Under the piggish eyes of the massive Frederick Duke, Max continued his investigation. The detective frowned as he peeled off the corpse’s long sleeved shirt, revealing soiled and baggy underclothes prominently stamped with a monogram.

“Of course.” Max murmured.

“What’s that?” Frederick asked from outside the mouth of the alley.

“See the linked initals here, W.A.? I’ve seen them before. Every inmate in the Westchester Asylum wears underclothes stamped with them.”

“Westchester . . . New York?” Frederick asked, puzzled.

“Originally yes, but they have opened branches up in several cities- the newest being here, in Saltaire.”

The big man shifted his bulk. “That’s good, I guess.”

“Don’t be too sure of that.” Max said grimly.

“What do you mean?”

Max shook his head. “Forget I said anything. You’ve already been a huge help but may I trouble you a little more?”

Frederick nodded an affirmative.

“Stay here until the medical examiner arrives.”

The big man nodded again. “Where are you going?”

“To the asylum.”