The Anatomy of Death (26 page)

The door opened and two more warders appeared, pushing a trolley holding an assortment of equipment: yards of stained rubber tubing, jugs, funnels, and enamel bowls. A tall man followed, and introduced himself with a stony face as Blake, the Holloway physician.

Dody pulled him aside and tactfully suggested he try nasogastric feeding this time. He answered imperiously that this was exactly what he had intended to do. When she commented on the dirty equipment, he said he was at his wits’ end chiding the warders about it. Dody took it upon herself to send one of the warders out for some clean tubing, as narrow as she could find. “Irrational woman, seeks her own torture,” the physician muttered.

While the preparations were being made, Dody became aware of a figure slipping through the open door. Pike took up a position in a corner of the cell as far from the action as the cramped conditions would allow. He gave Dody a brief nod. The others in the cell did not glance up from their tasks, as if they had not even noticed his arrival.

Blake removed his frock coat, placed it on the bed and rolled up his shirtsleeves, took the rubber apron handed to him by one of the warders, and slipped it over his head. Taking a yard length of tubing—still too wide for Dody’s liking—he coated it liberally with goose fat from an enamel kidney dish.

Holding the slippery tube up between his thumb and forefinger, he asked Olivia, “Have you ever experienced feeding through your nose?”

Olivia shook her head.

“Will you cooperate with me?” He dangled the tube in front of her face like a boy teasing a smaller child with a dead snake.

Again Olivia shook her head. Blake nodded to the three warders. They descended like birds of prey and hauled a kicking and screaming Olivia from the bed, dragging her towards the chair. Once they’d got her into a sitting position, one of
them sat on her knee while the others took an arm each and pinned them behind her back.

Olivia continued to scream until her voice was no more than a hoarse croak. Dody moved to stand beside her and smoothed the hair from her damp face. She indicated a tumbler on the table. “Have some water at least,” she pleaded.

Olivia shook her head violently.

“Then you must be quiet in order to hear the doctor’s instructions. If you do as he says, it will be easier for you.”

Olivia fell silent, though her eyes darted about the cell like those of a cornered fox.

“Thank you, Dr. McCleland.” Blake cleared his throat and addressed Olivia. “When I insert this tube into your nostril, you will feel it in the back of your throat. You must swallow then to ensure it passes into your stomach and not into your lungs.”

“May you all rot in hell!” Olivia screamed.

Blake moved to stand between the two warders pinning Olivia’s arms and indicated to the woman sitting on Olivia’s knee to get off and grab her ankles. On the count of three, the woman tipped Olivia back in the chair as if it were a wheelbarrow, while Blake pulled back Olivia’s head. She bucked and gagged when the tube was inserted, and the faces of the wardresses turned red with the effort of keeping her still.

Swallow, Olivia, swallow
, Dody silently begged, feeling the tears begin to prick. Her eyes briefly met those of Pike, who up to now had been staring at the scene with unfaltering stoicism. She moved across the cell to stand next to him. A string of blood appeared from Olivia’s nostril and mixed with the tears trickling down her face. Beads of red dropped onto the milky white of her throat.

“The tube is too wide,” Dody whispered to Pike. “It’s tearing the nasal cartilage.” Pike nodded as he continued to watch without uttering a word.

The physician attached a syringe to the end of the tube and withdrew a small amount of fluid. “He is ensuring the tube is in the stomach and not the lungs,” Dody explained.

Satisfied that the tube was in the correct position, Blake replaced the syringe with a funnel and slowly began to fill it with the contents of the jug. Olivia moaned like a dying animal.

Dody leaned towards Pike again. “Probably eggs and milk,” she whispered. She felt strangely disassociated.

Then Olivia gagged and a terrible sound bubbled in her throat. Dody put her fist to her mouth and bit down on her knuckles.

The doctor leapt to the side as a torrent of liquid gushed from Olivia’s mouth. “God damn it!” he cursed. “Now we will have to start the procedure all over again. Can’t you see that we are doing this for your own good, you stupid woman!”

Olivia wept. The doctor prepared to reinsert the tube. Dody turned to Pike, but found him gone, the slow tap of his cane fading down the prison corridor.

P
ike took the buff envelope of photographs from his briefcase and paused for a moment, tapping the envelope against his hand. Then he spread the dog-eared photographs on his desk for one last look. He had viewed them so often during his recuperation in Hastings, he would not have been surprised to find that his vision had been playing tricks on him. Consequently he had resisted looking at them since his return.

And yet here it was again—one grainy photograph showing one policeman so different from all the rest.

He had no sooner placed the envelope in his desk drawer than Sergeant Fisher appeared in his doorway, twisting his hat in his hands.

“Good morning, Fisher,” Pike said. Despite the pending meeting with Shepherd, the morning had to be good compared to the events of yesterday afternoon. He’d seen some disturbing things in his time, but they didn’t get much worse
than the force-feeding he had witnessed with Dr. Dorothy McCleland.

“The meeting in the superintendent’s office has been changed, sir. It is now in the commissioner’s office,” Fisher said. “They want to see me, too.”

Pike felt an ache in his stomach. Had they found out about his injury? Were they going to demand his resignation—and Fisher’s, too, for his complicity?

The glum look on his sergeant’s face suggested he, too, thought this the likely scenario. “Let me do the talking, Fisher,” Pike said. “I’ll tell them I coerced you into helping me.”

“Yes, sir.” Fisher’s manner suggested he didn’t think Pike’s intervention would be of much help. He had the appearance of a man about to face a firing squad.

“Buck up, man,” Pike tried to jolly him along. “You lead the way, I’m a bit slow this morning.” He dreaded to think what condition he would be in after the steep climb to the top of the commissioner’s tower office.

A
s it happened, they were kept waiting so long that by the time the commissioner’s secretary had shown them into his office, Pike’s knee had almost recovered. Some rare winter light reflecting off the river several storeys below struck them in the face as they entered. In front of the window Pike saw only the silhouettes of three men. As his eyes adjusted, he made out the commissioner seated behind his carved wooden desk, Shepherd swamping a small chair to his right, and Pike’s friend from Special Branch, Superintendent Callan, on his left.

Pike managed to keep his surprise to himself, but Fisher’s gasp was audible. His sergeant had probably never shared air
with three such highly ranked officers in his life. Pike prayed Fisher would not weaken and say anything untoward.

“Good morning, Pike, Fisher,” the commissioner greeted them, smiling. He commented about the weather; how nice it was to have some sunshine for a change, though at this time of year one knew it would never last. He asked Pike if he had recovered from his bout of influenza. Pike told him he had never felt better.

“I am told that congratulations are in order,” the commissioner said at the end of the pleasantries.

“They are, sir?” Pike scanned the line of faces before him.

“Indeed, yes, for both of you.” The corners of the commissioner’s eyes crinkled, his small moustache twitched. “Sergeant Fisher has been put forward for promotion—inspector at Whitechapel.”

No doubt to fill one of the gaps left empty after Pike’s purge of the division. He turned to Fisher, held out his hand, and said warmly, “Well done, Fisher, you’ve earned it. Though I shall miss you.”

Fisher did not crack a smile; indeed he did not even meet Pike’s gaze. His hand, limp and sweaty, barely returned Pike’s squeeze. Pike could not understand his lack of enthusiasm. The job offered better pay, would set him well up the promotion ladder, and he would finally have the money to provide his ailing wife with the nutritious diet she required.

“Collect your transfer papers from my secretary, Inspector Fisher. That will be all.” The commissioner smiled again.

The door closed behind Fisher. Smiles faded. The temperature in the office seemed to drop several degrees. Pike, who had still not been offered a chair, edged closer to the warm air rising through the flue in the floor from the office below.

The commissioner studied Pike for a moment. “And now to matters of a graver nature.” He linked his hands and leaned towards Pike across his desk. “I understand you believe the disorderly conduct of the police at the suffragette riot was endorsed by certain high-ranking police officers.”

This was not a question. Dykins must have bleated to Shepherd about how Pike had forced the information from him. Pike straightened, placed his hands and cane behind his back. “Yes, I am convinced that is the case, sir,” he said, allowing his gaze to linger on Shepherd, who stared back with hard, flat eyes.

“And you are correct,” the commissioner said. “The order came directly from the Home Office. The women were to be put in their place,
with force if necessary
—those were the most esteemed gentleman’s very words.”

Pike took a breath. The light from the window was not so blinding now, as if a cloud had passed over the sun. “That is scandalous,” he said, trying to keep his voice level. “Those orders resulted in the deaths of three women—and one of those deaths is likely to be found manslaughter at the least. The senior officers concerned”—he looked at Shepherd again—“should have realised that tactics like that would only incite the women further.”

“And we have learned from our mistakes. It will not happen again. Thanks to you, the overzealous officers have been sacked and the force’s reputation has been saved,” the commissioner said. “The matter is over.”

“Lady Catherine Cartwright was beaten about the head by a police officer whom I have yet to identify. I do not consider the force’s reputation saved while that man continues to serve.”

“Drop it,” Shepherd said coldly. “Drop your enquiries and move on.”

The commissioner frowned at Shepherd. Pike stared from one to the other and discerned the fear behind their stony masks. He took a step towards the desk. “May I hazard a guess as to what is worrying you, Commissioner? You are concerned that if I continue with my investigations, the press will get wind and the name of the man who gave those orders will be exposed. You have mentioned no names, but it is not hard to guess. He is surely the Home Secretary, Mr. Winston Churchill.”

The commissioner exchanged glances with his companions and said, “Mr. Churchill is a promising young politician who does not deserve to be cut down so early in his career because of a minor tactical error.”

“But it is not only Mr. Churchill you are worrying about,” Pike added, as if the commissioner had not spoken. He was making waves, he was going to be dismissed, and he had nothing to lose. “Certain high-ranking police officers might also find themselves in the spotlight for giving a young politician such questionable advice.”

There was silence for a few moments, broken finally by the shuffle of paper as Shepherd removed a photograph from a buff envelope and handed it to the commissioner. Pike knew what the photograph was, even before the commissioner held it up so he could see his daughter’s white face staring out from the bedlam of the riot. Pike had hidden the photograph at the bottom of his locked desk drawer, to which only one other man had access: Walter Fisher.

He could not believe, did not want to believe, that Fisher
had betrayed him. But it was suddenly painfully clear: Fisher’s promotion—and why he had reacted to the news as if he had been sentenced to the gallows. And why he could not meet Pike’s eyes.

Shepherd had known about Fisher’s dire domestic circumstances and made the sergeant an offer he could not refuse.

Pike felt a stabbing pang, like broken glass, deep inside his chest. This betrayal, more than anything else that had just transpired, broke through his defences and made him feel sick to the stomach.

He had no inclination for the charade he sensed was about to be acted out. “Before you ask, yes, that is my daughter,” he said. “She was present at the recent suffragette rally. And yes, I failed to submit the photograph as evidence in fear of the consequences, for her and for me, keeping it locked in the drawer of my office desk.” Pike turned and headed towards the door, not bothering to attempt to hide his limp. “I will write out my resignation forthwith.”

“Wait, Pike, not so fast,” said Callan, who had remained silent until now. He left his chair and guided Pike back into the room by the elbow, pulling over an empty chair and indicating for Pike to sit. “There is a way out of this, old man.”

“I can’t see what. I have no more desire to work with the superintendent”—he pointed his cane at Shepherd—“than he has to work with me. The situation is untenable. I have withheld evidence, which is a sackable offence. I have perverted the course of justice almost as much as those of you who suppressed the truth behind the riot—the truth being that they bribed roughs from the docks as well as the police officers to deliberately cause havoc. We are as guilty as each other.”

The commissioner coughed. “Yes, well, I suppose if one chooses to look at it like that. But the men were not meant to physically harm the women, just frighten them.”

Pike’s anger almost boiled over. “That’s like telling a pack of dogs to do no more than lick a sheep they have pulled to the ground.”

“We are at a stalemate, Matthew,” Callan said. “We do not want you to resign. Be realistic, man. Money is tight; you have a daughter to support who would most likely be expelled from her school if this came out.”