Absence of Mercy

by S. M. Goodwin

  He rocked back on his heels, a memory from the war—before Balaclava—slamming into him. It was just after the Battle of Alma and Jasper had caught a soldier cutting off the ears of a dead enemy soldier.

  “It’s a souvenir, sir,” the man had said, apparently insensible to the horror of his actions.

  The murderer took a souvenir from Janssen.

  He tucked that thought away for later examination.

  “Good God!” Dell said, staring at the section of large intestine that bulged out of the wound. “Is he missing flesh?”

  Jasper ignored the question and visualized the scene. The killer would have come at him from behind and dropped the rope around his neck, throttling him into unconsciousness or near enough before releasing hold of the garrote and then stabbing him. Two weapons were used: did that mean two assailants or a very dexterous killer?

  He looked up from the body. “When was he f-found?”

  Featherstone glanced at Dell as if for guidance.

  “Don’t look at me, you idiot.” Dell was green around the gills and keeping his gaze assiduously turned away from the dead body. “This is exactly why Lord Lightner was brought here—to instruct. You should listen, learn, and obey his orders. In fact, just consider him your superior from now on.”

  Featherstone’s mouth pulled down into a mutinous frown as he turned to Jasper. “Uh, about an hour ago, my Lordship.”

  “You fool! It’s my lord or Your Lordship. Don’t you know—”

  “Inspector Lightner will be sufficient,” Jasper said, pushing to his feet and wincing slightly as he straightened his gammy leg. He glanced up and down the alley; it was narrow and ran the length of the block, rubbish bins near each door. “This seems a very b-busy area—how is it that a body could go unnoticed d-during daylight hours in such a p-p-public place?”

  Featherstone appeared stunned—either by the question or by his stammer—and then his lip began to curl; ah, so it was the stammer.

  Jasper was accustomed to this expression from some men. Indeed, he’d had to fight half the boys at school before the torment ceased. Bullies didn’t disappear with age, and even as an adult, he’d encountered outright laughter and derision.

  If he needed to establish authority among brutish men, he was prepared to mete out the necessary discipline. He suspected, from the jeering expression on Featherstone’s face, that the detective would likely require such discipline if they continued working together.

  “Detective Featherstone?” he repeated when the other man failed to respond.

  Featherstone looked from Jasper to Dell, and Jasper could see he’d forgotten the question.

  “Well, answer him, you fool—he asked why the body was only discovered an hour ago.”

  “It was hidden under those.” Featherstone pointed to a pile of pallets lying haphazardly near the building.

  Jasper went for a closer look. There was a great deal of dried blood on the filthy cobbles, certainly enough to assume Janssen had been killed there. There was also a smear of blood where somebody had dragged the body. He glanced at the detective and pointed to a door with the number fifteen carved into the wood. “Is this th-the brothel’s door?”

  “Er, no, sir. This is a dressmaker’s. That’s Solange’s.” He pointed to the door closest to the street, number fourteen.

  “Who found him?”

  “Er—”

  “Me! ’Twas me that found ’im, Your Lordship.” The speaker was one of the smallest adults Jasper had ever seen. Dark eyes peered out beneath eyelids as wrinkled and papery as onion skins. The man spoke with the distinctive accent of a Londoner—somebody from the rookeries, by the sound of him. Despite the heat, he was wrapped in layer upon layer of mismatched clothing, his scrawny neck poking out of a collar twice as large.

  “What’s your n-name?”

  The diminutive Londoner threw out his chest and straightened to his full height, which did not add much. “Jemmy Hart, my lord.”

  “Am I correct in b-believing we are countrymen, Mr. Hart?”

  Jemmy grinned, and it was a dreadful sight, his teeth blackened and tilted like headstones in a very old graveyard. “Aye, my lord. Lonnon born an’ bred.” He blinked around him, as if confused how he’d ended up in this alley.

  “You f-found this g-gentleman?” Jasper asked.

  “Aye, covered up ’e was. The pallets is usually stacked, so I fought mebbe somfing was ’idden beneef ’em.”

  “Who t-turned him over?”

  “’Ow do you know someone turned ’im?” Mr. Hart asked.

  Featherstone half raised one hand. “I did.”

  “And are you the person who moved the b-body over here?”

  “Yes, Your Lordship.”

  “Why?”

  Featherstone blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Why did you m-move him?”

  “Er”—he shrugged—“I dunno, my lord.”

  Barely audible snickers turned the detective’s cheeks a brick red, and he glared around at the assembled men, daring the culprits to do it again.

  Jasper took pity on him. “In the f-future, leave the body where you find it until the scene can b-be thoroughly examined.”

  “’E looks like that ovver bloke,” the rag-and-bone man piped up.

  “What?” Jasper and Dell spoke at the same time.

  Jemmy looked from Jasper to Dell and hunched his shoulders under the latter’s glare.

  “What other m-man, Mr. Hart?” Jasper asked.

  The alderman answered before Hart. “He’s an old drunk who doesn’t know what he’s sayin’, my lord. They already got the killer in those cases.”

  “What c-cases?” Jasper asked Dell.

  “There were two murders a few months back—two wealthy gentlemen, Wilbur Sealy and Felix Dunbarton. Both were killed by a crazy whore.”

  “How were they m-m-murdered?”

  “They caught the killer, my lord.” Dell took a step toward Hart. “Tell him, you old fool. Tell him you don’t know what you’re—”

  “Mr. D-Dell?” Jasper spoke softly.

  Dell stopped mid-rant. “Er, yes?”

  “I suspect my valet will be concerned when we d-do not arrive at the hotel in g-good time,” he lied. “P-perhaps you might check in on him at the Astor? I c-c-could meet you there for a drink—after I’ve finished here.”

  Even in the dimness of the alley, Jasper could see the man’s pupils flare at the mention of alcohol. Dell paused as if he were giving the matter some thought, but Jasper knew he’d already made up his mind. Between his desire to spread the grisly news of Janssen’s murder and his need for a drink, he was already halfway to the Astor House in his head.

  His tongue darted out like a lizard’s and moistened his lips. “I wouldn’t want to leave you here without—”

  Jasper motioned to the clutch of policemen, whose eyes were bouncing back and forth between them as if they were watching a game of racquets. “One of these g-gentlemen can see I return to the hotel s-safely. Can they not, Detective?”

  “What?” Featherstone blurted, looking unhappy at being dragged back into the discussion.

  “Yes, of course they can, my lord,” Dell answered for the other man, already sold on the notion of a drink in a comfortable bar rather than standing about in a filthy alley with a corpse.

  Jasper looked at the detective. “P-Perhaps you might notify the c-coroner?”

  Featherstone bristled. “I sent word immediately.”

  “Ah, good. Well, then you can stop b-by the station and explain the situation to Captain Davies. Tell him I’ll c-come by with a preliminary report when I’m f-f-finished here.”

  Once again Dell answered for Featherstone. “Yes, yes, that’s an excellent idea, my lord. Come along, Detective, His Lordship has things well in hand here.”

  Jasper waited until the obstacles to his questioning moved off down the alley before turning to the remaining patrolmen, all of whom were staring at Jasper’s Russian-silver Venu
s de Milo–topped walking stick.

  “Patrolman O’Malley.”

  The young man startled. “Er, yes, my lord?”

  Jasper gestured to the growing crowd at the mouth of the alley. Half of them were craning their necks to get a glimpse of the body while the other half were gawking at Jasper. “There are some p-potential witnesses who require interviewing.”

  “Er, witnesses?”

  “Put two p-patrolmen to guard the entrance to the alley and instruct them to k-keep away onlookers. Dispatch the remaining patrolmen to c-canvass the nearby establishments. We w-want to know whether anyone in these businesses was acquainted with the deceased or noted his p-presence over the last twenty-four—n-no, make that forty-eight—hours. If so, at what t-time, who was he with, and so forth.”

  Jasper could see O’Malley was busy translating his sentence and made a mental note to avoid words like dispatch and canvass in the future.

  He clarified. “F-First, ask if anyone saw Janssen last night.”

  “Er, today’s Sunday, sir; most places won’t be open.”

  Ah, he’d forgotten. “Well, knock on doors and speak t-to whoever answers.”

  “Er, yes, sir.”

  Once the patrolmen were gone, Jasper turned to the toothless little Londoner. “What didn’t you wish to say in f-f-front of Mr. Dell?”

  Hart cupped a hand to his ear, his rheumy old eyes glinting. “What’s that, milord?”

  Jasper sighed and extracted the handful of silver that Paisley had put in his pocket that morning—mainly Spanish, Dutch, and English coins. Foreign coins, he’d been told, were more welcome than paper money in most places in America. He handed Hart a worn Spanish one-quarter real.

  Hart’s toothless grin assured him he’d chosen correctly, and the man squirreled the coin away in the recesses of his ragged coat.

  “Have d-done with your theatrics and tell me what you know.”

  “There was two other rich gents kilt with a knife.”

  “And b-both killed by st-st-stabbing and garroting?” Surely the city would be in an uproar if wealthy businessmen were being slain in the streets?

  “I dunno anyfing about the first bloke. I found the second before they brung him down to the Points.”

  Jasper held up a hand. “Wait. Who is they?”

  “Dunno, do I? I was just foraging like and I found ’im.”

  “Who was this m-man?”

  “A bloke named Dunbarton.”

  “And you say somebody m-moved Mr. D-Dunbarton?”

  “I sawr him, din’t I? Big as loif be’ind the dress shop, mebbe ’arf a block from this narsty French cow’s ploice.”

  Jasper blinked. “You mean you f-found the body near here?”

  “Aye, just down there.” He jabbed a finger toward the door Featherstone had said belonged to the brothel.

  “Show me.” He followed Hart down the alley.

  * * *

  “It was roight ’ere.” Hart pointed to the pile of detritus stacked up almost as high as the bin.

  Jasper called over the two patrolmen guarding the alley entrance. “P-Please move all debris to there.” He pointed to the other side of the alley.

  “What did the p-police say when you told them the b-body had been m-moved?” he asked Hart while the patrolmen worked.

  “I din’t tell ’em, did I?”

  Jasper sighed; of course he hadn’t. “Describe what you saw.”

  “’E were lyin’ tucked in beside the bin, and rubbish was built up loik and blocking the body from the street.”

  “Now wh-when was this, exactly?”

  Hart scratched his head. “I don’t remember just now.”

  Jasper could check actual dates in the police files. “G-Go on.”

  “The best places to get prime goods is these few alleys.” He pointed at one of the battered doors past the brothel. “Roight there is where the Kemp sisters do their evil work.”

  “Evil work?”

  “Aye, they be baby killers.” Hart’s twisted expression was one of loathing. “They charges premium prices, and only the better sort can afford ’em. They throws out some of the best rubbish. When I passed by Kemps’, they’d not brung out anyfing, so I went on and did be’ind all the swells’ shops.” He made a zigzagging motion with one hand to show the path of his labors. “Nuffink!” he said. “So I was jess comin’ out be’ind one o’ the toff shops.” He cut Jasper a quick glance when he recalled he was speaking to a toff. “Any’ow, I sawr ’im, as bold as you please.”

  Jasper took another coin out of his pocket. “D-Describe every detail.”

  Hart’s eyes were riveted to the coin. “’E were facedown, not faceup, loik the swell today.” He pointed to the spot the patrolmen had just cleared. “’E were lyin’ between the bin and the brick wall. At first I saw only ’is feet stickin’ out. Then the rest o’ ’im—’is bloody, cut-up shirt.”

  “He h-had no vest or coat?”

  “Nah, ’e did, but they was roight slashed to bits. Blood all over ’im—too much to bovver wiff takin’ most of ’is kit. I was troiyin’ to get ’is shoes off when a couple o’ coppers came along.” He paused and shook his head. “A roight shame it was, leavin’ them shoes.”

  “Policemen f-found the body—here?”

  “Aye, two coppers.”

  “B-But you said the body was d-discovered in Five P-Points?”

  Hart shrugged. “’Swot I read.”

  Jasper studied his diminutive witness, who was squirming and anxious. He’d have to come back to that later.

  “What time d-did you find him?”

  “Mebbe free or four o’clock.”

  “What did he look l-like?”

  Hart’s brow furrowed. “’E looked dead.”

  Jasper almost laughed. “But what did his b-body look like—the injuries?”

  “Oh. Lots o’ blood. So much I couldn’t see much o’ ’is back.” He shifted until his back was to Jasper and reached a hand to his side. “’E’d been cut about ’ere.” He drew a horizontal line just below the ribs. “There was innards pokin’ out.”

  “You said you r-ran off without t-taking anything?”

  Hart’s expression was so innocent that Jasper knew he was guilty—of something.

  Jasper eyed the little Londoner hard.

  “What, gov?” Even beneath the dirt, his face turned red.

  “T-Tell me the truth.”

  Jemmy swallowed noisily.

  “Mr. Hart, d-do you realize how it l-looks? You discovering not one, but two d-dead bodies?”

  Hart’s jaw sagged low enough to graze the cobbles. “You ain’t sayin’ I kilt these blokes?” He flung up his hands. “Whoiy the bleedin’ ’ell would I tell you about it if I ’ad?”

  “Then t-tell me what you took.”

  “Awright, awright! I took his ’at and ’is wallet.”

  Jasper had to admit he’d not been expecting that. He’d suspected Hart had taken the shoes and coat—but the rest? Why hadn’t the killer robbed him?

  Because it was murder, not a robbery.

  “What was in the w-wallet?”

  “A couple dollars.”

  Jasper decided to leave that particular lie be. “What else d-did you take?”

  Hart gave him a look that would have done a martyr proud. “I took ’is coat—’e wouldn’t be needin’ it, would ’e? Besides, it was all bloody and cut; I barely got anyfing for it.”

  “Anything else? What about his w-watch—jewelry?”

  His eyes slid back to Jasper and then quickly away.

  “Mr. Hart?”

  “Foin.” He gave a defeated huff. “I prigged a ring wiff a red stone. Just a small one.” He held up a thumb and forefinger to demonstrate. “An’ ’is watch. But I ’ardly got any money out o’ the watch ’cause the face were all bunged up.”

  “Bunged up?”

  “Loik mebbe ’e squarshed it when ’e fell.”

  “You t-took his hat, w-wallet, coat, ring, and wa
tch. Anything else?” Not that Jasper imagined the man had much else of value on him.

  “No! I swears on me honor.”

  “W-Was his body still warm?”

  Jemmy gave him a look of pure horror. “Crikey! ’At’s a bit gruesome, ain’t it?”

  “Mr. Hart.”

  “Awright.” He held up both hands. “Naw, ’e was cold.”

  “Was it easy to t-take the ring from his f-finger?”

  “Yeah, ’e weren’t stiff-loik.”

  “And you say the b-body was later discovered in Five P-Points?”

  “Aye, in Murderer’s Alley.”

  Jasper frowned at the improbable street name.

  “Why you lookin’ at me loik that? I din’t name it.”

  “How long after you f-found the body here was it discovered in this M-M-Murderer’s Alley?”

  “Er, not for another day.”

  “You mean that m-morning?”

  “No. I mean the day after.”

  “You’re t-telling me somebody kept the body for a f-full day?” He didn’t bother to keep the skepticism from his tone.

  “I ain’t sayin’ nuffink but what happened.”

  “And you d-don’t recall the date?”

  Hart scowled. “It so ’appens I do. It was the noight Bill Morissey fought Nate McDaniel. April somefing,” he added, scratching his head.

  Jasper extracted a coin from his pocket and held it up. “If I w-want to see you again, where will I f-find you?”

  “I ain’t got no reglear ’ome, but most nights I go to O’Reilly’s saloon.”

  Jasper handed Hart the coin and waited until the old man had scarpered before turning back to the alley.

  Based on the bloodstain, Dunbarton had not come very far in before he was murdered—just a few steps from the brothel’s back door. Jasper walked the length of the alley; there were six doors and multiple rubbish bins, meaning the alley was utilized by several businesses. Assuming the old man wasn’t completely off his nut, had one of these business owners paid to move Dunbarton’s body? If so, why not move this one too?