James McGee - Resurrectionist

Hawkwood kept his voice calm. “This verger, what’s his name?”

“Dunno ’is last name. He used to like me to call ’im Lucy. In our intimate moments, that was.”

“Lucy?” Jago looked confused. “What sort of man calls himself Lucy?”

“It’s short for Lucius,” Hawkwood said.

“Now, how the hell would you know that?”

“Tell us about the Dog,” Hawkwood said, ignoring Jago’s expression.

Lizzie sniffed disdainfully. “It’s Sal’s main feedin’ ground. Like I said, she thinks she’s queen of the bleedin’ May. Mind you, she’s Sawney’s woman. That helps. Ain’t no one going to go up against Sawney and his crew.”

“Sawney?” Jago said. He caught Hawkwood’s eye.

“You know him?”

“I’ve heard the name mentioned. He’s a mate of Hanratty’s.”

Hawkwood sensed there was more. “And?”

“You asked me if I knew any resurrectionist scum?”

Hawkwood didn’t reply. He knew Jago was going to tell him anyway.

“They say this Sawney’s new to the game and he ain’t too particular ’ow he earns a livin’, if you know what I mean. Rumour is, he digs ’em up and Hanratty stores ’em prior to delivery. Rumour is all it is, though…” Jago paused. “Other thing I seem to remember is that he was in the army; a driver with the Royal Wagon Train. Did a runner back in ’09.”

Hawkwood sat back. Jesus! he thought wildly. A frisson of excitement moved through him. He tried to sound calm. “This crew of his, what about them?”

“Princes, each and every one,” Jago smiled grimly.

“The Raggs ain’t no princes,” Lizzie muttered. “Bleedin’ animals, they are. They like it rough. Some of the girls do too, but most don’t — and they’re the ones they go for. I’ve seen some of the girls after Lemmy and Sammy Ragg’ve been with ’em. It weren’t a pretty sight. They like doin’ it together. They take turns, if you know what I mean. Don’t know about Maggett. He ain’t so loud.”

“Maggett?” Hawkwood threw another questioning glance towards Jago, but the former sergeant seemed content to let Lizzie retain the honours.

Lizzie grimaced. “He’s Sawney’s right-hand man. His brain’s smaller than most, but the rest of him makes up for it. I saw him break a man’s arm once, just because the poor sod knocked ’is drink. Did it as easy as snapping a twig.”

“He’s big?” Hawkwood asked.

Lizzie nodded.

“How big?”

“Big,” Lizzie said firmly.

“And what’s this Sawney look like?”

“A shifty-eyed streak of piss.”

“I was thinking more about his size,” Hawkwood said. “And his colouring.”

Lizzie grimaced. “Well, he ain’t nowhere as big as Maggett. Mind you, there’s not many who are. He’s about the same height as your man who brought me in here, only a bit more round shouldered. Got dark hair, goin’ a bit thin on top. An’ he’s got bad teeth.”

“Sounds like God’s gift,” Jago said. “You wonder what this Sal sees in ’im.”

“There’s no accountin’ for taste,” Lizzie agreed. “Though I did ’ear a rumour he’s built like a horse, if you know what I mean.” She paused. “But that still don’t mean he’s not a shifty-eyed streak of piss. Got a temper to go with it, too. He’s not a man to cross.”

Hawkwood closed his eyes. His mind went back to the description of the two men who’d been seen leaving the corpses at Bart’s. One had been of average height. The other had been a big man, who’d hefted the dead body he’d been carrying with ease, according to the constables who’d chased them. He was reminded also of the signs he’d found at the scene of the Doyle murder. They had indicated that four people could have been involved in the hanging and crucifixion, with one of them having the strength to raise the body into position by the hangman’s rope.

“Bloody Symes,” Hawkwood said, shaking his head. “I should have guessed.”

Though he knew he probably wouldn’t have, unless the bastard had been carrying some sort of sign above his head.

“Symes? Who’s Symes?” Jago said.

“He’s Lizzie’s verger. And he’s in it up to his neck.” Hawkwood clenched his fist. “We need to talk, Nathaniel.”

Jago stared hard at the expression on Hawkwood’s face, then nodded. He turned to Lizzie. “You’re a good girl, Lizzie. You see Micah on the way out. Tell him I said he was to settle up with you. He’ll see you right.” For a second, the big moll looked uncertain, and then she realized the audience was over. She got to her feet, gave both men a cautious nod and an uncertain smile, then gathered up her skirts.

Hawkwood leaned forward. “Know anyone called Doyle, Lizzie? Edward Doyle?”

Lizzie’s brow wrinkled. “Don’t ring no bells, though I think there might’ve been an Eddie who used to do a bit of porterin’ for Maggett. Maggett’s a slaughterman. He’s got a yard over near Three Fox Court.”

It was a common enough name but there might be something in it, Hawkwood thought. Perhaps Doyle hadn’t been a member of a rival gang, after all. The murdered man could well have been part of Sawney’s crew, and there’d been a falling out among thieves.

The information imparted, Lizzie continued towards the door. Then she paused. “No one’ll know you got all this from me, will they? Only Molly’s a sweet girl. I wouldn’t like to think anything had happened to her. She always ’ad time for a chat. Not like that other sly bitch.”

She was referring to Sal, Hawkwood presumed.

“Be our secret, Lizzie,” Jago said. “Mind how you go, now.” Adding, when Lizzie was out of earshot, “That’s a turn-up. Didn’t expect to hear anything so soon.”

“You probably wouldn’t have,” Hawkwood said, “if she hadn’t been nursing a grudge against Sal Bridger.”

“Don’t like her much, does she?” Jago agreed. He turned to find that Hawkwood was regarding him with a bemused expression. “Look, I never carry small change, all right? So, what do you think?”

“I think we should have had this conversation a good deal earlier.”

Jago sucked in his cheeks. “Might not ’ave done either of us much good. Molly Finn wouldn’t have been missin’ then, and Lizzie wouldn’t have been feelin’ the need to do her civic duty. We’d probably have been none the wiser. Likely, we’d have been sittin’ here with our thumbs up our arses.”

Hawkwood sighed.

“I take it those questions you were lookin’ to ask me have been answered?” Jago said.

“I’d say so. Most of them, anyway. One thing’s clear. All roads lead back to the Dog.”

“For you and me both.” Jago frowned. “You reckon that’s where your mad colonel’s been hiding himself?”

“It’s possible, though I’ve no definite proof linking him to Sawney. It’s just a gut feeling.”

“I’ve been with you when you’ve had them before. You weren’t often wrong.”

“It also strikes me he’d consider himself a cut above Hanratty’s usual clientele.” Hawkwood pursed his lips. “Either way, I’m going to have to go back there to find out.”

“Funny you should say that. I was considerin’ payin’ the place a visit myself.”

“You’re thinking that’s where Sal Bridger might have taken Molly Finn?”

Molly Finn and Hyde? Even as Hawkwood posed the question, it didn’t seem likely the two of them would be under the same roof.

“Right now it’s all I ’ave to go on. I’d say neither of us has much of a choice.”

“I’m wondering what Sal Bridger would want with Molly Finn. It’s not as though the Dog lacks molls,” Hawkwood said. “And the last time I saw Sal, she was going out of her way to remove the competition.”