Person or Persons Unknown (7 page)

“That I cannot say exact, for I did not then own a timepiece, though I do now. My father presented me one last night, sir.”

“He must be very proud of you.”

The corporal flushed with embarrassment, looked left and right and shuffled his feet. “As you say, sir.”

“Give it to me approximate, then.”

“Sir?” said he, frowning. Surely he had understood.

“The time of your brother’s arrival.”

“Oh, well, he wasn’t terrible late — less than half an hour, I’d say.”

“A quarter of an hour, would you give it that?”

“About that, not much more.” The corporal glanced my way again.

“Very good,” said Sir John. “What excuse did your brother give? What business did he have that kept him so late?”

“That you would have to ask him, sir.”

“Are you reluctant to say?”

“No, sir, he never told — ^just that it was a personal matter. Then, when he was late, he said he couldn’t help it.”

“And that was all he gave by way of explanation?”

“He keeps his counsel. You must understand, sir, that things is not always so easy between brothers, even those in the same regiment.”

“Perhaps especially not then.”

“As you say, sir.”

“We are nearly done,” said Sir John. “I do want to ask you though. Corporal, when was it that your brother, Richard, left you and the other corporal? You said that you left the Tower with him — you three together.”

“Yes, sir. Richard stayed with us until we reached the Cheshire Cheese. He left us there.”

“At approximately what time?”

“Again, I must reckon, but it seems likely it would have taken about a quarter of an hour to walk there.”

“So that you did not see your brother from about a quarter past the hour of three until a quarter past the hour of five. Correct?”

“Correct, sir.”

With that. Sir John dismissed Corporal Otis Sperling, but instructed him to return to the room where he had awaited our call. When he had gone. Sir John sat back in his chair and touched fingertip to fingertip. He thought for some time.

“Well, what thought you of that?” asked Sir John of me.

“It would seem,” said I, “that Richard Sperling is our man.”

“So it would seem indeed. There is some discrepancy on the matter of time. But tell me, Jeremy, how did the corporal seem when I asked him to be specific on the lateness of his brother? He answered readily enough.”

“Yes, but he seemed to grow a bit uneasy. He frowned, he delayed, he looked about. By the end of the interrogation, a bit of perspiration stood on his brow.”

“There is an open window behind me. This room is quite cool.”

“Exactly,” said I.

“It could well be,” said Sir John, “that having let slip that his brother had failed to arrive in time for them to leave together on the five o’clock coach, he realized from my subsequent questions that the matter of time was essential. And so, he began perhaps to minimize his brother’s tardiness. It could well be that Richard arrived at the Coach House an hour or more late. Perhaps he barely made the six-thirty coach to Hammersmith.”

“Which would put it within the limits of time set by Maggie Pratt’s sighting and the discovery of the body.”

“Then still warm,” put in Sir John.

He seemed about to add something to that when a knock came upon the door. Invited to enter, the sergeant came through the door appearing quite pleased.

“I’m happy to report,” said he, “that I found no knives of any description among the personal property of Sperling, Otis, or Sperling, Richard. And a good thing, too, for possession of such would indeed be a court-martial offense.”

“Well, Sergeant,” said Sir John, “if you are happy, then I am happy.”

“Both have good records, sir — though Sperling, Richard, has been in the regiment only a bit over a year.”

“How old is he?”

“Just nineteen, sir.”

“So young! Well, be that as it may, we must have him at Bow Street to continue our inquiry.”

“That will be a matter for you to take up with Captain Conger, sir.”

“I thought as much,” said Sir John, rising from his chair. “Would you take us to him, please?”

Once the sergeant had led us to the captain, out in the drill yard. Sir John had a little difficulty convincing him of the necessity of removing Richard Sperling to Bow Street.

“Is he accused?” asked the captain.

“By no means,” said Sir John. “I do believe, however, that he would be responsive in a more formal setting.”

“The full weight of the law, is that it?”

“Something of the sort, I suppose. In any case, will you grant him permission to appear as witness?”

“I will, of course, if I may have him back.”

“Beg pardon? I do not understand. Captain. If there is no need to bind him for trial, of course you may have him back.”

“And if there is such need, we shall also want him back so that we may convene a military court-martial. Military justice is swift, sure, and impartial. Sir John.”

“Well, I am convinced that it is swift, in any case. But see here. Captain, it is entirely too early to argue about matters of jurisdiction. A coroner’s court must be convened in order to establish formally that the matter at hand is murder.”

“Is there any doubt of it?”

“No, but a surgeon has examined the body and will give testimony. A good deal may be established by him in favor of your Private Sperling.”

“Or against him.”

“Indeed. Yet it is an open inquiry that draws no conclusion on guilt or probable guilt.”

“I see,” said the captain. “And who is the coroner?”

“Uh, well,” Sir John hesitated, “I am acting in that capacity pro tern.”

Captain Conger looked at him in a manner most skeptical. He considered. At last he said, “Sir John Fielding, I bow to your reputation, for it is a good one. Nevertheless, I shall not allow you simply to whisk him off as you seem to suggest. Private Sperling will go with an armed guard to Bow Street. If any attempt is made to hold him, or bind him over for criminal trial, they will be under my orders to bring him back to the Tower, and if necessary, to use force.”

Though apparently vexed. Sir John nodded his acceptance, but then said he: “Then, I, too, have stipulations. They are these: First of all. Private Sperling is not to be brought in chains, for he is a witness and does not stand accused of any crime.”

“Agreed.”

“Second, that Corporal Tigger be a member of the guard party, and that he himself be allowed to testify.”

Though the frown on the captain’s face indicated he had no real understanding of the implications of this proviso, he offered no objection.

“Agreed,” said he.

“And finally, that at least one other of equal or superior rank be in the party to ensure that Corporal Tigger and Private Sperling do not discuss in any way the crime or their activities of the day past.”

“Agreed.”

“Then if you are satisfied. Captain, I am,” said Sir John, smiling pleasantly. “And I offer you my hand upon it.”

Which indeed he did, wherewith the two shook hands.

“By the bye. Captain Conger, I wonder, is Lieutenant Churchill about? I encountered him last year. I think it only proper that I look in on him while visiting the Tower.”

“Sir John, he is off shooting in, as you put it earlier, ‘some woody comer of the realm,’ as is near every officer in the regiment but me. Note, sir, that I am putting my trust in you in this matter. If you go against me in it, I shall be sore embarrassed and will no doubt suffer evil consequences. Good day to you, sir.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away at his brisk campaigner’s pace.

“The hearing is at eleven this morning,” Sir John called after him. (Though the captain gave no sign, I was sure he heard.) And to me Sir John said: “The man drives a damned hard bargain.” Then, remembering, he called out again loud and clear: “And, Captain! Do see that Private Sperling brings his bayonet along.”

To which the captain gave out the reply: “It shall be done. Sir John.”

“Gentlemen, this is a solemn proceeding under law to determine the nature of the death of one Teresa O’Reilly. To that end, we have assembled witnesses to give testimony that may or may not be pertinent when and if a magistrate’s hearing be called on this matter. I, as magistrate, am acting pro tempore as coroner. And so as I conduct this coroner’s inquest, I shall be attending to all that is said with my magistrate’s ear.”

Sir John was addressing a group of twelve men lured off the street by Mr. Marsden with the promise of a shilling. They were seated six and six in the first two rows of the small courtroom on the ground floor of Number 4 Bow Street. The witnesses sat to one side — Maggie Pratt, Gabriel Donnelly, and Private Sperling, who sat between a corporal, whom I took to be Tigger, and the unnamed sergeant who had assisted us at the Tower. Mr. Marsden sat beside Sir John. As it happened, I was the only one present who did not take some part in the proceeding.

“First,” said Sir John, continuing to speak direct to the coroner’s jury, “let me acquaint you with the facts. The deceased was found in a yard off New Broad Court which leads direct into an alley that connects to Duke’s Court. You may know this territory well, for the site is quite near to where we now have gathered. She was found, feet protruding from under a stairway at a bit after six by a resident of the yard, a Mr. Sebastian Tillbury, who immediately gave the alarum. Constable Perkins was passing and came swift to the call. He read his timepiece and fixed his arrival at eight minutes past six. Note the time, please, for it may prove quite important. The body was still warm to the touch.”

Here he paused, muttered soft in the ear of Mr. Marsden, and waited till he had his response. Then he continued:

“At this point I should like to call the first witness, Mr. Gabriel Donnelly, a surgeon. He has performed a postmortem examination upon the deceased. I call him before me now to give testimony upon the cause of death.”

Mr. Donnelly rose from the chair whereon he had been seated and walked heavily to a place before Sir John. He appeared quite exhausted, poor man, for I knew it to be so that he had been up most the night performing the autopsy upon the victim. However, in the exchange with Sir John that follows, his voice was strong and confident.

“Mr. Donnelly, could you tell us briefly your experience as a surgeon?”

“Gladly. I had seven years’ service in His Majesty’s Navy, ending in 1768, at which time I practiced briefly in London and subsequently for two years in Lancashire. I have lately returned to London to resume my practice here.”

“And have you, in that time, performed other postmortem examinations?”

“Many. Particularly in the Navy did I have occasion to do so. I should say that the number would stand at something over twoscore — fifty, give or take.”

“Very good. Would you now tell us what you determined to be the cause of Teresa O’Reilly’s death?”

“I will, sir.” Yet before beginning, he took a deep breath and let it out in a long sigh. “She met her death by a single stab wound to the heart. It was administered at a point only slightly below the sternum — that is to say, the breastbone. The instrument that caused her death, a sharp, narrow blade, was directed at a moderate upward angle into and through the great cardiac vein and held in place, probably until the victim stopped struggling. As a result of this sort of wound, there was a good deal of internal bleeding but little at the point of entry.”

(At this point I ought to say that Mr. Donnelly’s testimony, far from confusing the members of the jury, seemed to interest them greatly. This motley collection of men, most of them ill-educated, if educated at all, leaned forward as one as the anatomical details of Teresa O’Reilly’s death were presented. I noticed not one but two of the twelve grope on their dirty shirts to find the sternum, then the precise spot below it where the wound was inflicted.)

“Was there anything unusual about all this?” asked Sir John.

“Why, yes, sir,” said Mr. Donnelly. “What was unusual was the precision of the wound. The fact that it was perfectly placed, that only one upward thrust was made, sets it apart, in my experience, from the common death by stabbing, which is usually characterized by many wounds and much external bleeding. The heart, you see, is well protected by the body. It is surrounded by a cage of ribs and lies behind the sternum, a very strong, flat bone, which serves as its shield. Most do not know this, and as a result would continue to inflict wounds in the thorax and abdomen of the victim until a mortal one is struck. Death from a single thrust is, I would say, quite unusual.”

”And what,” asked Sir John, ”do you infer from all this?”

“Simply that he who caused the death of Teresa O’Reilly knew something, perhaps a great deal, about human anatomy. He knew the location of the heart and the most direct route to it.”

“Though I intend to call you back, I now have one last question for you, Mr. Donnelly. It is this: In my summary, you heard me say that Constable Perkins arrived at the place the body was found at eight minutes past the hour of six, at which time it was still warm to the touch. Could you, from that, give some opinion on the time of the woman’s death?”

“Not a very exact one, I fear. It could have been any time from half an hour before to only minutes before her discovery in that yard.”

“Thank you, Mr. Donnelly. That will be all for the present.”

Thus dismissed, the surgeon returned to his place. The coroner’s jury, released from the thrall in which they had been held by his testimony, came suddenly alive with murmurs and whispers. It was necessary for Sir John to call them to order.

“I remind you, gentlemen,” said he, “this is a solemn proceeding. Any discussion or comment among yourselves at this point is out of order and quite improper.”

Having spoken in so severe a manner, he then lightened only a little in summoning Maggie Pratt to witness. So it was that when she came forward, it was with trepidation and uncertainty.

“Will you give us your full name. Mistress Pratt, for the record which Mr. Marsden is keeping?”

“Margaret Anne Pratt,” said she in a small voice, cowering a little.