“I made a call to Dooley this morning while ye were still upstairs getting ready for the day,” he explained. “It canna hurt to ask a few questions.”
Brodie had worked with Mr. Dooley during his previous time with the MET, and a bond of mutual trust and respect remained between them.
After Brodie left the MET, Mr. Dooley had been a source for information from time to time. He had recently been promoted from constable to inspector after several years’ service, but remained a stalwart friend and confidant.
He had let himself into the office and, good man that he was, had a pot of coffee simmering at the stove on this cold morning that had a hint of snow in the air.
“Nasty business, murder of that poor young woman,” Mr. Dooley commented as he sat across from Brodie at the desk while I removed my hat and coat.
“Music teacher, she was?” Then with a look over at me.
“She provided lessons for my ward,” I explained. “They became good friends as well.”
He nodded. “And more’s the pity, she had just left the print office where she apparently had picked up invitations. It seems that she was to be wed in a few weeks.”
“What else can you tell us?” I inquired while Brodie listened from across the desk, coffee cup in hand.
“The fiancé’s name is Daniel Eddington, according to the invitations that were found on the sidewalk, and the information the printer was able to provide.”
“What about her family?” I then asked. “I understand they live in Knightsbridge.”
He nodded with a look over at Brodie. “Her father is Edward Mallory, a barrister of some reputation. You might remember him from before with the MET.”
Some reputation? I did wonder what that might mean.
Brodie nodded. “I gave evidence in two cases brought before the magistrate regarding persons he represented.”
Mr. Dooley nodded. “Made quite a name for himself over the years. The fiancé is a member of his office. I would suppose that is how he and the young woman met.”
“Have you spoken with the family?” Brodie inquired.
Mr. Dooley nodded. “Contact was made the night of the murder, and then yesterday as well, for any information the family might have. Sad affair, such a pretty young thing.”
“What about any connection to the Whitechapel murders?” I asked, since Mr. Burke had asked the same question in his article for the daily.
Mr. Dooley shook his head. “I pulled up the old files. There are most definitely differences between the two. Miss Mallory was from a well-placed family, the murder took place in the West End, and there was no…” He hesitated before continuing.
“It’s quite all right, Mr. Dooley. I read the articles about the Whitechapel murders when they took place.”
He nodded, still a bit uncomfortable. “There was just the one wound with a sharp instrument, most likely a knife, and there was no sign of any other disturbance of the body.”
I knew quite well what he spoke of. According to the articles at the time of those other murders that had terrified all of London, two of the women had been sexually assaulted before they were murdered.
However, whether or not it had been committed by the murderer was never established, as both women had worked as prostitutes.
“What information was the printer able to provide?” Brodie asked. “Did the man see anything?”
Mr. Dooley shook his head. “He only became aware of what had happened when a couple, a man and woman, found the poor thing, apparently right afterward, and put up the alarm. He wasn’t able to provide any information other than Miss Mallory had just left his shop.”
Still…
I knew how the police worked from that first inquiry case with Brodie. Admittedly it was possible that their methods had improved since. They were under a new interim chief inspector after Mr. Abberline was persuaded to take an ‘extended departure.’ Yet, it was also possible, as I knew only too well, that they had simply not asked the right questions.
“Might it be possible to see the body before the family makes their arrangements?” I then asked.
Mr. Dooley’s gaze narrowed. “I might be able to make arrangements at the Yard where the young woman’s body was taken.”
“Are you making inquiries then on behalf of the family, or perhaps the young woman’s fiancé?” he asked. “I’d not wantto read about it in one of your books, Miss Forsythe. No offense, mind you. But it could bring about undue attention and questions.”
