Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

For a moment, no one in the circle spoke, all looking towards the archdeacon for reassurance. Wynter seemed unable to comprehend that he had been treated with so little respect not merely in a place of worship — his place of worship — but in the most sacred place in the entire city. Pyke couldn’t have done a better job if he’d unbuttoned his trousers and relieved himself on the floor.

‘Are you insane?’ Wynter whispered finally, his small, quick eyes darting around the group.

‘Did you know one of your flock was nakedly corrupt? Did you just decide to turn a blind eye, or were you an active participant in his corruption?’

‘This, sir, is a place of God,’ the archdeacon murmured. ‘Take your grubbiness and leave at once.’

Another man, also in robes but older than Wynter, approached Pyke, ashen faced. ‘Who are you, sir, and what do you want?’

This interruption gave the archdeacon a chance to recover. His lips puckered with barely repressed anger. ‘Your superiors will hear about this.’

Pyke didn’t doubt that Mayne would hear about this confrontation, and perhaps also his interrogation of Palmer, but now he had what he’d found under the floorboards in Guppy’s study as ammunition, he could throw it back at his accusers. Still, he knew that he was taking a risk, and that his position was now vulnerable. As he pushed his way through the crowd and walked back up the aisle, he could hear the consternation among the parishioners. As he stared up at the cavernous ceiling, his thoughts turned suddenly, and without apparent explanation, to the man he’d known as the Owl.

It took a little over three hours for Sir Richard Mayne to hear about the incident in St Paul’s and another hour for him to assemble the necessary people to deal with the situation. When Pyke was finally called up to Mayne’s office, he was surprised to see that his friend and the former assistant commissioner, Fitzroy Tilling, was there, together with Rowan and Mayne. There was nothing accidental about the way in which the room had been arranged either. The chair left for Pyke was directly opposite the ones occupied by Tilling and Rowan: they were the jury; Mayne, sitting behind his desk, was the judge. As Pyke entered, they were discussing the injuries that Benedict Pierce had sustained in an assault that had taken place near his place of work.

‘Detective Inspector Pyke,’ Mayne said, coldly. ‘Please take a seat. Of course, you know Commissioner Rowan and Fitzroy Tilling, who is here in his capacity as private secretary to the prime minister.’ Mayne paused. ‘It would seem that the prime minister was visited a day or two ago by Bishop Blomfield and was forced to reassure the bishop that the Metropolitan Police was not investigating the activities of the London Churches Fund which the prime minister represents as a member of the executive board.’ The commissioner’s face was hot with anger. ‘I also received a visit from a good friend of mine, Sir St John Palmer, who told me that you had interrogated him regarding his associations with Hogarth and Guppy.’

Pyke exchanged a brief look with Tilling. He had known Tilling for fifteen years and during this time their mutual suspicion and, at times, antipathy had slowly changed into something approaching friendship. Tilling was a big, clumsy man with olive skin, a receding hairline and dark, bug-like eyes. For most of his working life, he’d faithfully served Sir Robert Peel in one capacity or another, first in Ireland and then in Whitehall. More recently he had served as the assistant commissioner, but after Peel had won the election in ’41, Tilling had been called back into the fold.

‘Perhaps you would care to tell us what possessed you to walk into a place of worship and accuse one of the most important clerics in the city of corruption?’ Mayne asked. His face was tight and hard.

‘I didn’t accuse the archdeacon of corruption. I asked him why he hadn’t acted to curtail the corrupt practices of a person in his charge.’

‘But in St Paul’s Cathedral, man?’ Rowan interrupted. ‘And in front of the congregation? Have you no discretion?’

‘As the commissioners, Detective Inspector, we’ve had to field visits from a respected businessman and the archdeacon himself. Both of these men have categorically demanded your head on a pole,’ Mayne added.

‘Your behaviour, as an ambassador of the Metropolitan Police, has been unacceptable. Totally unacceptable,’ Rowan spat. ‘I’m proposing that we suspend Detective Inspector Pyke with immediate effect and move to dismiss him, if the accusations made against him are found to be true.’

In spite of the seriousness of these threats Pyke chose to ignore them and direct his remarks to Mayne. ‘Perhaps the question you should be asking, Sir Richard, is what drove me to make these accusations in the first place.’

‘Defaming a churchman in his place of worship is sufficient to warrant your immediate dismissal,’ Rowan said.

‘I’ve just been doing my job, Sir Charles,’ Pyke said, turning to look at him. ‘But if you’d rather I take what I’ve found elsewhere, to the newspapers, for instance, that of course is your prerogative.’

Almost at once, Pyke noticed a subtle shift in the mood of his inquisitors. For the first time Tilling spoke. ‘I think we should hear what Detective Inspector Pyke has to say and assess his findings on their own merit.’

‘Elaborate, Detective Inspector,’ Mayne said.

Pyke removed what he had found under the floorboards in Guppy’s study and slammed the documents down on Mayne’s desk.

‘Did you know that Isaac Guppy, the recently deceased rector at St Botolph’s in Aldgate, had managed to accrue a little over forty-three thousand pounds in six different bank accounts by the time of his death?’

Tilling shifted uncomfortably in his chair and looked at Mayne, who was inspecting the documents Pyke had presented to him. ‘I’d say this changes the situation somewhat.’

‘The question is: how did the rector of a moderately wealthy parish manage to squirrel away that amount of money? It would be quite impossible to do so simply out of parish funds. The gross annual income of the parish, I’m told, is no more than four thousand pounds, and out of that salaries are paid and expenses defrayed. It would take many, many years to build up as much as forty thousand from general funds, and Guppy had only been rector for three.’

An uneasy silence descended while all three men digested the information that Pyke had just presented them with.

‘But I’m assuming you have nothing to indicate that Guppy took this money from the London Churches Fund,’ Tilling said eventually.

Pyke now understood why Tilling had come to the meeting.

‘Guppy served in an administrative capacity on the Churches Fund, I believe. It should be investigated.’

‘A very minor capacity, as I understand it,’ Tilling retorted. ‘But I’m told that Bishop Blomfield is happy for the Fund’s accounts to be inspected.’

Pyke nodded. He grasped what he was implicitly being told: you won’t find anything amiss. ‘I also want to interview a prisoner who was transferred from the Model Prison at Pentonville to an undisclosed location by order of the Home Office.’

Mayne was about to speak but Tilling cut in and said, ‘I think that can be arranged.’ It told Pyke all he needed to know; that Druitt’s transfer had been sanctioned at the very highest level.

‘You have to learn some tact, Detective Inspector, some basic respect for the offices of church and state,’ Rowan stated, glancing over at Mayne. He had clearly wanted to wound Pyke and seemed disappointed.

Mayne nodded vigorously. ‘Further outbursts such as the scene today in St Paul’s will not be tolerated. Is that understood?’ He waited a moment then added, ‘And you’re to leave Sir St John Palmer alone.’