Andrew Pepper - Kill-Devil and Water

‘How much of a financial inducement?’

‘Up to fifty pounds, depending on the quality of the testimony. To be paid if and when Crane is convicted.’

Saggers whistled, seemingly taken aback at the money Pyke was prepared to offer. ‘You must want this testimony a lot.’

‘I don’t expect you to do this for nothing, if that’s what you’re suggesting.’

The fat man put on a wounded expression that was so clearly feigned even he gave up on it. ‘Well, I do remember you promising me a story a long time ago.’

‘Murder, pornography, robbery.’ Pyke watched Saggers’ nonchalance disappear. ‘Is that enough to be getting on with?’

‘That sounds more than acceptable.’

‘And I want you to find anyone who knew a girl called Bessie Daniels.’ Pyke handed Saggers a scrap of paper with Bessie’s old Whitechapel address scribbled on it. ‘Anyone, that is, who can identify this as belonging to her.’ He took out the amethyst ring and showed it to the penny-a-liner. ‘I can’t let you have it, I’m afraid. You’ll just have to describe it as best you can.’

Saggers inspected the ring and handed it back to Pyke. ‘So how quickly do you need all this?’

‘By tomorrow.’

Abel Trevelyan lived in a Palladian mansion overlooking Regent’s Park. Pyke could see how some people might have been impressed by the house’s neoclassical grandeur, and its size alone meant that it was hard to miss, even from the other side of the park. But he found it too ostentatious, as though an already over-egged pudding had been doused in cream and butter. It was a square brick box with five large bay windows on each of the floors. In the middle of the building, a pair of stone columns supported a pediment. There were extensive gardens at the back of the mansion. Earlier in the afternoon Pyke had positioned himself behind a shrub, close to one of the windows, and observed the comings and goings of the household. As far as he could work out, Trevelyan had a wife — a plump, dowdy creature who wore her hair in tight ringlets — and a number of young children. There were also as many as a dozen servants, and Pyke spent some of the afternoon speculating about how damaging the loss of his position at the Bank might prove to be. Trevelyan was definitely at home; from the description Pyke had been given, he recognised the man sitting at his desk in the ground-floor study at one end of the house. Trevelyan had been there for most of the afternoon, leaving only to take an early supper with his family at about six. Still, he had returned to his study by about half-past seven, and Pyke’s patience was finally rewarded. Just as it was beginning to get dark, Trevelyan stepped out on to the veranda to smoke a cigar.

From the shrub, it was maybe twenty yards to where Trevelyan was standing, and Pyke watched him for a few moments, trying to get the measure of the man and work out how best to take advantage of the situation. Trevelyan was silver haired and suave, but he suffered from the same weak chin that afflicted many men of his class. He was tall but his shoulders were hunched, and he didn’t look as if he would be able to handle himself in a fight. The fact that he couldn’t stand still, but kept pacing around the veranda, puffing his cigar, was the clearest indication of his unease.

Even though he was only twenty yards away, Pyke still wasn’t close enough to ambush him without the prospect of Trevelyan shouting for help. So he threw a stone high into the air and waited for it to land a few yards on the other side of his target. Startled, Trevelyan turned around and looked up at the roof and then towards the trees. Pyke moved quickly and quietly across the lawn; Trevelyan saw him only at the last moment and managed a muffled shout just as Pyke clubbed him with his cudgel. He went down without uttering another sound, and Pyke dragged him across the lawn to the line of trees. Still tense, Pyke waited for a few moments, to make sure no one had seen the assault from the house.

It took a hard slap with the palm of his hand to Trevelyan’s face to bring him around. Pyke had already bound and gagged him and Trevelyan struggled to make sense of his changed circumstances.

Bending down, with his knife in hand, Pyke held the blade to Trevelyan’s throat and pulled down the gag. ‘Any sudden movement, any attempt to shout for help, anything at all that makes me nervous, and I’ll slice through your veins and let you bleed to death. Nod your head if you understand.’

Trevelyan nodded; the terror he felt was reflected in his eyes.

‘What Jemmy Crane told the police, about being a good citizen, was a lie. I don’t need you to confirm it. What I do need to know is why you corroborated the lie.’

Trevelyan tried to speak but words failed him. Pyke pressed the blade a little deeper into the skin of his neck.

‘What hold does Crane have over you?’

The director looked up at him imploringly. ‘ Please.’

‘You have a choice between life or death. If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll kill you and not give it another thought. Is that what you want?’

Trevelyan started to sob. Pyke inhaled and could almost taste the sourness of the man’s sweat. He closed his fist and slapped Trevelyan around the face once more. That brought the man around. His eyes popped open and his jaw went slack.

‘You’re a customer of his, aren’t you,’ Pyke said, a statement rather than a question.

Trevelyan simply nodded.

‘Did you know about his plan to break into the bullion vault?’

‘I didn’t think he was serious.’ It came out as a whispered croak.

‘So he told you?’

Trevelyan stared down at the ground. ‘He wanted to know about the deployment of guards.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

‘That the guardroom is manned at night with soldiers from the Tower.’ He swallowed, his eyes darting around. Pyke had to kick him to make him go on. ‘I also told him that the guardroom is situated next to the entrance to the bullion vault.’

‘But what about the arrangements for last night?’ As one of the directors of the Bank, Trevelyan would have been privy to the decision to move the soldiers from the guardroom to the outer fortifications to protect the Bank from the mob that had come to see the hanging.

Trevelyan squirmed. Pyke kicked him again, harder this time; he was starting to lose patience. He could just imagine how Crane would have courted Trevelyan, charmed him, used him. Let me show you this one, sir. Perhaps you’d like to see something warmer, sir? Something even warmer still? Let’s see what can be done. Sickness feeding sickness. The more depraved the better, as far as Crane was concerned. It would give him greater leverage over Trevelyan, so that the banker would have no choice but to answer all of Crane’s questions or risk being exposed.

Pyke pulled the knife away, grabbed the banker’s throat with both hands and started to squeeze. He wanted to finish the job but, in the end, he let go and waited while the older man spluttered and gasped for air.

‘What you tell me here will remain between us. I just want the truth. If you tell me that, I’ll let you go back to your family. But you have to believe me when I say your life holds about as much worth to me as a pig’s.’

Sensing a reprieve, Trevelyan spoke quickly. ‘I bought certain items from Crane.’ He licked his lips. ‘One thing led to another. I couldn’t run the risk of him exposing me.’

The way he said it made it seem so simple, innocent even. Perhaps he still believed that none of it was his fault.

‘Daguerreotypes?’

Trevelyan looked at him, his expression betraying both surprise and resignation. ‘Yes.’

‘Of what?’

‘Initially just bedroom scenes.’ He hesitated. ‘Naked women.’