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Authors: Robin Adair
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the doctor saying, “We examined the vital organs and it was, without a doubt, arsenic, commonly used as vermin bait. And available at any apothecary’s—you can buy a pound for two and sixpence.”
Owens looked pained when the patterer asked if he was sure of his analysis. “There is no doubt about such matters these days.” He explained that the detection of poisons had advanced greatly since the pioneering work in Spain fifteen years earlier by Dr. Mathieu Orfila. “Once doctors could not do much more to identify a poison than interpret a victim’s symptoms, or even rely on smelling the breath or vomit. For instance, prussic acid is apparently given up to the investigator by a distinct odor of almonds. But heart’s-ease—useful in itself—when crossed with some other plants can give a false scent of prussic acid … Anyway, there were arsenic grains in the envelope.”
The doctor’s paean of praise for advances in chemistry washed over Nicodemus Dunne. He was stunned by the latest development. Bodies everywhere! He felt like a crow in a field of carrion. He took quick notes on the unexpected corpse, but also realized that he should concentrate on pursuing the case of the dead printer.
At a nod, Owens turned and lifted away the blanket covering the remaining body and its head. The trunk and limbs had been cleaned with a disinfectant but Dunne still caught the scent of growing putrefaction.
The doctor first remarked that the larger body part was not marked in any significant manner, then went on: “The deceased was a well-nourished male in his forties, almost six feet tall—allowing for the head, of course. The body tells us little else. Now, the head …”—and here Owens prodded the scorched and shattered mass with a silver instrument—“… tells us much. I will come back to the injuries but, first, a few general remarks … Only one eyeball, the right, remains intact.” He paused. “Y′know, once an anatomist would have shone a lamp onto it … a very old-fashioned concept, of course.”
“What was the point of it?” asked the patterer.
“Oh, the desire that the light might bring up the reflected image, from the moment of death, of the killer. Some thought the eyeball retained such an accusation.”
“Is there any basis of truth in it?”
Owens, the modern man of science, waved away this talk of past superstitions. “Most certainly not, but old beliefs hold on. To the matter at hand: He has most probably been a soldier”—at this Dunne nodded, pleased—“as the powder burns on the right side of the face indicate. But more of that later.”
“And his teeth?” prompted the patterer.
“Certainly, they are blackened by powder and by chewing tobacco,” Owens replied. “A printer, like many tradesmen, often chews plug tobacco or snuff instead of smoking because their close manual work makes it difficult to keep a pipe alight or to take snuff nasally.
“And here’s the completion of the thought I left dangling earlier, when we discussed the mouth of the first victim and the sugar found within it. With our man now, not all the brown or black, hard and viscous matter in his mouth was a mixture of tobacco and cartridge spillage over years. No, the cause wasn’t Brazil’s best twist or the army’s finest black powder. Because of the proximity of the fire, his mouth contained a melted mass that looked like treacle. It was burnt sugar. Sugar, again,” he repeated, as if Dunne needed the point emphasized.
“In greater detail,” the doctor continued, “a portion of the frontal bone, immediately above the left eye, was burst in. The orbital margin of this bone was also destroyed, as was a corresponding part of the roof of the orbit … The separated piece of bone was broken into several parts and pressed in on the dura mater covering the brain …”
“Whoa!” interrupted Dunne. “In layman’s terms please, Doctor.”
“Very well. There was massive injury above the left eye
Owens looked pained when the patterer asked if he was sure of his analysis. “There is no doubt about such matters these days.” He explained that the detection of poisons had advanced greatly since the pioneering work in Spain fifteen years earlier by Dr. Mathieu Orfila. “Once doctors could not do much more to identify a poison than interpret a victim’s symptoms, or even rely on smelling the breath or vomit. For instance, prussic acid is apparently given up to the investigator by a distinct odor of almonds. But heart’s-ease—useful in itself—when crossed with some other plants can give a false scent of prussic acid … Anyway, there were arsenic grains in the envelope.”
The doctor’s paean of praise for advances in chemistry washed over Nicodemus Dunne. He was stunned by the latest development. Bodies everywhere! He felt like a crow in a field of carrion. He took quick notes on the unexpected corpse, but also realized that he should concentrate on pursuing the case of the dead printer.
At a nod, Owens turned and lifted away the blanket covering the remaining body and its head. The trunk and limbs had been cleaned with a disinfectant but Dunne still caught the scent of growing putrefaction.
The doctor first remarked that the larger body part was not marked in any significant manner, then went on: “The deceased was a well-nourished male in his forties, almost six feet tall—allowing for the head, of course. The body tells us little else. Now, the head …”—and here Owens prodded the scorched and shattered mass with a silver instrument—“… tells us much. I will come back to the injuries but, first, a few general remarks … Only one eyeball, the right, remains intact.” He paused. “Y′know, once an anatomist would have shone a lamp onto it … a very old-fashioned concept, of course.”
“What was the point of it?” asked the patterer.
“Oh, the desire that the light might bring up the reflected image, from the moment of death, of the killer. Some thought the eyeball retained such an accusation.”
“Is there any basis of truth in it?”
Owens, the modern man of science, waved away this talk of past superstitions. “Most certainly not, but old beliefs hold on. To the matter at hand: He has most probably been a soldier”—at this Dunne nodded, pleased—“as the powder burns on the right side of the face indicate. But more of that later.”
“And his teeth?” prompted the patterer.
“Certainly, they are blackened by powder and by chewing tobacco,” Owens replied. “A printer, like many tradesmen, often chews plug tobacco or snuff instead of smoking because their close manual work makes it difficult to keep a pipe alight or to take snuff nasally.
“And here’s the completion of the thought I left dangling earlier, when we discussed the mouth of the first victim and the sugar found within it. With our man now, not all the brown or black, hard and viscous matter in his mouth was a mixture of tobacco and cartridge spillage over years. No, the cause wasn’t Brazil’s best twist or the army’s finest black powder. Because of the proximity of the fire, his mouth contained a melted mass that looked like treacle. It was burnt sugar. Sugar, again,” he repeated, as if Dunne needed the point emphasized.
“In greater detail,” the doctor continued, “a portion of the frontal bone, immediately above the left eye, was burst in. The orbital margin of this bone was also destroyed, as was a corresponding part of the roof of the orbit … The separated piece of bone was broken into several parts and pressed in on the dura mater covering the brain …”
“Whoa!” interrupted Dunne. “In layman’s terms please, Doctor.”
“Very well. There was massive injury above the left eye
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