"Resnick, Mike - Redchapel" - читать интересную книгу автора (Resnick Mike)

"What makes you think someone didn't?"
Roosevelt pointed to the gaping hole in the woman's abdomen. "He wouldn't have had the leisure to do that unless he was sure no one had seen or heard the murder." The American stood up again. "But you know all that."
"Yes, we do," said Hughes. "Can you tell us anything we don't know?"
"Probably not. The only other obvious fact is that the killer had some knowledge of anatomy."
"This hardly looks like the work of a doctor, Mr. Roosevelt," said Hughes.
"I didn't say that it was. But it was done by someone who knew where the various internal organs belonged, or else he'd never have been able to remove them in the dark. Take a look. There's no subcutaneous fat on the ground, and he didn't waste his time mutilating muscle tissue."
"Interesting," said Hughes. "Now that is something we didn't know." He smiled. "I think we should be very grateful that you are a taxidermist as well as an ornithologist." He covered the corpse once more, then summoned another constable. "Have her taken to the morgue. Use the alleyways and discourage onlookers."
The constable saluted and gathered a team of policemen to move the body.
"I assume we're through here," said Roosevelt, grateful that he no longer had to stare at the corpse.
"Yes. Thank you for coming."
Roosevelt pulled his timepiece out of a vest pocket and opened it.
"No sense going back to sleep. Why don't you come back to the Savoy with me and I'll buy breakfast?"
"I've quite lost my appetite, but I will be happy to join you for a cup if tea and some conversation, Mr. Roosevelt."
"Call me Theodore." He shook his head. "Poor woman. I wonder who she was?"
Hughes pulled a notebook out of his pocket. "Her name was Annie Chapman. She was a Whitechapel prostitute."
"Whitechapel?"
"Whitechapel is the section of the city we are in."
Roosevelt looked around, truly seeing it for the first time, as the sun began burning away the fog. "I hope New York never has a slum like this!" he said devoutly.
"Wait until New York has been around as long as London, and it will have this and worse," Hughes assured him.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," said Roosevelt, his jaw jutting out pugnaciously as he looked up and down the street.
Hughes was surprised by the intensity of the young man's obvious belief in himself. As they stared at the broken and boarded windows, the drunks lying in doorways and on the street, the mangy dogs and spavined cats and fat, aggressive rats, the endless piles of excrement from cart horses, the Englishman found himself wondering what kind of man who could view a woman's mutilated corpse with less distaste than he displayed toward surroundings that Hughes took for granted.
They climbed into Hughes' carriage, and the driver set off for the Savoy at a leisurely trot. Before long they were out of Whitechapel, and, Roosevelt noted, the air instantly seemed to smell fresher.

* * * *

Roosevelt had eaten the last of his eggs, and was concentrating on his coffee when an officer entered the dining room and approached Hughes.
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," he said apologetically, "but they said at the Yard that this is of the utmost urgency."
He handed a small envelope to Hughes, who opened it and briefly looked at what it contained.
"Thank you," said Hughes.
"Will there be anything else, sir?" asked the officer. "Any reply?"
"No, that will be all."
The officer saluted, and when he left Hughes turned back to Roosevelt.
"What are your plans now, Theodore?"
"I have two more speeches to give on ornithology," answered Roosevelt, "and one on naval warfare, and then I board the boat for home on Friday."
"Let me tell you something about the murder you saw today," began Hughes.
"Thank you for letting me finish my breakfast first," said Roosevelt wryly.
"We have a madman loose in Whitechapel, Theodore," continued Hughes.
"That much is obvious."
"We knew that before today," said Hughes.
Roosevelt looked up. "This wasn't his first victim?"
"It was at least his second." Hughes paused. "It's possible that he's killed as many as five women."
"How can he still be at large?"
"We can't watch every Whitechapel prostitute every minute of the day and night."
"He only kills prostitutes?"
"Thus far."
"Were they all this brutally mutilated?"
"The last one-- a girl named Polly Nichols-- was. The first three suffered less grievous damage, which is why we cannot be sure they were all killed by the same hand."
"Well, you've got your work cut out for you," said Roosevelt. "I certainly don't envy you." He paused. "Have you any suspects so far?"
Hughes frowned. "Not really."
"What does that mean?"