Mr. Dooley did not wait for a response but motioned for Brodie and me to follow him.
“I might say, a pleasure as always…” I said no more as we followed Mr. Dooley through a set of double doors with signage that noted a holding area and morgue with four private offices.
The door to one of the offices opened, and an older woman emerged with reddened eyes as she sniffled into her handkerchief. She was accompanied by an attendant who escorted her past as another door, much the same as in a hospital with a glass viewing window, opened. A man in a white bibbed apron emerged with a clipboard in hand and proceeded into another private office.
Mr. Dooley motioned for us to follow him. “This way, room number eight.”
In spite of the fact that Brodie was no longer part of the MET, there was that note of respect in his voice.
“As you requested, I made certain the clothes be made available for you to inspect as well,” he added as he held the door open, then nodded to an attendant.
“Dawes is the name,” Mr. Dooley informed the attendant with thick glasses, who was also dressed in a white bibbed apron.
He went to a wall with several compartments, opened one and pulled out an examination table with a sheet over.
I had seen a number of bodies since that first case with Brodie. It was the nature of the inquiry business that not allcases involved small four-legged thieves with a penchant for rubies and diamonds.
However…
There was always that initial reaction—a bit of shock quickly pushed aside with other matters of importance, and my own habit of quickly pressing on.
“And the clothes?” Brodie inquired.
“On the counter as requested,” the attendant replied and indicated a long counter along the wall where men’s garments had been laid out.
They included a shirt badly stained with what had to be blood, vest, jacket, trousers, a pair of men’s undergarments, stockings, and boots.
“The body first,” Brodie indicated, and the attendant swept the sheet back much like a magician about to reveal whether or not a body had disappeared.
It had not and gleamed under a series of overhead electric lights, skin a shade of white with a green tinge about the edges, dried blood on the throat and chest above a paunch of belly, and manly parts on full display.
“A little discretion in consideration of the lady,” Mr. Dooley insisted, and the sheet was returned over the lower part of the chief inspector’s body.
As Brodie made his inspection, the attendant proceeded to point out three wounds on the body, all around the throat and neck.
“One wound would have been sufficient to accomplish wot the murderer wanted,” he commented.
I had taken out my notebook—that did seem to be a better alternative that viewing the chief inspector’s naked body—and made note of Brodie’s observations.
“And there are bruises about the neck as well…”
I made that note of that.
“And bruising about the ribs as if struck a blow with a boot after the man was down. And torn nails on the fingers.”
I added that to the notes.
“Blotchy blue patches on the stomach,” Brodie lifted the far edge of the sheet. “And on the upper right leg.”
“I noticed that as well,” Mr. Dooley commented.
I found his observations to be most interesting as I added yet another note.
He lowered the sheet back into place. “His clothes,” he indicated and proceeded to the counter.
“As you see, the shirt is quite bloodied,” the attendant pointed out. “Which is consistent with the wounds on the throat.”
Brodie made no comment as he inspected each garment, making note of a stain on the left lapel of the jacket. He wiped a finger across the stain, then tasted it.
