Chapter 11: The Difference Between Drowning and Postmortem Abandonment of a Corpse

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No matter what, Billy felt he could not bring himself to eat fish anytime soon!

“Billy, you really are a lucky star. This is very likely the very trunk that Bough threw into the Thames!”

Carrying a huge, heavy suitcase along the uneven, pebble-strewn riverbank, Holmes strode briskly, showing that even in his thirties, his body remained remarkably robust.

After a few steps, Holmes reached Billy’s side and set down the suitcase without a care for the increasingly pungent stench. Without hesitation, he reached out and opened it.

As the suitcase was opened, a flood of river water—its color hard to define—spilled out, along with algae and even a few lively, wriggling fish.

But Billy’s attention was elsewhere. At first glance, he saw a corpse swollen to grotesque proportions, and he was certain it was human.

The bloated body was dressed in the current fashion of a middle-class London gentleman’s three-piece suit. Originally well-fitted, the clothes were now distorted by the swelling, torn in places by fish bites, and covered with algae.

Billy hadn’t yet seen the face, as the body had been folded and stuffed into the large but not spacious suitcase. The face was buried against the legs, concealed from view.

Holmes fully opened the suitcase and first tossed out the small fish that were damaging the body. Without gloves, he braved the stench and began carefully examining the clothing.

Billy frowned deeply, wanting desperately to hand Holmes a pair of rubber gloves and maybe a mask.

Whether they had masks or not, Billy suddenly recalled that rubber gloves were invented in 1890, but this was 1887—three years too early for such protection.

“This is Mr. Gaskell,” Holmes said, pulling a waterlogged pocket watch from the corpse’s pocket. With a clear click, the watch opened, revealing the engraved name Richard Gaskell.

No surprise there.

Billy’s expression suddenly changed as he looked at Holmes. “If he was poisoned by a potent toxin, wouldn’t the fish that fed on his body be affected too? If caught and served, could that cause the consumers to die as well?”

“Billy, these plant toxins degrade rapidly inside the human body. Even the poison that remains in the stomach is less than what is vomited out. That’s why collecting vomit from poisoning victims is often more effective than testing their tissues. Besides, this body has been stuffed inside a suitcase. Only small fish could get in, and even then, they wouldn’t eat much, so the risk is minimal.

“Especially since his abdomen is layered with clothes and folded tightly, it’s unlikely many fish could reach inside his belly.” Holmes fiddled with the corpse’s swollen face and limbs, which bore dark bruises, and Billy noticed the skin was starting to peel.

Bite marks from fish were evident on these areas, sending a chill down Billy’s spine.

“All right, now that the victim is identified, this case shouldn’t fall on me alone. Billy, go notify the nearby constables.”

Billy turned to flee the fetid scene, but Holmes called after him.

“Oh, right, Billy, I forgot something. Come back here first.”

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Billy froze, then turned back to Holmes. After all, he was now Holmes’s assistant.

“Wet your clothes with river water, quickly. It’s nearly noon, so they’ll dry fast. And don’t forget your hair—make it look like you just swam out of the river.” Holmes’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

At first, Billy was puzzled, but he soon understood.

Holmes was concocting a cover story to conceal the fact that he had used some uncanny ability to fish the suitcase out—pretending he had dived into the river to retrieve it.

Billy’s feelings were mixed, but faced with Holmes’s unexpected protection, he felt a strange joy.

“Do you know what to do next?”

Looking into Holmes’s smiling eyes, Billy answered without hesitation, “That is, I’ll say I dove into the river to retrieve the suitcase based on your clues. I can swim a little and will train harder.”

After a brief pause, he couldn’t help but thank Holmes: “Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

“If you’re thanking me, then you’ll have to use your extraordinary talents to help me solve cases from now on.” Holmes raised an eyebrow with a smile. “And don’t call me Mr. Holmes anymore—that’s too formal. Just Holmes is fine.”

“Yes, Holmes... Holmes.” Billy chuckled.

“Go to the river now. If you wait any longer, the awful stench might attract passersby, and then they might think I’m the one who dumped the body.”

Billy wanted to retort but couldn’t imagine Holmes, standing beside the fully decayed corpse, would ever be suspected of such a thing. Surely anyone would guess this gentleman had accidentally discovered the suitcase’s grim secret.

Still, as he stepped toward the water, Billy couldn’t help but dread bathing in river water that had soaked a corpse—possibly mixed with sewage. But then again, which river hasn’t had a corpse in it? Even if not human, animal remains are common. The river’s ecosystem was a cycle of life and death.

Billy carefully covered his mouth and nose as he waded in, wetting his clothes thoroughly. Then he wrung them out and hurried off.

Soon he returned with constables, but upon seeing the grotesquely swollen corpse, they recoiled, and a young officer began retching.

Only then did Billy realize that despite the foul odor, he didn’t feel nauseated by the sight of the miserable body.

He wondered if in a past life he had worked as a medical examiner.

“Holmes, once again it’s you,” the lead constable said, clearly familiar with Holmes.

Holmes was already standing. “Lestrade, I trust Billy has briefed you. This is almost certainly Richard Gaskell, the youngest son of Baron Gaskell. Contact his family immediately. I need to investigate who had motive to murder him.”

“You’re stealing the police’s work again, making us run errands.” Lestrade grumbled but was not angry; he seemed used to it.

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“This young William claims he was poisoned, then hidden in the suitcase and thrown into the river. But what if he was only knocked unconscious? He could have drowned.” Lestrade remarked.

“What difference does it make if he was poisoned or drowned? Either way, he was killed by the murderer’s hand. It won’t affect sentencing.” Holmes approached Billy briskly. “Well, the rest is up to you Scotland Yard officers. Have a pathologist perform an autopsy and toxicology tests. But plant toxins aren’t easy to detect.”

Holmes led the way out of the thick underbrush, with Billy following, surprised that Holmes had just handed the corpse over to the police.

He hadn’t expected the short, bulldog-like constable to be the famous Lestrade—he seemed quite unremarkable.

But clearly, Holmes believed he had collected all the clues he needed from the body, so he left the mess for the police to clean up.

After all, the police would be the ones to benefit in the end. Holmes would only gain some reputation from this case—Miss Bailey was obviously not wealthy, so there’d be little reward. Holmes didn’t care; he only cared if the cases were interesting.

Summer truly dried clothes fast. After running around, Billy’s damp clothes were almost dry, and the sticky feeling was gone as he took a cab.

Just as he thought his hair was messy and reached to smooth it, Holmes handed him a comb.

Billy thought: Does Holmes have everything in his pockets?

Silently taking the comb, Billy smoothed his still slightly damp hair.

As he did so, Holmes spoke: “Billy, what is the difference between being knocked unconscious and drowned, then thrown into the water after death?”

Billy instinctively replied, “If alive when submerged, the lungs swell with water, red spots appear on the lung lobes, which feel crackly, the stomach contains large amounts of water, and the heart’s color differs between sides.”

He immediately realized he had said too much—knowledge no poor boy from the East End should possess.

As Billy trembled, Holmes calmly pressed on, “And then?”

Billy glanced at Holmes, whose gray eyes were serene, as if seeing nothing unusual.

But that was impossible—Billy felt Holmes had seen through everything, which explained his eerie calm.

Billy thought: I’m not in the mood to talk anymore.