Andrew Pepper - Kill-Devil and Water

‘So why did this valet do it?’ Pyke asked, still trying to make sense of Tilling’s manner. ‘I mean, why kill someone you’re stealing from?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps Bedford had caught him in the act, or had discovered that this chap was stealing from him. Perhaps he confronted him and a struggle ensued…’

‘I thought you told me that Bedford had been stabbed in his belly with a letter opener some time during the night.’

‘So what if I did?’ Tilling asked defensively, returning to his seat.

‘Well, if he was killed in his bed, it isn’t likely that he interrupted a robbery, is it?’ Pyke said. ‘And if I’d stolen some rings and money from my master, the last place I’d think of hiding them would be in my own quarters.’

‘Well, I’m not strictly involved in the investigation, even though I have been forced to keep Bedford’s friends and associates abreast of any developments. They’re already demanding the noose for this valet.’

Pyke shrugged, as though the matter didn’t concern him. ‘So why did you summon me here to see you?’ A note to this effect had been delivered to Pyke’s garret earlier that morning. ‘You still haven’t asked about my own investigation. I assumed that was what you wanted to talk about.’

‘It is, in a way.’ Tilling sat up in his chair and wiped his forehead with a fresh, white handkerchief. ‘Actually, this is quite awkward.’

‘What’s awkward?’

‘Well, it appears that Morel-Roux had been reading The True and Candid Confessions of an Ex-Bow Street Runner.’ Tilling looked up, to check his reaction.

‘So?’

‘Unfortunately someone, I don’t yet know who, passed this snippet of information to a journalist reporting on the investigation.’

‘And?’

‘Dammit, man. I’ve read the book. I’m sure you know exactly what I’m referring to. The passage where the character does what, it would seem, Morel-Roux has done. Murder an aristocrat while he sleeps in his own bed. Only in your case, you manage to concoct an elaborate and, I have to say, rather unconvincing justification for taking the man’s life.’

In fact, Pyke had simply held a pillow over Emily’s father’s face and suffocated him, but it was no surprise that Godfrey had decided to splash the pages of his ‘memoir’ with sufficient blood to set the readers’ pulses racing.

‘If I told you I haven’t read the book and that it purports to be a fictional account of a man’s life, would that make a difference?’

‘It’s not what you or I think,’ Tilling said. ‘But the author is your uncle and you were once a Bow Street Runner.’

‘I understand that, but why is this a problem?’ Pyke tried to keep his voice light but he could already see what was coming.

‘The frenzy surrounding Bedford’s death has been considerable already, even before we knew about this valet. Now it’s going to explode; a servant killing his master. Think about it for a minute. The wealthy will be quaking in their boots, wondering if their servants will mimic Morel-Roux’s actions. Meanwhile servants, at least the ones who’ve been poorly treated, which is most of them, will be sharpening their razor blades; either that or they’ll be cheering for this Swiss fellow. It doesn’t bear thinking about. What with the recession and unemployment, the whole situation couldn’t be any more precarious.’

Pyke looked around the room. ‘I still don’t understand why this is a problem as far as our arrangement is concerned.’

‘Don’t you? What if someone found out that you were working, albeit in an unofficial capacity, for the Metropolitan Police? The stink would be worse than the Thames at low tide. And you know as well as I do that someone will find out. They always do.’

‘Then we will cross that particular bridge, if and when we have to.’ But Pyke knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Expecting men like Saggers to do what was right was like asking a starving wolf to walk away from an injured deer.

Tilling exhaled. ‘God, can you imagine what Lord Bedford’s friends would do with this information? If they ever found out that I’d employed the man who had likely or not given Morel-Roux the idea to murder his master? They’d demand my head on a silver platter in a matter of hours. Yours, too.’

‘What are you saying?’ Pyke tried to ward off the uneasy feeling in his stomach. ‘You want me to just disappear?’

‘I didn’t create this situation, Pyke. I’m just responding to it.’

‘If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were safeguarding your own interests in the process.’

‘That’s unfair, and you know it.’

‘Do I? It’s how all bureaucracies work. Defecate on those below you and pander to those above you.’

‘I don’t have to listen to this slander…’

‘And what about the investigation? I suppose it doesn’t matter that I’ve already made good progress. Much more important to make sure you don’t look bad in the eyes of Lord Bedford’s friends. After all, who cares about a dead mulatto girl?’

Later Pyke would reflect that his comments had been unkind, but he wasn’t going to give up the investigation without a fight.

‘This conversation is finished. You’re no longer representing the police, Pyke. Accept it and find something else to do.’

‘Just like that?’

‘If you care about the dead woman, you’ll do what’s best for her. Since we’ve made an arrest in the Bedford case, Mayne is willing to deploy more men to her murder.’

‘If I care?’ Pyke could feel his blood rising. ‘Just a few days ago, you made it clear to me that her death wasn’t your most pressing concern.’

‘Just as you made it clear to me that money was your main motivation for agreeing to take on the investigation.’

‘That’s easy for you to say with your house overlooking Hampstead Heath. I can barely afford my next meal. But I’m the one who’s been traipsing around the East End, not placating the friends of some dead aristocrat.’

Pyke’s anger was directed at Tilling but really he knew that he, alone, was responsible for his current predicament. Two years earlier, he had more money than he knew what to do with but he’d squandered it and now he was almost penniless. Money was no panacea, as he’d found out, but having it meant you weren’t subject to the whims of others.

‘I’m grateful for everything you’ve done, really I am. And when Pierce takes charge of the investigation, I hope you’ll tell him him everything you’ve already found out.’

‘Pierce?’ Pyke blinked. He could barely credit what he was hearing.

Tilling nodded; he knew very well what this would mean to Pyke. ‘Believe me, he wasn’t my choice.’

‘You really think I’m going to buy Pierce lunch and tell him everything I know?’

‘In the long run, you’ll realise you don’t have a choice. If you want to see this woman’s killer apprehended. One way or another, this division is taking over the investigation. Now you can keep the money I gave you, but that’s all. From now on, I’m ordering you to steer clear of anything to do with the dead woman.’

Pyke licked his lips. ‘And if I decide not to?’

‘What choice do you have? Twenty pounds won’t get you very far. As you said, you can barely afford your next meal. Running a murder investigation is not something you can do on your own.’ There was no gloating in Tilling’s expression but he was right and Pyke knew it.

Pyke had taken the job because Tilling had offered to pay him, but suddenly it wasn’t just the loss of this income which upset him; it was not being able to perform the task he’d agreed to do; not being able to find and punish whoever had strangled Mary Edgar. He had watched as two gravediggers had, without ceremony, buried her body; no one else had. Now he felt he owed it to her to find her killer… or killers. He couldn’t just walk away, leaving Pierce to botch the investigation.