Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

‘Us, meaning the police?’

Pyke nodded.

Jakes looked around them, to check they were alone, and whispered, ‘Because Luke had already told me that he suspected police involvement; that the fraud, and cover-up, had been perpetrated with the assistance of individuals within the Metropolitan Police.’

‘I assume you know that Gibb is a policeman himself.’

‘But in a rather lowly position, I understand. I think he was struggling to make any headway on the matter.’ Jakes dug his hands into his pockets and sighed. ‘That’s why your name came into our conversation, Detective Inspector.’

‘ My name?’

‘He said you’d taken over as head of the Detective Branch and that, as someone who’d crossed swords with the authorities on numerous occasions, you might be sympathetic to the cause. Luke had reached a dead end and he still didn’t know who exactly was involved. I think he toyed with the idea of simply giving you the accounts he’d stolen from the archdeacon but he was afraid that, if word got out, they would come after you; and if that happened, he’d never find out which members of the police force were involved.’

‘And so you agreed to write this anonymous note, sending me to number twenty-eight Broad Street?’

Jakes lowered his head, as if a little ashamed.

‘You planted Guppy’s surplice there, knowing I’d find it.’

‘Luke did. I just wrote the note.’

‘Why?’ Pyke could feel his anger gathering strength. ‘Did you actually want me to arrest Brendan Malloy for Guppy’s murder? To see another innocent man go to the scaffold?’

‘No… We wanted to lead you to Druitt, not Malloy. We hoped you would see Malloy for who he was — a broken man, incapable of inflicting harm on anyone but himself.’

‘But why to Druitt?’ Pyke asked, beginning to see the logic behind their machinations.

‘Because Druitt would help you make the connection to the old murders and the injustice done to Morris Keate.’

In fact it was Frederick Shaw who had first brought the murder of the two boys to his attention — Druitt had merely toyed with him by suggesting the date.

‘You — a man of God — would employ someone like Ebenezer Druitt to do your bidding?’

‘It was Luke’s idea. He had met Druitt and realised they shared a dislike of the established Church.’

‘But did you ever meet the man?’

‘Once, last winter.’ Jakes hesitated. ‘I didn’t like him. I never felt comfortable in his presence. But Luke assured me he would be useful.’

‘So Luke had told Druitt about his plans?’

‘As much as he felt Druitt needed to know. But Druitt’s propensity for mischief nearly jeopardised the whole operation.’

‘How?’

‘For a start, he managed to convince Malloy that he’d foreseen Guppy’s death and then Malloy, who knew nothing about Luke’s plans, tried to warn Guppy. That alerted Guppy to the possibility that someone might be trying to right the wrong that had been done to Keate.’

Pyke considered what Druitt had known about his private life: the book he was reading and the fact he kept pigs. Had Luke Gibb passed him this information too, and if so did this mean Gibb had broken into his home?

‘Did Luke Gibb actually visit Druitt at Pentonville or did he just find a way of passing messages to him?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’

Pyke stared into the curate’s weathered face and tried not to think about the sense of betrayal he felt. ‘Doesn’t it concern you that, in effect, you’ve given your blessing to three murders?’

‘I did that one thing, Detective Inspector. I sent you that note. All I ever wanted was for you to find out the truth.’

Pyke folded his arms. ‘And now I know the truth, what do you want me to do with it?’

‘I won’t insult you by assuming your faith in the institution you serve.’

‘You’re not answering my question.’

Jakes’s smile vanished. ‘I want you to do as you see fit, Detective Inspector. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘To get my hands dirty so you don’t have to?’

Jakes sighed. ‘I’m not naive enough to believe that God will forgive me for the sins I’ve committed.’

‘I’m not interested in God. I just want to find Luke Gibb and put a stop to this madness.’

‘And let those who have murdered to line their own pockets live out their days in peace?’

‘What’s Gibbs’s rank and division?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Really? Or is that just another lie?’ Pyke saw the pained expression on Martin Jakes’s face but he didn’t care.

A bitter wind, coming in off the river, rushed across the wide open space around Great Scotland Yard. A brittle silver frost still lingered and Pyke had to keep moving in order to stay warm as he positioned himself on the far side of the yard, across from the public entrance to the police building so that none of his fellow officers would see him and raise the alarm. There was a large clock on the wall overlooking the yard, and it gave the time as midday. Whicher had been inside the building for nearly two hours. In another corner of the yard, a constable in uniform emerged from the boarding house and hurried across the open space to the police headquarters. To kill some time, Pyke walked down to the river at a brisk pace and stood for a while at the top of the tide-washed stairs. Retracing his path back to Scotland Yard, he passed a constable coming the other way and kept his head bowed, the brim of his crushed billycock hat veiling his eyes.

Whicher was waiting for him in the corner of the yard farthest from the police building. He glanced behind him, to make sure no one had followed him, and started to move off in the direction of Whitehall before Pyke caught up with him. ‘Well?’

‘Luke Gibb joined on the twenty-third of March three years ago. He was dismissed for drunken conduct on the fourth of June last year.’

Stopping, Pyke turned to face Whicher. ‘That doesn’t sound like our man.’

‘It’s all they had. But I’ve got an address for him in Bermondsey, near the leather market.’ He held up a piece of paper.

‘What Gibb has done requires discipline, intelligence and planning

… I can’t imagine him risking it all by getting drunk on the job.’

‘We need to go to Bermondsey to find out.’

‘Why don’t I go to Bermondsey? You could go to the Model Prison. I think Gibb might have visited Druitt. If so, there could be a record of it.’

‘It couldn’t do any harm, I suppose. Dividing up and going our separate ways,’ Whicher said, although he didn’t sound convinced.

‘Each time I visited the prison, I had to show my warrant badge and sign the visitors’ log. But I didn’t have to specify the prisoner I was there to see. You’ll just have to go through the log for the last few months. See if there are any names that stand out.’

‘Do you think Gibb might have solicited help from one of his former colleagues?’

‘It’s possible. I’m not sure what finding a name in the visitors’ book will tell us, but if I can’t find Gibb in Bermondsey, or anyone who knows him, it might give us something.’

Whicher glanced up at the clock on the wall of the police building. ‘I’ll meet you back at my apartment at four.’

There was no answer at the address Whicher had given him, and when Pyke forced the door it was apparent that no one had lived there for several months. When he asked the residents whether they knew a man called Luke Gibb and explained he’d once been a policeman, one or two remembered someone fitting that description and suggested that Pyke look for him in the taverns and ginneries of Bermondsey Street.