The constables in the main room of the station laughed at this.
As Jonathan glanced through the letters, he chuckled as well, but he couldn’t help thinking how beneficial photographs of criminals would actually be. There were often repeat offenders, and to easily identify them . . .
Seeing Constable Merryweather walk past, Jonathan was pulled from his thoughts. “Constable, I do hope you’re headed for home.”
The young man clasped his hands behind his back. “I’m on duty in an hour, sir.”
“Nonsense,” Jonathan said. “You haven’t had a wink of sleep in a day and a half.”
Merryweather shrugged. “If I might be so bold, sir, you’ve not slept either.”
“That is entirely different,” Jonathan said. “I don’t have to walk a four-mile beat for the next—”
The station door opened, and a boy ran inside. “Come quick! There’s been a murder!”
“What’s all this?” Sergeant Abner scowled and leaned over the tall counter, pointing. “You, there. Boy! I will tolerate no yelling in the station house.”
The boy breathed heavily, and his cheeks were flushed. He’d no doubt been running. “But sir—”
Jonathan set the letters back on the reception desk and approached the boy. “Now then, calm yourself. What’s your name, lad?”
“Freddy Payne, sir. Constable Hutchings sent me. Said to fetch Detective Graham right away.”
“I’m Detective Graham.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “What’s this about a murder?”
“A woman, sir, in a blue dress. She’s dead in an alley off Wentworth. Behind the Porky Pie.”
Spitalfields, of course. Jonathan glanced through the station’s window; the summer evening was still light—at least for the next hour. Extreme poverty, disease, overcrowding, and crime made Spitalfields one of the most dangerous slums in the city. An ideal place for criminals to disappear, Spitalfields was a complicated warren of dark alleys and crumbling buildings. Pubs, bawdy houses, and opium dens were the primary businesses of the rookery, and in the interest of safety, police walked the street in pairs. Not that any of these concerns gave him a moment’s hesitation. He was an officer of the law, after all. “Well, then.” Jonathan put on his hat. “Off we go.”
He motioned with a flick of his head for Sergeant Lester to follow.
“If I might accompany you as well, Detective”—Merryweather hurried toward them, bucket hat underneath his arm—“the Porky Pie is on my beat.”
Jonathan nodded. He glanced up again when the group stepped outside. The fog was thickening into dark clouds. They would need to hurry before rain washed away evidence or the night became too dark to investigate properly. Poorly maintained streets and late-afternoon traffic would make the journey much quicker on foot.
“Lead the way, Freddy.”
The boy planted his feet, fists on his hips. He scowled, lifting his chin defiantly. “I was sent to find one copper. Escortin’ the three of ye’ll raise the price.”
Sergeant Lester opened his mouth to argue, but Jonathan tossed the boy a penny. “You’ll get another when we reach the Porky Pie.”
“Yes, sir!” Freddy grinned and tucked the coin into a pocket, then set off at a quick pace.
The men followed.
Jonathan smirked at the boy. Creative, he’d give him that. And cheeky. The Porky Pie was easy enough to find, with or without Freddy’s help, but Jonathan would not begrudge the lad. Based on where the boy’d come from and the way his clothes hung loosely on his small frame, he knew a penny meant one less day with an empty stomach. Jonathan had felt childhood hunger pains firsthand.
As they all walked, Merryweather caught up to the boy, his long strides keeping time with Freddy’s short ones. “You look familiar, Freddy. Payne, did you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve come across a Martha Payne a time or two on my beat. Works as a laundress. You know her?”
Freddy’s small shoulders stiffened. “My mum never committed any crime.”
“No, I apologize. That’s not what I meant. Try to learn the names of all the people on my beat, I do. You’ve a good mum.”
Jonathan wondered what it was about the woman that made Merryweather remember her. He hoped the circumstance was as innocent as the man had said, but he feared the odds of that were low. Hunger drove the most honest of people to breaking the law, and the woman had a child to feed.
A crowd had gathered outside the alley beside the Porky Pie, with constables holding the curious gawkers back from the crime scene.
As promised, Jonathan gave Freddy another penny.
Constable Hutchings met them at the edge of the gathering, falling into step beside Jonathan. “A young woman, sir. No blood. Best guest is she was strangled.”
“We won’t know for certain until Dr. Peabody inspects the remains,” Jonathan said. “You’ve preserved the scene?”
“She’s not been touched since we arrived, other than to check for a pulse,” Hutchings said. “But there’s no telling who might have been here before we were called.”
“Keep an eye on the people, Merryweather,” Jonathan said. “Watch for anyone acting unusual.”
“Yes, sir.” The constable broke off from the others and began making his way among the gathered citizens.
Jonathan and Sergeant Lester followed Hutchings to the mouth of the alley, the other constables making a path through the crowd. Jonathan glanced around for Freddy, wanting to ask the lad a few questions, but as soon as he’d gotten the coin in his hand, the boy had made himself scarce. Jonathan didn’t blame him. It wouldn’t improve Freddy’s reputation to be the one bringing the police into his neighborhood.
Nightfall was approaching quickly, and the narrow alley was already cast in shadow. The nearest gas lamp was half a block away. Jonathan blinked, waiting for his eyesight to adjust. Even if it hadn’t been evening, this area of the city was always dim beneath a layer of smoke. “Fetch some lanterns, Hutchings.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jonathan took another peppermint from his pocket and sucked on it as he surveyed the scene. Placing his feet carefully, he studied the ground as he stepped toward the body in the blue dress. The paving stones were uneven, and quite a few were broken or missing. Searching for footprints would be pointless.
The victim lay on her front, head turned to the side. One arm was beneath her body, and the other was outstretched above her head. Her hair had come partially unfastened and spread on the ground in a mess of blonde curls.