Free Anatomy of Murder by Imogen Robertson

them?’

    Mr Pither recognised the name, of course. This young man was guardian to the great estates of the Earl of Sussex, and also of the young Earl himself. He struggled for a moment to think of a phrase that would fix him in this important gentleman’s mind as a coming man of intelligence and wit, but failed, and could do no more than show his new guest out through the back door of the house and indicate the old stable. As Mr Graves bowed and stepped forward, Mr Pither retreated and began to wonder if there was food in the house sufficient to feed all these people.

    He did not have long to count up his stores, for within ten minutes of the arrival of this Mr Graves, all three of his guests had presented themselves in his study once more. Mr Crowther had something of a glint in his eye, Mr Graves looked merely serious and Mrs Westerman calm, though there was something in her movements as she entered the room that suggested rather more vigour in her person than there had been on her arrival. Mr Pither thought her rather handsome and wondered how it would feel to walk through Hyde Park on a Sunday with her on his arm, telling her of the wrongs he had rihted during his week and receiving her respectful praise.

    ‘Well, Crowther, do not keep poor Mr Pither in suspense any longer,’ she said.

    Crowther looked up at the Justice from under his heavy lids and nodded. ‘Very well. Mr Pither, the man presently in your outhouse was strangled, not drowned. Probably some time yesterday. He is indeed called Fitzraven – Nathaniel Fitzraven, in fact – and our friend Mr Graves here informs us he had been a professional violin player. Of late years, the arthritis building in his hands had forced him to become more of an assistant to the management of His Majesty’s Theatre in Hay Market, also known as His Majesty’s Opera House.’

    ‘Really? A violinist? The Opera House? Oh, I see.’ Mr Pither was at a loss.

    ‘Also,’ Harriet added with a smile, ‘after he was throttled, Mr Fitzraven was left on his back for some hours before being thrown into the river.’

    Justice Pither’s jaw worked uncomfortably for a few moments. ‘But how can you possibly know such things?’

    Crowther settled back into his seat to explain, but was cut off by a wave from Mrs Westerman.

    ‘No, sir, please allow me. You shall say everything in Latin and in detail that would stop a decent man from enjoying his dinner.’ Mr Crowther blinked but did not protest. Mrs Westerman continued, counting her points on her fingertips and sounding for all the world as if she were rattling off an order to her grocer: ‘He has bruises to his throat, and the hyoid bone is broken, thus, strangulation. As to the movement of the body – when a person dies their blood does not freeze, but like water tries to find the lowest level it can and congeals there.’

    Mr Pither looked a little nauseous, but nodded bravely. Harriet smiled at him encouragingly and went on, ‘Mr Crowther has been instructing me in the matter this afternoon. I now pass on the knowledge to you, sir. Mr Fitzraven has patches on his back that suggest he was lying flat for some hours before he was thrown in the river. Some blood also gathered in his feet, as the process was not complete when he went into the water. He was wearing a rather fine coat. The air trapped in it held him upright from his tether. As to his full name and profession, we noticed a mark on his neck I remember seeing on friends of Mr Graves here, who are violinists by trade, then it was a simple matter to ask him to come here as he knows every fiddle player in London.’ She gave him a bright smile and folded her hands again in her lap.

    After a moment’s pause, while Justice Pither attempted to absorb the information so cheerfully flung down before him, he asked hopefully, ‘And who killed him?’

    ‘That we cannot know,’ Crowther said dryly. ‘Mr Graves here can furnish you with his address.’ The party began