eyes in a face that resembles that of a ferret. He wears the same conservative, dark brown suit with a short jacket, as befits his social standing and station in life, yet is never self-conscious when in our company despite our more elegant affectations.
He was not alone, though. Standing beside him was an elderly gentleman, taller than him by at least a foot, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, sideburns, and harsh blue eyes in a chiseled face with prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. He was dressed in more formal attire consisting of a black suit with a heavy frock coat, plain rather than fashionable, yet still clearly indicative of his higher social placement.
Gerrarde greeted us affably enough, but with a reserve that I sensed was due to his companion. In due course, he drew our attention to him. "This is Chief Inspector Sir Robert MacFeirson. Sir Robert, may I introduce Mr. January Ian Mariposa and Miss Annabelle Camille."
"My friends call me Jaim," I said, as I extended my hand.
MacFeirson, however, simply raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."
Jade bristled at his rudeness, but held her tongue. Gerrarde gave me an embarrassed, lopsided smile, clearly discomforted by his superior's behavior but unable to do anything about it. What surprised me, however, was that Bastet, sitting at my feet, moaned at him; normally she never reacted to bad manners.
She did attract MacFeirson's attention, and he looked down at her with barely concealed contempt. "And this must be your remarkable cat."
Bastet moaned again, so I picked her up and cradled her in the crook of my arm. "My apologies, Chief Inspector, she is ordinarily quite friendly."
For the first time, he showed a modicum of graciousness by giving us a thin smile. "Quite understandable, Mr. Mariposa; you may address me as 'Sir Robert'. Miss Camille." He also seemed to finally recognize Jade's otherwise arresting presence. "I am happy at last to make your acquaintance, and to see that you are as lovely as Inspector Gerrarde described you." He took her hand and kissed it as Gerrarde blushed.
"Why, thank you, Sir Robert." She replied in a saccharine-sweet tone, but with a look that made me glad she did not have her stiletto in her hand.
"I have asked you two here tonight on Gerrarde's recommendation. We have a trifle of a puzzle on which we would like to consult with you. It is by no means an important case, but there are aspects of it that are enigmatic, and about which I am told you have special knowledge. Unfortunately, I must ask that you leave your cat outside. I cannot have it wandering the building, contaminating more important on-going cases."
"I assure you, Sir Robert," Gerrarde objected, "Bastet is well-behaved, and an essential part of Mr. Mariposa's investigation process."
The Chief Inspector made a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am sorry, but there can be no exceptions. Or is it your contention that the cat is the detective and its owner a mere ventriloquist's dummy?"
I decided to forestall a reply from Gerrarde. "I assure you, I have no problem with acceding to your order." And with that I turned and carried Bastet out the door. Just before I dropped her onto the ground, however, I whispered in her ear.
"Stay close; keep alert."
She meowed her comprehension and dashed out of sight into the surrounding darkness.
Gerrarde gave me a calculating look, but led us without comment to the stairs and down into the basement, to the Yard's makeshift morgue. Though not formally designed for such use, it was nonetheless adequate to the task of storing bodies while they were inspected by the Yard's physician-in-residence. As we went, Gerrarde and Jade grimly discussed the latest outrage by the Dynamiters. Both supported Irish home rule and were sympathetic to the cause the anarchists fought for, but they roundly condemned the indiscriminate violence they perpetrated. Sometimes it was rather hard not to tell them about certain events that lay in their future but which were already part of my past. Such as the bombing of that very building sometime later that same year. I could only hope that Gerrarde would survive it.
A constable of the Metropolitan Police Force stood guard outside the morgue. When he opened the door for us, I could see that a single body lay inside on one of the tables, covered with a sheet. The constable followed us in and closed the door, then stood beside it. Meanwhile, Gerrarde went over to the table and removed the sheet; on it laid the corpse of a woman. As Jade and I approached, Gerrarde and Sir Robert stepped back against one wall.
"What can you tell us about her?" I asked.
"That is what we wish you to tell us," Sir Robert replied, with a smugness he unsuccessfully suppressed.
Jade snapped her head towards the two police officials. "I beg your pardon?" I looked up as well, and noticed that Gerrarde appeared rather uncomfortable; obviously, this was not what he had planned.
"Gerrarde informs me that you are unusually perceptive. Therefore, it should be fairly easy for you to deduce all the facts you need."
Jade gave Gerrarde a nasty look, while he shrugged in an apologetic fashion. "I imagine the Inspector has somewhat exaggerated our talents--" she began in a frigid tone.
I interrupted her. "However, we accept the challenge."
She turned on me, her face vivid with shock. "What are you saying?!"
"Even so," I continued, ignoring her for the moment, "fair is fair, Sir Robert. To make a proper analysis, I will need confirmation of our deductions, and there are particulars that we cannot learn from a simple examination of the body. After all, even Sherlock Holmes did not theorize in the absence of all the facts."
Sir Robert blinked in confusion. "Who?"
I kicked myself mentally; it was still three years before the publication of "A Study in Scarlet".
Fortunately, Gerrarde came to my rescue. "Of course we will confirm your surmises, as well as provide whatever information you might need."
"Oh, very well," the Chief Inspector acquiesced with another wave of his hand. "Please proceed; I would like to be finished before midnight." It was obvious he had already concluded that Jade and I were wasting his time.
"Very well. Come my dear, let us see what this unfortunate can tell us."
We stepped up to the table, each on either side. The body was somewhat dumpy and prematurely old; the woman would not have been a beauty even when young, but now she was fairly ugly. I opened the mouth. "She has lost all her teeth."
Jade lifted and examined the hand on her side. "The fingers and palms are callused as well."
"What do you think?"
Putting the hand back down, she looked the body over. "Lower class, most likely poor, a washer woman or perhaps a seamstress by trade, but most likely a prostitute by necessity. Where was the body found, Inspector?"
"Whitechapel," Gerrarde stated as he pulled out his notebook. "She's been identified as Rebecca Crook, a washer and occasional midwife who has been previously arrested for prostitution. She was identified by her daughter, Mary Ann, who is married to William Nichols, a printer with the firm of Perkins, Bacon and Company of Whitefriars Street in the City."
"What were the circumstances of the discovery of the body?" I asked.
"The deputy of a doss house in Dorset Street alerted a constable that he had found a body in one of his private rooms. No witnesses to either the murder or Crook's clients that night, if any, could be found."
"Was the body clothed?" Jade inquired.
"No, but her clothing was found in the room; we can produce it if you need to see it."
"I doubt that will be necessary," I said; then, to Jade, "No signs of violence--" I ran my hands over the skull. "--no evidence of a fracture or concussion." I then pressed on the sides of the rib cage. "No fractures here. Gerrarde, give me a hand." He came forward and with his help we turned the body over. "The spine appears intact," I continued after passing my fingers over the back; when we turned the woman back upright I felt the hips; "No apparent damage here either. Whatever happened, she was not shot, stabbed, strangled, or bludgeoned to death."
Jade had spent the time examining the corpse's vagina. "She had sex, though."
"She was a whore," Sir Robert responded in a dismissive manner.
"I mean she had sex just before she died."
"How can you know that?" Gerrarde asked.
"It is common practice among streetwalkers to wash themselves as soon afterward as possible, to prevent pregnancy. There is still semen present."
Gerrarde came around beside her and looked for himself. "She's right."
"It means nothing," Sir Robert concluded.
Jade then inserted a couple of fingers into the vagina.
"Is that necessary?" Sir Robert asked, and even Gerrarde looked uncertain.
"If a streetwalker expects to be unable to wash, she often inserts a wad of cotton soaked in water or oil to prevent the semen from getting into the womb. And there's nothing here."
"Still means nothing," Sir Robert reaffirmed.
But as Jade probed deeper, she frowned in puzzlement. Then she suddenly withdrew her hand in alarm. "Jaim! This woman has no womb."
I placed my hand on the abdomen and pressed down. "It feels normal."
She shook her head. "I went in deep enough to touch the base if it was there, and I felt nothing."
"There's only one way to find out for sure," Gerrarde suggested.
"Sir Robert, do you have any objections to my performing an ad hoc autopsy?" I asked.
"Do whatever you need to do." He looked and sounded bored.
I nodded and took off my frock coat. "Jade, would you get my bag." I removed my waistcoat. "Gerrarde, would you have some towels and water brought in, please."