The Lexington House Murder
~ Chapter Seven
The
police laboratory for the midtown district of Manhattan was housed in
a rather squat ugly building on the west side. Ichabod Crane and John
Mailer had a long night ahead of them. First a stop at the laboratory
to receive the early report from the coroner. Then an interview with
James and Helen Wellington-Trumbell.
Ichabod felt strongly
that the owners of the house probably knew the story behind what had
happened in their home. He confessed these feelings to Mailer on the
way over; and in fact, Mailer had agreed.
Ichabod knew
something of the upper class and their inherent preference to
distance themselves from any type of scandal or unpleasantness.
In
some parts of New York, having insider knowledge of a tawdry murder
might stand you a round of drinks at the local pub.
But not
where the wealthy reside, with these people. Those who believe
somehow they were better than anyone else. Ichabod thought for a
moment of his own father, who had been a cleric and a cruel man. A
man who made a pretense of looking inside the souls of others, blind
to the fact he had no soul of his own.
These people would
rather say nothing than to admit they may live in the same house
where such a reprehensible act had happened. As if the murder will
cast some question about their social standing. They were often hard
to question, but he felt confident, that before the night was over,
he and the Magistrate would know who killed Margaret
Washington.
Gowned and gloved, Mailer and
Crane stood before the wooden table which held the nude body of Lower
Manhattan District Coroner Case No. 147, Margaret Washington,
spinster, lately of Lexington House. Ichabod nodded to the coroner,
indicating that he was ready to hear his report.
“Twenty-one
year old female, in reported good health, found dead at Lexington
House, Midtown. Body discovered and reported by head housemaid Eloise
Parker on or around 4:30 am the 20th of September of this year.
Deceased was removed and delivered to police laboratory District 5
without incident and where at approximately 10:00 am this same date,
was subjected to a noninvasive physical examination to determine the
cause of death. Initial examination reveals the following: a large
gouging type of wound directly over the left jugular vein. In
incision wound approximately 4 inches in length, on left facial area.
Wounds appear to have been made with the same knife like
weapon.”
Crane raised his eyes to the coroner, and asked. “The
wounds appear to be quite different, what are you basing your opinion
on; that they are the result of the same weapon?’
The
coroner bent forward and touched the incised wound on the cheek,
“see
here, the clean sharp blade made that, but it was a heavy blade.
Evidence by the width of the wound. Now you take this same heavy
sharp knife and plunge it directly into someone’s throat, but
also
twist the blade, you will end up with exactly the jagged wound on the
neck.
“Makes sense,” said Mailer. “For a person
to have
two weapons at hand would indicate forethought. This, I am convinced
was a crime of passion. Not planned.”
Crane began to circle
the table slowly, hands behind his back. “Did not plan
it.” He
spoke slowly. “But wary enough to carry a weapon at all;
perhaps
expected trouble or planned to use it only to threaten the victim,
when things got out of hand. But the viciousness of the wounds leads
me to believe that whatever the victim spoke about produced a manic,
frenzied response by the murderer.”
Mailer nodded. The
coroner put his face down and added, “The neck wound was the
direct
cause of death, and it was a vicious blow, yes, but you’ve
not
heard the worst of it. The woman was attacked, in such a manner; I
believe her attacker meant to make it appear as a rape.”
“
‘In such a manner,’” Crane repeated.
“What do you mean by
that, exactly?”
“This is not an easy thing to report,
even for a man who does what I do for a living, but she was vaginally
penetrated. Brutally. But not in the usual manner. The attacker used
an implement of some kind. Blunt elongated weapon of some
kind…”
the man’s voice trailed off.
Crane and Mailer swallowed
hard. Mailer asked, “pre-mortem or post?” His face
was a mask of
anger.
“Post, definitely post-mortem” answered the
coroner. “The lord had some mercy on the girl.”
Crane
thought that here he would most heartily disagree with the coroner.
In Ichabod’s experience mercy did not have degrees. It was
absolute
or it was not at all.
And there was absolutely nothing
merciful about what had been done to Margaret Washington.
Katrina was
discussing the week’s menu with Cook in the kitchen when they
heard
a tapping at the back door. It was hesitant and weak. The two women
exchanged a look, and Katrina nodded. Cook wiped her hands and opened
the door. Outside was a woman, barely a woman, more like a waif.
“What is that you want, young lady?” Cook asked.
“I
wanted, please to speak to Constable Crane, if I might.” The
girl
answered.
“I am Mrs. Crane.” Katrina stepped in front of
Cook, “Who are you and what is it that you seek.”
“My
name is Janelle Washington, and I wanted to speak just a moment to
your husband.” Janelle seemed suddenly very hesitant,
“there is
something I wanted to discuss with the Constable. I don’t
know if
you are aware, but it was my sister, killed this morning. I met your
husband this morning, and he seemed to be kind and understanding. I
just thought it would be best if I came along to him, if I had
questions, or anything…”
Janelle tightened the shawl
around her shoulders. “I do apologize Ma’am for
disturbing you. I
feel a little foolish. Perhaps you would be kind enough to just
forget I came. Not tell Constable Crane, I came here. Is that
possible, Ma’am?”
“Please come in.” Katrina opened
the door. “Cook, can you make some tea, please.”
She reached out
for Janelle’s hand. “Please come in for a few
minutes. It is a
ways back uptown to the Van Ernst’s. You will be exhausted.
Just
come in to rest.”
Katrina had them sit at the long kitchen
table. It was regularly where she took her evening tea; to talk to
Cook about the menus, or the next day’s household needs, or
just
enjoying each other’s company. Cook had worked at some of the
most
well to do homes in her time, and kept Katrina entertained with her
stories.
Katrina placed her hand atop of Janelle’s hand. “I
have heard of your misfortune, from my husband, and of course what is
written in the afternoon newspapers. You have my deepest sympathies.
I can well understand what a shock.” Katrina poured out the
tea.
Cook yawned at the two women, rather theatrically, Katrina thought,
feigning tiredness. “I will see you in the morning, Mrs., and
mind
you leave everything here for me to wash up in the morning. She
nodded at Janelle, “Good night, Miss. Sorry for your
troubles.”
When she had left, Katrina sat in silence with Janelle. Even
when tears began to roll down the young girl’s cheeks,
Katrina was
silent.
The girl suddenly looked right at Katrina. “Mrs.
Crane, did you ever need to tell someone a thing, but you were too
mortified to even talk about it.” Katrina flashed back to her
last
few minutes with Ichabod in their bedroom.
But before Katrina
could answer, Janelle asked another question. “Your husband
and the
Magistrate, if they find the person who did this, do you truly
believe that they would see that person prosecuted, in a
court?”
“Yes, I do.” Katrina answered firmly.