30
NO REST FOR THE WICKED
Sergeant Wilder had been called from his bed shortly after dawn. The carriage had arrived and driven him to Wapping. The roads were terrible and he’d been jolted fully awake by the time they arrived.
As the carriage drew to a halt, the door was opened and a constable peered in at him.
“Mornin’, sir! Sorry to wake you, sir, but we thought you might want to take a look yourself.”
Wilder nodded, hauling himself from the cab.
He followed the officer into St. George’s mortuary where, on the filthy slab, lay the mutilated corpse of Thomas.
“It’s that ol’ pimp from Dorset Street,” said the constable.
“Yes, thank you, officer!” Wilder replied, a little harshly.
Now tell me this whole mess ain’t coming from there! he dared himself.
“We found ‘im this mornin’, sir
