The Detective Branch (24 page)
Read The Detective Branch Online
Authors: Andrew Pepper
Tags: #London (England) - History - 1800-1950, #Mystery & Detective, #Pyke (Fictitious Character: Pepper), #Pyke (Fictitious Character : Pepper), #Fiction, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Historical, #Traditional British, #Suspense, #Crime
‘As one of the commissioners, Detective Inspector, sometimes I have to make decisions, difficult decisions that are, in my opinion, in the best interests of the police.’ He looked around, picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and raised his voice. ‘We have an eyewitness account, from a police constable no less, that places Hiley at the scene of the crime; we have another account that confirms his flight from the aforementioned scene of crime.’
‘You didn’t answer my question.’
‘I see your point, Detective Inspector, but do you really believe it was this priest who killed Guppy?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. But I do know that if we don’t keep this line of investigation open, we might end up looking very stupid, indeed. All of us, Sir Richard.’
‘Just find Hiley. Then this other business will fall into place.’
For a moment there was silence. ‘Malloy knows something. And now we might never find out what it is.’ Pyke wanted to say more but he realised he could not jeopardise his already precarious status further. ‘I’ve made my point. That’s all I can do.’
He continued to stand there. The commissioner looked up at him and sighed. ‘We’ll need to appoint a replacement for William Gerrett. I’ll draw up a list of candidates. That will be all, Detective Inspector,’ Mayne said, his gaze returning to the document on his desk.
Pyke could taste the bile at the back of his throat.
Whicher was still in his office when Pyke returned to the detective department. He told him about his argument with Mayne. ‘Wells is the one who advised him. Maybe he thinks that serving up Hiley’s head on a plate will get him the assistant commissioner’s position.’
‘I don’t know about that, but he took Shaw out with him first thing this morning. I think the idea was to look for Hiley in Bethnal Green.’
Pyke looked out of the window and thought about the hidden lines of division within his team. Wells was a more astute political animal than Pyke had given him credit for, and now he was trying to court Frederick Shaw.
‘Has Lockhart reported back yet?’
Whicher was puzzled. ‘I thought he was just sick?’
Pyke wondered what Lockhart would say when he heard the news about Billy Gerrett. Deciding to ignore Whicher’s question, he said, ‘Tell me. How did Shaw react to Gerrett’s dismissal?’
‘I don’t know. You’d have to ask him.’
‘And you?’
‘Gerrett made his bed . . .’ Whicher paused. ‘And you know what I thought about him as a detective.’
Later, Pyke found Frederick Shaw in the main office, picking mud from the soles of his boots. He wouldn’t meet Pyke’s eyes, at least not until Pyke had summoned him to his office and asked him directly whether anything was the matter.
‘No, nothing’s wrong,’ he said, still not looking directly at Pyke.
‘Once I’d found out that a debt collector had visited Billy here, at his place of work, I had no choice but to refer the matter to the acting superintendent.’
In fact, Pyke had been to see Clapp later and had paid off the debt in full. Although he didn’t like Gerrett and he didn’t want him to be part of the Detective Branch, especially if he was passing information back to Pierce, he knew what it was like to owe money and didn’t wish to exacerbate another man’s problems for the sake of it.
‘But that’s just it, isn’t it?’ Shaw’s expression was hot and tight. ‘I told you about Billy’s gambling in the first place, didn’t I?’
‘So?’
‘So I’m asking: was it just a coincidence that this debt collector came looking for Billy here?’
Pyke held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Gerrett brought this on himself. No one else is responsible but him.’ He put his hand in his pocket, retrieved a ten-pound note and slid it across the desk towards Shaw. ‘But I don’t want to see one of my men out of pocket. That’s for you. It’s not everything you lent Gerrett but it should help. If and when Gerrett repays you, you can pay me back. Until then, consider it a loan.’
Shaw looked at the banknote and then at Pyke. ‘I just don’t like to think I had anything to do with Billy’s dismissal.’
‘You didn’t, Frederick. I promise you.’ Pyke tried to smile. ‘But it does mean I’ll be relying on you and Jack even more than usual.’
Shaw reached out and took the note, as Pyke knew he would. ‘Actually, sir, there was something else I wanted to talk to you about . . .’
‘Call me Pyke, please.’
The young detective sergeant shuffled his chair closer to the desk. ‘I was thinking about the letter you received, the lines from the poem about the serpent.’
Pyke looked at him, intrigued.
‘The serpent is a symbol of the Devil, right?’
‘Some would see the serpent as the Devil himself.’ Pyke hesitated. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘A few years ago, before the Detective Branch was established, I was transferred from D Division to assist on a murder investigation. Perhaps you remember it? A boy from St Giles was beaten to death with what we thought at the time was a cudgel.’
‘This would have been about five years ago?’
‘I’d say so. I’d have to check the records, though.’
‘It sounds familiar, but I don’t recall the details.’ In fact, Pyke had no recollection of such an incident, but five years earlier he had been imprisoned in Marshalsea for not paying his debts.
‘That was the first boy. But a couple of weeks later, another boy was found. This one’s hands and feet had been nailed to a door.’
‘And that’s what made you think of Guppy?’
Shaw shook his head. ‘Not exactly, but soon afterwards we made an arrest. A night-soil man called Morris Keate. We searched his tool-chest at his lodging house and found a hammer. It still had traces of dried blood on it.’
Pyke put down his pen. ‘And what became of this man, Keate?’
‘He was tried, found guilty and hanged.’
‘And you think this might have a connection to our current investigation?’ Pyke asked, still a little sceptical.
‘Not just me. I talked to Eddie about it. He suggested I come and talk to you. Said it might be relevant.’
‘All right,’ Pyke said, still trying to work out how the various members of his team felt about one another. Certainly there was more to Frederick Shaw than initially caught the eye. ‘What can you tell me about this man, Keate?’
‘He was a Devil worshipper. That letter someone sent you made me think about the case.’ Shaw waited and added, ‘Keate used a hammer to kill the first boy, so . . .’
‘Perhaps you should dig up the old records, see whether there are any files held in the Criminal Returns Office.’ Pyke looked at Shaw and smiled. ‘But you were right to bring this to me, Frederick. It’s what good detective work is all about.’
‘I can’t take all the credit, I’m afraid.’ Shaw reddened. ‘It was Eddie’s idea as much as it was mine.’
‘And when I next see him, I’ll thank him.’
The next morning, Sunday, a frost had turned the denuded tree branches silver. The sky was blue and clear and a weak sun sat just above the rooftops. But it was bitterly cold, and when he looked out of his bedroom window and saw that one of the pigs had escaped from the sty again, Pyke knew that the time had come to take decisive action. The sty and shelter were too small for three fully grown animals and Pyke had also been told that December was the best time to slaughter a pig because they’d fattened up during the autumn. He also wanted Godfrey to have a taste of the meat before he passed away. The idea of a last supper seemed too morbid and an unnecessary temptation of fate, but if he could kill his first pig, then it would be a good excuse for the three of them to sit together around the table.
He changed into an old pair of trousers and a shooting jacket, ate breakfast alone, and let himself out into the garden, Copper hopping along at his side.
Pyke had never slaughtered a pig before but he’d been told how to do it. He fetched a length of rope from the shed and sharpened his hatchet on a grinding wheel, the wan sunlight glinting off the metal blade while he worked.
The three pigs ignored him when he set down the rope and hatchet. Pyke ruled out Alice, his favourite, and the ten-month-old he still hadn’t named. That left Mabel, a long-bodied creature with coarse, bristly skin.
Having enticed Mabel out of the sty, Pyke closed the gate, to ensure the other two pigs remained inside, took a length of rope and tied it around her leg. That done, he led Copper back up to the house and, while he was there, had a quick nip of gin from the bottle. The house was quiet. Godfrey was upstairs resting and Felix had already gone out.
Ignoring Copper’s howls, Pyke trudged back down through the mud to the sty. He’d hoped the gin might have settled his nerves but his stomach was still tied up in knots. Mabel had wandered across to one of the flower beds, the length of rope dragging behind her. Pyke picked up the hatchet and the other length of rope and went to catch her. Mabel didn’t like Pyke manhandling her and started to wriggle and squeal. Perhaps she sensed what was about to take place. Pyke took the hatchet and pulled back on the head to reveal the terrified pig’s throat. The squealing was louder, the wriggling more aggressive. That was when he should have drawn the blade of the hatchet across the animal’s pinkish throat, but at the last moment he couldn’t do it.
A moment later, the pig squirmed free and bolted across the lawn, the rope dragging behind it. Caught off balance, Pyke tumbled to the ground. He sat on his backside staring up at the sky and thinking how close Mabel had come to meeting her end.
Later that afternoon, Pyke went to sit with Godfrey, Copper settling down next to him on the floor.
Godfrey opened his eyes and yawned.
‘Earlier this afternoon, I went out into the garden with the intention of slaughtering one of the pigs,’ Pyke began.
‘So what happened?’
‘I couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
That seemed to amuse the old man and he started to chuckle. ‘I always suspected you were soft at heart.’
Pyke let the thought linger in the air. ‘Do you think I’m wrong to worry so much about the interest Felix has taken in God?’
‘I can see why you’re concerned. I would be, too. But perhaps you should try to see it from the boy’s point of view. Or at least ask him. You never know, he might surprise you.’
Pyke reached down and patted Copper on the head. The dog grunted approvingly. ‘Does he talk about it with you?’
‘Not directly.’ Godfrey tried to sit up a little. ‘He’s at that stage where he wants answers. That’s what the Bible, what Christianity, does. It gives answers. Heathens like you and me might not like those answers but they’re a help to some.’
Pyke knew he was right but didn’t say anything.
‘I’ll grant you, dear boy, he’s been deeply affected. Yesterday, while you were away, he literally pleaded with me to consider a Christian burial. He said without it, I stand no chance of getting into heaven.’
Pyke didn’t know whether to be amused or upset by this revelation. ‘And what did you tell him?’
‘I told him that when I go, I’m gone for good. I didn’t like to be so harsh but I didn’t want to lie to the lad, say I’d be looking down on him from some place called heaven.’
‘Or that your spirit would inhabit these rooms and keep us company in the dark days to come?’
Godfrey grinned. ‘I think you and I are agreed on that particular matter.’ The old man adjusted his position. ‘I did tell the lad I’d think about it, a Christian burial. I didn’t want to disappoint him. But I need you to promise me that you’ll put me into the ground at Bunhill.’
‘Of course,’ Pyke said, taking his uncle’s hand. ‘But shall I talk to Felix?’
Godfrey shook his head and smiled weakly. ‘I think this is one of those situations where the more you do, dear boy, the bigger the hole you’ll dig for yourself.’
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