Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

‘How delightfully mysterious. Which poem, if I may be so bold? You see, I’m rather an admirer of Blake.’

‘ The Marriage of Heaven and Hell.’

Druitt nodded briskly. ‘Ah, Blake’s response to Milton’s Paradise Lost. And the line?’

‘“Now the sneaking serpent walks / In mild humility / And the just man rages in the wilds / Where lions roam.”’ Pyke paused. ‘I mentioned the letter to Sarah. She told me it sounded like your handiwork. That you liked to play games with people.’

But Druitt seemed not to have heard what Pyke had just said. ‘Minister Beale said that Milton was, and I quote, “too full of the Devil”. Likewise, in the poem you just quoted, Blake described Milton as “a true poet of the Devil’s party without knowing it”. Blake, of course, was paying Milton a compliment.’

‘Let me ask you a direct question.’ Pyke removed the letter from his coat pocket and handed it to Druitt. ‘Did you arrange for someone to deliver this letter to me at Scotland Yard?’

Druitt gave it a cursory glance and let it drop to the floor. ‘No, Detective Inspector, I did not.’

‘You don’t recognise the handwriting?’

‘No, sir, but if it would make you sleep easier in your bed, I’ll scribble a few lines in my own hand, so you can discount me as the phantom author.’

Pyke went to pick up the letter from the floor. ‘Brendan Malloy told me he’d visited the murdered rector, Guppy, in the spring. He said that you’d had a premonition that Guppy was going to die and that he’d gone there to warn Guppy.’

‘He told you that?’ For the first time, there was a hint of what may have been concern on Druitt’s face. ‘I can assure you he’s lying. I possess certain gifts, it’s true, but I’m afraid prophesying the future isn’t one of them. Would I be here if it were?’

Pyke tried not to show it but he felt there might have been some truth in what Druitt had just said. ‘ Something compelled Malloy to go and see Guppy. Part of me thinks you know what it was.’

‘Until you came here to see me, I’d never heard of this rector’s name.’

‘Malloy owns a book, Malleus Maleficarum. It literally translates as “The Hammer of Witches”.’

Druitt looked at him, seemingly bored now. ‘I don’t remember such a tome, I’m afraid, Detective Inspector.’

‘What if I were to tell you that Guppy was beaten to death with a hammer?’

A flicker of interest passed across Druitt’s slate-grey eyes. ‘And now you’re wondering whether Brendan may have had something to do with it?’

‘Perhaps.’

Druitt shrugged. ‘To be perfectly honest, I can’t imagine Brendan picking up a hammer with genuine malice aforethought. A bottle of gin perhaps.’

Another silence fell between them.

Pyke stood up and stretched his legs. Sitting on the stool for too long had made his leg go dead. ‘How would you describe Malloy’s sentiments regarding the Devil?’ He was thinking about the accusation that the former priest had made in the cell: that Druitt wasn’t simply evil but was the Devil incarnate.

Druitt fell back into his hammock and contemplated the question. ‘Brendan sees Satan everywhere, in everything and in everyone. A harsh interpretation would be that he had long since surrendered his mental faculties. A kinder one would be that he does so because he wants to; because it suits his view of the world. Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, good and evil. There are no shades of grey in Brendan’s world. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that if Satan was ever proved to be a fiction, there would be no reason for Brendan to exist.’

Pyke found it hard to disagree with Druitt’s candid assessment of the former priest.

Druitt climbed out of the hammock and stretched his limbs. ‘To say I’ve enjoyed our conversation would be an understatement. It’s been a while since I’ve talked for this length of time, but I’m afraid it’s left me feeling rather worn out. If you don’t have any further questions, perhaps you might permit me to get on with my work.’ He gestured down at the half-woven mat on the floor.

‘I’d like to think I won’t bother you again, but somehow I suspect I’ll be back.’

‘I’ll be ready for you, Detective Inspector,’ Druitt said.

Pyke banged on the door and the peephole opened almost immediately. ‘Are you ready to go?’ the warder asked. A few moments later, the door swung open. But Druitt hadn’t quite finished with him.

‘Tell me one thing, sir. What date exactly did this murder take place?’

Without having to consult his notes, Pyke said, ‘The third.’

‘Of December?’

He nodded. ‘Is that significant?’

Druitt yawned, but when he looked up, his eyes were glistening. ‘I’d say you were better placed to answer that question than me.’

‘Why me?’

‘The problem of Milton’s poem isn’t Satan. It’s God,’ Druitt said, calmly. ‘Because why else would the poem need, or even desire, to justify the ways of God to men?’

By the time Pyke returned to the Detective Branch, it was late, well after ten, and the rooms were occupied by just Whicher and Shaw. While he removed his greatcoat and hung it on the stand, Whicher explained that he’d been to see the constable who’d arrested Egan, but that there was seemingly no connection between the matter he’d been arrested for, the theft of a few crates of wine, and the Saviour’s Cross. Pyke asked him whether he’d managed to question Egan himself, but Whicher shook his head and said it hadn’t seemed to be worth his while.

Frederick Shaw was sitting at his desk surrounded by stacks of papers and reports. His sleeves were rolled up and an ink pen was tucked behind his ear.

‘Found anything interesting?’

‘I’ve been trying to reacquaint myself with that investigation I was telling you about,’ Shaw said, pointing to the reports on his desk.

‘And?’

‘The first boy, Johnny Gregg, was beaten to death with a hammer, as I said.’

Pyke pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘And this other boy was crucified?’

‘Stephen Clough. His hands and feet were nailed to a door.’

‘Where?’

Shaw took a few moments to find the right file. ‘Cambridge Street.’

‘Soho?’ Pyke felt a jolt of excitement race up his spine.

‘That’s right.’

‘But I thought you said the bodies were found in St Giles.’

‘The first one was.’

Pyke could feel the blood pumping in his chest. ‘Do you know where on Cambridge Street?’

Shaw had another look at the report. ‘An old stables, I think.’

‘That’s where Brendan Malloy used to perform mass each Sunday.’

Shaw looked up from the report, confused. ‘Malloy?’

‘The priest. The one we had in our custody until Wells, in his wisdom, persuaded Mayne to release him.’

This was an important piece of information. It suggested that Malloy knew or at least knew of the man hanged for killing Johnny Gregg with a hammer and for crucifying Stephen Clough. If Morris Keate was as plagued by Satanic visions as Shaw seemed to think he was, and in view of the location of the second murder, it was almost inconceivable that he hadn’t met Malloy and perhaps even asked for an exorcism.

‘When did all this take place, Frederick? I know you’ve mentioned the date already but remind me again.’

‘Eighteen thirty-nine.’

‘Which month?’

‘December. The first boy, Gregg, was found on the morning of the fourth.’

Pyke felt another rush of excitement. ‘So he would have been killed some time on the third?’

‘I suppose so.’ Shaw looked up and must have seen the heat in Pyke’s face. ‘Why’s that significant?’

‘Guppy was killed on the night of the third of December, too. And as far as we know, a hammer was used on both occasions.’