Page 4 of Death of a Courtesan
‘Bloody hell!’ Salter looked astounded when his gaze also fell upon the paraphernalia. ‘I thought women like her were employed to do the flogging, not take it.’
‘I think the client gets what he pays for. Most of the men, I would imagine, prefer to be on the receiving end but some like to dish it out too. Dr Maynard will be able to tell us, I expect.’
‘Did I hear someone take my name in vain?’ Dr Maynard, police pathologist and social climber, slipped into the room. ‘Dreadful weather. Will this rain ever stop? Good morning, Lord Riley. Oh, I say, the poor girl.’
‘Since the cause is death is obvious,’ Riley replied, ‘perhaps you can give an estimate as to the time.’
Maynard gave a sage nod. ‘Judging by the early onset of rigor and the fact that this room is warm, I’d say no more than eight hours.’
Riley pulled his half-hunter watch from his waistcoat pocket. ‘Given that it’s now ten in the morning, you imagine she was still alive at about two o’clock?’
‘These establishments do a roaring trade late at night, but business would have been dying off by then—if you’ll excuse the pun, inspector.’ Maynard scratched his head and continued. ‘Whoever killed her probably knew she’d be missed if he did the deed any earlier.’
‘Implying that it was planned?’
Maynard held up a hand to ward off Riley’s questions. ‘That’s your department, Lord Riley, not mine. I deal in medical facts.’
‘But you know about the hours these places keep,’ Salter muttered. ‘What’s that got to do with medicine?’
‘Right then, Maynard,’ Riley said, sending his sergeant a look of admonishment. ‘We’ll leave you to it. You can have the body removed as soon as you’re ready. Then we shall need Carter and Soames to conduct a thorough search of this room.’ Riley referred to the two detective constables who routinely worked with him. ‘Where are they?’ he asked, turning to Salter for clarification. ‘Shouldn’t they be here by now?’
‘They were finishing up the interviews from the Barking enquiry. I’ve left word for them to join us here as soon as they get back.’
‘Right. Well then, let’s see what Mrs Sinclair has to say for herself.’
Riley took a final look around the room before leaving it. The walls were lined with sketches that were even more graphic than those in the communal parts of the house. There were full length mirrors everywhere and a small alcove covered by a curtain in one corner. Riley pulled it back and found items of feminine clothing—working attire, judging by its flimsy nature—neatly piled there. He was unable to decide whether it belonged to the victim or one of the other ladies who worked on the premises. He also had no way of knowing if the victim had been wearing it but removed it at her killer’s request. Instinctively he doubted the possibility. He couldn’t imagine a courtesan in the heat of the moment removing clothing and neatly piling it in this subtle little alcove.
So many questions as yet unanswered. He picked through the garments, but there was nothing that might have belonged to a gentleman. Another door led to a bathroom with a huge tub and more paraphernalia pursuant to its occupant’s profession. Riley didn’t have the first idea what use it would be put to. Neither, judging by his perplexed and somewhat disapproving expression, did his sergeant.
‘The question is, Salter,’ Riley said, thoughtfully, ‘whom was she entertaining? She must have been with someone, or at least expecting a client to join her, because she’s wearing her working clothes.’ He nodded towards the corpse, clad in a lacy corset, a flimsy robe and, as far as he could see, absolutely nothing else. ‘Let’s hope Mrs Sinclair can enlighten us.’
Riley led the way back down the wide staircase and entered the salon—another long, narrow room—into which the residents of the house had been contained. Harper’s cheeks, Riley was amused to notice, were red enough to compete with the walls in the room. One glance around the assembled company and it was immediately apparent why. The ladies who lived on the premises had been asleep when the body was discovered, awoken presumably by the screams of whoever had found her. Given their profession, they were not shy and hadn’t seen the need to throw anything other than flimsy shawls over their equally flimsy and revealing night attire. Poor Harper would never be the same again!
There was a maid with a white face and red eyes, shuddering in one corner. An older lady, a cook or housekeeper perhaps, kept patting her shoulder. ‘There, there,’ she repeated. ‘There, there.’ The only man in the room was large, menacing and clearly not at all happy that one of the girls he was responsible for protecting had been killed without him being aware of it.
‘Mrs Sinclair?’ Riley asked, looking around him expectantly.
A lady of perhaps thirty-five, impeccably dressed and perfectly coiffured despite the early hour and tragic circumstances, stood and sent Riley an amused glance. Now that he’d seen her, he wondered how he’d overlooked her in the first place. She cut an impressive figure and had an air of authority about her.
‘Lord Riley, if I am not mistaken,’ she said. ‘We are honoured.’
Riley probably looked as discomposed as he felt. He heard Salter failing to smother a chuckle and sent him a sideways look. ‘We are acquainted?’ he asked.
‘Even women in my line of work know how to read,’ she replied calmly. ‘An account of your tracking down the murderer of that poor debutante was all over the newspapers.’
‘YouareMrs Cora Sinclair.’
The woman inclined her head. ‘That is the name I am known by, yes.’
Probably not her real name, Riley thought. He glanced at the five semi-clad women reclining on various sofas, all of whom were watching him with predatory eyes. None of them, including Mrs Sinclair, seemed especially disturbed by the brutal crime that had been committed beneath their noses. Or for the loss of the unfortunate victim, for that matter.
‘Perhaps we can start with all your names,’ Riley said calmly, nodding at Salter who had already extracted notepad and pencil from his pocket. ‘Then I shall want to speak with each of you individually. But first, the name of the victim, if you please.’
The weeping maid cried out and then went back to her monotonous sobbing.
‘Her name was Adelaide,’ Mrs Sinclair replied calmly. ‘She was in great demand. I do not know how I will replace her.’
