‘Nothing too significant that’s recent. Bad bruising and skin cuts across the fingers of the right hand. Probably defensive injuries after the first blow was struck.’ He gestured to the corpse, ‘But there’s an old injury there on the left leg, running all the way from the hip to the knee and around to the buttock and thigh.’

Swallow could see an area of discolouration where the skin looked scaly and hard. ‘What do you think happened to her?’

‘I don’t know,’ Lafeyre shrugged. ‘It could be a burn or a scald mark. It’s not new, but it’s not from early childhood either. Anything from a year to three years old I’d guess. It would have been very painful and uncomfortable I’d have thought. It probably hasn’t been treated as it ought.’

Shanahan scribbled details in his notebook as Lafeyre continued.

‘She’s still in rigor mortis.’ He glanced at the death certificate. ‘The hospital staff are giving me time of death here as 9.15 this morning.’

‘What time does that condition set in, doctor?’ Shanahan asked.

‘Usually three to four hours after death. But it can vary according to conditions. It can be affected by temperature, for example.’

A sudden gust of November wind drove the rain hard against the mortuary windows.

‘That’s about all I can tell you at this stage,’ Lafeyre said. ‘Have you much to go on?’

‘Very little just now, doctor,’ Shanahan told him. ‘Her name is Alice Flannery. She’s eighteen years old, the eldest of a family of six. Worked part-time as a waitress at the New Vienna on South Great George’s Street. The father’s deceased.’

‘I know the New Vienna,’ Lafeyre nodded. ‘It’s owned by a fellow called Karl Werner. An Austrian, as you’d expect. I think he claims some aristocratic connection back in Vienna. The place is very popular with the bankers and businessmen around the area. Then they get a late evening trade when the theatres close. They’d be fairly particular about their staff.’

Swallow nodded.

‘She probably did well to get a placement there.’

‘I’d say so,’ Lafeyre answered. ‘At least you won’t have to deal with newspaper reporters linking it to these Ripper murders in London. He’s after ladies of the street, not people like this. And I don’t believe anyone would think of Blackberry Lane as a haunt of prostitutes.’

‘A little detail like that won’t stop some of the hacks from speculating.’ Swallow’s tone was cynical. ‘If they can find words to frighten people, they’ll do it. It all sells newspapers.’

Lafeyre gestured to his assistant, Scollan, and started to move to the door.