The Lexington House Murder
~ Chapter Four
The
carriage carrying Chief Constable Dobbins, Magistrate Mailer and
Ichabod Crane pulled up abruptly in front of a large Georgian
mansion. Not so large as some of the others on the street, but
imposing and handsome in a way the larger buildings were not.
Mailer opened the door and jumped from the carriage before it
had come to a full stop at the front entrance. Despite the verbal
rebukes he had received from Dobbins during the last half hour, his
self-confidence returned as this, even Dobbins would have to agree,
was his area of expertise.
The three were silent as they
approached the front door, which was at least half ajar. Police
patrol men stood near the entrance, some others of them coming in and
out.
The two patrol men guarding the entrance, opened the
door widely, and touched their caps as Dobbins approached with his
two companions.
“Names, please?” Dobbins asked the two.
“Staley and Hawkins, Sir. The taller one stepped slightly
forward.
“Were either of you one of the first police to be
called to the scene?
“No, sir.” We’ve just arrived. The
senior officer asked us to make sure no one but authorized persons,
enter or leave the premises.”
“And just how many
“authorized” persons have you allowed to trample in
and out,
Staley?” Clasping his hands behind him and rocking slowly
back and
forth, Mailer voice managed to be both commanding and condescending.
“Forgive my associate, patrolman” Dobbins, said
quickly,
frowning at Mailer. He clapped the patrolman on the shoulder.
“Good
work, Staley. Keep it up.”
They walked past the patrolmen,
and entered the front hallway.
“Works well with others”
Dobbins turned to Mailer when they had entered the hallway.
“I seem
to have read that comment from your previous employer. How about it,
Mailer? Let us try not to bully everyone on the scene quite yet.
Hummm?
Crane had ignored the exchange between the two. He
noticed an elderly, pale man, obviously a butler or footman, standing
to the side rather rigidly. His expression both forlorn and perplexed
at the same time. Surely he had never encountered this type of
predicament in any household he had worked in before.
Crane
approached the man respective in his tone. “I am Constable
Ichabod
Crane, here with Chief Constable Dobbins and ummm, Magistrate Mailer.
I have come to assist them with the investigation of his dreadful
event. Would you perhaps, be the head butler?
“Yes, sir,
Pierce is my name.” The man seemed to snap out of his reverie
and
stepped forward arms outstretched. Crane removed his coat and handed
it to the man. “Then Pierce, perhaps you would be so kind as
to
take our coats and direct us to the senior officer here?”
“As
you wish, Constable.” Pierce gathered the coats and nodded
his head
towards a large room to the right of the hallway. He disappeared into
the back of the house.
“Ahh. Yes, Crane, follow me.”
Mailer began to stride purposeful through the entrance of the room
indicated by the butler. Although it would have been obvious to
anyone by the level of activity, that something disturbing was going
in that room,
At the doorway, Crane reached out and caught
Mailer by the sleeve. “If you don’t mind,
Magistrate, I would
like to observe the room prior to entering it. If you would be good
enough to direct the men currently in this room to step outside until
I have finished.
So intense was Crane’s study of the sight
before him, that he missed the look of incredulity on
Mailer’s
face. Mailer opened his mouth to respond, but caught a look from
Dobbin’s, that left now doubt he was to do as Crane
requested.
“Gentlemen, we will be asking you to step outside the room
at this time, so that myself,
Chief Dobbins and our associate can
examine the scene.” The sarcasm was lost on Ichabod. He was
already
concentrating solely on what was before him.
The room was
good sized, comfortably appointed with the finest upholstered chairs
and settees. Rich oil paintings adorned the wall, portraits of
earlier owners and occupants of the Lexington House. It seemed to
Ichabod, that even their haughty eyes were purposefully looking away
from the gruesome object in the midst of the room.
Crane
remained at the door way. He opened his case and then stood to look
around as if deciding the best way to approach the examination. A
motion near him caused him to turn his head quickly to his right,
where Mailer had been replaced by a monstrous man-insect. Crane heart
leapt out of his chest, but with a quick intake of breath, saw that
it was indeed only Mailer, adorned with a large pair of
Crane’s
specially designed optical examination glasses. “I say, old
man,
what in the hell are these things? Magnifiers? By god, if I
can’t
see every whisker on your chin, Crane.” Mailer loomed in
closer to
Ichabod’s face.
“Well, Mailer, how well can see the look
I am giving you now.” Crane was seething. Mailer quickly
removed
the eyewear and handed them sheepishly to Crane.
“Remain
here.” Ichabod commanded to those around him. And at Mailer
in
particular he repeated slowly and clearly, “Here, meaning
where you
are standing now, at this moment.”
Ichabod donned cotton
gloves from his bag and a chose a large magnifying glass. His visual
study of the room had already revealed the following: The room had no
door type entrance directly to the outside. Only windows in the front
and side. They were mostly covered by elaborate hangings. The windows
and sashes did not appear to have been disturbed in any way. The
panes which could be seen did not show any shattering or scratches.
No furniture appeared to be out of place. Nothing in their
arrangement or condition attested to the violence that occurred in
the room.
Only the carpet silently testified by the presence
of an enormous blood stain which covered almost a 4 foot radius
around the head of what had been a young woman. The number of bloody
footprints gave evidence that there had been more than one or two
persons had approached the body. That fact, although expected,
disappointed Crane, as now there would be know way of isolate any
movements of the murderer or victim once the fatal blow was struck.
Mailer leaned over to Crane. “I have already had the house
floors and steps inspected for any trace of blood, as well as
ordering that the footwear of all residents and servants in the house
examined for blood. Also had the men check the immediate vicinity,
fireplaces, dust bins, etc for evidence of any type of shoe wear, in
case the murder had realized they would point to his guilt and tried
to discard them.”
Ichabod looked at Mailer, with a raised
brow. For the first time, he began to believe that his lanky, fidgety
companion might turn out to be a help rather than hindrance. With a
nod, Crane indicated Mailer was to follow him into the room.
Slowly
they approached the horrible sight. The victim had been in her early
20s. She was approximately 5 foot tall, slender, and wearing only a
nightgown and robe. The neck and shoulder areas of the garments were
soaked in blood. A large jagged wound appeared to have been made over
her left jugular vein.
“Poor child. She would have died
within moments. Thank god for that.” Mailer whispered. Again,
Crane
looked at his companion with some surprise. It appeared as though he
may have misjudged the Magistrate. Or was it just that trait which is
true of all persons; Mailer had more than one side to him.
The
victim had brown curly hair, which had been loosen and combed out in
preparation for sleep. Something drew her down to this room, just
before she had intended to go to bed.
From the top of the
left cheek bone to the jaw a gaping wound laid waste to what should
have been an attractive face. Her eyelids were partially opened
showing the enlarged pupils of death and blue irises which already
had clouded over. Her full lips were bloodless and parted. Other than
the hideous slashing of the face, the victim’s expression
seemed
calm.
“Obvious from lack of bleeding, the slash to the face
was post mortem.” Ichabod said to Mailer.
Mailer nodded,
“No obvious signs of a struggle.”
“She probably knew
her attacker” Crane and Mailer pronounced the words at
exactly the
same time. They looked at each other slightly suspiciously from the
corner of their eyes and then quickly turned to busy work.
Crane
examined each of the fingernails for hair or blood. Mailer carefully
checked the bare feet, lower legs and upper arms for any signs of
trauma. Both men moved quickly and silently about their tasks. They
were each extremely gentle in their handling of the body.
“No
more to be done here. Just help me to roll her over slightly to see
if there are wounds to the back.” Crane settled back on his
heels,
while Mailer rolled the body slightly towards himself. Crane looked
carefully, but shook his head no, signally Mailer he could roll the
body back to its original position.
Mailer, spoke up towards
the group of police standing outside the room. “Come and get
her,
lads. You can remove her to the laboratory now.”
Crane
stood back and stripped off his gloves, which he carefully placed in
a gauze wrap, and replaced in his bag, along with his glass.
“I
hope you can be along for my full examination of the body.”
Crane
said to Mailer. “I would find your insights most
welcome.”
Crane picked up his bag, and walked back to the hall. Dobbins
must have told Pierce the butler of their leaving, for he suddenly
materialized before them with their coats.
“Do you wish to
question anyone in the household before leaving, Constable
Crane?”
Dobbins asked.
“Not immediately. I would prefer to complete
my physical examination first. Any of the residents of the house,
family, friends and staff, should be told they must remain in the
immediate vicinity and hold themselves available for questioning.
Perhaps, we can conclude that tomorrow. Rather than split up the
interviewing I would prefer that both Mailer and myself handle the
questioning together. One questioning, one observing, in turn. I
believe it will give us the best results.”
Crane looked at
each Mailer and Dobbins. They answered by nodding. Dobbins was
pleased to see that Crane and Mailer seemed to be developing some
sort of understanding between them. It was a small sign, but a good
one. Dobbins knew he needed to find the guilty party quickly and with
as much discretion as the name Wellington-Trumbell could merit. Which
was a good amount. But with Crane and Mailer, he felt he had as good
a set of wits as could be gotten, to solve the crime.
With
the increased activity of police making ready to remove the body, no
one had noticed a slim young woman walk into the hall. Upon seeing
the body on the pallet which passed in front of her, she reached down
and pulled off the covering revealing the face.
Her ensuing
screams where horrific. One policeman quickly replace the sheet over
the victim and hurriedly accompanied the bearers out the door. The
young woman had covered her eyes but continued to scream until she
had no more breath to sustain sound. Mailer hurriedly approached the
woman, who in turn collapsed into his arms. Hanging on to Mailer and
sobbing into his shoulder. Mailer looked mortified and frozen. He
looked over at Crane desperately. Crane made hugging motions with his
arms. He continued the motions, until Mailer awkwardly lifted his
arms to embrace the young woman. Again he looked over at Crane
helplessly. Craned mimed patting an invisible person on the back and
used his head to gesture wildly in the direction of the settee in the
hall. In an almost comic tableau, Mailer aped Crane’s head
wagging
and shrugged his shoulders.
Crane rolled his eyes and stepped
forward. “Perhaps the young lady would like to sit down,
Magistrate
Mailer.”
“Yes, of course. Miss, please take a seat and
tell us why you are here. And Pierce, bring a glass of sherry, will
you?”
The young woman, allowed herself to be half carried
over to the settee. She was placed such a way as to block her view of
the sitting room. She raised her head from Mailer’s shoulder,
revealing a beautiful face with blue eyes, thick black lashes and
delicate features. Pierce appeared with a glass of sherry which he
handed to Mailer, who in turn urged it upon the woman. She obligingly
took a swallow, and then began to cough. She turned away from the
glass. Mailer placed the glass on the table aside the settee, and
without any of his previous hesitation replaced his arm about the
woman’s shoulders.
“Who are you, miss? Did you know the
unfortunate victim?” Mailer bent solicitously towards the
woman.
She responded in a very shaky voice. “My name is Janelle,
and the…the…she is my sister, Margaret. Was my
sister, Margaret.
Margaret Jefferson. We both worked as maids to families on this
street. I am employed by the Van Ernst household, not far from here.
I came as soon as I heard there had been a killing. I just up and ran
out of the kitchen, ran all the way as fast as I could. I knew
something dreadful had happened to my sister.” Her sobs began
anew,
leaning back against Mailer’s shoulder.
Crane stood up
right and again picked up his bag and cloak. “Chief Dobbins
do you
wish to accompany me back to the constabulary? It appears here that
Magistrate Mailer can escort Miss Jefferson, back to her home and
perhaps explain the situation to the Van Ernsts. And that we will
need to speak at some length to Miss Janelle, when she had recovered
from this dreadful shock.”
“Yes, yes. I quite agree.”
Dobbins said.
As Crane moved towards the door, he glanced
once more over this shoulder. Mailer was now quite happy in his role
as comforter and strong shoulder. “Well, well,
“whispered Crane
to Dobbins “it seems love may have struck our Magistrate
without
warning.”
Dobbins shook his head as the two climbed into
the carriage. “A romance evolving from a murder
investigation? Most
unlikely.”
Crane only smiled to himself. “Perhaps.”