Chapter 10
What on earth was Sherlock Holmes doing there was the question that had been swirling in her mind ever since Lestrade had knocked on the door of Martin's office.
She had assumed that after the failed attempt to gain access to her apartment, something for which she had her landlady's strict moral code to thank, he would retreat to his accommodation at 221b Baker Street, to nurse his wounded pride.
Something significant must have happened to get him to St Bart's. Something that had to do with the body lying on the first of the three slabs in the autopsy room, given the sourness with which he had ordered Anderson not to put his hands on it.
It was no mystery to anyone that the two of them couldn't stand each other and, alas, that wouldn't have been the first nor the last time in which she, as Martin, would have had to intervene to calm their verbal disputes.
Not that Sherlock Holmes was an easy colleague to work with. Punctilious beyond belief, a very attentive observer and a true expert in chemistry and medicine. This was something that bored Anderson deeply and led him to consider Holmes a thorn in his side, nothing more than an arrogant and overbearing know-it-all.
Molly, or rather Martin, on the contrary, had immediately recognized his brilliant intelligence and astonishing deductive abilities. But despite this Holmes' presence in the morgue was difficult for her to tolerate too, albeit for different and in her opinion more valid reasons than Anderson's.
She was not who she said she was, Martin Hooper that is, and having him around meant he could expose her at any time. Because to be honest, who else could? He was the only one.
Lamentably, Mike Stamford had not been able to deny Sherlock Holmes free access to the premises of St Bart's mortuary. His older brother, a Mr Mycroft Holmes, was a prominent government official of Her Majesty Queen Victoria, who could hardly be refused a favour.
Molly had tried to get rid of him, making him uncomfortable. Without being particularly rude or crude, mind you, after all her only purpose was to point out St Bart's morgue was not for him. Surely all he had to do was look around to find another one that was more suited to his needs!
But she was unsuccessful in her attempt. Absolutely nothing she had said or done seemed to have affected him in any way. Not a complaint or a hint of irritation over an autopsy report written in unintelligible scrawl, or for forgetting to share the result of a particularly crucial analysis for a case, or for having carelessly binned his irreplaceable riding crop.
At that point what else was left for her to do but to make the best of it? But that didn't mean she had any qualms about making it clear to him how much his presence bothered her, as Martin of course.
"So, come to cause havoc in my morgue?", no effort to keep the annoyance out of her voice, deliberately kept lower and deeper to make it sound masculine. She didn't wait for a response and walked past Holmes with all the indifference she was capable of, taking up position on the other side of the first autopsy table.
She rested her hands closed in fists on the slab, showing a self-possession that was far from reality, "So what?" Hooper urged impatiently, glancing straight at Holmes.
"I asked Mr Holmes to come here, Doc" Lestrade cut in, knowing full well the pathologist's ill-concealed dislike towards the consulting detective. "Co-operate" he said in an imperative tone, but the slight raise of Hooper's eyebrow induced him to utter an immediate "Please".
"What's this about?" she asked Lestrade briskly.
The DI took a step forward, caressing his thick greying whiskers, "A missing lady Holmes is investigating" he stated. "A couple of hour ago two of my patrolmen in Whitechapel brought in the unidentified body of a young woman" his words were followed by a brief nod of his head in the direction of the corpse in front of her, "It could be her. The missing lady, I mean" Lestrade clarified.
Needless to say Hooper knew that whoever was lying on that slab wasn't Alma. But it was certainly not something she could tell the two men in front of her about. The pathologist took a long breath. It was better to humour them and show them the corpse. The sooner their demands were met, the sooner they would leave and the better it would be for her.
Hooper already had the corner of the white sheet between her fingers, ready to lift it, when Anderson snorted, "Well, good luck with that!". She couldn't help but roll her eyes, "Philip!" she said in a warning voice, without bothering to turn to her underling.
"What?" he snapped shifting his attention from the corpse he was working on to the three of them, two slabs down. "I'm serious! The girl's face is a bit…a sort of, bashed up. It might be a bit difficult to tell who she is unless she has some birthmark, or any other distinctive mark on her body".
"Well, well, well" she found herself thinking. All evening she had been racking her brains to find a way to side-track Holmes' investigation even for just a few days. The time strictly necessary for Tom's friend to provide the paperwork that would allow Alma to embark for America. But after much thinking she had come up with nothing.
And now she got her hands on this unidentified female corpse whose face has been made unrecognizable. It was an unexpected gift indeed. A twist. One of those that save the day.
Provided, of course, certain conditions were met. In fact, Hooper was entertaining the idea of assuming the corpse might belong to the missing lady Homes was investigating. This would, most presumably, led the consulting detective to consider other leads besides Molly, giving her room to breathe and act without worrying about having to constantly look over her shoulder.
The first condition for Hooper's idea to be successful was the remains of the corpse were not to be claimed by anyone. And the fact that it had been found in an alley in Whitechapel, a neighbourhood notorious for its decay and infamous streets, clearly worked in her favour.
The poor thing must have been a beggar or, even more likely, a harlot. From experience Hooper knew that no one cared whether such people had a proper burial, even if their identity was known, let alone in a murder case!
Condition number two, the unknown young woman had to be similar to Alma in build, height, weight and, importantly, colour and length of her hair. If the face was unidentifiable, the hair must have mirrored Alma's for Hooper to at least instil a little doubt about her identity.
As for birthmarks or moles of any particular shape or size, she didn't have to worry about, because Alma had none. She knew it for sure. The times Molly had seen her undressed had been several. That is, every time that despicable being who pretend to be her loving fiancé put his hands on her and Alma had needed to be treated.
Her skin was marked by bruises and contusions, but no one knew about them but Molly. Oh, the damn bastard was shrewd! He was careful enough to never hit Alma on her face, her neck or her arms where the marks would be visible to most, but always in places hidden by her frocks.
Hooper lifted the white sheet a trifle. She couldn't take more than a fleeting glance but it was enough to establish that yes, the two young ladies were quite similar.
Lestrade took a further step forward, "Doc?" urged with a good deal of impatience in his voice snapping her out of her thoughts. There was nothing left for Hooper to do but uncover, as respectfully as possible, the naked corpse from the sheet. "Shall we?" said Holmes taking a small notebook and a tiny pencil from an inside pocket of his coat. Hooper nodded.
Over time, working side by side, the two of them had developed a sort of ritual in carrying out external cadaveric inspection. And as usual Holmes positioned himself on the left side of the corpse, Hooper on the right side. From there they would walk opposite each other along the slab.
A silent look of understanding passed between them as soon as they faced each other. It was not necessary to say out loud what the cause of death was. It was quite obvious to all those present.
Mechanical suffocation. She had purple bruises on her neck and petechiae on what were once her eyelids.
Once the inspection was finished, Hooper crossed her arms over her chest and waited in silence. This was usually the time when Holmes liked to show off and delight the pathologist with a riot of deductions. When none of that happened, Hooper gave him a questioning look. "It's up to you, Hooper. It's your mortuary, after all" stated the consulting detective, his arms behind his back.
It was the first time Holmes acknowledged the pathologist's ownership of the morgue aloud. Is it possible he was short of theories? Or was it more likely he wanted to hear what Martin had to say and then prove him wrong?
Hooper decided to be direct, "Given the care of the nails and in general of her whole body, the softness of her skin, the absence of calluses on the soles of her feet, this young woman lived in a clean and well-kept environment and certainly not in Whitechapel. In terms of bodily conformity, I would say she is somewhat like Miss Potter. So she could, and I underline could, since we have no other certain data, be the young woman you are looking for, Holmes".
Holmes frowned giving the doctor a wary look, "How do you know it's Miss Potter we're talking about?". Hooper looked up, mouth's corners quirking up in an amused smile, "You surprise me, Holmes. Are you really asking me how I know? Well then I feel obliged to ask you if you're running out of magic tricks today".
The hint to his usually brilliant deductive skill was more than obvious but Lestrade's stern look convinced Hooper not to pursue the path of sarcasm. "Oh, well" the doctor shrugged, "My sister…Molly, told me. I know you met her this afternoon at the Bennet Refuge".
A sudden glimmer flickered in Holmes' eyes. Was it interest? Or surprise? Hooper couldn't work it out but nevertheless she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride at having elicited such a reaction from a man who was notoriously aloof and standoffish.
"I have, indeed" Holmes smiled, "And tell me, out of kindness, when would you have spoken to your sister since you weren't in, when I dropped her off at your apartment?".
Was Hooper misunderstanding or was Holmes' tone slightly reproachful? And what was he scolding Martin for? Not to be at home when his sister returns? Or to leave her unchaperoned?
"No, I wasn't" Hooper confirmed, "It often happens I am not there when she comes home" the pathologist was keen on point out. "You must know, Holmes, that I trust my sister deeply. She is an intelligent and very capable young woman. She would never get into situations that would compromise her reputation. Although neither of us is particularly interested in what is deemed propriety and what is not. And, unlike most men, I don't think women should be kept on a leash like puppies".
"However, when I'm not at home, it's usually my landlady acted in my behalf", Hooper added as she took care to cover the corpse again with the sheet. She would do the actual autopsy later, when she would be alone.
"And speaking of Mrs Cowper" the pathologist said, barely hiding a small smirk, "I'm sure you were given a warm welcome by that sweet little old lady".
Holmes' ears turned positively pink.
It was funny to see him uncomfortable, Hooper had to admit. And it would have given her pleasure to be able to continue but, for her own good, it was best for Holmes to leave the morgue as soon as possible.
So she took a deep breath "Coming back to your question" said, "I know about Miss Potter's disappearance because I just talked to Molly". She tilted her head "You know, she has this annoying habit of providing supper for her little brother. Occasionally. And tonight is one of those times".
The consulting detective's dark-haired head snapped toward the door through which Martin Hooper had entered, "Is she in your office?" he almost chocked on his words. Was anticipation she heard? Could it really be he couldn't wait to see her again?
The mere thought of having managed to provoke some sort of feeling in him caused a quickening within Molly, a strange tension, coiling and stretching. Maybe Tom wasn't entirely wrong. Maybe Sherlock Holmes had really made his way into Molly's heart.
She had never felt so discomfited in his presence until that moment. Of course, it was also true that up until that moment she had never been Molly Hooper in Holmes' presence, but always and only Dr Martin Hooper. And what was she supposed to do now?
Keep her distance, that's what she had to do first. And then…"Doc!" now Holmes' tone was quite irritated, "Is your sister in your office?" he repeated, spelling every single word out as if speaking to an halfwit.
Hooper swallowed, fighting the anger that rose in her throat. Anger at herself, not at him. With the type of life she had chosen to lead, Molly knew very well she could not afford a life similar to that of young women her age. She couldn't fall in love. Especially she couldn't fall in love with him.
"No, Holmes. Stamford is escorting her home" when Hooper answered him, the tone was pure steel, "I hope you won't bother her anymore with this Miss Potter thing. She had nothing to do with any of this. And above all, I'd prefer she had nothing to do with you".
"Since, as you said, you have deep trust in your sister, I would let her decide whether to deal with me or not" he stated with a hint of haughtiness as he put his deerstalker hat on his head. "I bid you goodnight, Hooper" with a mere nod of his head Holmes left the room.
Molly, er…Martin was stuck for words.