The Mammoth Book of Perfect Crimes & Impossible Mysteries (39 page)

“It’s impossible to kill somebody and not leave a mark on them,” Bat said. “Where were they found?”

“Different parts of the city,” House said, “but the odd thing is . . . the family of the third woman.”

“What about them?”

“Well . . . she was found down by the docks,” the Inspector said. “They claim she never would have gone down there.”

“Why not?”

“She wouldn’t have reason to,” House explained, “and she was afraid.”

“So maybe a man took her there?”

“They say no,” the inspector said. “She was married. Her husband can’t explain what she was doing down there.”

“How old was she?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Happily married?”

“By all accounts.”

“Where were the other women found, exactly?”

“One was found in a Market Street alley, another at the train station.”

“The train station? Where?”

“Behind one of the buildings.”

“It sounds like all these girls were . . . discarded.”

“Yes.”

Bat sat and thought a moment. It was actually a smart move for Flaherty to bring in someone with a fresh perspective. He was just sorry it had been him.

House went on to expalin how he had conducted his investigation, and how he had come up with nothing concrete to point to the killer.

“The women are all in their twenties,” he said, “but that’s the only similarity. The first was a whore, the second an old maid and the third happily married.”

“Old maid? How old?”

“Twenty-nine. Not attractive. No prospects.”

“What about the other two and where they were found?” Bat asked.

“Not unusual,” House said. “The whore was the one found behind the train station. She could have been doing some business there.”

“And the second woman? Was she known to frequent the area where she was found?”

“Not frequent, but friends didn’t find anything unusual about it.”

“Where did she work?”

“The other end of town,” House said, “near where she lived.”

“So she was found a long way from either.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not a detective, but it still sounds like they were dumped, like human refuse. Were they killed where they were found?”

“Hard to tell.”

Bat rubbed his face. He hadn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.

“What else did the bodies tell you?”

“The bodies?”

“They were examined, weren’t they?”

“Well, yes, but . . . I told you, they weren’t attacked.”

“Was anything done to them after they were dead?”

“What do you mean? Do you mean . . .” House looked horrified.

“People have done things to bodies after they’re dead, Inspector. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yes, well . . .”

“How about autopsies?” Bat asked. “Were the bodies autopsied?”

“Autopsied?”

“You do know what an autopsy is, don’t you?”

“Well, uh, yeah, I guess . . .”

Bat knew that Doctor George E. Goodfellow had conducted autopsies during the time he spent as coroner in Tombstone, Arizona. He also knew until the 1860s autopsies were pretty much confined to execution victims. But this was 1899, the dawn of a new century. Autopsies were being used to find cures for disease, why not use them to find out other things?

“Maybe an autopsy would tell us something we don’t know,” Bat said. “Where are the bodies?”

“Well . . . the third is at the morgue. She was only killed a few days ago. The others are . . . I assume they’ve been buried.”

“We might have to dig them up.”

“What? Oh, no, the families . . . the Chief wouldn’t like—”

“The Chief volunteered me for this and I’ve come up with an idea nobody else had. He’ll go along with it.”

“But—”

Bat stood up. “Let’s go ask him.”

Chief Flaherty went along with it, but only to a point. He agreed that the third girl should be autopsied, but held off any decision about the other two until after that.

Now they needed to find a doctor who would do it. At that time Denver had no coroner and would not have until 1902.

“Get a doctor the same way you got me,” Bat told Flaherty. “Volunteer one.”

“I got a better idea,” Flaherty said, and that’s how it became Bat’s job to come up with a doctor. But it was actually Emma Masterson who came up with a suggestion.

After Bat returned home and told Emma what had happened she said, “I have just the woman for you.”

“Woman?” Bat asked. “A female doctor?”

She folded her arms across her bosom. “And what’s wrong with a female doctor?”

“Emma, we’re going to be asking her to cut open these women—”

“Justina is a doctor, Bat,” she said. “Cutting into a body is not going to frighten her.”

“All right, all right,” he said. “How do you know her?”

“I came across her delivering babies in my volunteer work,” she said.

“Delivering babies? This is a long way from delivering babies—”

“I told you, she’s a doctor.” Emma actually stamped her foot in frustration.

“All right,” he said, again. “Since it’s your fault I’m involved, I’m going to go with your suggestion. Where does this Doctor . . . whatsername live?”

“Doctor Justina Ford,” Emma said. “She moved here only a few months ago to practice. She graduated from medical school earlier this year-don’t you dare interrupt me again, Bat Masterson!”

The buggy pulled up in front of 1880 Gaylord St and Bat and Inspector House stepped out.

“A lady doctor,” House said to him, as they approached the door.

“Yes.”

“Women are supposed to be nurses,” the Inspector said, “not doctors.”

“House, I’ve already gone through this with my wife,” Bat said, the exasperation clear in his voice. “We need a doctor, right?”

“Right.”

“I can’t keep calling you House. What’s your first name? Or do you want me to keep calling you Inspector?”

“My name is Harry.”

Bat looked at him.

“Harry House?”

“That’s right.”

Bat waited a beat, then said, “I’ll call you House.”

When the black woman answered the door Bat said, “We’re here to see Doctor Ford. Would you tell her that we’re here, please?”

“I am Doctor Ford,” the woman said. “You must be Bat. Emma said you would be coming by to see me. Please, come in.”

She turned and went inside, leaving them to follow her or not. Bat and House exchanged a glance. Both men were obviously even more taken aback by the fact that she was black, let alone a woman.

They followed her inside, Bat first. They found her in a modestly furnished living room. She was in her late twenties, her hair pulled back tightly, her skin very dark and smooth.

“My surgery is through there,” she said, inclining her head toward a door, “but we can talk in here. Would either of you like refreshments?”

“No, uh, Ma’am,” Bat said. “We might as well just get to it. Did Emma tell you what we wanted?”

“No,” the woman said, “she just told me that you needed a doctor and she recommended me. What is it you need done, gentlemen?”

“An autopsy,” Bat said.

“Just one?”

“At first,” he said. “Maybe two more, but those victims are already buried.”

She looked at House.

“You’re a policeman?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “Inspector House.”

“Then this is about the three women who have been killed?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And autopsies have not yet been done?”

“No, Ma’am,” House said. “We, uh, didn’t even think of it until Bat mentioned it.”

“You would be paid by the city,” Bat said.

“I’m not worried about that,” she said. “If I can help catch this maniac I’m happy to do it. May I perform the autopsy at the St Joseph’s Hospital, on Franklin Street?”

“You can have it done anywhere you want, Doctor,” Bat said. “We’ll have the body brought there . . . when?”

“As soon as possible,” she said. “Immediately, in fact. I’ll go there now.”

“We’ll have the body brought right over,” Bat said, “and thank you, Doctor.”

“Thank you for asking me, Mr Masterson,” she said. “I’m happy to help.”

Bat and House left. The buggy they’d ridden there was waiting for them outside.

“We’ll leave this one here to take her to the hospital. We can find a cab around the corner,” Bat said.

“You really think she can do this, Bat?” House asked.

“She’s a doctor, House,” Bat said. “Let’s just go and arrange for the body to be brought to her.”

Bat headed for the corner and the Inspector followed him, still dubious.

Bat Masterson and Inspector House were waiting outside the operating room while Doctor Ford performed the autopsy on the third dead woman, Jessica Williams. House kept nervously looking through the window of the closed door.

“Relax,” Bat said. “She knows how to cut into a body.”

“I hope so.”

Bat hoped so, too. He wondered why Emma had not told him that Doctor Ford was black. He was careful not to mention it to Chief Flaherty. It was well known that the Chief hated black people.

House backed away from the door quickly and seconds later Doctor Ford came through, wearing a white surgical gown that was now stained with blood and something else that Bat didn’t want to think about.

“What did you find, Doctor?” Bat asked.

“It was a very good idea to have an autopsy performed, Mr Masterson,” she told him. “It’s not what I found that’s interesting-astounding, actually – but what I didn’t find.”

“And what’s that?”

“There are no internal organs,” she said.

“What?” House asked.

“This woman’s internal organs have been removed.”

“But . . . she wasn’t cut open,” Bat said, “the way the Jack the Ripper victims were.”

“Exactly.”

“And yet they’re . . . missing?” House asked.

“Yes.”

“But . . . that’s impossible,” House said.

“Yes,” Doctor Ford said, “it is.”

Flaherty was irate.

“You allowed a black woman to cut open a white girl?” he demanded.

“We allowed a doctor to cut open a dead girl, yes,” Bat said. “If we hadn’t, we wouldn’t know about the missing organs.”

“Does she know what she’s doing?” the Chief demanded.

“Yes, Chief, she does,” Bat said.

Flaherty rubbed his face with both hands. “The Mayor’s gonna be livid.”

“Come on, Chief,” Bat said. “We need to dig up the other two girls so Doctor Ford can examine them as well, see if the same thing is true.”

“The families . . .” Flaherty said. “The Mayor . . . the newspapers . . .”

“I work for a newspaper, Chief, remember?” Bat asked. “I can slant this in a way that will make you look very good.”

That seemed to appeal to the Chief.

“All right, Masterson. I’ll get an order from a judge to exhume both bodies so this . . . this doctor can examine them. But I’m warning you . . .” The man pointed a finger.”. . . this better result in us catching this maniac.” He looked directly at Inspector House. “Understand?”

It took two days but eventually Bat and House were standing outside the operating room at St Joseph’s Hospital again, waiting.

“If she finds the same thing,” House said, “what are we gonna do? We’ll have three impossible murders. Yet, how can it be impossible if it’s been done?”

“That’s a very good question,” Bat said. “I guess we’ll have to wait for the doctor to answer that one. I’ll tell you one thing, I can’t wait for this to be over so I can go back to being a sportsman and nothing else.”

“I’ve heard people refer to you that way,” House said. “As a sportsman? Is that how you prefer to be known, these days?”

“It’s as good a way as any,” Bat said. “Especially since I now have my own club.”

“I’m sure Mr Floto is not all that thrilled about that.”

“Well,” Bat said, “that’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

At that moment the door opened and Dr Ford came walking out, clad in her white spattered gown.

“Well,” she said, “it’s the same.”

“Damn it,” House said. “This is too strange.”

“Doctor,” Bat said, “did you find anything at all that might explain what’s going on?”

“I have found something,” she said. “It’s on all three women, but I don’t know that I can explain it.”

“Anything would help,” Inspector House said.