The Biographer
Two: An Unusual Young Man
The body lay face-down on the autopsy table, which was unusual, but served to display the common feature of all the related killings. The entire skin of the back, from just above the shoulder-blades to the base of the spine, had been removed. As Murdoch entered, he saw that Drs Grace and Ogden where in discussion over the body.
"Good morning, Julia." He announced himself. "Thank you for agreeing to come."
Dr Julia Ogden, a smile lighting her face, put out both hands to him. "Thank you for asking me, William!" She replied. They kissed lightly, then Julia went on. "I am surprised, though. Much as I enjoy working with you William, I am no longer employed by the Constabulary."
"Inspector Brackenreid asked me to call you in as a consultant on this case." Murdoch explained. "Not only are you an experienced coroner, used to police work, but you are a psychiatrist with experience of these sequential killers. We both feel your help would be invaluable."
"I am flattered," Julia noted, "and of course I will help as much as I can. Emily has already explained to me that this body is in the same condition as three others that have been found."
"Indeed!" Murdoch said. "So that is the gist of your findings, Dr Grace?"
Dr Grace had discreetly turned back to the table during their greeting, but now she faced Murdoch.
"Yes, Detective." She said. "This woman appears to be between twenty-nine and thirty-two years of age. She was well-nourished and healthy at the time of death. She is also virgo intacta, though this may not be significant, as two of the four victims have been sexually experienced. The skin of the back was removed post-mortem, in a single piece.
"As you know, I called in a professional animal-skinner on the last case who confirmed that this had been done. He also told me that human skin is very thin and delicate by comparison with animal hides, and that the operation would have taken a great deal of skill and patience."
"Cause of death?" Murdoch asked.
"The same as the other three." Dr Grace confirmed. "A combination of strangulation and crushing of the neck vertebrae and spinal chord. And I think, Detective, I have discovered how it was done!"
Dr Grace went over to her desk and picked up a book that lay open there. She showed them a photographic plate. The device displayed was a kind of chair, with no arms, a wooden seat and back. From the relatively low back of the chair, a long, sturdy metal pole extended to a height of about six feet. Attached to this pole, apparently with a moveable clamp, was an apparatus consisting of a narrow metal ring, parallel to the chair seat and set above it, and a crank or handle which protruded behind the chair.
"This is a garrotting chair." Dr Grace told them. "It is a method of execution favoured in Spain and Spanish colonies. Historically, criminals in Spain have been strangled, originally with knotted cords or rope. This method was introduced in the last century as being more efficient. The victim is seated in the chair, shackled and restrained by a leather harness. The metal loop is lowered over the head and down to the neck, then tightened by means of the crank. Look here..."
On the opposite page were two diagrams of the loop apparatus. One showed a blunt metal rod on the inside back of the loop, another a knife-blade in the same position.
"The addition of a rod or blade is a recent one." Dr Grace continued. "Designed to either crush or sever the spinal nerve, paralysing the victim and supposedly making death quicker and more humane."
"Can any execution be humane?" Julia wondered.
Murdoch shrugged. "That is a question that is intensely debated, Julia." He remarked. "In former times, execution was meant to be cruel and painful, as part of the punishment. It was with the introduction of the guillotine in the French Revolution that the movement toward less painful methods began."
"That's correct." Dr Grace commented. "Though I have read of experiments conducted by French physicians who claim that the severed head can live for several seconds after the cut has taken place. Some American states have recently adopted the electrical chair as a method of execution, rather than hanging. A Dr Bleyer, in New York proposed execution by the injection of lethal drugs some years ago, but it was not taken up. Few doctors, I feel, would be comfortable with performing such a procedure. It is a direct violation of the Hippocratic Oath."
"Interesting as this discussion is," Murdoch said firmly, "it might be better for a later time. Have you anything else, Dr Grace?"
"Yes indeed." She replied. "The victim had eaten some five or six hours prior to her death, according to the state of her stomach contents. Ham sandwiches and tea. The best estimate for time of death would be between nine and ten yesterday evening."
"Allowing time for the skinning to take place and for her to be transported to where she was found." Murdoch noted.
Dr Grace nodded. "In common with the other victims, the remaining skin smells quite strongly of violets. They are used as a scenting ingredient in many high-priced lotions and creams designed to soften and smooth the skin. Interestingly, though most women only apply such creams to face, hands, arms and other parts which might be seen in, for instance, a ball-dress, our victims seem to have applied it, or have had it applied, over their entire bodies."
"So, whoever the killer is," Julia theorised, "he wants their skin in the best possible condition before he removes part of it. I wonder what use he makes of it? The skin of the back is hardly intimate or personal enough to make a souvenir, surely?"
"An answer to that question would make the case far easier." Murdoch allowed. "Is that everything, Dr Grace?"
"For now." She told him. "I have yet to begin work on the blanket she was found in. I will let you know if anything comes of that."
"Thank you, Doctor." Murdoch said. "Now, Julia, we should go to the station, where you can familiarise yourself with the other cases."
Mr Theodore Snelgrove was indignant. "This is not an obscene photograph, Constable!" He told Crabtree firmly. "It is a legitimate erotic study. The naked human body is a beauty to be celebrated, not hidden away. In Europe, such things are understood, it is only the small-minded provincialism of Canada that persecutes artists!"
"And yet, Mr Snelgrove, this photograph, and others like it from your studio, were confiscated by us as part of a raid on a brothel." Crabtree replied.
Snelgrove gave a sigh of exasperation. "Mr Crabtree, when I sold those photographs to the secretary of the Ishtar Club, I was given to understand that the club was a legitimate meeting place for gentlemen of artistic leanings. I assure you, that had I known the place to be a disorderly house, I would have declined to do business with them.
"Snelgrove and Son Photographic Studio was established by my father twenty years ago. We produce wedding and other family portraits, school and sports team photographs, and do a great deal of ordinary business.
"But we are also interested in photography as an art and a science. So yes, we produce nude and erotic studies of both men and women. We make photographic plates of dissections for anatomy textbooks. We produce landscape and geological studies. We even make photographic copies, with live models, of famous paintings.
"This young lady, Arlena, she calls herself, was the model for our version of Botticellis' Birth of Venus!"
"So you do know the woman?" Crabtree asked.
"Oh, indeed, yes!" Snelgrove said. "She and her friend Olivia are two of our regular models, both nude and clothed. Was it actually Arlena you came to ask about, Constable?"
"Yes." Crabtree asserted. "I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, that Miss Arlena was found dead this morning near the docks. So any information you may have will be of considerable help to the Constabulary."
Snelgrove appeared, Crabtree noted, to be genuinely surprised and upset at this news. Noting that Arlena had been a lovely woman and a hard-working model, he immediately bustled off to find his ledgers.
Arlenas' landlady, Mrs Anderson, was an attractive and well-dressed woman in her forties. The "Boarding-house for Young Single Ladies" she ran was in fact a large and elegantly-furnished suburban villa, set back in its own well-kept gardens. Mrs Anderson had been deeply shocked and upset by Crabtrees' news, but had rallied like a true lady and was now seated opposite him in a sunny sitting-room, pouring tea that had been brought by another lodger, a dark-haired girl in her twenties who had sent Crabtree a look of sullen suspicion.
"What about Olivia?" She asked anxiously.
"I was hoping you could direct me to her." Crabtree said. "As Miss Arlenas' close friend, she might have information that could help us."
Mrs Anderson shook her head and her worried expression deepened. "You don't understand, Constable. Arlena and Olivia were inseparable. They went everywhere, did everything, together. If Arlena is dead, then I can only be desperately afraid for Olivia."
She paused for a moment, looking at Crabtree shrewdly. "You strike me as an observant and intelligent young man, Constable. Surely you have guessed what I do here?"
Things fell into place. "You provide a place of safety." Crabtree said.
She nodded. "Indeed. The law does not pursue or punish these women as it does their unfortunate male counterparts, Constable. Society, however, does not approve their tastes, and considers them mentally ill. Within these walls, they are free to be themselves" She gave him another piercing look. "I sense no disapproval from you."
Crabtree shrugged. "I was a foundling, ma'am. I was raised, kindly and lovingly, by women I called my aunts. Women who made their living, still do, in a manner society and the law disapprove of. I learned very young not to make judgements about people."
"And yet you are a police officer." She said.
He shrugged again. "it was a job, at the time. I have come to understand that our role is to help and protect. Judgement lies with the courts and juries.
"Now, when did you last see the two ladies?"
"A week and a half ago." She told him. "In addition to this house, I own a cabin on one of the islands in the lake. If any of my ladies require a vacation, somewhere private, I allow them to use it. Arlena and Olivia were taking a two week break there, which is why I did not report them missing, Constable."
Murdoch and Julia had gone through the files and were now sitting in his office.
"I know you and your methods well enough, William, to have reached most of the same conclusions you will have." Julia was saying. "The killer is almost certainly male, in good health and physically robust – it is no easy matter to carry a dead body, even that of a slightly-built woman."
Murdoch nodded. "He obviously has a large premises, with room to work and to keep his victims. Probably isolated enough so that his comings and goings will not be noticed."
"He keeps his victims alive for some time." Julia noted. "But not, apparently, for sexual purposes or torture. On the contrary, he appears to look after them fairly well. Which indicates that he has both ample means and time. He may in fact be a wealthy man with no need to work."
"Precisely the same thoughts as I had, Julia. But I do not have your psychological insight. Is there anything you can add?" Murdoch leaned forward.
Julia considered. "The notion of sequential killers is a very new one, William. As well as the famous Jack the Ripper cases in London, I have read of a Dr Thomas Neill Cream. He was a Scottish-Canadian who certainly killed five people by poisoning between 1881 and 1892, and claimed to have killed many more: he was hanged in London in 1892. Dr Henry Howard Holmes is known to have killed at least nine people, though he actually confessed to 27 murders. Burke and Hare, as you may know, killed sixteen people in Edinburgh in the 1820s. Of course there was the 13th Century French nobleman, Gilles de Rais. or Bluebeard, who was accused of the murder of hundreds of women in grotesque sexual rituals.
"Now, many of these killers claimed profit as the motive for their actions, but some psychiatrists, including myself, suspect there are other forces at work. It is noticeable that while some robbers do tend to kill their victims, their methods of doing so vary. It depends on the weapons available or the circumstances of the killing. But these sequential killers seem to always use the same method, often a needlessly elaborate one. As if they gain a specific satisfaction from the process, rather than the outcome."
"Does this killers' process tell you anything about him, Julia?" Murdoch, as usual, was fascinated by any new thinking. It often occurred to Julia that his scientific curiosity was part of a need to understand, not just crime and criminals, but the whole human condition.
"Well, obviously, William, I cannot say anything definitive." She said slowly. "But the method of killing indicates to me that, firstly,the killer wishes to avoid damage to the body, and the skin in particular. I don't think it's squeamishness on his part, given the skinning. Death by this garrotting device would be relatively quick, of course. But it is also less personal than, say, manual strangling.
"It seems to me – and this is just speculation, William – that the killing is actually simply a part of a larger process which begins with captivity but may not end with the killing and skinning.
"One thing which I am sure you will have noticed, William, is that all these women have led unusual lives. Lives which are far from the ordinary women around them. One was a campaigner for the education of women, for instance. Another was a woman who had killed her husband..."
"I don't think that's quite fair, Julia." Murdoch pointed out. "The husband was a drunken brute who had systematically beaten her for years. On the night in question, she snatched up a knife to try and protect herself – something which had cowed her husband on previous occasions – and he literally ran onto the blade. The verdict was accidental death."
"That's true, William, I remember the case as you do." She replied. "But afterwards, the woman went on to vociferously campaign for the rights of women to be protected against violent husbands, an issue on which the law remains less than clear."
Just then, Crabtree returned with the information he'd gathered on Arlena, and the news that another young woman might well be missing. Brackenreid was immediately informed, and matters became urgent. However, it was not until early the next morning that anything was found.
The house was practically a mansion, Murdoch noted, as he and Julia got down from the cab.
"If I am going to be assisting you on a regular basis, William – and I really hope I shall be – then I must obtain a bicycle!" Julia remarked. "You would have been here much faster on your machine, and I'm told the art is not difficult to master." Julia remarked.
"I understand there are a growing number of lady cyclists in Toronto." Murdoch conceded, then got down to business. "The body in in the stables behind the main house."
This time it was Julia who asked, "What have we, George?" Both Crabtree and Dr Grace grinned, and even Murdoch managed a wry smile at his own predictability. But then matters became serious.
"The body was found by this young man as he was coming out for his morning ride." George said. "It had been propped in the stable doorway."
"The same as the others?" Julia asked, crouching beside Dr Grace.
"So it would appear." Dr Grace said. "I don't wish to uncover more than the face at this point, not until I'm back at the morgue. But George – Constable Crabtree – has identified her as the missing young woman."
"What about the grooms?" Murdioch asked Crabtree, but it was the head of the family who answered.
"We don't employ them." He said, stepping forward. "My son and I care for our own horses, it's an important part of the relationship. We have a lad who comes in to muck out, but he's not due yet."
"I see, sir, and you are the owner of the house?" Murdoch asked.
The man shook his head. "No, the house belongs to some family friends who are currently in Europe on a tour. They've kindly allowed us to stay here for a few months." He put out his hand. "My name's John Howlett, and you are?"
Murdoch grasped the hand, noting that it was the calloused hand of a working man, rather than the soft touch of a gentleman. "Detective Murdoch, Toronto Constabulary. This is Dr Julia Ogden, who is assisting on the case. It was your son who discovered the body?"
Howlett nodded. "That's right. James is an habitual early riser, Detective, unlike so many young men of his age. He came out here for an early morning ride, and...Well, I'll let him tell you himself.
"James, Detective Murdoch wants to talk to you, son."
The young man stepped forward. Murdoch judged he was around fourteen or fifteen. Not tall, but stocky and powerfully-built, with thick dark hair. He shook hands firmly with Murdoch, who noted that the boys' hands were as hardened as his fathers', and actually larger than Murdochs' own. He met the lads' eyes, finding them dark and intense, in a rather blunt-featured face. Something about the intensity of James' gaze was familiar, but Murdoch couldn't place it.
In answer to Murdochs' question, he replied in an even, soft voice that showed evidence of education, and of having already changed – there was none of the crack and waver that often afflicts teenage boys at that age.
"I don't really have much to tell, Detective. I came out here for my ride – the park nearby is quiet in the mornings and Toronto is noisier than home, so I appreciate a little peace. I saw the bundle by the door and knew it didn't belong there. I didn't touch it, but I sensed something wasn't quite right, so I went back to the house to tell Father, and he summoned the police.
"When can I get into the stable to look after Thunderbolt?"
"As soon as we remove the body." Murdoch told him. "Thank you for your help, Mr Howlett. I am impressed by your quick thinking."
The boy grinned. "I wish my schoolmasters would say the same!"
Murdoch smiled, then turned to the elder Howlett.
"Can the grounds be accessed during the night?" He asked.
Howlett nodded. "The house, stables and outbuildings are all locked at night, but the gates from the road at the back are left open. The Sorensons, who own the house, are not early risers like us, and the groundskeepers and gardeners live out. They come in by that gate, as do the tradesmen."
"I see." Murdoch said. "Can I ask what you and your family are doing in Toronto, Mr Howlett?"
"Oh, no mystery about that, Detective!" Howlett said genially. "I'm a farmer, got a big spread out in Alberta. We've done pretty well for ourselves, well enough to get James the schooling I never had, though I make sure he puts in his share of work at home as well!
"Anyhow, we've been doing a lot of business here in Toronto over the last couple of years, all through our lawyers. When the Sorensons wrote and said they were going to Europe and were looking to let the house for the season, I jumped at the chance. I like to look over my business myself, and meet the people I'm dealing with.
"Of course, it's also a chance for Elizabeth to do a little shopping, and visit the museums, galleries and theatres. She's a country girl, but she does have a hankering for that kind of thing, and it's good to let James see some of the things he's read about in school. Me, I just like to see some of the new inventions. There's things being thought up that'll make running the farm a lot easier."
"Very well." Murdoch said gravely. "I'm afraid I'll have to interrupt your itinerary today, Mr Howlett. I'll need you and James to come over to Station House Four later on to make formal statements."
Howlett allowed that would cause no difficulties, and that he would see Murdoch later. The Coroners' van had arrived and the body was loaded. Crabtree reported to Murdoch that he'd noted some cart-tracks leading from the unlocked gate to the stableyard, and had measured them, but opined that they seemed to be from a very common kind of cart.
Julia rejoined Murdoch as they began to make their way back to the cab.
"If this is indeed Miss Olivia," Julia said, "then he must have taken both of them together. That, along with the lack of any signs of violence on the bodies, argues that the women go with him willingly, at least at first. To overpower one woman is not difficult for a robust man, but two at once? That cannot have been done silently or without the risk that at least one would escape.
"William, do you think this man might be acquainted with his victims? Not closely, but enough so that they might accept an invitation from him?"
"That is indeed possible, Julia." Murdoch noted. "I'll ask George to conduct further enquiries into the victims' lives, especially their social contacts."
Just then, a voice from behind called. "Detective, Dr Ogden? A word in private, if I may?"
They turned to find young James Howlett approaching them with a determined look on his face. He began speaking without preamble.
"I must ask you not to mention this to my father, the matter upsets him. I need to explain to you that my senses – hearing, sight, smell – are very acute. Far more so than those of other people.
"When I found the blanket this morning, I knew what was in it: I could smell the body, but couldn't hear a heartbeat. I didn't tell father that, of course. He thinks I'm over-imaginative, not a trait he admires in a farmer.
"But I also smelled something else, Detective. It was on the blanket, not the body, and very faint, but it reminded me of the chemicals I smelled in a tannery we visited the other day. I'm not sure if that's helpful in any way, or even if you will believe me, but I thought you should know."
Murdoch and Julia shared a glance. The boy was clearly in earnest, and both of them had immediately thought of the large patches of skin that had been removed from the victims.
"Thank you for that, Mr Howlett." Murdoch said. "It is certainly something we will take into account. I gather that you would rather not place this in your formal statement?"
"Do you mind?" James asked. "Only Father...He's a down-to-earth man, Detective, and anything out of the ordinary bothers him."
"Then we will keep this between us." Murdoch told him.
"James," Julia asked, "this keenness of the senses – hyperaesthesia, it is called – how does it make you feel? Do you find it disturbing at all?"
James responded with a grin. "Don't worry, Dr Ogden. I'm no Roderick Usher! I've been like this all my life. It's grown with me and I'm used to it. Only for the last few years, I've learned to keep quiet about it!"
"A most unusual young man." Julia remarked as they left.
"There's something familiar about him." Murdoch told her. "I just cannot place it!"
