Alex Grecian - The Yard

“Of course, sir.”

“But let’s keep this in mind as a means of narrowing down the pool of suspects in a case.”

“Thank you, Sir Edward,” Kingsley said.

“Now-”

Kingsley and Day jumped at the sound of a knock at Sir Edward’s door.

“Yes?” Sir Edward said.

“Sir, there’s been a development,” Blacker said.

“Well, open the door and talk to me face-to-face, man.”

Blacker came in and bowed his head. “Sorry, sir.”

“Like the Crystal Palace in here today, all this traffic in and out of my office. What is it, man?”

“There’s been another murder.”

“There’s always another murder.”

“Another body was found in a trunk, sir. I’m afraid it’s another policeman.”

His name’s Sam Pizer,” Blackleg said.

Hammersmith was sitting with the criminal at a small round table in a pub five blocks from the Shaw residence. He had been late arriving and Blackleg seemed impatient. Judging by the number of empty mugs on the table, Blackleg hadn’t waited for Hammersmith before he began drinking.

“The chimney sweep, you mean?”

“Yeah. You been tippin’ the bottle already, copper? Y’act like yer on the deck of a sinkin’ ship. Yer weavin’ about on yer chair.”

“I was poisoned earlier today.”

Blackleg sat up and leaned forward. “What’d they use?”

“Benzene.”

“Aye, I’ve had it myself. You’ll be shipshape by the day after tomorrow. Plenty a sleep, plenty a water. That’ll do the trick fer ya.”

“I feared I might not wake up if I slept. I had a great deal of trouble the last time I awoke.”

“I never said it’d be fun to wake up. But unless you was already dead afore you come in here, you’ll wake up again.”

Blackleg gestured to the serving girl to bring another mug. He shook his head at Hammersmith.

“You’ll wanna be avoidin’ the drink, though, or your head’ll shoot clean off and to the moon.”

“Tea sounds lovely.”

“You’ll drink water.”

When the girl brought Blackleg’s ale, he asked her to bring his friend the biggest glass of water she could find. As he watched her go, Hammersmith noticed two tarts at a table across the room. They seemed familiar to him, and it appeared they’d been looking his way, but he couldn’t be sure. He turned his attention back to his tablemate.

“You said you’d discovered the chimney sweep’s name,” Hammersmith said.

“Right. Not easy to track down, neither.”

“Well, how did you do it?”

“You did the right thing, you did, settin’ a gonoph to find a gonoph.”

“A gonoph?”

“Somebody don’t mind gettin’ a little dirty in the pursuit of coin, right?”

“Oh. Understood.”

“I asked around a bit, here and there, nothin’ too indiscreet, you understand. Pressed a little of the coin you gave me into the right palms.”

Hammersmith winced. He’d given Blackleg half the grocery money for the month in order to help the criminal track the chimney sweep. He hoped Pringle would be able to come through with groceries for them both, or Hammersmith would have to tighten his belt again.

“Anyway, I found him in a flash house down the road a piece. He’s been talkin’ up his business, askin’ about for a kid might do as a climber. Seems he lost the climber he had.”

The girl interrupted them with Hammersmith’s water. She plonked it down on the table, rattling Blackleg’s empties, and turned on her heel before Hammersmith could thank her. Clearly she wasn’t impressed by men who drank water. Hammersmith saw the tarts across the room looking at him again and finally recognized them as the same two from the previous evening. The tall one had a distinctive scar across her face. He was still certain they had set the younger woman to bait him. He was surprised because this pub seemed a good bit nicer than that other one had. He smiled at them and raised his glass. The two women abruptly stood and hurried down a hall at the back of the pub. They were quickly out of sight.

Hammersmith shrugged and took a drink. The water burned his throat going down, and still unable to breathe through his broken nose, he felt a sudden panicky sensation, as if he were drowning. He set the glass down on the table and left it there.

“Where can I find him?” he said. “The chimney sweep. Where is he?”

“You don’t wanna go where he is, Mr Hammersmith.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Oh, no doubt of that. But you’d be outnumbered afore you got two words out, and I don’t like yer chances.”

“You go with me, then.”

He watched Blackleg size him up, taking in the ripped and soiled clothes, the broken nose, the eyes that wouldn’t focus properly. At last the criminal nodded.

“Aye, I guess I’d better go along, hadn’t I? Come with me.”

He knows.”

“He don’t know.”

Liza and Esme were in the alley behind their favorite pub. It seemed to be deserted except for dozens of broken crates stacked against the wall behind them.

“But that’s two times we seen him.”

“Did you hear his name?”

“I heard the other one call him it. I walked right by their table.”

“He’s on the beat, is all. Or havin’ a drink afore he goes home.”

“He ain’t drunk nothin’, though,” Esme said. “And Jonny’s on the beat round here, not him.”

“Could be Jonny’s ill.”

Esme gave Liza a look that said she was through arguing about it.

“Fine, then,” Liza said, “if he knows, he knows.”

Esme threw her hands in the air, clearly exasperated. She opened her mouth to speak.

“How much?”

Liza turned to see a man shambling out of the shadows behind the crates. He smelled like rye, and the four front teeth in his upper jaw were missing, leaving a gaping pink maw of need.

“I said, how much?” the man said.

Esme’s lip curled and she turned away, leaving Liza to deal with the potential customer. The man didn’t have a beard or mustache.

“We’re done for the night,” Liza said.

“Can’t be. It’s early yet.”

“We’re done when we says we is.”

“When I says you is, is when yer done.”

He reached out and Liza slapped his hands away.

“Hard to get, eh?” the man said.

But then he suddenly backed away from Liza, his hands up, and Liza turned to see Esme holding a pistol. The man tried to smile, his lips quivering, the black hole of his mouth twisted in a leer.

“No need for that, little lady. I was innerested in yer friend, anyhow. Don’t go in for big scars like the one you got there, not that you ain’t fetching. Let’s all be friends.”

“I have enough friends,” Esme said.

She pulled the trigger.

The three of them stood for what seemed a lifetime, waiting for the echo of the gun’s report to fade down the stone walls of the alley. When they could hear silence again, the man blinked at the two women and then collapsed, his knees buckling under him. He fell gradually, straight down and from the bottom up so that he appeared to be shrinking in on himself. When he had reached the ground, he finally slumped back, and Liza could see the blood flowing from his gut faster than his clothes could soak it up. The black fluid spread out, free of the flesh. The man sputtered once and did not move again or make another sound.

“You didn’t have to shoot, Esme. He was harmless enough.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Well, accidents happen. We’d best move on afore Jonny comes runnin’.”

Liza took the gun and shoved it to the bottom of her bag, and then she grabbed Esme by the elbow and dragged her through the door back into the pub. The back passage was empty, nobody running to investigate the sound of a gunshot. Liza let go of Esme’s arm and turned to face her.