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I stared at the intricate design on the back—a raven with iridescent wings opened against a full moon, and thorns edged in silver around the rim. I traced the double eights near the bottom. “Or maybe it just means this is all part of a larger game. One that’s the ultimate form of sleight of hand.”
TWENTY-FOUR
DISSECTION OF THE LIMB
TEMPORARY LABORATORY
RMS ETRURIA
5 JANUARY 1889
Uncle peered through a magnifying glass,
his nose mere inches away from the severed limb. I knew he remained angry with me over being caught alone with the shirtless ringmaster, but he required my assistance, and nothing else mattered once forensics were involved.
Thank goodness for small blessings.
Thomas grabbed the journal he’d set down while donning an apron, and resumed his note-taking. I couldn’t shake a twinge of sickness when I thought of other notebooks he’d packed along for the journey—some of which contained notes written from Jack the Ripper. I was unready to read in great detail about his crimes, and Thomas kept whatever mysteries he uncovered there to himself. At least for now. I had a feeling we’d need to talk about them soon.
“The toothed forceps, Audrey Rose.” Uncle held out his hand, palm up, waiting. “Quickly now.”
“Yes, Uncle.”
I gathered the medical instruments needed for this dissection—toothed forceps, scalpel, scissors, Hagedorn needle, string—and carried a silver tray over.
“Here.” I swiftly wiped down the forceps with carbolic acid, handing them over to my uncle with efficiency. He grunted, not quite a thank you but not weighted silence, either. I watched him peel back bits of skin near where the elbow should have been, had it not been either cut or bitten off at that joint.
Flesh hung in thin strips, tattered like an old gown left to molder in a forgotten trunk. I rolled my shoulders, allowing the coolness of a scientist to settle over me. I would neither be disgusted nor feel softness. Neither of those emotions would save the victim from his fate.
Determination and a hardened heart would bring justice, though.
Uncle waved me closer, brows creased. He pried away a bit of torn flesh, exposing a familiar streak of off-white. “Do you see the radius and ulna?” he asked. I nodded, doing my best to focus only on those bones and not the outer layer of graying meat surrounding them. “While I peel back the muscle and tendons, describe what you see. Thomas, write down everything.”
I bent until I was eye level with the limb, taking note of every detail. “There’s splintering on the radius, but not on the ulna. On that I see a nick in the bone—I’d wager it was made by a sharp instrument. Likely a knife.” I swallowed my revulsion down. “Splintering on the radius is most probably from the lion gnawing on the arm and is unrelated to how the limb was severed.”
“Good, very good.” Uncle pushed the skin back farther, hands steady. “Were the wounds received postmortem?”
“I—”
I bit my lip. There were no marks on the skin of the forearm, no signs of trauma sustained during a struggle. I glanced up at Thomas, but he was focused on writing. I took a moment to appreciate that I was trusted—by both of these men—to locate forensic information on my own. Pulling my shoulders back and standing taller, I allowed confidence to fall about me like a cloak.
“I believe the wounds were created postmortem. They’re most likely the result of the limb being severed.” I pointed to the rest of the arm. “There are no abrasions or cuts, both of which would be present in a victim who was fighting back against a knife attack.”
Uncle turned the arm over, inspecting the underside of it. The flesh was paler than most cadavers, having lost so much blood, but not as pale as the more recent bodies I’d studied at the academy. Postmortem lividity was present—the slight staining visible on the underside where blood had pooled due to gravity. It indicated where a body had lain after death, and could not be altered after several hours even when the cadaver was moved into a new position. Except in a strange case when all the blood had been removed… there had been no staining then.
“Lividity is present,” I added, noting the flash of surprise and pride in my uncle’s eyes. I’d learned much at the academy. “I imagine he was already positioned on his back, lying down, when the murderer began hacking him apart. The evidence aligns with it.”
“So it does.” Uncle sounded pleased as he inspected the lividity on his own, his former annoyance with me erased. We were an odd family.
Thomas crinkled his nose. “Even without arterial splattering, wherever this dismemberment took place must be saturated in blood. I’m not sure anyone would be able to clean all of it away without leaving evidence behind.”
“Very good point.”
Uncle picked up a scalpel, using it to neatly cut away more of the mauled flesh. I swallowed hard. No matter how often I witnessed it, it was always a gruesome sight to behold. Carving flesh as if it were fine meat was repulsive.
“The bones were cut cleanly,” Uncle continued. “Whoever removed this limb didn’t use a saw or serrated blade.” He set the scalpel down, then walked over to the water basin. Neither Thomas nor I speculated while he washed his hands with carbolic soap. Once he finished, he turned to us, face drawn. I had an inkling it wasn’t the late hour that made him weary. “We need to concentrate on those who have access to strong, smooth blades. Kitchen staff. Crew members.”
Dread, heavy and unyielding, clunked into my empty stomach. “Or most likely, based on their skill and proximity to such weapons, carnival performers who specialize in blades.”
