30th April, 1804

Body count continues to rise, though today's exact count is uncertain due to the fact that at least one body appears to have been 'lost' again. Today it was the body of a man. The only bodies yet to be burned when we approached the furnace were women – Constable Ames states that he must have burned the man's body but forgot that he'd already done so. This is the third time this week that a body that we believed hadn't been burned yet was nowhere to be found. It can be assumed that these bodies were burned and whoever was assigned to the task lost track of how many corpses they'd burned. A small thing but something about it strikes me as odd.

"Crane."

Ichabod was seated at his desk staring unseeingly at the notes that he'd made in his ledger, his mind far away. Constable White's voice brought him back to the present and he looked up.

"They just brought in another body with those markings on the neck, as well as a suspect."

"A suspect? What exactly is he suspected of?"

"Murder, of course."

"I see. And what was the exact method that he used?"

"He was at the scene," White answered with a shrug. "Constable Thompson brought him in."

"I see." Ichabod suppressed a sigh and fought the urge to roll his eyes. The so-called suspect was no doubt someone they'd simply chosen to harrass. "Why isn't Constable Thompson questioning him then?"

"We figured it would be right up your alley. The man is clearly a raving lunatic."

Ichabod fixed him with an annoyed stare, debating whether he ought to bother indulging the man.

"I'll take you to him," White offered, smirking. "He's down in one of the cells."

"No," Ichabod demanded firmly. He hated the cells. "Bring him here to me."

"Are you serious?"

"I am. I'll not go down to the cells. Bring him here if you would like me to question him."

Constable White left him, muttering something about him being insane too, and Ichabod returned to his notes. Tonight, much to his relief, it was his turn to work desk duty rather than patrolling the streets. His annoyance with White subsided and regret set in as he reconsidered that it might not have been a good idea to send White away. Both Constable White and Constable Thompson had as much interest in real fact-finding as the High Constable or any of his other colleagues; none. No doubt Thompson's interrogation would consist of beating the suspect up and asking him nothing. He sighed remorsefully and was about to stand up with the intent of heading to the cells after all, but Constable White burst back into the room with the prisoner in tow before he could. Constable Thompson was with him now.

"His name is John Leeds. Good luck, Crane," White quipped, chaining the suspect's leg to the chair leg as soon as he was seated before Ichabod's desk. He and Thompson went off to their own desks and Ichabod turned his attention to John Leeds.

The suspect was a young man. He couldn't have been more than eighteen years old in Ichabod's estimation and he was no doubt homeless, based on his dress. His face and clothing were dirty, but even under the dirt Ichabod could see the bruises and the fresh blood around John Leeds' mouth. His colleagues had already given him a working over.

Grimacing Ichabod turned to a blank page in his ledger and wrote the date and 'John Leeds' testimony' at the top.

"I'm innocent," John Leeds declared in a youthful sounding tenor voice.

"That's what they all say," Constable Thompson retorted with a snicker from across the room.

"You look like a nice fellow," Leeds said, ignoring Thompson and leaning in to speak confidentially to Ichabod. "As I said, I didn't do it. But I saw who did. I saw who killed the man. And I tried to tell him," he scornfully jabbed a thumb in Constable Thompson's direction, "but he wouldn't listen."

Ichabod stared at him with some interest. "You saw the man who did it? Did you point him out to...?"

"Oh, no, by the time that lout seized me by the arm the man was gone."

"Tell me what happened." He dipped his pen in ink and prepared to write. "How did you come to discover the body and this other man?"

"I was on my way…home…and I turned onto Cherry Street. Halfway up the block in front of me I could see the dead man lying on the ground and there was another man there, kneeling beside him. He was leaning over him."

"Cherry Street is quite dark," Ichabod replied. "Are you certain of what you saw? Did you get a good look at the man's face?"

"Oh, I didn't see his face at all."

Ichabod paused, frowning. "I see."

"But I did see him."

"Very well. Describe what you did see."

"He was quite tall," Leeds began. "Once he stood up I could see that he was tall. He was wearing a long black cape with a high collar."

He wrote while John Leeds spoke. "Go on. You said the other man, the man wearing the cape, was on the ground leaning over the dead man?"

"Yes."

"And you never saw his face."

"No. He was kneeling on the ground and he had his back to me the whole time."

"Could you see what he was doing, besides kneeling over the...?"

"Oh, I don't know what he was doing. All I could see was that he was leaning over the man for a long time. I thought maybe he was trying to help him. But he wasn't. After several minutes he stood up, leaving the body where it was. Then he vanished in a puff of smoke."

Ichabod's pen halted. He snapped his ledger shut and put his pen aside. "Thank you for your testimony, Mr. Leeds."

"Don't you want to hear the rest?"

"I believe that I have everything I need."

His gaze shifted to White and Thompson who were watching him and struggling to suppress their laughter at his expense. He sighed and stood up, crossing the room and approaching their desks.

"Didn't I tell you?" White laughed.

"Mr. Leeds is not a murderer," Ichabod replied quietly. "He ought to be released to a doctor's care, not kept in jail."

"He's insane."

"There is no doubt about that. But he isn't a murderer."

"You believe his story?"

"I don't know what he believes he saw tonight, but I don't believe that he murdered these victims. In the first place there is nothing to indicate that they have been murdered. Other than the two wounds on the necks, and we don't even know what those are or how they were received, there is nothing to indicate that they were attacked at all."

"He was found with the body, Crane. You don't think it's plausible that he killed the man?"

"That proves nothing. It's just as plausible that he arrived on that street after the man was already dead and was in the wrong place at the wrong time when Constable Thompson arrived."

"Well, we'll need a higher authority to decide this matter," Constable Thompson spoke up finally. "He'll have to at least spend the night here, Crane. Then when the High Constable arrives in the morning he can take Mr. Leeds to court and the Burgomaster will decide the matter."

"Yes, I suppose that is how it has to be," Ichabod sighed. "But the least you can do is have Mr. Leeds' face treated."

Thompson made a gesture to White, who tossed him a key, then he went over to John Leeds and unlocked the chain that bound him to the chair in front of Ichabod's desk.

"Back to the cells, Leeds."

"I'm innocent, Constable," he protested.

"So I hear. You can explain yourself to the Burgomaster in the morning."

He dragged Leeds off to the cells and Ichabod returned to his desk, shaking his head. This would not turn out well.

oooOooo

Much to Ichabod's surprise John Leeds was released the next day. The Burgomaster operated under the assumption that these related deaths, including that of the body that Mr. Leeds had been found with, were more likely caused by a disease. He did not think these were murders. Since there was no crime there was no reason to hold Mr. Leeds. For once Ichabod was in agreement with him. It was the most sensible ruling he had ever seen the Burgomaster make.

Unfortunately Mr. Leeds insisted on returning to the Watch House that evening to speak with Ichabod about what he'd seen.

"I've already heard your testimony, Mr. Leeds, and I thank you very much. If I need to speak with you again I shall contact you."

Leeds followed him out of the Watch House and into the street. "But you don't know where to find me, Constable."

"You mentioned Cherry Street."

"Yes," the young man answered dejectedly. "You can find me on Cherry Street."

"I do not wish to be rude, Mr. Leeds, but I am due to start my shift patrolling the streets and cannot speak with you now. Should I have need to question you further I promise that I will seek you out on Cherry Street."

"Be careful, Constable. Certainly the man in the black cape will return and he will kill more people, just as he killed that man."

Ichabod thanked him for his concern and moved off, dismissing his words as more nonsense.