Alex Grecian - The Yard

“Gregory, see to that baby.”

Gregory scampered over to the infant and stuck a dirty finger into its mouth. He fished out half of a peanut shell, dripping with spit. The baby let out a long wail and immediately began to snore, which excited the boy in the corner. Anthony began rocking his chair once more, beating his head against the wall behind him.

Gregory threw the shell on the ground, where the baby could presumably pick it back up when it awoke, and ran back across the room. While the others watched Gregory stroke his older brother’s head, Day reached down and picked up the wet peanut shell. He slipped it into his pocket and wiped his fingers on the leg of his trousers.

When Anthony had calmed down again, Mrs Little turned her attention back to the detectives. Day nodded toward the boy in the corner.

“What’s-?”

“What’s wrong wiff ’im? Hell if I know. Come outta me that way and been that way ever since. But he’s a good boy.”

“Has he seen a doctor?”

“’Course he seen a doctor. Ain’t savages, is we? Too much fluids, says they, too much blood. They bled ’im near dry, cupped ’im and leeched ’im and leff ’im so’s he couldn’t hardly move no more. Ain’t takin’ ’im to no more doctors. He’s happy here, and anyway, he ain’t likely to live too much longer. Money’s better spent than on doctors.”

Day was filled with a mad passion to run from the room.

“Gregory, you seem like a responsible young man,” Blacker said.

The boy blushed and looked down at his feet.

“But I don’t see how you can hear anything with that growth in your ear.”

Gregory looked up, wide-eyed. His hands flew to his ears.

“I don’t feel nuffink there,” he said.

“Come here, lad.”

Blacker dropped to one knee and reached out to the boy. Gregory went to him, his expression frightened.

“Nothing to fear,” Blacker said. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”

He looked at the boy’s left ear.

“Well, that’s odd,” he said. “I was mistaken. That’s not a growth. Now why would you keep money in your ear?”

Gregory gasped. Blacker grinned at him and his fingers flitted through the air next to the boy’s head, barely grazing his ear. He brought his hand up to show Gregory a shiny penny.

“I think you’ll be able to hear much better now.”

Gregory gulped and stared at the penny in Blacker’s hand.

“Well, go on and take it,” Blacker said. “It was in your ear, so it must be yours.”

“Cor, that’s magic, that is,” Gregory said.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Blacker winked at the boy and Gregory finally smiled back at him. The boy took the penny from Blacker’s hand and goggled at it.

The Widow Little took two steps toward them and snatched the penny from her son’s hand. She made it disappear somewhere within the folds of her housecoat.

“Any money comes into this flat is mine,” she said.

She glared at the detectives, daring them to contradict her. Gregory shrugged and smiled at them. Blacker patted him on the head and stood back up. He frowned and cleared his throat.

“When’s the last you saw your husband, Mrs Little?” Blacker said.

“Can’t recall. Maybe a week, maybe more.”

“Is that unusual, not to see him for a week?”

“He hardly never come home no more. The sight of Anthony made him sick to his stomach.”

Anthony wailed again and Day noticed that the tonal shift he’d heard before was present again in the boy’s voice.

“He asked you where our daddy’s at,” Gregory said.

“You understand him?”

“Sure. He ain’t dumb. Just different’s all.”

“Don’t matter where yer daddy’s at. Hush now and let these gennemen talk. They’s friends of yer daddy.”

“He was a fine man, your father,” Blacker said. “One of the best the Yard ever saw.”

Gregory switched his gaze from Blacker to Day and stared unblinking at him.

“He only come home most times when he got his pay,” Mrs Little said. “Leff enough with me for the groceries and such. He dint spend much time ’ere, though.”

Hardly a surprise , Day thought.

“Did you talk to him? Did he discuss any cases with you or anything that might have been bothering him? Anyone who may have threatened him?”

“You lot’d know better’n me. He was up there alla time. Never tole me nothin’. One of them killers he was after most likely done ’im.”

“I see. Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.”

“Where I’m gonna get paid from now?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Without Mr Little’s pay, how I’m gonna take care of these young’uns? You think on that. Without food money, I’m gonna have to take young Anthony and drownd ’im in the river.”

“I don’t-”

The Widow Little suddenly smiled and her face rearranged itself. She looked almost pleasant. Day realized that she was much younger than he’d first supposed. It was unlikely that she’d ever been a great beauty, but Day could see the ghost of the spirited bride she once was.

“I’m havin’ a laugh on you boys, is all. I know you don’t have nuffink to do wiff it. The money, I mean. I done talked it over wiff your man there, the one’s got no arm. He’ll see to it, see I get Mr Little’s pinchins.”

“His pension? How wonderful.”

“He’s a good man, that one. He brung that box, too,” she said. “More’n five pounds there. Thanks to you an’ yours. Gonna do a bit o’ shoppin’ later in the day.”

“Yes, of course,” Day said. “Well, we should-”

“Was Inspector Little planning to grow a beard, by chance?” Blacker said.

Day scowled at him and Blacker shrugged.

“Don’t think so. Beards is filthy, all full-up with food and dust and such. Won’t have no beard near these lips, I tell you. Mr Little was allus considerable about such things. Knew how them whiskers scratched and kep hisself tidy for me. Allus kep hisself tidy, he did.”

Without warning, the widow burst into tears. Her lips opened wide, trailing stringers of grief, a cobweb of spit connecting the two halves of her face. She seemed suddenly vulnerable in her ugliness and Day wanted to put an arm around her, but Gregory reached her first, patted her jiggling arm.

“There, there, Mama. Don’t cry.”

Across the room, Anthony began to bounce in his chair again, howling, and Day could almost make out words. The back of the wooden chair beat against the plaster wall as the hideous woman and her strange children celebrated their grief. The baby woke then with a start, its tiny arms windmilling against the floor, and joined its voice to the Little family’s horrible wailing.

Day took a pound note from his vest pocket and slid it under the top of the cigar box. He laid a calling card atop the barrel and grabbed Blacker by the arm. The two of them left, pulling the door closed behind them.

“I need a drink,” Blacker said.

“So do I. How could-?”

“I don’t know. But if I were married to that, I’d spend all my time at work, too. Sir Edward’s admonition to the men to spend more time with family must have gone hard with poor Little.”

“Well, I don’t only feel sorry for him . Look at them. What kind of life is that?”

“That’s why I’m not married,” Blacker said. “I’m sure she wasn’t like that when he met her.”

Day looked back at the door. If Mrs Little had changed over the years, how had her husband fared? Had he once been an idealistic young detective? Or had he always avoided his work and his family, just waiting for the inevitable end?

“The magic trick,” Day said. “That was kind of you.”