Inspector of the Dead (12 page)

“The police force paid for that suit?” Commissioner Mayne directed a disapproving look at Ryan.

“He claims he has a demonstration to make,” Ryan answered uncomfortably, changing the subject.

“Demonstration?”

“Of Immanuel Kant’s great question,” De Quincey replied. “Whether reality exists outside us or in our minds.”

“This kind of speculation is irrelevant to the law,” the commissioner said. “A jury needs solid, factual, verifiable evidence. Whatever you intend to demonstrate, there isn’t much time. The queen expects you in an hour.”

The zigzag of lanterns revealed constables hurrying to complete their investigation. The congregation had been dismissed; only a few churchwardens and pew-openers lingered.

Mayne looked startled as a woman in mourning approached him from the shadows. The black crepe of her dress absorbed the rays from the lanterns. A thick black veil hung from her black bonnet.

Like the commissioner, the constables looked unnerved by her arrival.

“Inspector, this is how Lady Cosgrove looked when she arrived at the church this morning—do you agree?” De Quincey asked.

Ryan nodded. “Are these the woman’s garments that you obtained at Jay’s Mourning Warehouse? Are they what you kept hidden in the packages you brought here? Emily, now I understand why you stepped into the room off the vestibule when we entered the church. You changed clothes.”

“What is this intended to prove?” Commissioner Mayne asked. “Don’t tell me that the police force paid for
these
clothes, also.”

Ryan looked away, more uncomfortable.

“Lady Cosgrove had an escort,” De Quincey said. “Emily, allow me to serve in that capacity.”

Pretending to support a bereaved woman, he accompanied her along the aisle. The group followed.

At the front, De Quincey paused before the altar rail, its marble eerily white in the beams from the lanterns. He pointed toward Lady Cosgrove’s pew on the right.

“Has Her Ladyship’s body been removed?”

“Not yet,” Commissioner Mayne said.

“Then we’ll need to use the church’s other curtained pew.” De Quincey pointed toward the far left. “Come, Emily.”

Situated in front of a pillar, the box pew was identical to Lady Cosgrove’s. It had posts at all four corners, with curtains tied to the posts. There were three rows of benches in it, the same as in Lady Cosgrove’s pew.

“May I borrow some lanterns?” De Quincey asked the constables.

He placed several in front of the pew. “To try to create the effect of daylight,” he explained. “This morning, Lady Cosgrove’s pew was locked. Would someone please unlock
this
one?”

A pew-opener stepped from the group and did so.

De Quincey turned toward the woman in black. “Emily, I’m deeply sorry.”

“Sorry? About what?” Commissioner Mayne asked in confusion.

“That’s what Lady Cosgrove’s escort said to her this morning,” De Quincey answered. “Except that of course the man addressed the woman as Lady Cosgrove and not Emily. He said, ‘Lady Cosgrove, I’m deeply sorry.’ Inspector Ryan, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Ryan answered. “That is what I heard.”

“Emily, please raise your veil.”

When she complied, Commissioner Mayne stepped back in surprise.

“But…”

The woman behind the veil wasn’t Emily.

She was a white-haired woman of around sixty, whose height approximated that of Emily.

“What on earth?” the commissioner exclaimed.

“When Inspector Ryan referred to her as Emily, this woman nodded,” De Quincey said. “When I frequently referred to her as Emily, everyone assumed that they were indeed seeing Emily. That is what happened this morning. The woman who entered the church was
not
Lady Cosgrove. Her escort addressed her as such, however, and convinced everyone that she was indeed so. The reality in our minds differed from what actually stood before us.”

“But Lady Cosgrove’s body lies on the floor of her pew,” Ryan objected.

“Without question.” De Quincey turned toward the woman in the funereal dress. “May I introduce Agnes, a pew-opener who greeted us this morning? When we arrived a while ago, she was in the vestibule and agreed to assist us. Thank you, Agnes. Please lower your veil and resume being Lady Cosgrove—or should I say Emily? So many names. Commissioner, are you well? Your brow is pinched as if you suffer a constriction.”

De Quincey reached into his new suit and removed a black envelope that had a black seal, giving it to Agnes.

“I obtained this from Jay’s Mourning Warehouse. It resembles what Lady Cosgrove’s impersonator was given this morning in plain sight of the congregation. Emily, or rather Agnes, no, I mean Lady Cosgrove, you may continue to reenact what happened this morning.”

The veiled figure entered the pew, shut it, and sat on the first bench.

De Quincey turned toward the constables. “Now will all of you kindly select various pews and pretend that you’re at a church service?”

“Whatever’s going on, I intend to be near it,” Commissioner Mayne said, choosing the adjacent pew.

“I have a better vantage point for you,” De Quincey told him. “Please follow me.”

De Quincey led him toward the altar railing.

“What are you doing?” the commissioner demanded.

De Quincey drank from his laudanum bottle. “You’re going to pretend to be the vicar. A little closer to the railing, please.”

“I’m very uncomfortable,” Mayne said.

“Now face the congregation.”

“Very uncomfortable indeed.”

“Because only the vicar was on this spot, I shall leave and give you instructions from the aisle,” De Quincey said.

With his back to the altar, Commissioner Mayne watched in bewilderment as De Quincey proceeded past the constables and churchwardens in various pews. The little man diminished into the shadows.

“Commissioner, in your youth, did you ever perform in plays?” De Quincey’s voice echoed from the darkness at the rear of the church. “I have some lines for you to recite.”

“Really, this is—”

“The service began with a hymn. ‘The Son of God Goes Forth to War.’ How many of the constables know it?” De Quincey inquired.

Some raised their hands.

“Then join me.”

De Quincey’s voice rose toward the vaulted ceiling, surprisingly sonorous.
“The Son of God goes forth to war / A kingly crown to gain.”

The constables began singing.

As the commissioner listened in confusion, his attention was directed toward the pew on the right, where the severe figure—what was her name?—tore open the black envelope, unfolded a black-rimmed piece of paper, and read it through her black veil.

The figure moved toward the posts at the corners of her pew. She untied the curtains and closed them at the back and the sides. Hidden from everyone except the commissioner, the woman knelt at the pew’s front and placed her brow on the partition.

“Is that what Lady Cosgrove did this morning?” Commissioner Mayne called to De Quincey in the back.

“Yes.” The Opium-Eater’s voice echoed from the shadows. “The vicar welcomed the congregation, saying something like, ‘Whenever our burdens become too great, consider the hardships that our brave soldiers endure.’ Can you repeat that, Commissioner? ‘Whenever our burdens become too great…’”

“‘Whenever our burdens…’”

The commissioner frowned as De Quincey emerged from the darkness. Proceeding along the aisle, he held a stack of hymnals. “Please say the rest, Commissioner, about the hardships that our brave soldiers endure.”

“I—”

De Quincey suddenly lurched. The books flew out of his hand, scattering along the stone floor. The noise rebounded through the almost-empty church.

“Oh, my goodness!” De Quincey cried.

He scrambled to retrieve them, dropping several more in the process. Two constables opened their pews and stooped to help him.

“What are you doing?” the commissioner demanded.

“My apologies. How clumsy of me.” The little man picked up more of the hymnals, delicately balancing the stack. More of them threatened to fall. “Please continue the service.”

“
What
service?”

Commissioner Mayne looked toward where the grieving woman—Agnes!
that
was her name—knelt with her forehead on the front of the pew.

But now Agnes was sliding down. At the same time, her head tilted back, revealing…

“No!” Mayne cried.

Agnes’s veil and dress were covered with crimson.

“My God!” the commissioner shouted. “Her throat’s been slit!”

Agnes collapsed out of sight.

Mayne rushed from the altar, joined by Ryan, who hurried from the next pew.

“It’s happened again!” Mayne shouted.

De Quincey approached the pew and peered down at the unmoving figure on the floor. The black-rimmed note was clutched in her hand.

“Inspector Ryan, would you please determine if Agnes can be helped? I recall that you lifted Lady Cosgrove’s veil with the tip of your knife, but that won’t be necessary in this case.”

Confused, Ryan entered the pew. “At least the floor isn’t covered with blood.”

“Only the front of her dress and a portion of her veil. It’s actually red ink from a bottle that I took from the desk in Lord Cosgrove’s study. I have a better idea. Commissioner Mayne, would
you
make certain that Agnes hasn’t been harmed?”

Frowning, Mayne entered the pew, knelt, and pulled Agnes’s veil away.

He jerked back in shock. The face that smiled at him didn’t belong to the pew-opener.

The face was Emily’s.

“I’m sorry to startle you, Commissioner,” she said.

Clutching the black-rimmed note, she rose from the floor.

“What you saw just now is what happened this morning in front of the congregation,” De Quincey explained. “Agnes, where are you?”

The white-haired pew-opener stepped from the rear of the group, where she had joined them while they were distracted. She no longer wore mourning clothes.

“Thank you for your help, my dear,” De Quincey said.

Agnes couldn’t help looking pleased.

“But…” Ryan said.

“At Lord Cosgrove’s home, you mentioned a bedroom that was splattered with blood. You indicated that you were looking for another victim. Actually, the victim had already been found. She was Lady Cosgrove, who was killed at her home last night. For certain, she did not walk into this church. As you yourself said earlier, it made no sense for her to come home, find the corpses of her brutally murdered husband and household, and then go to church in mourning rather than alert the police. The only way this could have happened is that she was killed at her home. Then her body was dressed in bereavement garments and brought here in the middle of the night. There are so many keys that I doubt it would have been difficult to acquire one of them.” De Quincey turned toward the group. “Is any of you missing a key to the entrance?”

“I am,” a churchwarden said. “I couldn’t remember where I mislaid it. I’ve been looking everywhere for it.”

“In the night, Lady Cosgrove’s body was brought here and hidden beneath the rear bench of her pew. Agnes, did you by chance receive a message from Lord and Lady Cosgrove, indicating that they wouldn’t attend the church service this morning and that it wasn’t necessary to dust their pew or light the charcoal heater?”

“As a matter of fact, I did.”

“Thus the killer and his accomplices ensured that the body wouldn’t be found by someone unlocking Lady Cosgrove’s pew and chancing to find the body beneath the third bench. During the distraction of the hymn, the woman pretending to be Lady Cosgrove closed the curtains in the pew. The only person who could see her was the vicar, but he was preoccupied by the sight of the esteemed war hero, Colonel Trask, proceeding along the aisle in his scarlet uniform, accompanied by an uncommonly beautiful woman. Every eye, including the vicar’s, was upon that glowing pair. It was an easy matter for the imposter to slip down out of sight below the pew’s partition. Unseen, she pulled Lady Cosgrove’s body to the front and propped her into view before the vicar was no longer distracted by the procession. My meager distraction of dropping the hymnals and scurrying to retrieve them was sufficient in this case. The note that the imposter was given and the identical note in the victim’s hand reinforced the impression that the two figures were the same.”

“But what about the blood on the floor?” Ryan asked.

“A bladder of it—probably blood from an animal—was hidden with the corpse. After propping up Lady Cosgrove’s body, the imposter emptied the bladder so that it drained under the pew’s gate. Before the sight of the blood alarmed the vicar, the imposter returned to her hiding place beneath the rear bench, removed her disguise, and put it in a bag. During the commotion, she slipped out the back of the pew, using the curtain and the pillar behind the pew to conceal her. A woman would not have attracted attention as she mingled with the alarmed congregation, just as Agnes didn’t attract attention when she rejoined us.”

“People saw what they had been told to see,” Commissioner Mayne said.

“Indeed. The question of whether reality exists outside us or in our minds is not an idle one, Commissioner. Worshippers were deluded into thinking that a brutal murder occurred in their midst, in St. James’s Church of all places, and that the killer was capable of vanishing mysteriously. Tomorrow morning, London’s fifty-two newspapers will spread that conviction. People will believe that if they aren’t safe in church on a Sunday morning, surely they aren’t safe in their beds or anywhere else. The purpose isn’t only to achieve revenge but also to create panic. You can be certain there’ll be other murders that involve public places.”

A sudden noise made De Quincey turn.

A door banged open at the back of the church. Becker rushed in, snow falling from his hat and coat. He struggled to catch his breath. “A judge…Sir Richard Hawkins…throat slit…St. James’s Park!”

“What?”
Commissioner Mayne exclaimed.

“His wife…a tube down her throat…drowned her with…”

T
he revenger never forgot
his father’s shock when the constable approached their meager cottage, asking, “Is Caitlin O’Brien your wife?”