Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

Pyke looked at Pierce’s face. It told him all he needed to know. Lockhart hadn’t said a word to him. For so long now, Pyke had assumed that Lockhart was Pierce’s source in the department and now that no longer seemed to be the case. Who else could it be? Not Whicher. That just left Shaw — and Wells.

Mayne stared at the document, seemingly not knowing what to do or say.

‘The onus is on the coroner to justify his original finding but sadly he is nowhere to be found. The same is true of the porter who apparently discovered Hogarth’s body in the first place. Both men live on their own but neither has been seen at their respective place of residence in over two weeks.’

‘What are you saying, Detective Inspector?’ Mayne stared down at the document in his hands.

‘Let’s consider the facts. Johnny Gregg was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of December 1839. Isaac Guppy was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of December 1844. Stephen Clough was crucified ten days after Gregg on the thirteenth of December 1839. Charles Hogarth was crucified ten days after Guppy on the thirteenth of December 1844.’

Pierce was on his feet. ‘We don’t know for certain that Hogarth was crucified and in any case, Detective Inspector Pyke has found no hard evidence linking these murders with the events of five years ago.’

Mayne looked at Pierce. ‘Sit down please, Benedict,’ he muttered.

‘We’re not simply dealing with murder here,’ Pyke said, raising his voice a little. ‘What we have is a wilful attempt to conceal the actual cause of Hogarth’s death. The question we should be asking is why? My guess, for what it’s worth, is that someone didn’t want us to make a connection between Guppy and Hogarth. In other words, if we find how they’re linked, we’ll find out why they were killed. It also stands to reason that whoever wanted to keep Hogarth’s murder a secret has sufficient authority to influence the coroner’s decision.’ Pyke hesitated and said, ‘And perhaps a police investigation.’

That was too much for Pierce. He turned to Mayne and exploded, ‘This man is pursuing a personal vendetta against me and the men who carried out that investigation.’

‘ I’m not,’ Pyke said, ‘but it’s clear enough to me that the man who killed Guppy and Hogarth certainly is. What I’m proposing to do is to open up that investigation. To find out once and for all what took place and why someone feels sufficiently motivated to take out their anger on Guppy and Hogarth. Who knows? Perhaps there are others. Perhaps this man hasn’t finished.’

Mayne slammed his fist down on his desk. ‘Enough.’ It was the first time Pyke had ever heard him raise his voice. He held up the document and said to Pierce, ‘Can you explain this to me, Superintendent?’

Pierce tried to find something to say but the words wouldn’t come. Mayne went on, ‘Then it would seem I have no choice but to support Detective Inspector Pyke’s preferred plan of action.’ He swivelled in his chair and turned to Pyke. ‘But woe betide you, Detective Inspector, if you should choose to comment on this matter in public, at least until you’ve been able to ascertain exactly what happened. Do you understand? You’ve told your men. That’s fine. But you’re not to say a word about this to anyone else. And by that, I do mean anyone. If word gets out I’ll have someone bring me your head on a platter. I don’t think I’ll have to look hard for volunteers.’ With that, Mayne brushed the front of his hair with the palm of his hand and added, ‘That will be all for today, gentlemen.’

Pyke caught up with Benedict Pierce at the bottom of the stairs.

‘You got the wrong man five years ago and I think you know it. I think you’ve known it all along.’

Pierce smiled almost imperceptibly. ‘Excuse me, Pyke. I have a division to run.’

Thrown by the man’s nonchalance, Pyke said, quietly, ‘In the past I thought you were just self-interested, the kind of man who’d do anything to ingratiate himself with his superiors. Now I think you’re wilfully corrupt.’

As Pyke stood aside, Pierce leaned into him, so close Pyke could smell his breath, and whispered, ‘I’m going to break you.’

A cold mist had descended on Islington by the time a hackney coach had left Pyke outside his house, its stagnant breath clinging to the pavements and the bare trees, so that you couldn’t see for more than a few yards. Perhaps this was why he didn’t notice her, at least until his key was in the front door. She called out his name and as he spun around, she removed the scarf from her head, long curls of black hair falling around her face as she did so.

‘How did you…?’

Sarah Scott stepped into the light produced by the porch gas-lamp and smiled. ‘You’re not the only one capable of finding people.’ She was wearing a long black velveteen coat over what looked like an old smock.

‘Come in, please,’ Pyke said, turning back towards the front door, but her gloved hand caught him by the wrist and gently pulled him back.

‘Can we just take a walk to the end of the street?’

Pyke looked at her smooth, dark skin, her plump, sensuous lips and her thick eyelashes. Ever since his trip to Suffolk, he’d tried, and failed, to visualise her. Now those memories came flooding back; the feel of her skin, the sharpness of her cheekbone, the brown flecks in her otherwise blue eyes.

‘How did you find me?’ he asked, joining her on the pavement. She was looking up at the house.

‘I followed you from Scotland Yard.’ She smiled breezily. ‘This is rather a grand home for a police officer, isn’t it?’

Pyke decided to ignore the question. He started to walk and she fell in at his side. ‘What brings you to the metropolis?’

‘I was thinking about something you said to me when you visited the colony.’

‘Oh?’

For a moment, Sarah stopped and toyed with the silver pendant attached to her necklace. ‘You said that if I believed Ebenezer Druitt was in some way responsible for the murder you told me about, the rector, then I should speak up.’

‘I also said I didn’t want to force you to do anything you weren’t ready to do.’

‘I know and it was sweet of you.’ As she spoke, he could see the air condense in front of her. ‘Come on, let’s keep walking. Otherwise we’ll turn into blocks of ice.’

‘After I visited you in Suffolk, I went to talk to Druitt in his cell at the Model Prison,’ Pyke continued.

‘I hope for your sake you escaped unscathed. That man has a way of infecting one’s thoughts.’

Pyke took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, but he didn’t feel he had a choice. ‘Druitt intimated that you and he had been close…’

He thought he saw her suck in her cheeks.

‘Before I knew him, I found him tolerable company. Most people did. As I said, he could be quite charming when he wanted to be.’

‘No more than that?’

This time she turned and faced him, the anger in her expression almost palpable.

‘He would make you think that. It’s how he operates. Plants an idea in someone’s mind and lets it mushroom. It’s one of the reasons I parted with Brendan. Druitt managed to convince Brendan that he and I were lovers. The green-eyed monster did the rest.’

‘I take it he was lying?’

Sarah glanced at Pyke, scowling. ‘Do you really need me to answer that?’

Pyke walked on for a few yards. The light from the gas-lamp had been swamped by the mist. On one side of the street was a row of terraced houses, but now Pyke couldn’t even see their front doors. On the other side was an open field, but it had become a wall of darkness.