“Good God.” She dropped his arm and turned, searching his face. “That means Lizzie—”
“Was murdered, too.”
“And the second body?”
“The cabdriver who might have identified the killer.” He opened the door with his left hand. “I’ll take you to Brigid Dowling’s body and then find O’Malley. He’s somewhere inside, trying to soothe Willie Sommers, the desk clerk who’s here to identify the body. One of our few witnesses.”
In the examining room, Julia removed the covering sheet and drew a breath.So like Lizzy, she thought. She smoothed back the sister’s auburn hair, and tears stung at the waste of another young life. She spent ten minutes on initial observations and then prepared Brigid Dowling’s body for identification.
O’Malley escorted a white-faced, bespectacled young man into the cramped examining room. He raked nervously at his straw-colored hair, leaving patches that stood up like a badly scythed hayfield. Julia had turned the gaslight burners up, and the clerk blinked at the brightness. The bump in his throat jumped as he looked at the shrouded figure on the table.
“There’s no rush, Mister Sommers,” Julia said. “Tell me when you’re ready.”
The young clerk swallowed hard and nodded. She drew the sheet to Brigid’s chin, exposing her auburn hair and pale face, shielding the livid bruises on her neck.
Tennant asked, “Is this the young woman who registered as Brigid Dowling and left her carpetbag at the Chapter House?”
“Yes,” the clerk rasped and turned away. Julia replaced the sheet and patted his arm.
Tennant said, “Thank you, Mister Sommers. Sergeant O’Malleywill take you to another room and ask you to sign a statement.”
“Never seen a dead body before.” The clerk’s hand shook as he pulled off his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief.
“Come along, son,” O’Malley said, gripping the clerk’s arm. “We’ll find you a cup of tea and a quiet place to finish our business.”
When the door closed behind them, Julia said, “We forget, don’t we?”
Tennant regarded her curiously. “Forget what?”
“The sight of our first dead body.”
“Paddy remembers. He’ll see the fellow through it.” Tennant pulled out his watch. “It’s getting late. I must inform the commissioner and Marlborough House without delay.”
“Of course,” Julia said. “There is no need to stay.”
“I know.” He half smiled and said, “If anything, I’m in your way.”
“I didn’t mean that. Two postmortems will have me working well past seven. It’s a long time for you to wait.”
“That’s a long day for you as well. I’m most interested in Brigid Dowling. May I suggest you finish her autopsy and then return tomorrow to complete the cabbie’s postmortem?”
“I have an appointment in the morning that I can’t postpone.”
“Then Doctor MacKay or Doctor Abernathy. I’ll see to it.”
Julia folded the sheet to Brigid’s shoulders and brushed her auburn hair from her forehead. “Nine months ago … we stood in this exact spot, looking down at another Irish girl who died violently. Franny Riley.”
“The man who put Franny on this table will never harm another person.”
“Grandfather and I are eager to hear about it.”
“Then may I … will you permit me to drop in at Finsbury Circus later this evening? To hear your preliminary findings?”
“Of course.” Julia looked at him, surprised by his stilted tone. “Barring surprises, it appears straightforward. Manual strangulation.”
“I’d also like to hear about Lizzie Dowling and the events on the Isle of Wight.”
“And I’d like to look at that hand,” Julia said, pointing. “You may think it’s nothing, but infection is always a danger. Those bandages should be changed.”
