Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

QUAINT LOOKED FROM the note to Dray's face. 'I assume that you've read this letter, Oliver. It is quite clearly a threat, and yet you still believe that Prometheus is guilty? The damn letter is addressed to him, for God's sake!'

'I've only got your word that this Miller fellow-"Prometheus" as you call him-is innocent and, believe it or not, your word won't stand up in court. Look at it from my perspective,' Dray said. 'Maybe your man had a dark side that you knew nothing about. Maybe he and this Argyle woman had some kind of argument and he did away with her, I don't know.'

'What, and perhaps she wrote the letter? Look, Oliver…as I've said; Prometheus is no killer. Now, I don't have a clue as to what's going on in this little town of yours, but one of my best people is stuck right in the middle of it. This letter only perplexes me further.'

'This is a triple murder investigation, Cornelius, not someone caught scrumping apples! We do take this stuff seriously, you know. So far I've managed to keep a lid on it and keep Scotland Yard out of the equation, but I can only hold them off so long. Otherwise we'd have Yard inspectors crawling all over my patch day and night! Do you know how that would make me look?'

'You'd rather wait for the real killer to strike again, whilst you tell everyone in Crawditch that you've got the man apprehended, and they're all safe? Come on, Oliver-surely it will make you look far worse when that's proved false! You've got a man locked up for a crime with no witnesses and no evidence beyond circumstantial. Is that just so it looks like you're in control when the Yard starts poking its nose in?' barked Quaint. 'You're a chip off the old block, all right.'

'Cornelius,' growled Dray. 'Mind your tongue now. That's territory you really don't want to tread.'

'I remember.' Quaint clapped his hands together loudly. 'Look…all I'm trying to do is give my opinion about someone who's mixed up in all this, and need not be! You boys don't know him from Adam-but I have known him for years, and would vouch for his innocence until my dying day. He's not guilty-and if you just give me some time alone with him, I may just be able to prove it!'

'Cornelius…you know I can't do that,' said Dray. 'I just don't think-'

'And that's the point here, isn't it? You don't think! You never did have the capacity to think beyond the pack mentality, did you?' Quaint stared at Dray, their eyes meeting across the red haze of rage that filled the room. Although neither man spoke, there seemed to be plenty communicated in the silence.

Dray took a deep lungful of breath, and threw himself down into his chair.

'I don't have the time for this right now, Cornelius,' he said.

'Then make time, Oliver-this is important!' snapped Quaint, trying to get over his point and still keep the tinge of anger from his words. He was not doing a spectacular job so far. 'I am not your enemy here, Oliver, and nor do I wish to be. Even as we speak, the real foe stalks Crawditch's streets, and I want the bastard hunted down and caught so I can put things back to normal, and concentrate on what my circus is in London for!'

'This isn't just about you and your bloody circus, man,' Dray said. 'When your lot pack up and move on, this will still be my district, and I want this mess straightened out just as much as you do, believe me. So…you want to speak to this Prometheus fellow of yours, right? Berry tells me he's deaf and dumb. What possible help can he be to this investigation?'

'He's not deaf and dumb, Oliver, he's a mute! He can hear perfectly well, and he can still write down what he knows, or what he's seen,' Quaint said determinedly, ensuring that he kept his previous visit with Prometheus secret. He had no wish to get Constable Marsh into any hot water. 'My crew have already gleaned quite a bit of information about what occurred on the night that Twinkle was murdered, but I need Prometheus to fill in the gaps.'

Dray stroked at his temples. 'Well, why don't you start by telling me what you do know? Stuff you can prove, I mean…not just your opinion.'

Quaint nodded resolutely: 'Very well. Last night my colleagues and I visited The Black Sheep public house not far from this very station. If you check with the landlord he will confirm that on the night of the murder, my circus strongman was drinking with his lover-the female dwarf who now lies in your mortuary.'

'A concise recap for the latecomers,' Dray grunted. 'What else?'

'The landlord told me that on the night of Twinkle's murder, an Irish gentleman by the name of "Hawkspear" paid him to give my circus strongman a bottle of whisky. The whisky contained a drug that would have probably killed a smaller man. As it goes; it merely rendered him unconscious.' Quaint paused, watching Dray's expression closely. 'Surely that is enough information to prove that Prometheus wouldn't have been in a fit state to do anything- especially murder the woman he loved. Arthur Peach's admission will surely absolve my employee, and I urge you to trigger a manhunt for this Hawkspear fellow, at least.'

'Arthur Peach…yes, I know of the man. A sly one up to his neck in smuggled tobacco and cheap whores,' said Dray with a nod. 'All right…if what you say can be substantiated, and Peach will talk to us…maybe I'm prepared to delve a little bit into this-but on my terms, Cornelius. I won't have you influencing this investigation. You stay well away from now on. Just let us do our jobs. I'll have someone go to the Sheep and look into what you say. But if Peach denies everything, what are you going to do then, eh?'

'He won't deny it, Oliver,' said Quaint assuredly. 'I believe I made a convincing argument for him to peddle his honesty to you.'

'We'll see, won't we?' Dray said, shuffling distractedly with some files on his desk. 'But until then, your mate stays locked up in our cells and no one sees him unless I'm satisfied.'

'Well, you might not get very satisfied without me. Look, just let me speak to Prometheus for five minutes, Oliver, please…I can help.'

'You can get involved, you mean,' Dray snapped. 'It's just like the old days, eh? I've not set eyes on you for twenty years, and you haven't changed a bit. You're still poking your nose into matters that don't concern you. I've told you-I don't want you anywhere near this investigation, and that's my final word. Now, Sergeant Berry will escort you out.'

'Commissioner Dray, if you please,' Madame Destine interrupted. 'Surely you are more concerned with justice than arguing with a man you have not seen for twenty years,' she said. Each word was energised with a devilish whiplash and Dray suddenly fell silent. 'Now, admittedly…Cornelius may be as stubborn as a mule, but he speaks the truth. He can help you solve this case. More importantly, he can help our friend Prometheus. By allowing us audience with him, we may just learn something that can shed more light on this unfortunate affair. Would that not be a more preferable outcome than what you currently have?'

Dray was sizzling in his seat, his face beetroot red. Horace Berry looked over at the man, almost expecting to see steam rising from his collar, but somehow Destine's words seemed to penetrate his hard exterior, and the blustering Scot's temper waned.

'Commissioner,' said Sergeant Berry, raising his hand. 'Perhaps we should let Mr Quaint and Miss Destine see their friend, just in case a friendly face will make the man share a bit more information,' he said cautiously, like a man disturbing a grizzly bear's hibernation with a sharp stick. 'Lord knows our constables aren't having much joy. It can't do any harm, can it?'

Dray folded his arms tight against his chest. 'I knew if I ever set eyes on you again things would go potty, Cornelius. I don't know how much information you can expect to glean from a man who can't utter a word, but I have to admit…I haven't the foggiest where else to begin. I think it's high time your employee told us the whole story, don't you?'