The Morgue was housed in a forbidding grey stone building at the edge of the East River. In imitation of the Parisian style, New York’s dead house had a viewing room behind a glass partition, where the public could examine the day’s fresh corpses in hopes they might be identified. If no one claimed them within a day or two, they would be sent to an unmarked grave in the pauper’s cemetery on Ward’s Island.
Some were visitors to the city who had died of natural causes, or just as often, been murdered for the coins in their pocket. Others were simply lost souls. Suicides fished out of the harbor. Prostitutes with no family who’d admit to knowing them. Their meager belongings were displayed on the far wall, in case anyone recognized an item of clothing or other personal effect.
The actual bodies lay on four stone tables beneath jets of cold water. This technique was supposed to slow putrefaction, but over the years, the odor of death had inevitably sunk into the foundations of the place.
White sheets covered the naked corpses, with only the faces exposed to public scrutiny. Neither Harry nor John cared to look too closely as they passed through the room. Their business was not here, in this sad, gloomy place. Julius Sabelline’s body would be awaiting the post-mortem in a secluded area of the hospital. Still, Harry couldn’t help but notice that one of the forms was tiny and could only be a young child. She felt a stab of pity. Untold hundreds of children died of illness, accident or parental violence every year, but to lie here, unclaimed by anyone, struck her as a particularly cruel fate.
They encountered Orpha just beyond the viewing room at the start of a long corridor leading deeper into the recesses of the Morgue. Mrs. Winter was an ethereally beautiful woman. She had milky skin and pale blonde hair that she wore twisted atop her head. Her dress was fashionable but tasteful, in dark colors somber enough for the occasion.
Orpha’s green eyes lit on John, then moved to Harry. There was a crystalline hardness to them, like shards of jade. Not a woman to cross lightly, or without consequence.
It was the first time Harry had formally met her, although she’d watched her at S.P.R. functions with her husband, the banker Joseph Winter. He had the money and Orpha had the charm and connections. Together, they were a formidable pair in New York society.
“Miss Pell,” she said with artificial warmth, clasping Harry’s hand. “Such a pleasure. And you must be Dr. Weston.”
John smiled amiably. “Only ‘mister’,” he said. “I’m a student at Columbia’s College of Physicians and Surgeons.”
“Of course. Well, it will be doctor soon enough, I’m sure. The coroner tells me they’re running late for the post-mortem, so we have a few minutes to get acquainted. Have you come from the museum? I’m most anxious to hear your thoughts.”
“It’s rather early for theories,” Harry said firmly. “I have three witnesses yet to interview. But I’m glad you’re here. Perhaps you can tell us what you observed at the party.”
“Of course. I believe there’s a waiting area up ahead. We can discuss the case there.”
They followed her down the hall to an alcove with two wooden benches facing each other. Orpha sat down and arranged her skirts while John and Harry took the other.
“Mr. Winter was on a business trip so I attended alone,” she began. “The evening went off flawlessly. It seemed a smashing success for the museum. At around eleven forty-five, the staff began clearing the food and drink away. I suppose that’s rather early, but it was nearly Christmas Eve and the guests had families to return to. I fell into conversation with Count Balthazar. We’ve known each other for years. A fascinating man, quite knowledgeable about the ancient world.”
“I’d very much like to speak with him—” Harry began.
“Certainly,” Orpha interrupted. “But you must allow me to arrange it. He’s a busy man and we have no official authority in this investigation. It would be a personal favor if he met with you at all.”
Harry nodded. “Sooner would be best.”
“Of course.” She smiled indulgently. “In any event, Count Balthazar was waiting for Dr. Sabelline to return from his office with the key to the strongbox. The count preferred to keep that himself. I wasn’t paying a great deal of attention, but I eventually noticed the others had drifted off. Sharpe and Holland apparently went to their offices. It was nearly one a.m. and I decided to go home, but the front door was locked and the guard had left his post.”
“He’d gone to smoke a cigarette?” Harry said.
“Apparently. We finally found him in the alley. He let me out the front door and my driver took me home. I heard what happened the next day.”
“Were you in conversation with Count Balthazar the entire time?”
Orpha gazed at her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean between the time Julius Sabelline left to go to his office, and the time you decided to go home.”
“I believe I went off for a few minutes to freshen up. You’re wondering if I left the count alone at any point?”
Harry nodded.
“Really, my dear girl, you needn’t waste your time thinking it was him. First of all, he owned the artifact. What reason could he possibly have to steal it from himself?”
“Perhaps it was insured.”
Orpha laughed, long and hard. “You’ve no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? Oh, I suppose it’s not your fault. Kaylock should have explained. Count Balthazar Jozsef Habsburg-Koháry is one of the wealthiest men in the world. He descends from the House of Saxe-Coburg, and before that, the House of Wettin. His family tree goes back nearly a thousand years, to the Holy Roman Empire.”
“That’s all very impressive,” Harry said. “But it hardly exempts him from murder.”
“Don’t be foolish,” Orpha snapped. “I requested you for this case, but I can just as easily have you removed.” She softened her tone. “We should go in now. But let me be perfectly clear. You have a bright future with the S.P.R. if you ally yourself with the right people. I believe you’re clever enough to understand what I mean.”
Orpha swept down the hallway before Harry could reply.
“Well she’s a piece of work,” John muttered.
Harry watched the retreating form. “I suppose she wanted us because she thought we were young and eager to please. Easy to manipulate.”
John laughed. “Then she certainly doesn’t know you at all, Harry. I’d say you’re about as pliable as an iron bar.”
Harry smiled back, but she looked troubled. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating Orpha Winter,” she said. “We must tread cautiously. I fear there are treacherous undercurrents in this case, John.”
The post-mortem examination of Julius Sabelline was conducted in one of Bellevue’s operating amphitheaters. The body lay on a steel table in the center of the room, covered with a sheet. Four men stood together talking quietly as Harry and John entered the room just behind Orpha Winter. The effect of her appearance was remarkable. They all stood up straighter like schoolboys before a favorite teacher.
“Gentlemen,” Orpha said smoothly. “These are my new associates. I hope you don’t mind if we observe the proceedings this afternoon.”
She made brief introductions all around. A pleasant-looking man in his mid-forties with a slight German accent was the city coroner, Ferdinand Eidman. His job was to issue death certificates and, in theory, perform autopsies and inquests for all suspected homicides, suicides and accidental deaths in New York County.
However, Eidman wasn’t a doctor, and in fact had no medical training at all beyond what he’d seen as a soldier during the Civil War, so he’d appointed a surgeon from Bellevue named Bernard Levis to conduct the actual autopsy. A tall, thin man, Dr. Levis wore a black frock coat with a gold pocket watch on a chain that he checked several times as though he had other places to be—which, considering it was Christmas Day, he probably did.
The last two men were detectives from the Thirty-First Ward, whose jurisdiction included the two-mile stretch from Sixty-Third Street north to One Hundred and Tenth Street, and the Hudson River to the western edge of Central Park. Despite the fact they clearly knew Orpha, their greetings for the pair of young civilian investigators were not warm. This was doubtless due in part to the fact that they had overlooked the grating and the key evidence it contained.
Harry, John and Orpha sat down on the second tier of benches, which afforded a clear view of the gurney. The room smelled of carbolic acid and other chemicals, although they failed to mask the underlying scent of blood and decay.
“If we’re all here, I suggest we begin,” Dr. Levis said briskly. “Mr. Eidman will be taking notes.” He drew back the sheet from the body. Harry swallowed hard.
You knew it would be bad, she thought, digging her nails into her palms and taking a deep breath. The only way to help now is to catch the one who did it, and you won’t manage that by fainting.
“We’ll begin with a visual inspection,” Dr. Levis said. “The body is that of Mr. Julius Sabelline, stated to be sixty-two years old. Weight is one hundred and seventy pounds, height seventy inches from crown to sole. Rigor mortis is fixed, confirming that death occurred within the last twenty-four hours. The decedent is wearing a long-sleeved white shirt which is bloodstained. It has multiple tears that correspond with injuries consistent with sharp force trauma to the neck and back.”
Dr. Levis leaned over the body for a closer look. “The decedent’s eyes were removed post-mortem. There are scrape marks on the supraorbital ridges. Not a metal blade though, I daresay. There are no cuts to the malar bone. Some kind of blunt tool.”
“Could it be the same that was used to stab him?” Eidman asked.
“Yes, I’d say that’s possible.”
With Eidman’s assistance, Dr. Levis removed Sabelline’s shirt and trousers.
There’s nothing more bereft than a naked corpse in a room full of strangers, Harry thought. Sabelline looked both bloated and shrunken in that strange way of dead bodies. The terrible injuries he’d suffered only made it worse. There was no way of telling what his face had been like in life.
“I observe no deformities, old surgical scars or amputations,” Dr. Levis said. “Before moving on to the stab wounds themselves, I would note that there are unusual defensive injuries to the right palm. Striated bruising in six parallel lines, three of which superficially broke the skin.”
“What could cause that?” one of the detectives asked.
“I can’t say. It appears he gripped something in his fist which caused the injury. An object with raised ridges.” Dr. Levis let the hand drop. “We need to roll him over, Ferdinand,” he said to the coroner.
Sabelline was not a small man and it took a minute or two of minor struggling before they got him on his stomach. Dr. Levis took a steel probe from a tray. “I count five stab wounds on the back, one on the side of the neck that penetrated the left carotid artery. This is a fatal wound that would have caused loss of consciousness within one to two minutes.
“The next is located twenty inches below the crown of the head and five inches from the front of the body. It is vertically oriented and measures five-eighths of an inch in length. Inferiorly, there is a squared off or dull end approximately one-thirty-second of an inch in length. Superiorly, the wound is tapered to a sharp point.
“The pathway of the wound passes through the skin, the subcutaneous tissue, and through the right seventh rib. Estimated length of the total wound path is four inches, and as stated the direction is right to left and back to front with no other angulation measurable.” He paused. “I would say this is also a fatal wound associated with perforation of the right lung.”
“There is a second stab wound in the back, also on the right side, twenty-one inches below the crown of the head and two inches from the front of the body,” he continued. “It penetrated the lungs without striking rib. There is fresh hemorrhage and bruising noted along the wound path as well as the hemothorax described above. The direction is right to left, with a total depth of four to five inches. In my opinion, this wound was also a fatal stab wound associated with perforation of the lung and hemothorax. Essentially, his lungs filled with blood.”
Dr. Levis continued for another twenty minutes, meticulously measuring each stab wound as Eidman recorded the results. Any one of them would have been fatal.
“I conclude it most likely that the decedent was seated when his assailant came up behind him and stabbed him once in the neck, then five times in the back. Sabelline turned and seized the weapon at some point, possibly grappling with his killer for it. This would account for the bruising on the decedent’s palms.”
“But what was he stabbed with, doctor?” the older of the detectives asked. Orpha had introduced him as Michael Jones. “You said it wasn’t a knife.”
“No, the edges of the wounds are ragged and they taper to a very fine point. I’d say something more akin to an icepick.”
“And the handle?”
“It will have sharp but shallow ridges.”
The detectives shared a quick glance. At least they had a distinctive weapon to look for.
“Mr. Sabelline would have bled out quickly, within two or three minutes. Removal of the eyes occurred shortly after death, most likely with the same object he was stabbed with. It appears to have been done in a rushed, frenzied manner. The eyes were found approximately six feet from the body. The assailant did not cleanly sever the optic nerve, but rather tore the eyes from the sockets using brute force, with accompanying injury to the corneas and vitreous humor.” Levis consulted briefly with the coroner. “We’ll move on to the internal examination now.”
The body was again flipped onto its back and Dr. Levis made the classic Y incision in the chest, using a bone saw to cut through the ribs. Julius Sabelline’s organs were weighed and measured. The bloody fluid in his lungs confirmed the cause of death, but no other unusual findings were made. He had been a healthy, if slightly overweight, middle-aged man.
Dr. Levis and Mr. Eidman stayed to talk further with the detectives, who made it clear the civilian contingent from the S.P.R had exhausted their welcome. Neither Harry nor John had any desire to remain. It had been a long day, beginning at the S.P.R. offices downtown and ending in this gruesome amphitheater. Catching whoever had wreaked such terrible destruction on the famous Egyptologist, now mercifully under a sheet again, would not be a simple matter, Harry feared. The killer was organized and cunning. If he was also mad, it wouldn’t be the stark raving sort, but a quiet, twisted malice that was far more dangerous.
As they passed the table with Dr. Sabelline’s personal effects, Harry had a final thought. She eyed his shoes intently, picking one up and reading the label inside. A disapproving harrumph from Dr. Levis made her drop it back onto the table.
Curiouser and curiouser, Harry thought, a hard gleam in her eye.
When they reached First Avenue, Orpha Winter turned to them both with a peremptory tone. “Once you’ve spoken to everyone, please compile your findings in a report and submit it to me. Naturally, I’ll share it with the police.”
“Certainly. But the interviews are only the beginning of the investigation,” Harry said. “There will be leads to follow up—”
“I’ll make that determination. And Mr. Kaylock, of course. But we wouldn’t want to put you in any danger.”
“Why would we be in danger?”
Orpha studied her for a long moment. Was that a spark of worry in her eyes? Or something else? Harry couldn’t tell if it was real or feigned.
“I think Dr. Sabelline may have waded into deeper waters than he intended. There are things in this world you know nothing of, Miss Pell. Matters that defy rational explanation.” She held up a gloved hand. “I know. You’re a skeptic, like Mr. Kaylock. Don’t believe in all that supernatural rubbish. And you think I’m a naïve fool because I do. But even Harland can’t deny certain realities.” Orpha’s mouth curved in a tiny smile. “He’ll have to come clean with you eventually if you’re to work for the S.P.R.”
Harry frowned and began to reply. Orpha cut her off.
“I’ve arranged for you to interview the Sabellines in the morning,” she said, handing her a piece of paper. “Here’s the address.”
“And Count Koháry?”
“I’ll keep you informed.” Orpha stepped to the curb just as a shiny black barouche pulled up. The uniformed driver leapt down and opened her door. “My God, this has been the strangest Christmas,” she said over her shoulder. “I do hope you enjoy the rest of yours.”
They stood there watching the carriage speed away uptown, followed by the pathetic sight of an anxious-looking woman in tattered clothing entering the Morgue, her face a mixture of hope and despair. Hope that it wouldn’t be the one she sought, despair because if he or she wasn’t in the Morgue, they’d still be missing and their fate might never be known.
“What was that all about, do you think?” John asked.
“I’ve no idea. But she won’t bully me off this case until I get a result. That I promise.”
Harry was just looking for a cab when a loud squawk made her jump. A crow, perched on the lintel of the Morgue entrance. It was a large bird, dull black, with a sharp, curving beak. Something moist and red dangled from its mouth.
“Dirty carrion-eaters,” John muttered. “Let’s go, Harry.”
She let him take her arm and lead her to a waiting hansom, but all the while, Harry had the peculiar sensation that the bird’s unblinking gaze was fixed on them both.