Andrew Pepper - The Detective Branch

‘Good work, Frederick.’ The others congratulated him, too. Shaw stammered that he’d been lucky.

Turning to Gerrett, Pyke tried not to pay too much attention to the disgusting mound of wobbling flesh around the man’s neck. ‘What news from the inquest?’

‘The jury ruled the deaths to be wilful murder committed by a person or persons unknown.’

‘And are the bodies still at the Queen’s Head?’

‘In the upstairs room.’ Gerrett shot a sideways glance at Lockhart. Most of the time, he didn’t breathe without Lockhart’s approval. ‘The landlord said the bodies can stay where they are; he’s happy to let people traipse upstairs to see them, thinks they’ll stop for a drink after. He didn’t need any convincing it would be good for business.’

‘Anything else from the inquest?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Gerrett said, his hands in his pockets.

‘I’m presuming it didn’t shed light on the identity of the other two victims?’

‘You presume right.’ Gerrett folded his arms and sniffed.

Pyke chose to ignore the big man’s attempt to needle him. ‘Well, someone will recognise them soon enough, at least the one who was shot in the back rather than the face.’ Pyke made sure he didn’t meet Jack Whicher’s stare.

‘There’s already a queue outside the Queen’s Head stretching back as far as the Theatre Royal,’ Gerrett added.

‘I want you there as soon as the landlord opens his doors.’ Pyke paused, wondering whether he should assign Shaw to help. ‘Some of those waiting in the queue will be desperate to convince you the dead are their friends or loved ones. Don’t ask me why, because there’s no financial advantage in it, but people like to be associated with something like this. Your job is to sort out the wheat from the chaff. So don’t be afraid to ask difficult questions and, remember, to make a positive identification, you’ll need corroboration from two independent witnesses.’

Pyke turned to Whicher, who didn’t seem particularly enthused by his discoveries. ‘Your turn, Detective.’ He didn’t like to call him ‘Jack’ in the company of the others, because this singled Whicher out as his favourite.

‘The wife’s disorganised so the books are in a real mess,’ Whicher said, looking at Pyke. ‘I’d say it’s a small operation; it doesn’t seem to make more than a few pounds a month, barely enough to pay the rent.’

‘That’s a good start,’ Pyke said. ‘But now, I’d like you to focus on something else.’ Pyke glanced across at Lockhart and quickly explained that the detective sergeant had found an eyewitness and gave a description of what the elderly man had seen: a single figure fleeing the scene, brandishing a large pistol.

‘The man walking past the front of the shop, Morgan, told me he heard three shots fired in rapid succession. If they all came from a single gun, we can rule out a conventional flintlock pistol. But I’ve read about a new gun called a revolver that some gunsmiths have begun to import from America.’ Looking at Whicher now, he added, ‘I’d like you to visit every gunsmith you can think of and get names and descriptions of anyone who’s purchased one of these weapons in, say, the last month.’

Whicher nodded briskly. He seemed happy about the prospect of not having to return to the pawnbroker’s shop.

Pyke turned to Lockhart. ‘I hope you don’t mind me telling the men about your findings, Detective.’

To his credit, Lockhart shrugged and said he wasn’t concerned. ‘I sat with the witness for quite a while,’ he added, looking at Whicher and Shaw. ‘In the end, he gave me quite a reasonable description of the gunman. Our suspect is at least six foot tall, well built, with short, black hair. He’s swarthy, clean shaven, and wears expensive clothes.’

‘A gentleman rather than a poor Irishman, then?’ Pyke asked.

Lockhart made a point of avoiding his eyes. ‘It could have been a disguise.’

Pyke nodded. He didn’t like the men arguing with him but Lockhart was right; it was wise to keep all avenues of enquiry open.

‘Actually there was something else,’ Lockhart said, sensing that Pyke was about to move on.

‘Yes?’

‘A crossing sweeper by the name of…’ Lockhart had to look down to consult his pad. ‘Jervis. He reckons he saw a policeman in the vicinity of the pawnbroker’s around the time of the shooting.’

This was new and potentially important information. ‘Before or after?’

‘The sweeper said just before. Then he heard the shots. He told me he looked round and the policeman was gone.’

Pyke turned to Whicher, not bothering to hide his concern. ‘Who was the first to arrive at the scene?’

‘Constable Kent, E Division. Badge number E78.’ He paused while he read through his notes. ‘The witness, Morgan, ran up to him outside the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane.’

‘So this policeman the crossing-sweeper saw, or thought he saw, outside the shop on Shorts Gardens couldn’t have been Kent.’

Whicher shook his head.

Pyke turned back to Lockhart. ‘Are you absolutely sure your witness wasn’t having you on?’

‘He was adamant.’ Lockhart folded his arms. ‘He gave quite a detailed description, too. Said the man had black bushy hair under his stovepipe hat and a bad limp.’

Pyke took a moment to ponder what he’d just been told. It made no sense. If a policeman had been near the shop at the time of the robbery, he would at least have raised the alarm. Still, if the crossing-sweeper was telling the truth, it was good detective work on Lockhart’s part.

‘I’ll look into this. But tomorrow I’d like you to find this new witness and bring him here so I can talk to him.’

Lockhart pursed his lips. ‘He’ll just tell you exactly what he told me.’

Pyke was about to respond but he managed to restrain himself. As he looked around the room, he could feel the heat rising in his neck.

Lockhart leaned over and whispered something in Gerrett’s ear. The taller man grinned and, as he did so, he looked at Pyke.

‘Something amusing, Billy?’

Gerrett reddened but said nothing. Next to him, Lockhart’s smile turned into a smirk.

Rankled, Pyke stared Lockhart down. ‘I want to make one thing perfectly clear: what we discuss in this room goes no farther.’

No one spoke or even moved. ‘And let me say this: if I find out that any of you have been passing information about this investigation to parties not present in this room I’ll drum you out of this office and back into uniform quicker than you can say Benedict Pierce.’

Later, when Pyke returned home, he found Godfrey in ebullient mood, railing against the latest income tax demand he’d received, and Felix lying next to Copper, seemingly picking fleas from the mastiff’s tawny fur. Felix’s face was rigid with concentration. It was the same expression he had while reading or doing school work. In these circumstances, it was almost impossible to rouse him, even to come to the table to eat. Pyke found Felix’s dedication to his studies commendable but he also worried about his son becoming too closeted from the world around him.

‘I told the buggers I no longer earn an income. I’m a destitute old man in the twilight of his life.’ Godfrey’s face was the colour of a ripe beetroot and his hand was nursing a glass of claret.

‘You’ll outlive us all,’ Pyke said, waiting for Felix to look up and acknowledge him. Hearing Pyke’s voice, Copper lifted his head and started to wag his tail.

‘God forbid it.’ Godfrey chuckled.

‘Good day at school?’ Pyke asked Felix.

Felix’s face was blank, almost bored. ‘Same as always.’

Pyke nodded. This was about as much as he ever got out of his son. It was the way of the world, he supposed. Fathers and sons. It wouldn’t have bothered him except that he knew that the lad confided in Godfrey, poured out his heart to the old man. In one sense, Pyke was grateful that Felix had someone he felt he could talk to, but in another, he wondered why such a chasm had opened up between himself and the boy. Perhaps it was just his age. He had heard someone say that fourteen-year-olds rarely opened their mouths in the company of adults. Briefly he wondered what Felix was like at school, how he related to his peers and his teachers.