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Never fear, my Captain, those things like Shame are meer Bugbears for Children, she replied. I drive my Trade like an Honest woman, and I am as sound as a Eunuch which is the main Point. Kiss me, Captain, and I will show you.
But do you not fear God?
She mov'd back a little from me: Fuh, says she, I hate all that Stuff.
Then I took her Wrist and whisper'd to her: Have you any Rods?
She gave me Eye-contact and smiled then: You are a flogging Cully, I see, Captain. Well, well, I am an old Partner in that Game. So after some more merry Discourse the Harlot took me with her to the Dog Tavern where she kept her Room: come in, says she after I mounted the Stairs behind her and was a little Fatigued, come in and be at your Ease while I clean myself. And then in my Sight she washed her Bubbies and sweetened her Arm-pits. With her Cloaths off, she smelt as frowzily as an old Goat but I turned my Face to the Wall and did not so much as move a Finger as she went to work on me. You are new to this Game, says she, for I see that the Body is still fresh.
THE SKIN was being stripped from Hawksmoor's back and he was trapped, shuddering, in this dream until he screamed and the scream became a telephone ringing beside him. He froze in a jack-knife position; then he picked up the receiver and heard the message: 'Boy found dumped by church. Body still fresh. Car coming'
. And for a moment he did not know in what house, or what place, or what year, he had woken. But he tasted the foulness of his mouth as he stumbled from the bed.
Now, in the warm car, he considered the duties he would have to perform; as he passed St George's, Bloomsbury, he speculated about the photographs he would require -both to mark the position of the body, with the individual folds and creases of its clothing, and to record any materials clutched in the hands or fluids trickling from the mouth; as he travelled down High Holborn and across Holborn Viaduct, past the statue of Sir Christopher Wren, the police radio emitted three bursts of unintelligible sound which seemed for a moment to illuminate his driver's face; as the car moved along Newgate Street, he considered the scale of the projection and detail drawings he would need but, as he stared at the back of his driver, small phrases from the dream returned to him and he shifted uneasily in his seat; as he was driven down Angel Street, the glass of an office-block glowed just before the morning sun was obscured by a cloud, and he could see other buildings reflected in its surface; and as he entered St Martin's-le-Grand he remembered certain words but not the tune which accompanied them: Set a man to watch all night, watch all night, watch all night…
And now, as the car moved into Cheapside and then Poultry, its siren echoing through the streets of the city, Hawksmoor was able to concentrate upon the objects for which he would soon be searching fibres, hair, ash, burnt paper and perhaps even a weapon (although he knew that no weapon would in fact be found). On an occasion such as this, he liked to consider himself as a scientist, or even as a scholar, since it was from close observation and rational deduction that he came to a proper understanding of each case; he prided himself on his acquaintance with chemistry, anatomy and even mathematics since it was these disciplines which helped him to resolve situations at which others trembled. For he knew that even during extreme events the laws of cause and effect still operated; he could fathom the mind of a murderer, for example, from a close study of the footprints which he left behind -not, it would seem, by any act of sympathy but rather from the principles of reason and of method. Given that the normal male tread is twenty eight inches, Hawksmoor had calculated that a hurried step was some thirty six inches, and a ru
But when he came to the corner of Lombard Street and King William Street, he saw at once that a policeman was holding up a white sheet while a photographer was preparing his camera. 'Don't!' he shouted as he quickly left the car, 'Don't do anything yet! Just move out of the light!' and he gestured them away from the steps of St Mary Woolnoth. He did not glance at the body, however, but stopped on the pavement in front of the iron gates and looked up at the church: he saw a curved window, with pieces of glass as thick and dark as pebbles, and then above it three smaller square windows which gleamed in the autumn light. The bricks around them were cracked and discoloured, as if they had been licked by flame, and as Hawks- moor's gaze crept upward six broken pillars were transformed into two thick towers which seemed to him like the prongs of a fork which impaled the church to the earth. Only now did he look at the corpse of the dead boy which lay along the fourth of eight steps and, as he opened the gates and approached it, certain complicated thoughts disturbed his calm. Even though there was a slight dawn rain, he took off his dark coat and placed it on top of some polythene sheets which had already been laid down.
The boy looked as if he had opened his eyes wide in mock terror, perhaps trying to frighten some other children during a party game, but at the same time his mouth was gaping open in what might have been a yawn. The eyes were still bright, before the muscles relaxed into the dull and fixed stare of eternal repose, and the gaze of the child disconcerted Hawksmoor. He called for a roll of adhesive tape used in collecting evidence; bending over the corpse, he placed a piece of the tape against the neck: he could smell the body as he leaned towards it, and through the tape his fingers could touch it. Yet as he felt the neck he was compelled to look away and he stared up towards a stone tablet on which was inscribed, 'Founded In the Saxon Age and Last Rebuilt by Nicholas Dyer, 1714'. The passage of time had partly erased the letters, and in any case Hawksmoor made no effort to understand them. He got up quickly: his sweat might look like rain, he thought, as he handed the adhesive tape to the police officer. 'There is nothing on the neck,' he told him. Then he climbed up the last four steps and entered the silent church; it was in darkness still, and he realised that the windows only reflected the light, like a mirror. Glancing behind to make sure that no one could see him, he approached the baptismal font in a corner, cupped his hands in its stale water, and rubbed them over his face.
The young officer came up to him as he left the church and murmured, 'She found him. She stayed here until she saw a copper' he was nodding towards a red-headed woman who was sitting on an old stone just within the gates. Hawksmoor apparently paid no attention to her, and looked up at the side of the church facing King William Street: 'What is this scaffolding here for?'
'It's for the excavations, sir. They're excavating here.'
Hawksmoor said nothing. Then he turned back to face the officer: 'Have you made a note of the weather conditions?'
'It's raining, sir.'
'I know it's raining. But I want the precise temperature. I want to see how the body cools.' He looked up at the sky and the rain fell down upon him, over his cheeks and across his open eyes as he stared upwards.
The area had already been cordoned off at his instructions; large canvas screens had been placed around the gates and sides of the church to conceal the police operation from the gaze of those people who would inevitably congregate at the spot where a murder had been committed. Now that Hawksmoor was satisfied that he had staked out the right territory, with the body at its centre, he took charge of the operation in all of its aspects. More adhesive tape was used on the trousers, socks, sweater and shirt of the victim; soil was taken from his shoes, together with control specimens of the earth close at hand, and the shoes were then placed in a polythene bag. The body was now stripped under the arc-lights, so that it acquired a bright pallor, and each item of clothing put in a separate bag which Hawksmoor insisted on labelling himself and then handing to the exhibits officer. Nail-scrapings were taken, before the hands were bagged and then sealed with tape. At the same time, the ground was being searched for fibres, footprints or smears: anything of even remote interest to the investigating team was given a serial number, registered in a master-log, and then deposited in a padded transit box.