The London Blitz Murders Read Free Page A

pathologist would be preceded by a request to the detective in charge—in this case, Greeno.
    The gloom of the shelter required Spilsbury to withdraw, from the seemingly bottomless bag, an electric torch, which he held in his right hand, using his left for other examinations. The pathologist was adeptly ambidextrous.
    Never rising, Spilsbury started at the woman’s feet and, bathing her selectively in the torch’s yellow glow, closely looked at the clothed corpse as carefully as an actor studying his curtain speech. There was no rushing the doctor, although his methodical approach was diligent, not laggard.
    It was Spilsbury, after all, who had taught Greeno that “clues can be destroyed through delay, and changes in the body after death… and the body’s removal from where it was found… can confuse the medical evidence.”
    “With your permission,” Spilsbury said, “I’m going to remove this watch.”
    “Please,” Greeno said.
    “I’ll hold on to it, if I might.”
    “Do.”
    “I will pass it along to Superintendent Cherrill for fingerprint analysis and other testings.”
    “Fine.”
    Carefully, the rubber gloves apparently causing him no problem, Spilsbury removed the watch from the dead woman’s wrist. He turned it over.
    “We may have just identified the poor woman,” Spilsbury said. “Take a look.”
    Spilsbury held the item up and Greeno leaned down.
    On the back of the timepiece was engraved: E.M. Hamilton .
    “It’s not a cheap watch,” Greeno said. “Odd our man left it behind, when he took her purse.”
    “Dark in here,” Spilsbury said, making the same assumption Greeno had earlier. “He may simply have missed it.”
    The doctor was placing the watch in a small jar; this he labeled with a pen. Greeno knew material evidence was safe and sound in Spilsbury’s keeping—whenever a case on which Spilsbury had worked came to court, the chain of possession of the evidence was flawless… only the great man himself and the laboratory analyst would have handled the stuff.
    “ On such and such a date ,” the familiar testimony went, “ I was handed so many jars by Sir Bernard Spilsbury ….”
    Spilsbury’s mournful, chiseled countenance looked up at Greeno. “Have you taken photographs?”
    “One of my men has, yes.”
    “Then I’m going to unbutton her blouse, and may need to remove or undo an undergarment. Please block the doorway so that we’re not interrupted.”
    Greeno did.
    Finally, Spilsbury sighed as he rose, taking off the rubber gloves. He indicated the corpse, whose rather full breasts wereexposed, though the pathologist largely obstructed Greeno’s view. “I’d like more photographs, please.”
    Greeno made that happen, and briefly flashbulbs worked their lightning in the little space, strobing the corpse white.
    Then the inspector and the pathologist were again alone with the victim. With Greeno’s permission, Spilsbury took a sample of sand from a spilled sandbag, and placed individually the scattered items from the woman’s missing purse into small manila envelopes. All of these potential exhibits disappeared into the massive Gladstone bag.
    The pathologist took no notes. It was his practice not to impair the keenness of his senses with the distraction of note-taking, and would not do so until later, sometimes as much as days hence. Greeno was not disturbed by this: he knew Spilsbury wouldn’t forget a damned thing.
    “I’ll leave the silk scarf for you to collect, Inspector.”
    “All right.”
    “Do be sure you have a photograph of the knot before it’s undone.”
    “I will.”
    Spilsbury, who had tucked his rubber gloves away in that magician’s bag, now stood and ritualistically placed his hands in his pants pockets—as he always did, once his medical examination was finished at a crime scene.
    “Strangled, of course,” Spilsbury said. “But you knew that.”
    “I prefer hearing it from you, Doctor.”
    “From the marks on her throat…”