The Anatomy of Death Read Online Free PDF

and looked beyond his own blurry image. This was no ordinary pane of glass, but an observation window, appearing as a plain mirroron the waiting room side. He’d had the innovation shipped from America and installed at his own expense. Few officers in the building, other than Fisher, were aware of its true purpose.
    Peering through the curtain now, he saw the two men he had yet to interview, both sitting on the bench in silence, arms folded, legs splayed, brooding upon their fate, no doubt. Pike opened the door and signalled Sergeant Fisher to show the next constable in.
    He allowed the man to stand at attention in front of his desk, beehive helmet under his arm, while he examined the paperwork before him. Only when he could hear the man’s breathing and sense his figure beginning to sway did he slowly look up into the battered and bruised face. With some difficulty, Pike cracked his lips into a smile. “Dykins, Constable 358, Whitechapel?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Pull up a chair, Dykins, you look done in.”
    “I am at that, sir, thank you, sir.” The chair looked no more substantial than a bundle of matchsticks in the constable’s hamlike hand, and it creaked as he settled his bulk into it. Pike’s transfer from the army into the metropolitan police at officer level had meant he was exempted from the usual height requirements. Sometimes when confronting men such as this, he felt like a midget. He opened his cigarette case. “Care for a cigarette, Dykins?”
    “Yes, thank you, sir.” The cigarette shook in the constable’s hand as Pike lit it for him.
    Pike drew in smoke, leaned back in his chair, and regarded the man across his desk. “I hear you had a rough time yesterday, Dykins. Did you get your injuries adequately attended to?”
    “Just a few bruises, sir, nothing very serious.”
    “And what about a look at the person who attacked you?”
    “There were several, sir, all of ’em women.”
    Pike shook his head. “Bloody women, eh? And you let them get the better of you? I’m surprised a big chap like you would let himself be subdued by a gaggle of hysterical females.”
    Dykins relaxed into his chair, smiled. “Well, it wasn’t quite like that, sir. I did manage to put a few of ’em back in their place, if you know what I mean.”
    Pike met Dykins’s eye and shot him a wink. “But not with undue violence, I hope.”
    “No, sir, but let’s just say some of ’em might think twice about taking to the street again.”
    “A woman’s place is in the home, eh, Constable?”
    “That’s what I always say, sir. If they got ’urt, it was because they asked for it. They’d no business being there.”
    Pike measured his words carefully. “Some of the women claim they were indecently assaulted by the police. Did you see any evidence of that?”
    “Not at all, sir, most of us was just defending ourselves. I think if there was anything not quite right going on, it was probably from all them roughs that was ’anging about, following the marchers. I reckon in the confusion, a woman could easily be mistaken about ’oo it was ’ad touched ’er up.”
    “And one of the women who died, Lady Catherine Cartwright, can you remember seeing her in the crowd?” Pike pushed the postmortem photographs of Lady Catherine over to him, along with a picture of her wide-brimmed hat.
    Dykins studied the photographs for a moment. “No, sir, can’t say that I remember seeing that woman at all.”
    Pike opened a file on his desk and fanned out another series of photographs. “Do you know what these are, Dykins?”
    Dykins leaned forward. “More photographs—pictures of the riot, sir?”
    “Yes, that’s right, but more than just pictures.” Pike kept his tone conversational. “These photographs were taken without the subjects’ knowledge—we call them surveillance photographs. No one posed for these. The camera operator was concealed in a motor wagon using a special long-focus lens. Some of the images are quite