Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

The governor was an ugly, diminutive man with almost no neck and arms that seemed to extend sideways out of his shoulders. What he lacked in physical grace, he tried to compensate for in sartorial elegance. His dark blue frock-coat looked as if it had been hand-stitched by the most fashionable Bond Street tailor and contrasted with his pale grey trousers, tucked into polished, knee-length leather boots. He listened carefully while Pyke explained his concern that Ebenezer Druitt might somehow be communicating with a party or parties outside the prison.

‘Given our separate and silent system, it would be difficult for the man to communicate with another prisoner, let alone someone outside these walls. I just don’t see how it would be possible.’

‘Has he received any visits since he came here in June?’

The governor shook his head. ‘Prisoners have to serve at least a year of their sentence before they are allowed to receive visitors and, as you can imagine, such visits are heavily supervised.’

It was possible, of course, that Druitt simply knew the man or men who were carrying out the murders and was not in communication with them. But that didn’t explain how he knew that Pyke was reading Mandeville’s tome or that he kept pigs.

‘Druitt receives The Times each day. Is that usual for a prisoner?’

The governor sat forward, hands resting on the edge of the desk. ‘If we’re to convince the felons to alter their behaviour, to see the value of discipline and hard work, then some small inducements are necessary. But if you feel that this prisoner’s receiving of the newspaper has in any way contributed to the affairs you speak of, I won’t hesitate to rescind this privilege forthwith.’

‘That won’t be necessary, for the time being.’ Pyke didn’t yet know how Druitt was sending and receiving messages, but if he was using The Times to do so, it was probably best to keep the lines of communication open.

‘I have to say, sir, I’m a little perturbed by your claims regarding this particular felon. Until now, I regarded him as a model for others. A man who works hard, says little, reads the Bible and attends chapel.’

Scotland Yard had been Pyke’s place of work for almost a year but he still didn’t feel quite comfortable there. It wasn’t necessarily the architecture which he objected to, though in common with all state buildings its intention, he felt, was to overawe and intimidate. Nor did he object to the fact that in a building of such apparent scale and grandeur, the Detective Branch had been housed in such poky conditions. Rather it was the idea that of the hundreds of people who worked there, he could count the people he liked and trusted on the fingers of one hand. More than this, he believed there were at least as many again who were actively trying to damage his reputation. These fears may not have been grounded in hard evidence but the whole place seemed to run on gossip and innuendo, and as he walked by huddles of clerks and policemen they would stop talking, and it was difficult not to feel that he was the subject of their conversations.

Wells had sent word that he wouldn’t be able to attend the meeting that Pyke had scheduled for five o’clock that afternoon, so it was just the four of them. Jack Whicher started, telling them he’d still been unable to find anything at all that linked Isaac Guppy and Charles Hogarth; there were no business, social or religious associations. He seemed disheartened. Pyke assured him that he was doing a good job and told him to continue looking into Hogarth’s business affairs. Now that Mayne knew the real cause of death, he added, they didn’t have to take such care to hide their motives for asking potentially awkward questions. Lockhart and Shaw reported that they had spent the previous two days in St Giles and Soho looking for Keate’s mother or his siblings or anyone who might know the family. They, too, had failed to discover anything of interest. Their difficulties had been compounded by the fact that no one from either district had been willing to talk to police detectives.

As the meeting broke up, Pyke asked to speak to each of the detectives separately in his office.

‘Ah, Frederick,’ Pyke said, as Shaw took the chair opposite him. The youngest detective sergeant had a nervous disposition and Pyke wondered whether this made him more or less susceptible to the kind of pressure Pierce was capable of exerting.

‘I wanted to make sure that you didn’t have any concerns with the way I’m overseeing the investigation.’

‘Me?’ Shaw ran his fingers through his brown hair and laughed. ‘Why would you think I had a concern?’

‘You’d come to me, if you did, wouldn’t you?’

‘Of course I would.’

‘Because I remember you saying that the investigation into the murders five years ago had been flawless. I suppose I’ve been arguing otherwise in public. I think there were avenues that weren’t fully explored and I’m not sure how overwhelming the evidence against Morris Keate actually was.’

Shaw nodded vigorously, as though he agreed with Pyke’s point. ‘I was young at the time and maybe a little naive. It was my first murder investigation. A part of me still wants to think we got everything right.’

‘And do you? I mean now, with the benefit of hindsight?’

The younger man shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem likely, does it? Not in light of what’s happened in the past month or so.’

Pyke looked into Shaw’s eyes and tried to imagine him slipping off to see Pierce in his office at Bow Street. Was he capable of such deception?

‘Very good,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s all for now, Frederick. Could you tell Jack to join me for a few minutes?’

As soon as Whicher had settled into the chair Pyke started by telling him about his suspicions regarding Shaw; the fact that he might be the one passing secrets to Pierce.

Whicher held his breath for a moment, as if weighing up the claim in his head. ‘Do you know this for certain?’

‘He was part of the original investigation. I think he feels a certain loyalty to what was done at the time and hence to Pierce; and I don’t think he quite realises what’s at stake here. I’m not just suggesting that the investigation was botched; I’m saying it’s possible that Morris Keate was deliberately picked out to take the blame and that Pierce knowingly allowed it to happen.’

Whicher nodded, but said, ‘You’re sure you’re not letting your antipathy for Pierce colour your reading of the situation?’

‘All I know is that I need to plug the leak in this vessel as quickly as possible. If Pierce knows what we’re doing as a department, he can always remain one step ahead of us, covering his tracks.’

‘You’re talking as if you’ve already made up your mind that Pierce is actively seeking to sabotage this investigation.’

Pyke had asked himself the same question: whether his antipathy towards Pierce was causing him to read more into the situation than was appropriate.

‘Now you’re here, Jack, I did want to talk to you about something else.’ He waited for a moment and then gave an account of his visit to the Model Prison and his suspicions regarding Druitt.

‘You think Druitt knows who killed Guppy and Hogarth?’

‘Either that, or he’s pretending he does. But if he is in communication with the murderer, perhaps he might lead us to him.’

Whicher crossed his legs and pondered what Pyke had told him: the idea seemed to sit heavily on his mind.

Pyke rubbed his eyes again and tried to suppress a yawn. He hadn’t slept well the night before and had woken up long before dawn. ‘I was also thinking about these two boys, Gregg and Clough. They were part of a mob run by Horace Flint. He was murdered a few years ago. Now a man called George Culpepper has taken over.’