The Numbered Corpses (Elysium #4)

Chapter Eighteen

It was another two days before a real numbered corpse showed up—a woman found in front of the knacker with the number 627 etched into her head. She was young but looked like she had been very sickly in life. Her cheeks were hollow and her arms and legs so thin they seemed likely to snap in half if jostled the wrong way. And, of course, she had two missing fingers.

Trinket and Booker had been out combing the streets when it was discovered, so they were amongst the first on the scene. A quick examination showed no obvious cause of death. But as Booker moved to open the corpse's top for further investigation, the police appeared and shooed him away.

"Probably for the best," Trinket said as they watched the officers take notes. "You already have a reputation as something of a rake. Imagine what they'd think if you started undressing dead women in broad daylight."

"If they believe I'm interested in a corpse when I reside with a perfectly vibrant and living young woman, they're dafter than I thought," he mumbled. "I just know if they'd let me take a closer look, I could find another clue. Blast it all, I'm a doctor. It shouldn't be this difficult to get my hands on a dead body."

The police finished with their farce of an investigation and lifted the petite woman up to bring her to the station. Her thin, straw-like hair cascaded down her back, revealing what looked to be stitching along her hairline. From this distance, it was hard to be sure. But Trinket had had much experience with stitches as of late, and she was certain that's what she was seeing.

"Booker," she whispered, grabbing his sleeve, not wanting to tear her eyes away for fear she'd find it was just another hallucination. "Do you see that? Around her scalp? Oh! And up behind her ear."

Squinting, he followed her gaze and took a sharp breath. "Is that stitching?"

So it was real. "Do you think it's from when she was alive? Maybe she was injured shortly before she died?"

"Perhaps. Or it could be part of Benedict's game." He clenched his hands into fists and muttered a curse. "These bloody bobbies are going to regret it if they don't let me look at these bodies soon."

With the corpse gone, they turned away and continued on their way as the rest of the crowd dissipated. "Try not to say that too loudly, Booker," Trinket said as she took hold of his arm and smiled at a woman with the figure and hair of a broom who was casting a suspicious glance. "You've already been arrested once. I'd like to not have that repeated."

"I mean, they're going to regret it when Scales gets his fingers into this mess."

"Or someone else's fingers. Do you suppose he'll leave some of Hiss' body parts at our door once he finds him? Maybe his thumbs? Or eyes? Or perhaps he'll be really clever and send us the entire head."

Booker chuckled and shook his own head. "He can do whatever he likes to that body. I just want him to stay away from these bodies."

He jerked his thumb back at the knacker, and as he did, someone shouted his name. Turning to the voice, they were met by a very red-faced knacker. As he stormed over to them in his blood-stained apron and rolled-up sleeves revealing his thin but muscular arms, Trinket realized how very intimidating this man could be. Never mind his apparent strength and unsettling appearance, but the knowledge that he could easily dismember and dispose of a body made his threatening stance all the more unnerving.

"My good sir, how are you today?" Booker asked.

"You well know I never stick my nose in the strange bits and pieces you send my way," the knacker growled, skipping the pleasantries and pointing an accusatory finger at him. "So when you start getting me involved in your dirty goings-on, you can bet I'm not too pleased."