Someone was dead, awfully dead.

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IN AN APOTHECARYS shop in Pitt Street, not far from Sam Terry's houses, the pill-and-potion purveyor looked up and smiled as a customer, whose clothes he recognized, came in. A scarf worn high hid the newcomer's face.

As the apothecary wrapped the customer's purchases, he said, "So that's two ounces each of peppermint and magnesia lozenges, each at five pence per ounce; that's one shilling and eight pence. And four shillings for a lancet-you can't be too careful with boils-that's a grand total of five and eight pence." He added, "Did that mixture deal with the rat?"

The customer nodded. "I fervently hope so. Good day to you."

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SO IT WAS that Nicodemus Dunne, when he finally arrived at the hospital in Macquarie Street, had not one but two interesting bodies to survey.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

O, that it were possible, We might but hold some two days' conference With the dead!

-John Webster, The d.u.c.h.ess of Malfi (1623)

A LONGSIDE THE HYDE PARK PRISONERS BARRACKS, SYDNEYS general hospital loomed large, three graceful blocks in the cla.s.sical colonial colonnaded style. As Nicodemus Dunne walked east up King Street, past St. James's Church, he acknowledged that the pleasing pile nonetheless deserved the rather unbecoming label bestowed on it by the public, the "Rum Hospital." This was not because its patients were all victims of the ardent spirit (although many undoubtedly were), but because the whole ma.s.sive enterprise had been floated, so to speak, on an ocean of rum. LONGSIDE THE HYDE PARK PRISONERS BARRACKS, SYDNEYS general hospital loomed large, three graceful blocks in the cla.s.sical colonial colonnaded style. As Nicodemus Dunne walked east up King Street, past St. James's Church, he acknowledged that the pleasing pile nonetheless deserved the rather unbecoming label bestowed on it by the public, the "Rum Hospital." This was not because its patients were all victims of the ardent spirit (although many undoubtedly were), but because the whole ma.s.sive enterprise had been floated, so to speak, on an ocean of rum.

It was no secret to Dunne or any other resident that the hospital had been built a dozen years earlier only because its contractors were given a monopoly on importing the colony's rum for three years. Even then the construction cost them little; the government supplied convict builders, working bullocks and oxen for rations.

The patterer had never met the most widely known of these contractors, Dr. D'Arcy Wentworth, who had died only the previous year. He was better acquainted with one of the late doctor's sons, William Charles Wentworth, a businessman, explorer and lawyer who published The Australian The Australian, baited the governor and wooed Miss Sarah c.o.x.

Old D'Arcy's past was now discreetly veiled over. He had been acquitted at least twice of highway robbery in England before going into exile in Australia-where he found fame and fortune, helped immeasurably by the chance to sell 60,000 gallons of rum. He had even taken up the running of the new hospital, with Dr. William Redfern (the choleric gentleman who had flogged the hapless Gazette Gazette editor), a surgeon who had been sentenced to death, then to transportation, for involvement in a Royal Navy mutiny. editor), a surgeon who had been sentenced to death, then to transportation, for involvement in a Royal Navy mutiny.

Entering the hospital's northern wing, Dunne felt the apprehension that such inst.i.tutions elicited in all people. These were places you were lucky to escape from alive; all advice was to stay out-especially if you were sick!

Tales of privations from the hospital's early years still chilled Sydneysiders. The convict staff had been accused of theft and rape. The rations, certainly, were only cheap meat and flour; those unable to stomach this diet had to trade with citizens on the street outside. The room designated the kitchen had instead become the death-house. And dysentery victims, the most numerous patients (after those with venereal disease), had to stagger to outside privies.

The patterer was still inwardly shuddering at the ghosts conjured by the mere proximity of the place when a hearty voice echoed through the main entry. It came from behind an outstretched hand, unseasonably heavily gloved.

"h.e.l.lo, I'm the doctor. Have a lozenge."

The speaker was a very tall man of forty or so years, with a shock of curly brown hair escaping from a wide-brimmed hat. He had a shy, discolored smile. The patterer knew him by sight as Dr. Thomas Owens, but apart from that he was an unknown quant.i.ty. His origins were unclear and he seemed to prefer keeping it that way. But that sort of secrecy was common in the colony, and the patterer had heard that Dr. Owens's abilities were unimpeachable.

As he spoke, Owens held out a paper bag filled with diamond-shaped confectionery. "I always offer these to visitors entering the hospital," he said cheerily. "These are peppermint," he added, pointing, "and your tastebuds and olfactory organ will appreciate the relief they offer in the face of the noxious miasma that invariably inhabits a house of sickness. These other lozenges are of tolu, a stomachic agent of fragrant balsam. Even I, inured as I am to grisly sights and effluvium, find tolu useful to settle an interior unnerved by exposure to corruption. Do not hesitate to tell me if, or when, you require one of those."

Dunne duly took a peppermint and sucked it thoughtfully as they walked along a corridor flanked on one side by a ward of coughing, occasionally groaning patients and on the other by a room that, incongruously, was filled not with people but with stuffed birds and animals.

"Don't believe all the stories you hear," said Owens suddenly, seeming to read the patterer's initial gloomy thoughts. "The hospital has been reformed in many ways. Those taxidermy subjects are the only things we want want to see dead!" At this he peeled off his gloves. to see dead!" At this he peeled off his gloves.

"Oh, we have had to share with other birds of a feather in this inst.i.tution. Why, until a few years ago the central wing was occupied by judges and officers of the Supreme Court. Truly a case of putting habeus habeus and and corpus corpus together, what?" When Owens clapped his hands, Dunne noticed he had scaly and scarred palms and fingers, no doubt what they called "doctor's hands," with localized sepsis caused by the bacteria commonly transmitted from patients. together, what?" When Owens clapped his hands, Dunne noticed he had scaly and scarred palms and fingers, no doubt what they called "doctor's hands," with localized sepsis caused by the bacteria commonly transmitted from patients.

They arrived at the dissecting room, a large area well-lit both by tall windows and by candles and oil lamps in wall sconces and portable holders. A workbench along one wall was littered with gla.s.s phials on stands, chemical retorts and similar alembic apparatus.

Dunne's gaze took in the gla.s.s-doored wall cabinets and shelves. These exhibited metal basins, bleeding bowls, clamps and probes, and various saws and knives. Some of the most fearsome instruments were also works of art, their handles decorated with sharkskin, mother-of-pearl or tortoisesh.e.l.l. There were also trepan sets for drilling into the skull.

Apart from these instrument cases, the only other furniture was three long, wide tables. These were scored along their tops by long, deep grooves that led into drains over enamel buckets. The dominance of the tables in the room was accentuated by the sinister magnetism of the bodies resting, under blankets, upon two of them.

"We don't have many visitors here," said Owens. "Living ones, that is," he added slyly.

But Dunne wasn't listening to the doctor's black humor. He was mesmerized by the outlines on the tables. One blanket obscured two distinct mounds. He pointed.

"Is that ... mine?"

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

The voice of the dead was a living voice to me.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson, "In the Valley of Cauteretz" (1864)

"INDEED IT IS OUR OUR BODY, AS YOU SAY," SAID DR. OWENS ENTHUSIASTICALLY. "Its companion is another gentleman recently brought here. I have performed postmortems on both. Two in a matter of days. Dear me." BODY, AS YOU SAY," SAID DR. OWENS ENTHUSIASTICALLY. "Its companion is another gentleman recently brought here. I have performed postmortems on both. Two in a matter of days. Dear me."

"Do you handle many?" asked Dunne.

"Oh, we would only deal with, ah, cases of suspicious death-those the coroner cannot comfortably rule as having 'died by visitation of G.o.d.' And we are allowed to anatomize the bodies of prisoners hanged at the jail. That keeps us on our toes, mind. They hang up to fifty poor devils a year, y'know. What remains ends up in an anonymous lime pit.

"It is rough justice, Mr. Dunne. As is even flogging, to my mind. That's one of our more unfortunate duties, y'know-to supervise, witness, the scourgings next door at the barracks or down at the Lumber Yard." He snorted. "As if they need a surgeon to tell them that even after four strokes the cat draws blood. Why do they need to be told what a canary of a hundred strokes will do?

"But enough of that. About the first murder, the soldier at the public house, I can tell you little that you probably haven't heard already from Captain Rossi, who, as you know, has discussed it with me. Now, of course, the body is lying in the Sandhills cemetery. At the time, we studied the exterior of the man only briefly, the cause of death being so obvious: calamitous loss of blood following a cut to the throat. Expiry was almost instantaneous. The lacerations to the abdomen and ankles were profound but largely superficial. But I'm sure you've already been told this."

"Yes," said the patterer. "Although one thing has been troubling me. What did Captain Rossi mean when he said there was sugar in the man's mouth?"

"Well, that was was interesting. Of course, by the time he was examined it had largely dissolved, but there's no doubt his mouth had been filled with what was clearly fine-grained sugar. Not the irregular pieces people make by sc.r.a.ping at a sugar cone, highly refined stuff. There's something else in line with that-but I will delay mentioning it until a more appropriate, logical time." interesting. Of course, by the time he was examined it had largely dissolved, but there's no doubt his mouth had been filled with what was clearly fine-grained sugar. Not the irregular pieces people make by sc.r.a.ping at a sugar cone, highly refined stuff. There's something else in line with that-but I will delay mentioning it until a more appropriate, logical time."

Dunne was puzzled but decided to let the matter lie. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the victim?"

"I can tell you he was attacked from the front and also, from the fatal wound I deduce that the killer was b.o.l.l.o.c.ky Bill."

"You know his name?" asked the patterer incredulously.

"My apologies," replied Owens with a laugh. "I was slipping back into the idiom of my military days. b.o.l.l.o.c.ky Bill was the derisory name given to the soldier who broke the rhythm of any cooperative function, say arms drill, because of his left-handedness. He b.a.l.l.sed it up. Your killer was sinister, literally. But that's all we know."

The doctor waved at the covered, complete body nearby. "By the way, this other fellow also died hard. He said he wanted to and he did indeed."

The younger man frowned. "What's your meaning?"

"Well, he was poisoned in a most painful and pitiful manner. In point of fact, he ingested enough a.r.s.enic to kill a team of horses or a plague of rats."

The patterer was curious. "Why did you say he wanted a hard death? Did he leave a farewell note?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. A note was found near his body that gave explicit instructions on the method of administering the poison. You certainly, however, don't expect a man of his cla.s.s and background to take that particular way out of this vale of tears."

Dunne felt a sudden tingle of antic.i.p.ation. "What of his background and cla.s.s?"

"See for yourself." The doctor turned down the blanket and they looked down on a tall middle-aged man with a trunk built like a barrel. Dunne tried to avoid staring at the long cut from breastbone to belly, which had been roughly sewn up. He understood vaguely that this was the primary cut in anatomical dissection. Indeed he had even read that early surgeons named the knife to perform this crucial leading incision "Follow me."

The corpse reeked of the vinegar with which it had been washed. But, said Owens, this was a distinct improvement on the earlier encrustation of excrement and dirt. The skin was white under a pelt of dark hair, except for the hands, which were deeply tanned up to the wrists. The face, too, had a curious tan: It ended about an inch above the eyebrows and just below the chin at the Adam's apple.

Owens watched the patterer keenly, with the hint of a knowing smile. "Think about the coloring," he said. "It is unlikely to be what is commonly called a farmer's tan, or a laborer's tan-these arms, neck and brow have not seen sunlight for years. But what if I said to you that I have often seen such solar pigmentation-when the face is always shaded by a military cap's visor, the arms by unchangeable uniform sleeves, the neck by a high collar ..."

"You're saying that he was a soldier?"

"Indeed. And not just any soldier. Observe!"

Owens dramatically and triumphantly pointed to the corpse's shoulders. On the left was a tattoo, the Roman numerals "LVII," and on the right the words "Die Hard."

Dunne shook his head in disbelief. "Die Hard" and "LVII"-the man was yet another, the latest, the third, dead soldier of the 57th Regiment!

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

Death hath a thousand doors to let out life: I shall find one.

-Philip Ma.s.singer, A Very Woman (1655)

"YOU MENTIONED A NOTE," SAID THE PATTERER TO DR. OWENS. "May I see it?"

The doctor gingerly produced from the side bench an envelope, a spill of paper and a single small sheet bearing a short message. All were still soiled with excrement and were terribly malodorous.

Wishing he had another lozenge, Dunne read, "To work efficaciously, swallow all at once in small water while at stool."

Even before his brain registered the meaning of the words, he recognized the writing-it was the same script used by the author of the letter to Governor Darling, the letter that had begun the quest. And the patterer realized now what the backward-slanting characters had always indicated: The writer was left-handed.

Distantly, Dunne heard the doctor saying, "We examined the vital organs and it was, without a doubt, a.r.s.enic, 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 a.n.a.lysis. "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 a.r.s.enic 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 ma.s.s 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. "Yknow, 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 superst.i.tions. "Most certainly not, but old beliefs hold on. To the matter at hand: He has 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." 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 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 ma.s.s that looked like treacle. It was burnt sugar. Sugar, again," he repeated, as if Dunne needed the point emphasized. 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 ma.s.s 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 ma.s.sive injury above the left eye and bone from it pressed in on the dura mater-the tough, fibrous membrane outermost of the three coverings to the brain and the spinal cord. To continue, the skull was fractured and the comminuted-very well, pulverized-portion of bone forced into its cavity, at least a quarter of an inch within the internal surface of the frontal bone."

Owens pointed to the front of the skull. "When the brain was examined, the anterior part of the left hemisphere, corresponding to the external injury, was covered with a thin layer of extravasated blood-that is, forced out from blood vessels to diffuse through surrounding tissue. I don't imagine you would wish to see the specimen of fluid found there of a semi-purulent-suppurating-nature?"

The patterer shook his head. So many new thoughts were running through his brain that once again he was not paying full attention to the doctor, who was now saying, "... it is somewhat extraordinary that the ball did not do more damage."

Dunne whispered, "What ball?"

The doctor c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "What ball? My dear sir, the printing press doubtless crushed the skull nastily, but it alone did not kill him. Oh, dear me, no. He was probably dead before that. Shot, sir, shot! Here's the ball."

Dunne leaned against the one vacant dissection table, his mind weighed down by this amazing new knowledge, his hand with the ammunition that Owens had casually tossed him. It weighed about an ounce but felt like a cannonball.

He heard the doctor explain that the powder burns on the left left side of the face were not, of course, from musket use, but from a weapon held close to the head. The killer would have been either left-handed if shooting from behind, or right-handed if firing from in front. The only certainty: The shot came from low down. side of the face were not, of course, from musket use, but from a weapon held close to the head. The killer would have been either left-handed if shooting from behind, or right-handed if firing from in front. The only certainty: The shot came from low down.

Dunne hurriedly thanked Dr. Owens then left the hospital, hoping to catch Captain Rossi at his office. The business could not wait until tomorrow.