Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

While Pyke digested this new piece of information, Gerrett offered Wells another slap on the back.

‘I’d say that just about settles it, wouldn’t you?’ Wells added, looking at Eddie Lockhart for affirmation.

Lockhart shrugged but said nothing. For some reason, he didn’t seem persuaded by this new piece of evidence.

Pyke looked at him, surprised he hadn’t fallen in behind Gerrett. ‘That was good work, Walter, but when you think about it, it only tells us what we already know: that Hiley was in the vicinity of the church yard at the time of the murder and fled as a result of what he saw. What it doesn’t tell us is whether Hiley actually killed Guppy.’ As he was talking, Pyke noticed Eddie Lockhart nodding in agreement.

‘But why would an innocent man run?’ Billy Gerrett said, looking at Lockhart rather than Pyke.

Pyke waited. ‘Let’s assume for a moment that Hiley heard the attack, heard Guppy’s shouts. He would have rushed to find out what had happened. That could have been when the constable saw him and called out. In that moment, Hiley would have made a decision. Run or find the finger of guilt pointed at him. If I were a felon, I know what I would do.’

‘If?’ Gerrett arched his eyebrows.

Pyke couldn’t tell for certain whether Gerrett’s remark had been a barbed reference to the time Pyke had spent in prison. If so, it was an unforgivable breach of discipline and, even worse, it indicated that the man was too stupid to fear him.

‘You’re quite right, of course,’ Wells said, choosing to ignore Gerrett’s comment. ‘Until we find Hiley and force a confession out of him, we can’t say for certain that he is the killer.’

Pyke looked first at Lockhart and then at Wells. ‘So for the time being, it would seem prudent to explore other avenues of enquiry.’

‘Is that why you’re holding a papist priest in one of the cells?’ Wells asked.

‘I know you think we should focus all of our attention on finding Hiley, Walter. But the surplice Guppy wore on the night he was killed was found at number twenty-eight Broad Street in Soho. Malloy, the priest, used to live at this address. And Malloy paid Guppy a visit in late March, apparently to warn him that a fellow tenant had prophesied his death.’

This last piece of information was new to all of them. ‘You’ve been to see this tenant, I assume — the one who made the threat?’ Lockhart said.

‘I plan to. His name’s Ebenezer Druitt and he’s currently serving a five-year sentence for manslaughter in Pentonville.’

‘But how can we be sure it’s the same surplice?’ Wells asked.

It was a good question; all Pyke could do was explain what a distinctive garment it was.

Lockhart looked at him and nodded. ‘I’d say we need to take Pyke’s finding very seriously indeed.’

Pyke didn’t bother to hide his surprise: Eddie Lockhart coming to his defence? If he’d trusted the man, he would have been gratified by the intervention.

‘A word, if I may?’ Pyke said later, calling Eddie Lockhart into his office and inviting him to sit in the chair opposite him.

Closing the door, Pyke sat down behind his desk and took a moment to contemplate the man’s unease. ‘I have an important job I’d like you to do for me. There are seven curates attached to the parish of St Botolph’s. I’ve talked to one of them, the Reverend Martin Jakes of St Matthew’s, Bethnal Green. I’d like you to go and see the others, to build up a fuller picture of the victim and his dealings with the curates. Maybe some of them saw Guppy in Hiley’s company. They might have important details they aren’t even aware of.’ Pyke lowered his voice. ‘You’ll have to be sensitive, mind you. Any information will have to be coaxed from these curates.’

Eddie Lockhart regarded him with a cool expression. ‘You don’t believe Hiley killed the rector, do you?’

‘To be honest, I don’t.’

‘Neither do I.’

Pyke nodded, surprised by the forcefulness of his statement. ‘Why don’t you believe it was Hiley?’

‘Intuition. And the evidence.’ Lockhart sighed.

‘We need to look more closely into Guppy’s affairs. Someone killed him for a reason,’ Pyke continued.

Lockhart gave him a sceptical look. ‘I’ve read your report. As far as I can tell, everyone who knew Guppy loathed him.’

‘Then this is your chance to talk to the curates and find out what, in particular, they loathed about him.’

Lockhart shrugged. He didn’t seem especially keen. ‘We need to look at the parish accounts too, you said so yourself. The man lived more like a prince than a priest.’

Pyke nodded. ‘You think this might have something to do with money? The misappropriation of parish funds?’

Lockhart sat there awkwardly, not knowing how to respond.

‘This task I’ve given you will be quite an undertaking,’ Pyke said, finally. ‘Given that all of the churches are in Bethnal Green, I wouldn’t expect you to travel to and from your boarding house each day.’ He licked his lips. ‘I’d envisage the job taking perhaps three days, if you start immediately. As such, I’ve taken the liberty of booking you into a lodging house in the City. You’ll find it comfortable: perhaps a good deal more comfortable than your current accommodation.’

Lockhart acknowledged this with a curt nod.

‘You’ll do it, then?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Pyke picked up a pen from his desk and fiddled with it. ‘Whether you believe it or not, Eddie, and whatever differences of opinion we might’ve had in the past, I do think you’re a good detective.’

Lockhart stood up and waited for Pyke to dismiss him.

‘One more thing. I’d prefer it if you kept this assignment to yourself,’ Pyke added. ‘I wouldn’t want the others to think I was treating you any differently to them.’

The Engineer public house was situated a few streets from the river at the end of a mean, yellow terrace, backing on to a burial ground and the prison. It was a grim, industrial district dominated by the brewery, a gin distillery, railway works and an old sawmill. Along the river itself, coal barges were moored at the various wharfs and on the other bank the bone-grinding factories of Lambeth billowed plumes of smoke into already grey skies. The pub attracted drinkers from the factories and the rows of tightly-packed terraces.

Pyke didn’t introduce himself to the landlord, Gerald Tompkins, but asked for a private audience. Outside in the yard, the landlord lit his pipe. ‘So what can I do for you, sir?’ He was a bald, unattractive man with short arms and barely any neck.

‘You lent a man called William Gerrett twenty pounds. I’d like to buy that debt from you.’ Pyke pulled out a piece of paper. ‘I’ll give you twenty-five, if you’ll sign this and agree never to speak a word of our conversation to Gerrett or anyone else.’

Tompkins removed the pipe from his mouth and blew out a stream of tobacco smoke. ‘And why would you want to buy this man’s debt?’

‘That’s none of your business. You’ll make five pounds from the transaction. That’s all you need to know.’

‘And Gerrett?’

‘He’ll owe me instead of owing you.’

Tompkins looked at Pyke and shrugged. ‘As long as I get my money, I don’t care who’s paying me. Let’s go inside.’

In an upstairs room, Pyke watched as the landlord signed the document he’d prepared earlier and counted the twenty-five pounds. As Tompkins put down his pen, Pyke took out his pistol from his holster and pointed the barrel at the landlord’s face. ‘Just so we’re sure. If you tell a living soul about this arrangement, I’ll come back here and shoot you through the heart. I need you to know that I’m serious. Nod if you understand.’