CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Dead Man
“If this is true, it is a pity, and I have other reasons for thinking there may be some truth in the story.”
Bury, Charlotte, The Diary of a Lady-in-Waiting
Adam delayed longer at the White Swan than he had originally intended, but even so, he made little progress sorting through the swamp of papers, and what he did find yielded nothing useful.
In the end, Adam instructed the landlord to lock the room and see it was left undisturbed, and set out again for Ross’s.
He was in luck, and in time. Sir David was still in the cellar with Poole’s corpse when Adam arrived.
“Well, Harkness,” Sir David greeted Adam as he descended the stairs. “What’s this you’ve landed in?”
Sir David Royce was the coroner for London and Westminster. All, or at least most, cases of violent or suspicious death within those precincts were his purview. It was his duty to inspect the corpse and to question any witnesses, or at least see that they were questioned. He was also tasked with arranging further inquiries he felt might be needed to determine if the matter was an accident, a fault of nature, or if the king’s peace had been breached.
The coroner was in the act of washing his hands in a battered tin basin. Poole’s form was visible under the makeshift canvas shroud.
Adam glanced again toward the cellar door to make sure it was closed. Sir David noticed.
“Ross told me our fellow here was found in the street,” Sir David remarked as he dried his hands on a strip of gray toweling that had seen better days.
“I saw him thrown from a carriage.”
Sir David pursed his lips in a silent whistle. “That’s deeply cold-blooded.”
While Adam was still a principal officer at Bow Street, he had worked with Sir David several times. When he walked away from that post, Sir David had offered him work as one of his assistants. Adam had accepted readily. He liked Sir David. The coroner was a careful, scrupulous man whose interest in discovering the truth was greater than his interest in politics or social advancement. Like Adam, Sir David had more than once found himself at cross-purposes with those who did not appreciate that view of the world.
Sir David busied himself with rinsing his scalpels in the basin. Unlike most coroners, Sir David had trained as a physician and had a good understanding of human anatomy. He’d been appointed to the post after a tenure as the head of a teaching hospital.
“It looked like he was stabbed,” said Adam. “Is that what did for him?”
“It is, and it was done with a good sharp blade. A kitchen knife, perhaps, or a hunting knife. The assailant got him in the guts, and it was the loss of blood that killed him.”
Adam nodded. Stomach wounds were almost always fatal. If the blood loss did not finish the victim off, the infections that invariably set in afterward did. It was frequently a more reliable target than the heart, although most people did not know that.
Which made the assailant lucky, or experienced.
“Would it have taken much strength to deliver the blow?”
Sir David considered. “It was very clean, a single thrust. There were no marks that would indicate the assailant hesitated at all, so we can suppose Poole was taken by surprise. A small man could have done it.” He looked again at Adam. “I see what you’re thinking. Yes, a determined woman could have done it, as well.” He paused. “I gather Poole did a lot of business with the guests of this particular house?” Sir David gestured toward the ceiling with a scalpel before he laid it in his case.
“So I’m given to understand,” said Adam.
“A man could make enemies in that line of business. How did you happen to be here to find him?”
Adam stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I was looking for him. There’s a possibility he was involved in a robbery at another house, where the lady called on Miss Thorne to help retrieve her property.”
“What was missing?”
Adam leaned closer. Sir David’s brows rose. Softly, Adam told him about Mrs. Fitzherbert and about Ranking’s story of seeing Josiah Poole slip into her garden and out again.
“Good God!” Sir David breathed. “You don’t mean to say this fellow got his hands on the Prince of Wales’s marriage certificate?”
“I don’t know,” said Adam. “The certificate has been stolen. He was seen. I didn’t find the thing on his body when I searched him, but Ross pointed me to the pub Poole used as an office, and when I got there, the room had been thoroughly tossed.”
“So there’s no saying what the assailant was looking for.” Sir David squinted at Adam. “What’s wrong?”
“Aside from the obvious?” said Adam sardonically. “When I searched Poole, I didn’t find any keys on him. When I got to his rooms, the door was open, but not forced.”
“So, it’s likely the person who killed him, or at least a person with him when he was killed, took his keys and went to his rooms, looking for something.”
“And knew where to go,” said Adam. “And what room it was. The house has several guest rooms in its upper story, and neither the landlord nor the serving woman remembers any person asking for Poole that morning.”
“Any chance they found what they were looking for?”
“I think they did, and I think they found it on him either before or after they killed him.”
Sir David paused in packing his knives away. “Why’s that?”
“When I got to the pub, it was still fairly early in the morning, and the place wasn’t that crowded. The mess I saw would have created a commotion. The serving woman at least would have heard it. But she says she did not, and I’m inclined to believe her. I think that mess was staged.”
“To what end?”
“Someone might want to make us think that Poole’s death was related to something other than the certificate. They may be trying to make it all look like a crime of opportunity rather than something premeditated.”
Sir David nodded. “Or perhaps Poole had been paid to get hold of the certificate, and that someone decided that Poole should not be left alive to speak about what he’d done. Perhaps Poole didn’t bring the document to the scheduled meeting, because he intended to ask for more money.”
“It could even have been both,” said Adam. “The client planned the murder, and Poole was intending to extort more money from them.”
“Well, regardless, there will have to be an inquest, and it will have to be soon,” said Sir David. “Given the nature of the . . . situation surrounding the man, I’ll rely on you to take care of the questioning of potential witnesses. What has Miss Thorne to say?”
Not only did Sir David respect Rosalind’s particular gifts, but he also had called on her to help with cases of violent death that touched the lives of the aristocracy. It was another reason why Adam felt comfortable working for the man.
“I haven’t spoken to her about Poole’s death. I only had time to send a note.”
Sir David puffed out his cheeks. “Well. You’d better talk to Ross, and anyone else in the house who had doings with Poole, just in case we’re wrong about the killer’s motives. I’ll have the body taken to the morgue. Do we know if the man had any family?”
“I asked Ross, but he didn’t know. Neither did the folk at the White Swan.”
“Hmph. Well, I can see where a man like him would have reason to keep his business and his family life separated.” He glowered at the canvas-covered figure. “No chance of finding the carriage he was pushed from, I suppose?”
“Not much,” said Adam. “It was plain black, and the horses were chestnuts, but not matched or blooded that I could see. The driver was muffled to his eyebrows.”
“On such a warm day?”
Adam nodded. “Which is another reason to believe the crime was planned. Poole was still bleeding freely when he hit the cobbles, so the thing practically had to be done inside the carriage, and done quickly. There’d be no need to hide the driver if the owner of the carriage had simply intended to pay Poole for the certificate.”
“Yes, I’d have to agree there.” Sir David sighed. “Well, I’ll have to inform Bow Street. We may need their help. But first—”
The sound of the cellar door opening cut off whatever Sir David had been about to add. A moment later, Ross thumped down the stairs, his air filled with restrained impatience.
“Now, Sir David, you’ve had your look at him,” said Ross. “When can you get him out of here? Knowing he’s down here, it’s upsetting my guests.”
“Guests?” remarked Sir David.
Ross shrugged. “Gentlemen expect to be treated like gentlemen, no matter where they happen to be lodged.”
Sir David did not say what he thought of this, but his expression suggested it was not much. “Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with one more guest for a few hours longer.”
“What for?” demanded Ross. “There’s a porter with a cart on the corner, and this one”—Ross stabbed a finger at Adam—“he can vouchsafe that Poole’s getting stuck in his guts has nothing to do with this house.”
“That would seem to be true,” said Sir David calmly. “But there’s questions that will have to be asked. I trust you can help make sure your guests are ready to answer?”
Ross looked mulish, but in the end he sighed. “Well, I suppose there’s no help for it. But, listen, this won’t interfere with my warrant to keep this house, will it? Because even if one of the guests did some’at, it’s aught to do with me.”
“We’ll see about that,” replied Sir David. A bolt of fear flickered behind Ross’s eyes. Sir David did not trouble himself to reassure Ross there was no danger.
“All right, Mr. Harkness—” began Sir David.
“Oh, Harkness.” Ross snapped his fingers. “Boy came looking for you. Had a message.” He produced a note from his pocket and handed it across. Adam took it, saw that it was addressed in Rosalind’s hand.
“I’ll finish here and find you in your office,” said Sir David to Ross.
Ross looked at Adam and at the dead man and the coroner. Seeming to find no help for his situation, he turned and climbed heavily up the stairs.
The door shut. Adam unfolded the note, read, and smiled.
“What is it?” asked Sir David.
“A message from Miss Thorne,” Adam told him. “She’s discovered Poole’s residence and asks to meet me there.”
“You are not in the least surprised.”
“I’m not. Are you?”
“I find I am not,” said Sir David. “Go on, then. I’ll arrange matters here and see what can be done to stop Ross from talking or panicking.” He paused. “Take care, Harkness. Once word of this mess gets out, there will be very powerful people scrambling to find out what is known or what might be told.”