The Price of Murder Read Online Free Page A

we?”
    That he proceeded to do—probing, inspecting, shaking his head, and, finally, letting forth a great groan of dismay.
    “How old did you say this child was?”
    “Six or seven seems to be the general consensus. Until her mother comes and claims the body, let that stand.”
    “From the look of her, she could be younger. But never mind that. Whether she’s five, six, or seven, she’d had intercourse with a full-grown man—and probably far more often than once. That’s hideous. The cause of death I’d give as an infection of the kidneys caused by the piercing of the walls of the vagina and the womb.”
    “Could you write that down, sir, so that I might present it to Sir John?”
    “I certainly can and will,” said he. “And you may tell him for me that I have never seen the like of it. Raw places indeed! The whole area was a mass of scabs. The water cleaned it off a bit and reveals it for the horror that it most certainly is.”
    He went straightaway to the wash stand and cleansed his hands well. Then did he sit down at the writing table and write his report to Sir John. I took it and ran down to the street. I jumped into the wagon, which I had hitched just outside Mr. Donnelly’s surgery. In no more than a few minutes’ time I was at Number 4 Bow Street.
    There was this to say of Gabriel Donnelly’s reports. He wrote them in plain, clear language. There was no mistaking the brutality which had been practiced upon the little girl. Poor child indeed! I had never known the magistrate to respond so violently or so immediately to any report that I had brought him. As soon as I had finished reading it to him, he jumped to his feet, stamped loud upon the floor, and shouted, full-voice: “But this is monstrous !”
    Sir John raged on for minutes more—or so it seemed to me. I have found, as you may have also, reader, that it is difficult to judge time when the air about you is, all of a sudden, filled with invective and fury. I could do little to persuade him to quieten his anger, for I felt also as he did. Still, I knew that we must get on with it now that it was to be a proper investigation. Perhaps, I thought, I might offer a suggestion. And so did I await the first gap in his tirading, cursing, and venting; and, finding it at last, I did jump in quickly to fill it.
    “Sir John,” said I, “would it not be opportune to search out the mother of the girl that you may question her further upon the details of her daughter’s disappearance?”
    He, now quite panting from his expense of anger, stood silent for a spell, red-faced and spent. Then, at last recovered, he turned toward me and nodded in the affirmative.
    “Yes,” said he, “that would be a good place to start. I quite agree, Jeremy. She must also identify the body. Get from Mr. Marsden her name and location, and bring her here to me. Do you recall who it was took the initial report?”
    Though not entirely certain, I put forward the name of Mr. Patley, for I recalled discussing the matter with him. He had, as I remembered, certain doubts about the woman.
    So it proved to be. Mr. Marsden took me to the small desk file of active cases that he kept, thumbed through it till he found the proper one, then pulled it from the drawer. He spread it out before us upon the desk.
    “Here it is, as you see, Jeremy. Now, what was it you wished to know?”
    “What her name might be, where she lives, that sort of thing. Sir John wants me to bring her in to ask some questions of her. The little girl died. They pulled her out of the river this morning.”
    “What a shame for the mother.”
    “What a shame for the little girl.”
    I copied down the necessary facts (Alice Plummer and daughter Margaret of Cucumber Alley), read quickly through the report, and noted that, indeed, it had been written by Mr. Patley. Then, with a stop at the livery stable that I might return the wagon and team, I made my way to the notorious Seven Dials area, just above Covent Garden.