The Sedgemoor Strangler and Other Stories of Crime

More quietly, the showman said, “You’ve always insisted that Burke was the prime mover in the business.”

Leaning across the table, Hare responded in a low voice, “He did the suffocating, and that’s the truth. He always held the pillow.”

“But you assisted.”

“Only in a passive manner, sir, by lying on the subject, to discourage the arms and legs from interfering. I did it well, too. There was never a mark of violence. Never. That was what saved me from the hangman.”

“That, and your gift of the gab.”

Hare sniffed. “You’re a fine one to comment, by the sound of things. Say what you like, we were professionals, through and through. We didn’t take any Tom, Dick or Harry. They were hand-picked. They were not missed usually, being derelicts, simpletons and women of the unfortunate class. And it didn’t matter what sort of scum they were when they were lying on Dr Knox’s slab. He called them his subjects.” He laughed. “Straight, that’s the truth. His subjects. You’d think he was the king himself.”

“What did you call them? Your victims?”

“Our shots. Did I say a moment ago that none of them were missed? I’d better correct that. We did have an enquiry from the daughter of one of our shots, a grown woman, a whore. She came looking for her mother.” He paused. His timing was part of the act. “We got sixteen pounds for the pair.”

“Did you ever sell a corpse to anyone else?”

“No, sir. Only to Dr Knox. I’ll say this for him — and I won’t say much for that odious sawbones — he knew how to guard his reputation. There was one we took to his rooms known in the city as Daft Jamie, a bit of a character this one had been. Jamie always went barefoot, winter and summer, and they were queer feet, if you understand me, misshapen. Well, when we pulled him out of the tea-chest in the dissecting-room, three or four people, including the janitor, said, ‘That’s Daft Jamie!’ But Dr Knox would have none of it. He said it couldn’t be. Burkey and I guarded our tongues and took the money.”

“You believe Dr Knox was pretending?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“Why?”

“Because later there was a bit of a hue and cry about Jamie. His mother and sister went around the town asking questions. And as soon as old Knox heard of that, he ordered the corpse to be dissected and the parts dispersed. Mr Fergusson took the feet away and one of the others had the head, so that if the police came calling, no one would know the rest of the body from Adam’s.”

There was a pause in the conversation. The appalling details didn’t make the sensation that Hare expected. Surely the story was worth another drink? But no. “And this lucrative career of yours came to an end after only nine months.”

“You must have been a-checking of your facts,” he said caustically. “Yes, it was no fault of mine. I was having trouble with Burke. There was a falling-out at one point, you know. In the summer, Burkey went visiting his woman’s people in Falkirk, and when they returned, he smelt a rat. Thought I’d done a little work on my own account, taken a shot to Dr Knox and pocketed the reward without telling him. The leery devil trots off to Surgeons’ Square to get the truth of it. When he’s told they paid me eight pounds for a female, he leaves my lodging-house in a huff. Found new lodgings.”

“That must have put a blight on your arrangements.”

“Not for long, sir. Burkey got short of money and came skulking back with a new proposal. A cousin of his woman’s, a young girl he’d met in Falkirk, came to stay. He asked me to take the first steps in the matter, the girl being a relative.”

“You did the smothering on this occasion?”

“As a kindness to his family. A ten pound shot. But Burke never lodged with us any more.”

“You were back in business, though.”

A twitchy smile. “We did a few more, and then the fates put a stop to our capers. Burke asked me and my woman Mag to his lodging to celebrate Halloween. What a disaster! If only I’d had the sense to refuse. He’d found another shot, of course, some old beggar woman called Docherty. Sure, she was Irish, like Burkey and myself, and only too willing to join the party. But all he had was the one room to do it in. What’s more he had lodgers, a family called Gray, who slept on straw on the floor. To simplify matters, I said the Grays could remove to our place that night, and they did. So it was just Burke and his Nell, me and my Mag, and old Mrs Docherty. Well, we all had a few drinks too many, and the old woman screamed “Murder!” and one of the neighbours went to look for a policeman.”

“You were arrested?”

“No, sir.” The smirk again. “You know how it is with the guardians of the law. They’re like the bloody omnibuses. You can never find one when you want one. What did for us was Burke’s incompetence. When the Gray family came back next morning, the corpse was still in the room, under the straw they slept on. Can you believe that? Like a bat out of hell Gray goes to the police.”

Hare’s companion took a thoughtful swig of his drink. He wasn’t writing any of this down. “You don’t have to talk about the trial,” he said. “How you turned King’s Evidence to escape the noose.”

“To assist the law, sir. They had no case without me. As I told you a moment ago, there wasn’t so much as a scratch on the bodies.”

“You had a few more brains in your head than Burke.”

“He swung, as you know, sir.”

“And his corpse, fittingly enough, was presented to Professor Monro to be dissected.”

“Yes,” said Hare cheerfully. “And did you hear about the lying-in-state?”

“The what?”

Hare laughed. “Burkey was never so popular as when he was on the slab. The judge in his wisdom decreed that he should be anatomized in public and the public demanded to see the result. Thirty thousand filed through the room. Most of Edinburgh, if you ask me. The line stretched for over a mile.”

“Your companion, flayed, salted and preserved, packed into a barrel — for science, as you would put it. His skin cut into pieces and sold as souvenirs. I believe his skeleton can still be seen at the University.”

This was not part of the script, the audience taking over. Hare didn’t care for it. Moreover, he had detected a note of censure. He stated emphatically, “It was no bed of roses for me, sir. They tried their damnedest to make me go the way of Burke. A private prosecution, followed by a civil action. They failed, but it was mental persecution. And when I finally got my liberty I was in fear of my life from the mob outside. They wanted to lynch me.”

“And no wonder.”

“I had to be smuggled out of the gaol, disguised. I was put on the southward mail coach. As bad luck would have it, one of my fellow passengers had featured in the trial as a junior counsel, and he recognised me, and blabbed to the others. The news was out. At Dumfries, I was practically mobbed. It was ugly, sir, uncommon ugly. I holed up in the King’s Arms for a time, but it wasn’t safe. The authorities removed me to the gaol for my own safety, and the jackals outside bayed for my blood all night. It took a hundred specials to disperse them.”

“But you got away.”

“Under armed guard. The militia escorted me across the border.”

“You’re a fortunate man, Hare.”

“You think so? A ruin, more like. Look at me. I’ll tell you who was a fortunate man, and that’s the piece of excrement they called Knox. He was in it up to his ears, as guilty as Burke, and guiltier than me.”

“Why so?”

“Knox was the instigator, wasn’t he? He knew everything, everything. He dealt with us in person a dozen times. Oh, he denied it of course. For pity’s sake, where did he think the bodies were coming from, freshly dead and regular as clockwork? The people weren’t fooled, just because he was a doctor.”

“Surgeon, in fact. You should be careful with your choice of words. The people you just referred to were the same crowd you described as the mob a moment ago.”

Hare laughed. “Mob they may have been, but they knew all about Knox. I know for a fact that they met on Calton Hill and made an effigy of the bastard, and carried it in procession all the way to his house in Newington Place, where they burned it in his garden and smashed all his windows.”

“So they did.”

“You heard of it, too?”

“Indeed,” said the showman. “Moreover, they attacked his dissecting-rooms. Like you, he fled. He was thought to have gone into hiding in Portobello, so they made another effigy and hanged it on a gibbet at the top of Tower Street there. You were not alone in being an object of hatred.”

“He got his job back,” Hare pointed out. “The same year he was back in Surgeons’ Square cutting up bodies.”

“Ah, but he was obliged to suffer the indignity of a University committee of inquiry. They found nothing actionable in his past conduct. There’s the difference, Hare. You stand condemned — or you should have, if there were any justice. Dr Knox was exonerated of blame in the matter.”

“Absurd,” muttered Hare.

“What do you mean?”

“They would never sack him. He was a god to his students. They adored the bastard. His classes numbered over five hundred.”

“However, his career was blighted. You may not know this, but he twice applied for Chairs of the University, and was twice humiliated. He was compelled to relinquish his career at Edinburgh. He moved to Glasgow.”

“And I’m moved to tears,” said Hare. “I hope he died spitting blood in the poorest tenement in the Gorbals.”

“You’re still a bitter man.”

“I’ve reason to be bitter. Dr Knox underpaid us for the last one.”

“The last one? I don’t understand.”

“The old Irish woman I was telling you about. Mrs Docherty, on Halloween. You see, we delivered her to Knox the day the game was up. We had to get rid of it. He only paid us half. Said we could have the rest on Monday. We never got our second five pounds.”

“And that still irks?”

“No man has treated me with anything but derision... until today.”

“Just a couple of drinks so far.”

The “so far” emboldened Hare to say in the wheedling tone that worked best for him, “Would you see your way to the price of a bed in return for all the inside information I’ve given you in confidence, sir?”

“I can do better than that. If I give you money, you’ll only blue it on drink. I can offer you accommodation. I have rooms in Hackney. A humble address, but better than the places you inhabit, I’ll warrant.”

“Hackney. That’s not far.”

“Shall we treat ourselves to a cab-ride?”

Hare beamed. “Why not, sir? And if you want to introduce me to your friends and neighbours, I won’t object.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“I am the only man to be exhibited in the Chamber of Horrors in his lifetime. Baker Street — my other address,” he joked, “— care of Madame Tussaud.”

“Shall we leave?”

“If you’re ready, then so am I.” Hare finished the last of the whisky and stood up. He reached out with his right hand, groping at the space between them. “It would help me if I took your arm, sir.”

“Of course.” The showman enquired with what sounded like a note of concern, “How did you come to lose your sight?”

“That was after I came south, sir. I got a job. Labouring — that’s my occupation. It was all right for a time. I got on well enough with the others. Then — pure vanity — I confided in one of my mates that I was the smarter half of the old partnership. Smart! You know what? They set upon me. Threw me into a lime-pit. Vicious. Destroyed my eyes. I’ve been a vagrant ever since. Do you know what I most regret?”

“I’ve no idea.”

He permitted himself another smile. “I shall never see myself in the Chamber of Horrors.”

“Careful, there’s a step down.”

“Down to what, sir?” quipped Hare. “A meeting with Old Nick?”

They made their way out of the pub and took the first cab that came along. Heading east, it was soon lost to view in the Oxford Street traffic.

The encounter just described is a fantasy based on accounts of the case, but the story can end with facts. William Hare, who combined with Burke to commit the West Port Murders of 1828, was said to have been a familiar figure, blind and begging in Oxford Street until about 1860.

The famous anatomist Dr Robert Knox also ended his days in relative obscurity, as a general practitioner in Hackney, and latterly as “lecturer, demonstrator, or showman to a travelling party of Ojibbeway Indians.” He died of a stroke in 1862 at the age of 71.

Hare just disappeared.