The Affinity Bridge (27 page)

With a grinding of gears and a spluttering of the engine the cab rocked to a halt on the cobbled road alongside another, waiting vehicle. Bainbridge was first to jump out into the foggy morning, crossing the cobbles to the door of the other carriage. He rapped loudly before swinging the door open and stepping up into the cab. A moment later, as Newbury was arranging his hat by the curb side, he watched as Veronica emerged from the other vehicle, closely followed by the Chief Inspector.

Veronica crossed the street to stand beside him. “Good morning, sir. How are you?”

Newbury arched one eyebrow. “Capital. And you, my dear Miss Hobbes?”

“Perfectly well, thank you, Sir Maurice.” Veronica smiled brightly. Newbury grinned. She gave no impression that her alcohol consumption the previous evening had affected her in any way.

Bainbridge approached them bearing three small oil lanterns, his cane tucked neatly underneath his left arm. He handed one of the lanterns to each of them, and then fiddled with the shutters on his own until the light was emanating in a warm halo all around it. It reflected back in the fog, giving it a strange, fuzzy glow, as if he were clutching a ball of light itself and not a lantern at all. He turned to the others. “Right. Turn these up like mine so we can keep an eye on each other as we walk. This blasted fog is so thick this morning that we run the risk of losing each other if we don’t stick together.” He looked from Veronica to Newbury and back again. “It wouldn’t do to be losing either of you in the fog out here. We don’t know what else might be lurking around the corner.” His face was steely, determined. “I’ve told one of the cabs to get on its way, whilst the other waits for us here. We’ll make our way to the scene of the murder, take a look to see if there’s anything new to be deduced, and then be on our way, as quickly as we can. No use hanging around out here when there’s a couple of men already in attendance by the body.” He took his cane from under his arm. “Come on. One of them is waiting to show us the way.” He set off, hugging the edge of the curb as he walked, in an effort to stay on track in the blinding fog. He was joined a moment later by a uniformed bobby who had been waiting around the other side of the cab. Newbury and Veronica followed behind them, their lanterns held up in the gloaming.

It was only a matter of minutes before Bainbridge’s lantern came to a halt and Newbury and Veronica sidled up beside him. A scene resolved out of the fog. The confluence of three buildings and the cover of an arched alleyway had created a barrier of sorts against the thick smog. It still lay heavy in yellow, wispy strands, but with the light of the three lanterns, plus the one held by the other uniformed constable already in attendance, Newbury was able to ascertain the key elements of the scene.

A body lay on the cobbles a few feet away from where he was standing. Moisture from the fog had caused the skin to take on a damp sheen, and the waxy complexion suggested that the corpse had been in situ for some time before being discovered. That was only to be expected, Newbury supposed, given the visibility out there that morning. The neck of the corpse had been violently twisted and was laying at odds to the rest of the body. Clearly the neck had been snapped before the body was dropped to the floor. The man himself was undeniably a pauper, aged around thirty years old and wearing a scruffy beard and long, straggly hair.

Bainbridge moved off to talk with the other policeman, who was standing with his back to the wall a few feet away from the corpse, looking nervous and cold. Newbury caught snippets of the conversation as they talked: Bainbridge questioned him in detail about the circumstances of the death, how the alarm was raised, who found the body, which of the men was first on the scene. It was a thorough interview and, whilst it didn’t appear to yield any further clues, it ensured they weren’t making any assumptions before examining the corpse. The two constables did not mention the glowing policeman to Bainbridge, and it seemed as if there were no reliable witnesses to call on. Newbury waited for Bainbridge to return, his cane clicking on the cobbles.

“I’ll take a look at the corpse, if you’ve no objection, Charles?”

“Of course not. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Newbury could tell that the other man was feeling the pressure.

Veronica stepped forward. “What can I do to help, Sir Maurice?”

“If you can stomach it, can you go through his pockets whilst I examine the wounds?”

“Of course.” She circled around the body and dropped to one knee, setting about the task of emptying the dead man’s pockets and searching out his wallet beneath the layers of dirty wool.

Newbury leaned in towards the body. He loosened the man’s collar and examined the soft flesh around the throat. It was badly bruised and broken. He took the man’s head by the chin and moved it from side to side. Then, mumbling something to himself, he took up the man’s left hand an examined the fingernails. The hands were filthy, but it was clear he’d been in a fight. The knuckles were bloodied and there was some sort of residue under the fingernails where he had scratched his attacker during the fight.

By this time Veronica had located the man’s wallet and had moved to one side to examine the contents. Newbury looked up at Bainbridge, who was leaning over him impatiently, his lantern dangling over Newbury’s head. “Found anything?”

“Indeed. Just give me a moment to confirm my suspicions.” Newbury rested the man’s lifeless hand upon his chest, and searched around in his own pockets for his penknife. “Here, hold that light steady for me, Charles.” He beckoned the other man closer. Taking up the dead man’s hand again, Newbury unclipped the blade of his penknife and ran the point of it underneath the fingernail. He then returned the hand to its place beside the victim and lifted the blade to the light, examining the residue he had scraped free. “Ah. Just as I thought.”

“What is it, man?” Bainbridge was frowning, unclear as to what it was exactly that Newbury had found.

Newbury rose to his feet. “Here, give me the light and take a look at the man’s throat. I think you’ll see something of great interest around the larynx.”

Bainbridge placed his cane on the ground beside the corpse and leaned in. “The what?”

“The Adam’s apple.”

Bainbridge took a moment to look over the body. Then, without saying another word, he pushed himself up to stand beside Newbury. “Blue powder.”

“Precisely. Dusted around the collar and worked into the broken skin, where the assailant’s hands had clutched him around the throat.” He held out his penknife, handing Bainbridge his lantern back. “And here, too, under the fingernails. He scratched at the killer’s hands as he struggled to get free. That’s probably why the killer had to break his neck in the end, because he was fighting back too hard.”

“Well I suppose it means our ‘incorporeal’ killer has struck again.”

Newbury nodded. “Indeed. But this time the profile is exactly the same. This man was clearly a pauper, judging by his clothes and the state of his hands. Veronica, did you find anything?”

Veronica came to join them, clutching the dead man’s wallet. “Only a few coins. Nothing of note. He certainly wasn’t robbed, though.”

Bainbridge shook his head. “So here’s the link to Morgan, then, and Chapman through that. The blue powder is a dead giveaway, regardless of what it actually is.”

Newbury looked thoughtful. He turned back to look at the corpse. “Perhaps. We certainly may have missed the blue powder on the earlier victims. But there is a distinct problem with your theory about Chapman, I’m afraid. This man has been dead for at least eight hours, judging by the rigor mortis and the pallor of his skin. Chapman couldn’t possibly have done it.”

“Why not?”

Veronica put her hands on her hips. “Because he was with us at the party.” She paused for a moment, shaking her head. “Very clever.”

Newbury gave an impressed sigh. “Indeed. Very clever. We wondered why Chapman was making a point of being seen. Now, I think, we have our answer. He’s toying with us, inviting us to call him out. He knows he has a watertight alibi, for this and, no doubt, for Morgan’s death too. And whilst we have good reason to believe the airship crash could be the result of an automaton malfunction, all we have is reasonable doubt. Without the evidence from the wreckage we have no way or proving our argument.” He ran a hand over his stubble, adjusting his collar. Veronica shivered in the cold.

“So, what, we lay a trap?” Bainbridge said, frowning and frustrated.

“I’m not sure it’s that easy.” Newbury blinked, and noticed that Veronica’s lantern was beginning to gutter in the damp. “Come on, we can talk further on the way back. Let’s get out of this damp fog and somewhere warm for breakfast.”

Bainbridge concurred, and went to have a brief word with the two constables before rejoining Newbury and Veronica and starting out for the cab once again. The fog was still thick and cloying and, away from the shelter of the mouth of the alleyway, they were soon smothered by it once again. Nevertheless, following the line of the curb led them easily back to the waiting cab, their lanterns bobbing in the quiet darkness. The cab driver was huddled on his dickey box against the cold, the engine running noisily, steam spouting into the cold air through tin funnels on the top of the contraption. He looked up when he heard them coming, grateful for the opportunity, no doubt, to be on his way.

Newbury was first to the coach door, and held it open for Bainbridge and Veronica to clamber inside. They both extinguished their lanterns before mounting the step, and Newbury held his aloft to ensure they could see. Then, just as he was about to follow suit, Bainbridge slapped his knee in frustration. “Damn it! I must have left my cane beside the body back there. Watch out, Newbury, I’ll just run back and fetch it.”

Newbury held his hand up to steady the older man. “No fear, Charles. You stay where you are and I’ll dash back and collect it for you. It’ll only take me a moment.” He turned and held the lantern aloft before moving to retrace their steps along the curb. He heard the coach door click shut behind him.

After a moment Newbury had been almost completely swallowed by the dank fog. The sounds of the steam engine had had faded to a dull thudding as the pistons fired relentlessly, turning over the large, mechanical machine. He crept along, hoping to avoid surprising the two uniformed constables at the scene. A moment later he emerged from the fog into the mouth of the alleyway. What he saw was one of the most horrifying scenes he had ever witnessed in his life.

Three monsters—it was the only way he could think to describe them—were in the process of gutting the two constables, whose corpses had been dashed to the floor, blood spattered across their torn faces, spilled out over the cobbles all around them. Steam rose from the warm innards as the revenants pulled loops of intestine free from large rents in their bellies, feasting on it all indiscriminately, stuffing it into their mouths with abandon. The creatures looked as if they may have once been human, but all sense of their humanity had now been lost. Their flesh was peeling in long ribbons, their hair falling out around their shoulders, their clothes hanging filthy and torn from their abused bodies. The virus had done its work well, and these monsters were now no more than dead carriers of the plague, capable of nothing but killing and feeding on their Victims. They had the stink about them of half-rotted corpses, and this foul smell, mingled with the stench of blood and feces, caused Newbury to gag violently. He fought back the urge to vomit, not wanting to draw attention to himself. The three creatures were intent on their feeding frenzy and he didn’t want to give them cause to make him their third victim of the day. Tentatively, he glanced from side to side. The area was entirely surrounded by the thick fog, and he had no sense of whether there were more of the creatures lurking in it. He was only a few feet away from the corpse of the murder victim, and he could see Bainbridge’s cane on the cobbles beside it. He assumed the revenants were ignoring the body because it was hours old, and with two fresh victims pinned up against the wall, there was no need for them to feed on the bloated flesh of the dead.