Theodore waved him to a seat. “I am pleased to meet you. I need to talk to you.” He introduced himself and was about to explain what he did but already Codd was grinning broadly, making his face look even more skull-like.
“I’ve read about you, sir! Indeed I have! An honour to meet you, sir! What do you need to talk about?”
Theodore leaned forward and dropped his voice. “You’ve got Digby Nettles in the morgue, haven’t you?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Has a full examination been performed? Has his cause of death been established?”
“We haven’t done a full autopsy, just a bit of a one, if you know what I mean. The coroner is happy to accept that it’s a case of food poisoning, as the other person present at the meal was also struck down with it.”
“Poisoning from what, though? Bad meat? I can tell you that the servants all took their share of the meat and none of them were ill.”
“Perhaps the vegetables were done in dirty water? It is hard to keep everything clean and fresh in a city like this.”
“Perhaps. What do you believe, Mr Codd?”
“Me, sir?” The stick-like man nearly squealed with excitement. “Well! I don’t know! But you could be right!”
“The only way we can be sure,” Theodore said, deliberating saying “we” to include the young man, “is to examine the corpse ourselves. Can this be managed?”
Codd’s face fell. “No, sir. They’ll never let you in.” But then he grinned. “But I can let you in! Secretly, of course!” He was bouncing in his chair like a child opening a present.
“Can it be done with no risk to your employment?” Theodore insisted.
“Oh, I am sure it will be fine. We need to stay here a little while longer. Johnson, that’s the police doctor, he always leaves on the dot of six. Sergeant Curry will be handing over his shift at the same time. We can easily get past his replacement – he won’t hear us come in the back door – and no one will bother us if we are there tonight.”
“Does no one make a tour of the place?”
“They do check the cells but who would visit a morgue at night? Not even the biggest and bravest of them choose to do that. It’s funny what men are scared of,” Codd mused. “I’ve never been threatened or menaced or shouted at by a dead man. The living are far worse.”
“You are a good man and you are on the side of justice. Let me buy you another drink while we wait.”
THEODORE WAS BRISTLING with tension and in spite of the alcohol he remained alert, ready to fight his way out of any situation. They passed through the rear door of the station and along the quiet corridors with perfect ease, which was almost something of a disappointment. It wouldn’t make a particularly exciting tale to tell at dinner if they didn’t brawl their way past at least one watchman. Even Adelia, when she had gained access to Digby Nettles’ house, had managed to have more drama than this rather prosaic meandering along a gloomy passageway into the bowels of the police station. The noise of the public areas and the shouting from the cells could be heard, very faintly, from time to time, but there was something about the presence of the corpses that seemed to bring a hush to the morgue they found themselves in.
Theodore inhaled deeply. He noticed Mr Codd smiling in his direction and felt briefly embarrassed, but Mr Codd said, “I feel it too, sir. Familiarity is a comfort, no matter the source. People put silly emotional attachments onto all of – all of this. Fear, regret, nonsense like that.” He swept his arm around the white-tiled laboratory. “But you and me, sir, we’re different. We know what’s what. Now, let me light some more lamps and we can get to our task.”
While Mr Codd set about creating a decent space in which to work, Theodore went to the body of Digby Nettles that was lying on a stone slab beneath a sheet. He was two days dead now, and the body had changed. Some things would already be beyond the reaches of any scientific investigation and he cursed the decision of the coroner not to perform an immediate and full autopsy. He wanted to see jars of stomach contents, preserved, and samples taken and kept far colder than was currently the case. What colour was this man’s stomach lining? What deposits might be found in his lungs? There was so much information locked away and Theodore gazed upon the body not as a man whose soul had tragically departed, but as a book which he was not allowed to open. He sighed.
Mr Codd brought him the notes that the surgeon had made, and Theodore was relieved to find that Mr Johnson had been thorough – to a point – and precise. He read the gruesome details carefully and was pleased to discover that some samples had actually been taken and preserved. A certain amount of unpleasant matter was therefore available for Theodore to perform tests upon.
“What shall we do first?” Mr Codd asked eagerly.
“What would be the most common poison, if this is to be considered as a possibility?” Theodore asked him.
“Ooh! Oh!” Mr Codd responded as if he were a student being tested by a professor. “White arsenic, sir!”
“Indeed so. Arsenic trioxide. First let us examine the body to see if there is evidence over time of continual arsenicosis.” They looked at Nettles’ fingernails and his skin in general, but there were no tell-tale white ridges or patches of pigmentation. Theodore continued his lecture role. “Now, what test shall we perform?”
“The Marsh Test!” Mr Codd burst out in utter glee.
“We shall use this small sample of food that Mr Johnson so cleverly extracted from Mr Nettles’ mouth.” It had been partially eaten and
