in the blue dress. The paving stones were uneven, and quite a few were broken or missing. Searching for footprints would be pointless.

The victim lay on her front, head turned to the side. One arm was beneath her body, and the other was outstretched above her head. Her hair had come partially unfastened and spread on the ground in a mess of blonde curls.

Jonathan tugged up on the pleats of his trousers and crouched down to examine the body closer. “What do you see, Sergeant?”

“Appears to be in her twenties, sir.” Sergeant Lester moved the woman’s collar. Even in the dim light, bruising was visible on her neck. “I’d say Hutchings is right. Looks like she was throttled.”

Whether or not that was the cause of death was still to be seen. When the lanterns arrived, he could possibly discern more clues from the body. Jonathan stood and took note of the alleyway—one entrance from the street and, at the other end, a brick wall too high to climb. When he kicked aside a broken bottle, a cat dodged past, no doubt in pursuit of vermin of some kind. Pieces of crates and other rubbish littered the space, giving the air a foul odor and contributing to the rodent problem. A door on his left led into the Porky Pie, and above, on either side, were windows of upper stories from which lines of drying clothes were strung over the alley. He wondered vaguely if their owners would pull them inside before the rain started.

He tried the door handle.Locked.

Circles of light spread through the alley as Hutchings returned with two lanterns.

Sergeant Lester took one, and Jonathan the other. “Ask around inside the pub, Constable,” Jonathan said to Hutchings. “Learn who has a key to this door and whether anyone noted anything suspicious.”

“Yes, sir.” The constable started away.

“Do you think the killer escaped through the pub?” Sergeant Lester asked. He tried the door handle as well, with the same result.

“If so, he either had a key or was assisted by someone inside.”

Raised voices came from the crowd, Merryweather’s among them. Jonathan shared a look with the sergeant, and they strode to the mouth of the alley to investigate.

“Let me through, sir.” A young woman was attempting to push past the constable. “I insist you move aside directly.”

Jonathan brought the lantern light closer. The woman was short with light-brown hair pulled up beneath a flower-embellished hat. Her skirt was striped, and she wore a matching fitted jacket over a blouse with a lace collar. A brooch with some sort of blue flower was pinned to her lapel. But the most conspicuous characteristic was the woman’s cleanliness. Her clothing was laundered and her shoes unblemished. It was obvious the garments were costly, even to a person with no knowledge of fashion. Her appearance stood out like a beacon in the grimy street.

“I’ll handle this, Constable,” Jonathan said. He turned to the woman and tugged on his hat brim. “Detective Jonathan Graham, at your service, miss.”

“Sophie Bremerton.” She inclined her head.

“How might I be of assistance, Miss Bremerton?”

“Thank you, Detective.” She darted a sharp look at the constable. “This man refuses to let me past.”

Jonathan glanced at Merryweather, then back at her. “With good reason, miss. This is an active crime scene.”

“Yes, I realize that, Detective. It is the very reason I’m here.”

In just that moment Jonathan took her measure. She was confident and well-spoken, with an aristocratic accent. The woman was no doubt slumming—a favorite pastime of the privileged and bored. Curious wealthy tourists visited impoverished neighborhoods for amusement. The idea of these people seeking a thrill from witnessing the hardships of their fellow man made Jonathan’s blood boil.

Very well, he’d teach this Sophie Bremerton a lesson. Show her the people he protected were not simply here for her entertainment.

“Stand aside, Merryweather.” He took Miss Bremerton’s elbow and pulled her into the alley with long strides, holding up the lantern so the body on the ground was completely illuminated.

Miss Bremerton cringed back. “Oh my. Do you know her name?”

“No.”

“She’s so young.”

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