"When did this happen?" Watters stood inside the door of the cell, looking down at the twisted body. O"Halloran had been bitter in life; in death, she seemed small and insignificant, curled on the bed with her black hair a tangle across her face.
"This morning, Sergeant." The turnkey sounded indifferent to the death of one of his charges.
Watters bent over the body. There were bruises on O"Halloran"s neck and throat; her eyes were wide, and her tongue protruding from her mouth. "Somebody has strangled her," he said. "How did it happen?"
"Her husband came to see her, Sergeant. You said to take note of any visitors, so I did." The turnkey seemed pleased that he had managed to do something right. "Here"s his address."
Watters read the scribbled note. "Johnathan Wild, 1 Peel Street, London
