The Penny Dreadful Curse (5 page)

“Well,”
muttered Dr Pertwee, bamboozled by her convoluted reasoning but
liking the conclusion she had drawn, “she was strangled, as all the
strangulation victims I have ever come across, from the front. In
other words, she was facing her killer at the time.”

The Countess
nodded meditatively. “We can assume the killer chose the middle of
the bridge because it meant he could throw her over the moment he
strangled her. If it was night time and foggy she may not have seen
him coming until he was quite near but even so she did not cry out.
The boatman would have heard a cry and mentioned it, yet the fact
he assumed it was suicide suggests he did not hear a cry for help.
She was neither distressed nor alarmed. That indicates she either
knew her killer or she felt no fear when he first appeared out of
the fog. By the time he had his hands around her throat it was too
late.”

Dr Pertwee and
Dr Watson began to examine the organs while the Countess turned to
Inspector Bird. “You said she lived in Scarcroft Lane. Was she
going from the east to the west bank or vice versa?”

“She had been
at the Friargate Theatre on the east bank which we passed by
earlier on, so we can assume she was going back to her lodgings on
the west bank the night she was killed.”

“Ah, that
suggests the killer may have followed her from the theatre and
struck it lucky when she turned onto the bridge, or else he knew
where she lived and lay in wait for her to cross the bridge. And
that tells us the crime was not random but planned in advance.
Please continue, Dr Pertwee.”

“Mmm, yes, the
victim was mid-thirties, in good health and had never borne
children. In fact, she was a virgin.”

“So, she was
not out soliciting customers,” said the Countess dryly, thinking of
the first victim. “There must have been other theatre goers
crossing the bridge at the time yet no witnesses have come forward.
Is that right, Inspector Bird?”

“Not as yet,”
he confirmed, “but the body was only discovered yesterday morning,
and we only just found out she had been to the theatre yesterday
afternoon, and we only just made the link to writers this morning
and then to Panglossian Publishing after that. We can put a photo
in the newspaper and see if anyone comes forward with new
information. But as you said, she would have cried out if she had
thought there was anyone to hear her.”

The Countess
continued. “Can we add photos of the other victims?”

“The victims
have all been buried. We could obtain photos from family members or
from their possessions if you think it might help, but I am
reluctant to go down that path. You must remember we did not find a
link until today. We thought the first murder was a violent attack
on a prostitute, the second and third mere accidents, and the
fourth, an attack against a defenceless woman by a maniac. I
hesitate about the photos because we have identified the bodies and
to put photos in the papers now may cause a wave of panic. Five
photos of lady writers who have been killed will cause alarm,
especially as we cannot say with certainty the killer is targeting
authoresses, so I hesitate to approve the photos.”

“Mmm,”
murmured the Countess, reluctantly agreeing with the inspector. “I
wonder if it is significant that the fourth face was so badly
disfigured. Was she someone the public would have readily
recognized?”

“It is
possible,” replied the inspector. “She was well-known in theatre
circles. She sang in music halls when she was younger.”

Dr Watson
cleared his throat with a dry cough. “Don’t forget the second and
third faces were also disfigured. Either badly bruised and broken
by the fall down some stone stairs or trampled by a horse.
Identification would have been difficult if not impossible in those
cases as well as the fourth.”

“Yes, that’s
true,” agreed the Countess.

“As for the
fifth,” Dr Watson continued. “The killer may have assumed the
victim would not be discovered for some time. If the body went in
at high tide, just on the turning, and the river was running fast,
it is likely it would have been swept swiftly downstream, so
bloated by the time it was found as to be impossible to recognize.
The fact it got snagged and caught on the jetty was a matter of
mere chance.”

The Countess
turned to Dr Pertwee. “Was the first victim struck from the front
or from behind?”

“Ah, again,
the same line of questioning,” he muttered with a disapproving
grimace. “The victim was struck pretty much on the top of the head
but she must have been struck from behind because she fell
forward.”

“How do you
know she fell forward?”

Beetling brows
drew down quizzically. “Well, when she was brought in here she had
some bruising down the front of her body, on her face, breasts and
arms, aside from the severe bruising caused by the kicks to her
rib-cage, but no major crack to the back of her head that would
have resulted from a fall onto the cobblestones in Grape Lane. The
front of her dress was soiled, but the back was clean. The toes of
her shoes were scuffed yet they were relatively new shoes, hardly
worn, the soles hardly marked. There was no indication she had put
her arms out to break her fall. The blow came unexpectedly and
felled her in one like a nine pine.”

“If she was
hit from above and fell like a nine pin, should she have not just
crumpled, and not fallen forward, I mean?”

“Well, yes,
but the killer must have delivered a quick nudge with the hammer in
the lower back as the body crumpled. A bruise was found in the
small of her back that must have been sustained around the same
time as the attack because the colour of the bruise was consistent
with the other bruising.”

“Thank you, Dr
Pertwee, you were most thorough in your examination. Sherlock
Holmes could not have done a better job.”

That was high
praise indeed, delivered sincerely. Dr Pertwee looked down at his
feet and gave an embarrassed cough or two, altering his initial
negative opinion regarding the lady.

“One other
thing,” said the Countess, addressing herself to Dr Pertwee and not
Inspector Bird, “were all of the victims young?”

“No, the first
was the youngest, mid-twenties, quite petite. The second was
fifty-seven, thin and frail. The third, fourth and fifth victims
were in their thirties.”

The Countess
studied the death certificates and surgeon’s reports while Dr
Pertwee addressed himself to Dr Watson, pointing out the horrible
bloating to the face and the general good health of the victim as
indicated by the state of her nails, teeth, hair and her generous
proportions. The two doctors soon found they had several medical
colleagues in common from there time at St Barts and veered off the
subject of death.

Inspector Bird
approached the Countess; his voice dropped to a lower tone. “You
seem to have a knack for this sort of thing,” he observed without
rancour. “Detective Inspector MacDuff did not fill me in on any
details. I presumed you were a lady-friend of Dr Watson but I think
now you may be a consulting detective too. There a few ladies
starting up in the profession from what I hear and some of them are
said to be quite good.”

She took that
as a compliment. “Dr Watson and I are travelling companions who
have formed an enduring friendship. We seem to be picking up where
Sherlock Holmes left off from necessity rather than desire. We are
not yet consulting detectives but who knows what may happen in the
future,” she mused hopefully. “But back to this present case. I
suppose our next move is to interview Mr Panglossian. Is that what
you think too?”

“I am one step
ahead of you. I went to Panglossian Publishing this morning to
arrange an interview. That’s why I was late. Mr Panglossian’s
personal secretary, a man by the name of Thrypp, said that Mr
Panglossian travelled to London yesterday and he is not expecting
him to return until tomorrow. He showed me Panglossian’s diary to
confirm it but I will get one of my constables to telegraph to a
police friend of his in London to check that what he said was true.
I will know by this afternoon if that is the case. I think our next
move will be to have some lunch and then I will show you the Museum
Gardens and the Bootham Bar. There will be nothing significant to
see as far as clues go but it will help you get your bearings.”

“What about
Grapecuntlane?”

“Grape Lane,”
he corrected with a tight smile. “It is not far from the Shambles.
You can walk to it this evening from the Mousehole. Just make sure
it is still light.”

A carriage took
them to the Museum Gardens where they strolled across the monastic
park to where the fourth victim had been found in the shadows of
the romantic ruins of St Mary’s Abbey Church. The gardens were
indeed as peaceful as the inspector described them and the last
place in York you would expect to be murdered.

Straight after
their walk they stopped for lunch at an inn near the Theatre Royal.
During their meal they took the time to acquaint themselves with
the names of the five victims and the manner of each death. The
Countess was persistent about going over this again and again,
slowly and methodically. Because they had actually started with the
fifth victim and then bounced backward and forward, she felt it was
important to form a clear picture in her mind of each victim and
the circumstance of each death in chronological order.

“Let me see if
I have this right. The first murder was swift,” she summed up to
the inspector as Dr Watson settled the bill. “The killer struck
from behind. The victim did not see who wielded the weapon. It was
over in a short space of time. It had all the hallmarks of a
prostitute murder and since no one thought otherwise a photo was
not circulated. The second victim was also attacked from behind,
pushed in the back, her face bruised and broken by the stone
stairs. The third victim was most likely pushed in the back as she
waited to cross the road. The killer may have stood in the shadow
of the arch and then shoved her in front of the horse and cart at
the last moment. No call for panic since both looked like
accidents. The fourth death was savage but no immediate
identification was possible until a family member came forward to
report a missing person. The fifth, as Dr Watson pointed out, was a
possible slip up on the part of the killer, possibly due to
becoming cocky. The killer thought the body would be impossible to
identify and no link made to the previous four, but the victim was
discovered earlier than the killer supposed.”

“What does
that tell us?” posed Dr Watson thoughtfully, leaving a generous tip
for the waitress before rejoining the conversation.

“It tells us
the killer is getting more daring. The first three victims were
struck from behind. The attacks were swift and spontaneous,
possibly opportunistic, and also impersonal in execution. The
fourth was savage in the extreme. The killer harbours a lot of rage
and malice towards this victim. The fifth death was more personal.
The killer stood front-on to the victim. Strangulation is highly
personal, usually perpetrated by someone who knows the victim
intimately, and it requires considerable strength. The murders are
growing more personal, more brutal, and more confronting as they
progress.”

“You make it
sound as if you are expecting a sixth?” said the inspector
distastefully.

“Aren’t
you?”

“I was not
thinking that far ahead,” he admitted ruefully. “I was
concentrating on tracking down the killer. Therefore I was looking
back rather than forward.”

“Can you
recount to me the names of the five victims once more, inspector? I
have a notebook here in my little bag. I will write them down as
you go. Start with number one and go in order,
s’il vous
plait
.”

“I have a list
back at the police station, if you care to wait until tomorrow. It
has the addresses of the victims on it as well.”

She briefly
considered his offer. “No,” she replied. “There is a bookshop
across the way from the Mousehole. I would like to call in there
before it closes its door this evening and purchase some penny
dreadfuls. I would like to acquaint myself with the sorts of books
the victims wrote sooner rather than later. Please proceed, and add
the manner and place of death.”

“Number 1 -
Saskia Frubb – hammerblow to head - Grapecuntlane.

Number 2 – Eva
Gluckstein – fell down stairs – Bootham Bar.

Number 3 –
Fanny Gorley – trampled by horse and cart - Micklegate.

Number 4 –
Constance de la Mare – head bashed by masonry – Museum Garden.

Number 5 –
Roberta Redford – drowned – Skeldergate.”

“Don’t you
mean Redbeard?” said the Countess.

“What?”

“You just said
Redford?”

“Her real name
was Roberta Redford but the landlady referred to her as Robbie
Redbeard so that’s how I decided to refer to her too. The landlady
said everyone called her by that name. Robbie Redbeard was the name
she used in her writing.”

“It was her
pen name,” clarified Dr Watson.

The inspector
nodded. “The landlady put it differently but that’s what she meant.
She said everyone who knew her called her Robbie Redbeard. She
wrote pirate stories and it suited her to use that name. She liked
her name to be recognized by shopkeepers and the like.”

“It was her
nom de plume,” added the Countess.

“Yes! That’s
the word the landlady used. Nom de plume!” The inspector stood up
abruptly. “I must get back to the police station and follow-up if
Mr Panglossian did actually travel to London. He is either a prime
villain or a prime victim. I would like to speak to him as soon as
practicable. I presume you would like to be in on the
interview?”