Bailonz Street 13

When we locked the door of our boarding house and came downstairs, Jefferson was calling for a carriage. “Coachman!”

The coachman, seated high on the carriage, came running from afar, slowing down with a series of “Whoa, whoa” until he stopped in front of us.

After hearing Jefferson’s destination, the coachman shot a hesitant glance at the addresser and then at Liam and me. He seemed to recognize us, probably aware of our notorious involvement with London’s crime scenes, and was assessing whether he should allow us onboard.

I cleared my throat and whispered to Liam in a low voice, “It looks like our reputation has spread quite a bit.”

Suppressing a smirk with his hand, Liam addressed the coachman sternly and decisively, “This is a time-sensitive matter. I’ll pay extra if we arrive as quickly as possible. Hurry.”

As someone living in the modern era, I’m not exactly sure about the exchange rate back then, but I imagine that one pound was worth at least a few dollars. Considering the high value of the pound relative to the dollar, trying to convert the currency with today’s standards is futile. However, I do recall that a family could live comfortably in the outskirts of London on about 100 pounds a year.

Liam’s sense of money might be even looser than mine.

The coachman, motivated by the promise of extra pay, drove us swiftly through the streets to the hospital’s attached morgue, receiving a five-pound gold coin for his efforts. That was a substantial sum for a single carriage ride. In the impoverished East End, this amount could provide shelter from the cold for several months.

Since it was his money, I didn’t complain further, and the coachman, delighted, bowed deeply as he bid us farewell. Jefferson, too, seemed unsettled by how freely this young man was spending his money.

Oh, if he lived with Liam Moore for even a few days, he’d get used to it. Liam was not exactly well-off, yet he spared no expense when it came to solving cases.

And despite his generosity, he never charged the poor or unjustly wronged people, offering his services free of charge. This was why he needed a flatmate to afford the rent.

Occasional significant income (mostly extorted from well-fed bourgeois) allowed him to make it through the rest of the month. Quite the gentleman.

* * *

The morgue we were visiting was attached to a medical school where students practiced dissections.

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London’s funerary culture predominantly involved burial, with cremation being very rare, so bodies rarely stayed here long. Autopsies were uncommon too. What we now consider routine forensic examinations were unusual back then and only conducted in cases of severe serial killings. At best, there were mere inquiries! So, we were only given the opportunity to examine the bodies.

Liam took out a small magnifying glass from his pocket and asked, “What does the coroner believe the cause of death to be?”

“Exsanguination. He believes they bled out while still alive. But it seems you have a different opinion.”

“Look here. The carotid artery in the neck is completely severed.”

Liam placed his fingers on the wound on the back of the neck. As he spread the wound a bit (I’ll spare you the gruesome details), it was just as he said.

“The weapon is a knife with a width of about two or three finger-widths… Let’s see. There’s a slight protrusion near the handle. The skin was damaged when the knife was pulled out. This kind of trace is usually left by a hunting knife. The neck was stabbed in one swift motion, and consciousness was lost soon after. Instant death. The subsequent crimes were committed after the victim had completely stopped breathing.”

Liam pointed to another wound on the corpse.

“But look at this part. It seems they tried to conceal the direct cause of death. The wound is particularly messy. The rest are somewhat similar. Intentionally inflicted this way, it suggests the perpetrator is quite skilled with a knife. Likely a man who enjoys hunting.”

Jefferson asked, “A man?”

“The victim is under 6 feet tall. At most, 5 feet 8 inches? For someone to target his neck in one strike, they must be quite tall. If it were a woman of such height, she’d definitely be a notable figure in London, making it more likely to be a man. Stabbing the neck in one go requires either skill or… youth and strength.”

Liam, examining the next body, raised his head with a slightly perplexed smile. “But this is… strange.”

“What is?”

“The extent of the wounds is completely different. Let’s call this body A.”

At Liam’s words, a quest was achieved. A was the victim! What was the quest trying to tell me? I’d think about that later. For now, I needed to focus on the autopsy.

“The killer of A seems to be a cunning man with a good physique and agility, but B… has stab wounds all over the body. Death by hemorrhage. The coroner was right in this case. It’s surprising…. There must have been a lot of blood at the crime scene…”

“You are truly remarkable! Indeed, there was. The pool of blood was enormous. There wasn’t a drop left in the body.”

“Thank you for the compliment.” With a wink, Liam theatrically reenacted the crime. One moment, he was the merciless killer stabbing from various angles; the next, he was the fallen victim.

“They waited for complete death before severing the neck. A’s body was dealt with quickly, but this one took their time. The killer’s method couldn’t have changed within such a short interval, only a few days apart. Could this be a copycat crime?”

That couldn’t be. I muttered to myself. Liam seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“The series of murders only started gaining notoriety after the fourth incident. Today’s paper even dubbed it ‘The Misty Murderer.’ It’s too soon for a copycat, and the traces are entirely different for the same perpetrator.”

It was indeed odd. As I examined the poor victims with sympathy, I noticed the lack of consistency among them.

The strangest was the third body. Aside from the commonality of the severed neck, it appeared entirely the work of a different killer.

The person who stabbed my neck moved without a trace, incredibly fast. It was similar to the first corpse. However, the subsequent bodies didn’t show such signs anymore.

Almost as if…

“It seems like there are multiple perpetrators.”

When I spoke, Jefferson and Liam turned to look at me. Liam, with a satisfied expression, handed me the magnifying glass and joked that Scotland Yard should consider hiring Jane as an officer.

“Indeed. I thought you might notice. Why do you think so?” The person who stabbed my neck was also left-handed.

But there’s no need to mention that. How could I explain the fact that I died once and make them believe it? After all, this is just a game.

“Don’t act like a professor, Liam. These three were attacked by a right-handed person, but A was left-handed. The wound on the neck was also inflicted from behind. This person wanted to do the job perfectly, so why would they twist their right hand to stab the left carotid artery? If they failed to sever it properly, things would get messy. Hence, it must be a left-handed person.”

Liam protested.

“They could have attacked from the front too.”

He’s testing my knowledge. It’s even more infuriating because I can see he’s doing it on purpose. I started pointing out the clues one by one, spitefully.

I lifted the stiffened arm. It was clean.

“No defensive wounds, and the nails are clean. Victim A was about 5 feet 8 inches tall, a sturdy man who could defend himself. If the attacker had pulled out a knife from the front, he would have blocked or collided with it at least once, and if lucky, got injured in another area. People instinctively try to defend themselves. But there are no other wounds on the body. And as you said, he died instantly. This is evidence that he didn’t face the attacker directly.”

“Perfect.”

Liam spread his hands with a satisfied smile, as if he had nothing more to point out.

“Then, excluding Mr. A. The others were all attacked by right-handed people. But at least… two… three? The physical characteristics of the perpetrators are all different, and the methods of the crimes are different. This is…”

I pondered.

Could it be a group crime? Even if they moved in the fog, a large number of people would draw attention. A group loitering around the crime scene would soon be noticed and added to the list of suspects.

These people didn’t know each other, and the ways they died were different, yet their necks were slit. Is there some obsession with the neck?

If not,

“Perhaps.”

“Yes, perhaps.”

Liam finished my thought.

“These perpetrators are strangers with the same purpose.”