Absence of Mercy by S. M. Goodwin

Author:S. M. Goodwin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

CHAPTER 18

Unlike Alard Janssen, Stephen Finch was a well-preserved man in his late thirties or early forties.

Jasper stripped off his gloves, threw them into his hat, and handed both to O’Malley. He turned back to the corpse and was just about to crouch down when Paisley’s horrified face rose up before him. He sighed and unbuttoned his coat. After he’d shrugged out of it, he handed that to O’Malley too, who received it as if Jasper had just handed him the crown jewels; Paisley would approve.

He moved the lantern closer to the body. “You say he was in this p-position when you arrived?” Jasper asked the patrolman who’d arrived first.

“Er, no, sir; I turned him over.”

“Never touch a dead body unless it is to ascertain that the p-person is indeed d-dead.”

The boy’s jaw dropped, his witless expression causing Jasper to realize what a prize he had in O’Malley.

The marks around Finch’s neck were visible, as his shirt had been badly torn.

“Are his c-collar and stock lying about?” Jasper asked, the question sending the patrolmen scurrying.

While they searched the alley, Jasper lifted Finch’s shirttails, which were already untucked.

He and Law examined the wound in his side in silence.

The big detective looked at him. “Are you thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, sir?”

“A d-different knife?”

Law nodded.

Not only did it look like a different knife, but the chunk of flesh was much smaller, more like a large nick, not deep enough to expose Finch’s organs.

Law pointed to the cuts. “I count six of them.”

“The hand’s p-pressure on the knife—upon removal—will leave these marks.” Jasper pointed to the bottom of the vertical slashes. His eyes met Law’s. “These cuts were made from the f-f-front, not the back.”

Law nodded his agreement.

“Will you ch-check his shoes, detective?”

Law ran his hand over the soles of both shoes. “Nothin’—at least no stickier than usual.”

Jasper searched Finch’s pockets: no watch, no wallet, and no ring on his hands. The man wasn’t wearing an overcoat, and there was no hat or gloves.

Jasper looked up at O’Malley, who straightened and said, “Er, we didn’t find no collar or tie, sir.”

“He’d already been stripped of his valuables when I got here, sir,” Law said in a quiet voice. “It could have been the killer, the drunk boys who found him, or—”

They both looked up at the patrolman standing beside O’Malley. His face reddened when he found himself under scrutiny, but he didn’t look guilty so much as alarmed.

“Did somebody check his pockets?” Law asked.

Now the lad looked terrified. “No, sir! I didn’t! I—”

“We are n-not accusing you, Patrolman.”

The boy swallowed, then nodded.

“Mr. F-Finch looks to be somewhere b-between twelve to thirteen st-stone,” Jasper said.

“Er, stone, sir?” Law asked.

“Ah, yes—it’s pounds here,” Jasper said. “That’s fourteen pounds per stone, so … one sixty-eight to one eighty-two.”

Law nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Approximately s-seven percent of the human body is blood; g-given the severity of the wounds, there should be a great deal more b-blood.”

“So, he was moved like Dunbarton?”

“We’ll have a l-look around.” The corpse was warm, but then so was the morning—stiflingly so.

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