The Detective and the Devil Read Online Free PDF Page A

night, Horton had seen a group of men stamping on the cobbles of the street at the
crossroads where John Williams had been interred – the Williams that the Shadwell magistrates, Markland included, had decreed was the Monster. There was no logic to it, but Horton had
understood the need: to stamp on returning devils, to send them back to Hell. For a moment, he had almost joined them.
    Unwin the coroner planned to hold his inquest today, upstairs at the Jolly Sailor, the same venue as for the Marr inquest. Harriott had invited Unwin to this meeting, along with the surgeon
Salter, who performed the coroner’s medical inspections. Harriott had asked Salter to give his preliminary view and in a calm, dispassionate way the surgeon was doing so. The bodies of the
Johnsons remained in their home, for now.
    ‘The man found in the kitchen died from injuries to his head,’ Salter said. ‘The older woman died when she was pushed into the fire, which must have still been alight, judging
by her injuries. The younger woman died either by a cut throat or an assault with a maul, or both.’
    Salter was a methodical man, Horton knew, but he was also an unimaginative one. He was reading from his notes as if he were reading from a church Bible at a family funeral. He did not draw
conclusions. That was not for surgeons. They cut open, they took out or they severed, they sewed up, they moved on. Salter’s was a descriptive mind, not a speculative one.
    When Salter finished, Harriott cursed under his breath. Even Markland, who had seen the injuries that Salter described, looked grey.
    ‘With your permission, sir,’ Horton said to Harriott, and the magistrate nods. ‘Dr Salter, the girl downstairs. Had she been interfered with in any way?’
    The surgeon’s face was calm, but Horton could see it in his eyes: a species of fear at the demonic intensity of these deaths. Perhaps the surgeon was not so devoid of imagination after
all. Even Salter could detect the smell of older murders, drifting back across years.
    ‘I take it you mean: had she been ravished?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘For God’s sake, Horton.’ This from Markland. ‘Is this necessary?’
    ‘Answer the question, doctor,’ said Harriott, with a scowl towards his fellow magistrate.
    ‘There is no way of telling,’ said Salter. ‘Not without a full investigation of the body. And that is impossible at the house.’
    ‘Am I to understand, then, that you have not examined the bodies unclothed?’
    ‘Of course not, constable. I would not do so at a private residence.’
    ‘And how do you account for the lack of any blood?’
    ‘I beg your pardon?’
    ‘You have stated that you believe the causes of death to have been either physical injury or burning. Yet there was no blood in the house. The floors were clean. How do you account for
such a thing?’
    Salter frowned.
    ‘I cannot account for it.’
    ‘You would expect a great amount of blood, then?’
    ‘Yes. I can only imagine that the killer cleaned up after himself.’
    ‘There are not even stains.’
    ‘No. There are not.’
    Unwin broke the uncomfortable silence.
    ‘Can I suggest that Salter brings the bodies here for a full inspection? I will postpone the inquest until then.’
    ‘It would seem the doctor has further work to do,’ growled Harriott, and Salter’s face reddened. Horton did not feel sorry for him. ‘We have a room that has been used for
such purposes before. He can use that.’
    ‘It is agreed?’ said Unwin, still trying to rescue Salter. ‘How much time will you need?’
    ‘A day. Perhaps two,’ said Salter, his voice a whisper.
    ‘Then if we are willing, I will postpone the inquest until the day after tomorrow.’
    ‘Very well,’ said Salter, and fell silent. Harriott glared at him, then turned back to Horton.
    ‘What do we know of the deceased?’ he said.
    ‘Very little as yet,’ said Horton. ‘The master of the house is . . . or was . . . one Benjamin Johnson. I’m told he