Alex Grecian - The Yard

“He’s been in and out of sleep,” Blacker said. “I don’t think he has long.”

“We heard that from the doctor as well,” Day said. “Perhaps one of us should stay here and monitor him. When he wakes, he may be able to write something for us.”

“ If he wakes,” Blacker said.

Hammersmith reached out and jabbed Shaw in the side. Day and Blacker looked at him, their eyes wide, but Shaw started awake and a deep rasping sound vibrated the copper tube. Day leaned over the dying man and held out the notebook.

“Can you hear me, sir?”

Shaw blinked twice at the three police.

“We’re sorry to intrude upon you, but we’d like to find the man who did this. Do you have the strength to write?”

Shaw tried to shake his head from side to side, but the effort appeared to cause him pain and they stood for a long moment, letting him recover. Finally he took the notebook and pencil from Day’s hands. He laid the pad flat on his stomach. Even moving his hand was clearly an effort, and Shaw didn’t lift the tip of the pencil from the paper as he wrote. Day watched him scrawl curlicues across the paper. Since Shaw couldn’t see what he was writing, the strokes didn’t link up properly, and the continuous line made unintended connections between letters. When Shaw finished, Day took the notebook from him and held it out so that Blacker and Hammersmith could help decipher what was written.

“No,” Blacker said. “This first word is no .”

“What’s this next bit, then?”

“ Turtles ? I think it says turtles .”

Day sneaked a glance at Shaw. He seemed frustrated, but it was hard to read an expression on his blood-caked face. The tray under his neck was brimming with fluid.

“It’s definitely two words,” Hammersmith said.

“Yes, I think you’re right,” Blacker said. “Maybe the first word is two ?”

“Does it actually say two words ?”

“No, that second word has an h in it.”

“Whores.”

Hammersmith said this last word too loudly and the nurse at the end of the row of beds looked up and glared at them.

“Two whores? Is that what you mean to say?”

Shaw blinked rapidly and Day put the paper and pencil back in his hands. He wrote again. Yes.

“So it wasn’t a man who did this to you? It was two women?”

Yes again.

“But how were you overpowered by women? Even two of them?”

This time Shaw didn’t write on the pad. Day saw Blacker and Hammersmith look away from the bed. They seemed uncomfortable.

“Did they first render you unconscious?” Day said.

After a moment of hesitation, Shaw wrote again. Yes.

“I see.”

“Why did they accost you, sir, do you know?”

No.

Another furious bout of writing and Shaw handed the pad to Day. Shaw’s hand fell back against the bed and he seemed to collapse in on himself, exhausted. His eyes closed and he was instantly asleep again.

“What does it say?”

“I can’t … This first word may be flow .”

“Let me see,” Blacker said. He took the pad from Day. “I think it says ploughing tool . But that makes no sense.”

“Let’s wake him and ask,” Hammersmith said. He reached out to poke Shaw again, but Day grabbed his hand.

“Show some mercy. He’s done in. I don’t think there’s anything else he can tell us this way.”

Hammersmith stared down at Shaw. “Maybe Kingsley will be able to tell us more once he gets hold of this.”

Day understood what Hammersmith meant. When Shaw died, his body would be transported to the basement of the hospital, and Kingsley would take him apart. If there were physical clues to be found, they would only come to light upon Shaw’s death.

“You act as if you hate this man,” Blacker said.

“I don’t hate anyone,” Hammersmith said. “But this creature isn’t among my favorites.”

“What did he ever do to you?”

“Yesterday he nearly had me killed.”

“You jest.”

“He had me poisoned. And he used a good woman whose only mistake was in marrying him.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It had no bearing on the case.”

“I think I’d better be the one to determine that.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Clearly,” Day said, “there are a great many things going on at once, and it might be a good idea for the three of us to talk.”

“Agreed,” Blacker said.

They stood at Shaw’s bedside until he drew a last rattling breath and passed away. None of them made any move to try to resuscitate him, and when they left they did not inform the nurse that she had one less patient to care for.

I hardly know what to say.”

Colonel Sir Edward Bradford stared at Patrick Gilchrist’s empty desk as if it were a coffin. He didn’t look up at the assembled Murder Squad, but kept his eyes on the stark desktop. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft and low and thoughtful.

“You all know by now that we have lost another fine officer,” he said. “Many of you knew and worked with Constable Pringle. I did not get a chance to know him well. I regret that.”

He paused and no one interrupted him. The detectives found themselves looking down at Gilchrist’s desk as well, though none of them knew why.

“It would appear that someone is targeting the police. The morale of London has not been good for some time now. The police are out of favor. Now someone is killing you.” He took a deep breath. “I will not lose another policeman. You must be able to perform your duties without fear and without violence done to you. You are the hope of this city. I believe that.”

He cleared his throat and looked up. He regarded each of his men in turn before he began to talk again.

“Mr Day and Mr Blacker have been working together on this case and they remain unharmed, despite being most at risk. So I would like all of you to work in pairs for the foreseeable future. Not only is it safer for you men, but it’s possible that each of you brings a different perspective to the same situation. Perhaps it will help us to solve crimes more quickly. Speed is of the essence. And so is your safety. When you leave this building, unless you are going home, you will partner with someone else, another detective, a sergeant, a constable, I don’t care who. But there will be no exceptions. If you cannot find someone to accompany you, tell Sergeant Kett and he’ll find someone.”

He nodded and looked at Inspector Day. “Catch this villain, Mr Day. And do it today if you can.”

“Sir,” Day said. “I will.”

“There will be a service for Mr Pringle the day after tomorrow. Before that I expect to see you all at Inspector Little’s funeral tomorrow. Let these be the last two funerals I ever have to attend for my police. Mr Day, I would like to see you in my office now. Please bring the others involved in this with you. That includes Constable Hammersmith.”

He turned and went into his office and gently shut the door. The click of the latch echoed like a thunderclap through the silent squad room.

Sir Edward sat behind his desk, the tiger glaring down from its post on the wall above his head.

“Where is Mr Blacker?” Sir Edward said.

“He seemed to think you only wanted to speak to the two of us.”

“I asked for those of you involved in the investigation of Mr Little’s murder, and that includes Detective Blacker.”

Sir Edward pulled a cord that ran along the top edge of the wainscoting and out of the office through a small hole near the door. A moment later, the door opened and Sergeant Kett stuck his head in the room.