Nine Hours

When a young lady from a bakery is murdered late at night, the morning can be very stressful, especially for those who witnessed it....

1.1

 

“What have you gathered?” Detective Ledworth was kneeling by my side with his eyes fixated on the lifeless body that lay before us. I pulled my black gloves over my wrists before giving the scene a closer examination. The scent wasn’t the most invigorating but I have smelled all kinds of fowl decay so it never made me feel as ill as it once did.

I quickly glimpsed at Ledworth, examining things about him that weren’t there the last time we met. He was wearing his black lounge suit today with a black bowtie and of course, his black leather gloves to prevent cross-contamination. Many still believed that moving the body is the correct course of action but of course only eliminates evidence and to whom would be examining the scene, causes loss of time to searching for traces of contact where the body may have lain.

“According to what you explained to me earlier, she was in her mid-thirties. Is that correct?” My hand slipped into my Callahan Frock coat to fetch my eye magnifying glass when Ledworth began to speak.

“Correct. She was identified as Ethel Lora Mariette. She lived here in England near the parliament. I met her once when we were young. She was actually quite nice. She worked at the bakery if that says anything.” I was tempted to interrupt him but instead I just let him ramble.

“Yes…” I could already see the powder of fresh flower on her hands and under her fingernails. She had the hands of someone who baked often. The ring around her neck suggested that she was widowed and her cause of death was obviously the strong force of a small blade to the neck. The only real mystery that I was intrigued by was the wound.

“When you said that the wound was fresh, did you mean that the attack happened recently so you assume that it is fresh?” I used my index finger and thumb to examine the wound with integrity. The wound was swelling but there was barely any blood. The blood that was surrounding the untouched wound was dry. Judging by the swelling, she would’ve been dead long before the attack even took place, or perhaps it was staged?

“Yes. She was bleeding when she was found but once we got here the blood was gone” Ledworth’s words lain caught in the center of my mind. I turned to him, lowering my eye magnifying glass and trying not to stare at his abnormally gigantic mustache that almost hung to his lower lip.

“Gone?”

“Yes. There was no blood at all when we arrived.” I couldn’t help but to ponder this great mystery. When a murder unfolds, what do you think would happen if the victim was possibly long dead? That’s when the mystery emerges. Through the shadows, a secret kept tucked in the depths of burden and blood that can easily be obtained if given the proper candle. That candle is the key. In this case, the dried wound is my candle.

“And the witnesses?” I asked, standing up from where I was. He reached into his coat pocket and from its thick cotton emerged a small square of folded paper.

“Their names are Augustus Louis Oxford and Cedric Pelvis Oxford. They are twin brothers who claimed that they had just been running in the streets playing a game of chase when they discovered the corpse lying here between these two buildings. Of course, they immediately ran to their mother” he explained furthermore. Two little boys, playing a game when they see the most terrifying thing they possibly could in that situation.

Death.

“Their mother and father? Who are they? Did they see the body?” I was on fire with interest. This could just be the best case I’ve had in years! Ledworth tried to find even so much as a sliver of sympathy within my expression but instead found himself staring for a moment with a sliver of embarrassment in his own. He cleared his throat. I suppose that just glancing at the wounded body left him aghast.

“Clara Judith Marabelle and Cornelius Ichabod Oxford. Both married in 1879. They had the twins in 1881. The mother is twenty six and the father is twenty nine. The father saw the body however the mother stayed home with the children. When the father discovered Ms. Mariette, he immediately came into touch with a police man a few blocks away” he further explained. I knew what I had to do.

I carefully tucked the eye magnifying glass back in my coat and turned to Ledworth with a faint grin hidden behind my lips. He knew what I was hiding and he knew what I was about to suggest.

“How does a little banter sound Mr. Ledworth?” My back was straight and so was the look in both of our eyes. We often exchanged this look whenever we were both obviously thinking the same thing. It’s an old habit.

“And a cuppa?” he replied, a similar grin tucked beneath his cheeks.

“Oh certainly” and we began walking, side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and not a worry in the world. Well…. Other than the worry that perhaps the killer could strike again but for us, that was not exactly new.

“You know that you could just call me Charles” he remarked. I knew that from the start.

“Mr. Ledworth suits you better if you ask my opinion” I backfired. He didn’t even spare a glance.

“I was not asking for your opinion” his pace grew in speed.

“Yes you were” and here came the hidden smirks. Once again, set to defend us against the cryptic malevolence that was murder. Our carriage was awaiting us nearby as I noticed whilst we approached it. The coach nodded with the reigns in his hands as we opened the door and stepped inside. The wooden door creaked shut behind us as the coach shouted and the horses began to move the carriage forward.

We sat across from one another and as we shivered in the cold and averted our eyes from the blinding reflection of the pure white snow,  I had a thought that simplified the understanding for him.

“Did you see the swelling of the wound on Ms. Mariette’s neck?” I began the conversation. I was never really much of a speaker when I am degraded to beginning a conversation but this was a crisis, not a friendly exchange of words.

“Well, I am no doctor but that wound didn’t look very fresh to me despite the reports” he replied with sincerity. He’s faster than he used to be. The Charles Ledworth that I knew a year ago would’ve been far too busy examining the marital status of a dead woman rather than the actual wounds. He is growing accustomed to this occupation.

“So you agree then” I attempted glancing out the window at the roads however the light was blinding so I drew the curtains and returned to reading the ticking man’s expression.

“I’m sorry. What do we agree on?” he asked as his hand shifted to the right side of his lap, overlapping his right one.

“You agree that the wound was made long before the attack, therefore, the scene was staged, just not well. Even an idiot would notice the swelling and the dry blood.” There was a long pause and the ambient cries of horses whinnying in the distance before he spoke.

“I suppose so.  I thought that those you considered idiots were men leaving bloody corpses around without attempting to dispose of any evidence” his voice was firm but he was anxious in dark spaces. His hands were growing rather shaken and he was peering at the small light between the curtains. Whatever light he could find, he would cling to it like a spider clinging to its web.

“Not all idiots can perform such a violent deed.” I slightly opened the curtains to be sure that we were heading in the correct direction and was reassured when I caught sight of a familiar restaurant. The bakery wasn’t far either. If we get nothing from Ms. Mariette’s family then we may as well investigate her co-workers. I doubted the possibility but unlike my fellow Ledworth here, all possibilities must be prepared for, even if we do not expect them.

He seemed on the verge of chuckling but then again, jokes about murder have never been his typical milieu.

“Do you mind if I ask you something you may find disturbing or, if at all, triggering?” I continued to glance out the window, squinting as I examined the scenery.

“Ask away” he replied without even the batter of an eye. He was prepared for anything unnerving and that is why I chose him in the first place. He will take risks because he feels that he has nothing left to lose, but we all have our trials.

“If you were a killer, trotting along the streets of London without a care other than the penetration of your next victim, how would you lure them in?” Such a question was simple enough to answer yet our addled man thought a second longer.

“I’d catch them in a desolate spot and then attack them when they least expect it” he replied with goosebumps forming on hands. He felt unnerved but he gave the closest thing to a clever answer as he could manage. The goosebumps quickly flattened and we were nearing our destination.

“And if you didn’t know them? The killer seemed to have nothing but a blade. There weren’t any markings or scarring on her body that indicates any other wounds. He wanted it fast and easy and without mess. He is tidy and indeed he did lead her into a desolate spot but what we need to know is if he knew her and if they had relation. Going by the state of things, the chances are that this particular attack was not random” I concluded the conversational topic and I continued to extend my hand towards the metal knob and push the wooden door open into the streets of London.

Ahh….London. I dare not explain how London fills my lungs to such a pleasure. It eliminates my stress and tension. For most, the odor is of oil and horse, and that is one of the many reasons why I step foot into this city and watch it thrive. In such a time when murder is imminent and the streets are filling with the aura of suspicion and paranoia, the city needs me most. I surprisingly strike hope in their eyes even when I’m investigating the murder of a loved one.

I cannot stop every murder, but I can stop the suspicion, stress, difficulty, and I’ve even stopped murderers once or twice from being left free of charge. I have been accused of being the murderer every now and then only due to difficult circumstances.

“You do know that you just may not be welcomed” Ledworth stepped from the carriage behind me. His shoes were gnarly from stepping in puddles and dirt all day and I could only turn to meet his glowering stare. He was concerned for me. Concerned that perhaps I may offend the Oxfords without temptation as I have done in the past, but he should know above all that I have changed since our first meeting.

He has aided me in tolerating a family in mourning or the usual distress of the average mind but of course, that does not mean that I have to like them. That is why sometimes I may make a mistake and cause them even more stress or ignite the anger within them. I curse the part of me that feels pity and yet at times like this, pity can be very useful. Pity is what makes them feel as though they are listened to.

“I am sure that they will at least consider. Any family would want to know how their loved one died or at least find the culprit. Otherwise, they would only rise suspicion won’t they?” I turned back and stretched on my black leather gloves from my coat pocket.  A building made of such a beautiful architecture held a mourning family and that was why I did not want to enter but I didn’t have many other options. I filled my lungs with the last bit of fresh air I could manage to breathe and then politely used the knocker on the front door.

I knocked once, and then twice, and then a third time for good measure. The door then barely opened, only to leave a slim streak of daylight through, and behind it appeared a small child that seemed to be no less than ten years old.

“You must be Augustus! I am-“ I began but was shortly interrupted by his bold voice.

“Cedric. Augustus is my brother” he paused to examine my tall structure. For a child, he was a bit arrogant. Judging by the dirt under his fingernails but the pristine glow of his small face, he was not neglected at all. He did not attend school, his family wasn’t exactly poor but they weren’t the wealthiest either, and he was often around others judging by his arrogant act.

“My apologies young man. I am here to see Mr. Oxford if he is availa-“

“My father isn’t here. He has work.” The boy’s voice was surprisingly strong for his age, but I suppose most boys these days try to toughen themselves up to a point where their voice shakes all who stand in their way. I could almost feel Ledworth breathing in disappointment. He never liked no-shows. I was about to breathe in disappointment as well when we heard a voice shout from feet away.

“It’s alright Cedric!” We both spun around to find the source of the voice only to meet eyes with a tall gentleman with ginger hair greying in age and a long cotton coat facing us with a smile.

“Run back inside and fetch your mother! I believe we will be having visitors!” He shouted for the last time before turning his head towards Ledworth and I and regaining his friendly smile. Such a gentleman he was. He seemed very content on this dark morning. Cedric then disappeared and his footsteps faded in the distance as if he was but a small ghost. I tipped my hat and attempted to stretch on the friendliest smile I could possibly manage. My smile quickly gave out, for I was exhausted of pretending to be kind.

“Good morning. You must be Mr. Oxford I presume” I said in greeting. I held out my hand and he gladly shook it. His hands were extremely firm and his skin looked dry and dirty. He used his hands a lot. Really the only occupation I could think of at the moment that involves the hands doing all of the dirty work is any work that revolves around coal and art, but his hands were much to firm to be those of an artist.

“Yes and you must be Mr. Merrell” he replied, releasing his grip from my hand and persisting to smile. I dryly cleared my throat and my eyes wandered towards my fellow Ledworth but I resisted the urge to seem impolite and shot another glance at Mr. Oxford. Only the most polite of gentlemen keep their eyes on who they are sharing a conversation with.

“Who is this proper fellow that you have so silently brought along if I may ask?” He referred to Ledworth.

I began to frown.

“Ah! Charles Ledworth sir. I am his….” Ledworth began, but was unsure as to what he really was to me. I replied but instead our voice overlapped one another.

“-companion.”

“-friend.”

We both glanced at one another, surreptitiously thrown back by the difference in words, and after a moment of brief silence, I was the first to act as if it hadn’t happened. Oxford eyed us both and his lips formed a smile he struggled to detain.

“Would you like to have this conversation inside?” he quickly changed the subject. Thank god for the tall man and his friendly outlook.

“Greatly.”

 

1.2

 

My hands grew warm as I stripped them of my gloves and sat on a dark brown couch beside a warm hearth. Morning daylight streamed through the dusty curtains of a warm living room with barely so much as a touch of art on any wall. The entire room seemed to only contain the aura of poverty. It almost seemed as though it wasn’t lived in until Cedric returned with a warm kettle of chamomile tea. He cautiously poured the steaming tea into teacups and set them on saucers in front of Ledworth and I.

The tea seemed warm enough to burn the tip of my tongue so I decided to wait until it cooled. Whilst doing so, our conversation began, slowly, but in a tolerated manner.

“My wife is cooking dinner in the kitchen if you are hungry” Mr. Oxford so kindly offered. There it was again. That friendly outlook.

“No thank you. We will be leaving shortly” I declined and watched painfully as he sipped his still scorching hot tea. I could taste the burn sulking at the tip of my tongue despite my teacup still cooling on its saucer.

“I suppose so. I’ve already answered all the questions the police have to offer. What answers must I give to a detective?” His teacup faintly clanked as he gently set it back down. I cleared my throat and for a moment, I listened to the sound of boiling water slowly filling the room from the thin wall between the living room and the kitchen, fetching for the proper question to ask first. One that would not startle the man and that of which is least irritable.

“How well did you know Ms. Mariette, Mr. Oxford?” The bags under his eyes indicated a troubled man but the lines on his forehead told another story. His stress over the situation was far greater than that of anyone else. He obviously feared for his boys, their future, and if it were not for the death of Ms. Mariette, he may even be his own usual self. He was a cheerful man but his weak point was death. It seemed he had small toleration for such subjects. Many have overlooked Ms. Mariette’s murder as a tragedy and a shock but he has thought of it as dreadful and painful.

He was the only one who understood the true horrors of death and how it could make anyone fall ill beneath its breath. He let out a deep sigh and for a moment he closed his eyes and regained track of thought.

“She was a friend of my wife. They worked at the same bakery together. I never really got to meet her but I saw them walking around together from time to time” he gradually began, his eyes fixated on his tea, “She seemed kind and I never heard any complaints from my wife regarding her so I assumed that they were good friends.”

His head sunk low and he covered his face with his hands in distress. He lifted his head and let his hands run along his cheeks before folding them together in front of him and resting his elbows on his knees. We watched him for a moment, waiting for him to further describe the relationship between Ms. Mariette and his wife, but he just leaned back and glanced over his shoulder towards the window.

“Ah god. My wife was so terrified when she heard about what happened. She was crying right here on this very spot after returning home and she didn’t stop until I offered to help her get into bed” his voice began to quiver.

Please. Anything but the weepers. Don’t let this man be a weeper!

He struggled to keep his firm posture and barely succeeded but all that was brought upon his head was even more stress.

“Did you see anyone? Anyone at all when you saw the scene that night other than Ms. Mariette?” I asked perhaps a bit too frankly. His face sunk allowing the wrinkles that lined his eyes to become twice as visible. Funny how words can affect memory. Sometimes it only takes one phrase for someone to completely snap and remember an entire lifetime that they had forgotten.

He looked as if he had seen a ghost. He began to stutter with great struggle between words.

“Th-There w-was one…..person….b-but I never saw their face. I th-thought that they were just another…. another witness because they were there for just a moment and then……” He seemed to be dying away from reality by the way he looked down at the stained carpet beneath his feet. I grew slightly irritated by his lack of attention and I lost my sense of caution and began firing questions like children throwing rocks at windows.

“And then? Did they do anything? Did they see you?” I attempted to lower my voice in order to comfort the man but he was far too peaky to take any of it.

“They were gone! They just ran off and that’s when I ran back home! That’s all that I can remember! I swear!” His voice rose and he had lost control. Our eyes were all staring blankly at one another until I broke the uncomfortable silence.

“Please remain calm Mr. Oxford. We understand that you are panicked but you must come to your senses so we can discover who this person may be” I reassured him. His face fell once more and his eyes flickered with regret. He cleared his throat and nodded as his friendly posture returned, only slightly more uptight and irritated.

“I’m….sorry. I did not intend to raise my voice. I will answer no further questions. I wish I could give you all the information you need but this as far as my usefulness will go” He concluded the interview and I noticed his shoulders relax and his hands folding together once more. I took a short moment to glance at Ledworth in reassurance of our withdraw.

He sincerely nodded, giving me a moment to sigh, and then solemnly glance back at Mr. Oxford who was staring at us in concern. I suppose we have exhausted this man of his memory. Ledworth and I both stood, Mr. Oxford doing the same, and we shook hands.

“Thank you for your time sir. We are doing everything we can to find the culprit of this monstrous crime” Ledworth smiled despite his uncertainty.

“I’m sure my wife will be grateful for your visiting Mr. Ledworth” he shook Ledworth’s hand and then smiled faintly at me before shaking mine as well, “Mr. Merrell.”

“If you need us just stop by my address” I said, handing him a folded slip of paper. He gladly accepted the offer and slipped the paper into his coat that was draped over the couch behind him beside the warm fire.

“Thank you gentlemen. My family sends you the best of luck.” His smile was gradually weakening the more the conversation carried.

“Good afternoon” I tipped my hat, trying my best to seem friendly, and turned to Ledworth who had stretched his coat back over his shoulders and began buttoning it. I did not wish to stay any longer so, for the sake of time, I turned and exited through the front door with Ledworth trailing behind.

The cold wind of winter flooded us and the falling snow began to melt against our shoulders. Ledworth closed the door and took long strides as he caught up to my pace. He was a foot shorter than I was and yet he was the most confident. It runs in his family as well. His older sister, Alison Ledworth, is just about his size and yet still dances with even the tallest of drunken men. How her charm can fool any desperate man into a dance full of laughter and excitement.

“Where are we off to now?” Ledworth asked as he politely nodded towards a small swarm of beautiful ladies dressed in long and rich gowns. I almost felt the need to distinguish myself from him but I let the thought pass.

“We are to take a carriage home. Stay with me for tonight. I need you to aid me in examining these notes. I’ll explain further once we get there” I said at the edge of shouting over the hollering wind. A chill crept up the back of my neck so I turned up my coat collar and marched through the winter storm as if I were to be a soldier marching through a battle and facing the gun fire. The coach was already awaiting our arrival down the street and as we stepped in, the coach smiled and tipped his hat.

“Welcome back sirs! Where to now?” He kindly asked. Ledworth took the honor of speaking.

“Bow Street please.”

“Will do!”

The sound of the coach whipping his horses shouted among the street as we settled into our carriage and began piecing together a decent conversation about the subject at hand without being too friendly or too sincere. Ledworth was looking forward to a friendly conversation it seemed. He was never one for being too serious for too long for that exhausts his mind like training rats on wheels.

“It’s been a while since I’ve visited Bow Street. Perhaps while you’re working, I can walk down to the market and fetch dinner. Would that suit your liking?” he began to smile. This was his nurturing side. I’ve always thought of him as a working father but if he was to be my loyal companion then he is obviously something of more significance. Perhaps a professor or a lawyer would suit his personality but he has never been interested in my suggestions of occupation. He breathes solely to accompany me in my mysteries and scandalous crime.

That is why I appointed him.

“Yes. Perhaps something for tomorrow morning. I am far too busy tonight as it would seem” I replied after a long breath. It felt as though my lungs needed desperately to breathe. Not as though I was being asphyxiated or drowned, but rather out of disappointment and boredom. I was interested in this case only that I need to know who the second witness was and if there was one.

If so, I may have just found a dangling thread of a web that the killer resides in.

It is as my father once said, “Where there is a risk, there is a fault.”