Darren Craske - The equivoque principle

'I like your thinking so far, Horace.' Quaint joined Berry at the blackboard. 'So, that means Renard had the connection with Hawkspear, which makes more sense. Renard was part of Sir George's pack once…so he may have come into contact with the Irishman…except that's not Renard's style. He's a solo operator, he likes to be in control, especially considering Hawkspear's mental state…I mean, gouging crosses into people's chests, and the like-it's unholy, and I doubt Renard would let him off his lead too frequently.'

'What about that prison release paper?' Berry pointed to the note on the desk. 'It's countersigned by someone called Bishop Courtney. Is Renard powerful enough to have contacts within the Church?'

'He's probably on first name terms with the Cardinal himself.'

'And yet he seems to be a bit of a religious nut, if you ask me. I saw the crucifix he carved into your poor dwarf…I suppose that kind of eliminates the possibility that he and a bishop would dally in the same circles.' Berry stubbed the chalk onto the board. 'Hang on a mo, Mr Quaint, you said that Hawkspear was responsible for killing your strongman's love back in Ireland, didn't you? Isn't that why he got sent to Blackstaff in the first place?'

'Yes, that's true, as I have recently discovered…Why do you ask?'

'Well, think about it,' asked Berry, his face alight with excitement as he fiercely stabbed his chalk onto the blackboard again, snapping it in two. 'What if we're sat here looking at this all wrong, Cornelius? It's not what connection these men have to each other- it's the connection they have with someone else.'

'Like who?' asked Quaint.

Berry stared at Quaint's blank face and raised his eyebrows. 'You!'

'Me?' asked Quaint, jabbing his finger to his chest. 'What do you mean "me"?'

'You, Cornelius-it's you!' snapped Berry. 'You're the link.'

'Nonsense, Horace, I don't even know Hawkspear. I'd never even heard the man's name until yesterday.'

'No, but if he's as connected as you say then I'll bet Renard had,' said Horace Berry, clenching his fists tightly, as he always did when he was on the scent of the truth, and it was teasingly beyond his grasp. He was speaking in a stuttered, robotic fashion, as if his words were being directed by a higher authority. 'You had a history with Oliver, and a running feud with Renard, right? You said so yourself. Renard also had dealings with Oliver and his father you said…which leaves Hawkspear as the odd one out…with no connection to either man in the triangle. Come on, Cornelius, I know you're not trained to think like a detective but you're by no means an idiot.'

'You noticed.'

'Connect the dots-you're the link!'

Quaint suddenly went very quiet. 'Can this be true? My god, Horace…Tom Hawkspear killed Twinkle…which set me and my circus upon this path in the first place. Prometheus was incarcerated for the crime, which led me to involve myself with Oliver once again, stoking up the past as we tried to prove Prom's innocence.' Quaint stood up sharply, and downed his tumbler of whisky in one gulp. 'Do you relly think that I am the trigger for all this insanity, Horasce?'

Berry nodded. 'So it would seem…yes. But there has to be more to it.'

Quaint flopped his massive frame back down into his chair, as his legs almost gave way beneath him. 'Renard used me. He involved my circus purposefully! Like a clockwork mouse…he wound up my key, and has watched me chase my tail in circles this whole week.' He scratched frantically at his mop of curls. 'So, now we know the connection…what's next?'

'You said this Renard character has a hatred of you, so how come it's taken him fifteen years to get his revenge? Why wait that long? And then, why sanction Hawkspear to kill Oliver, if he was on Renard's side?' Berry asked, loosening his collar and pouring another drink. 'And we still don't know what this is all about…I don't believe Hawkspear killed all those women just to get revenge on you, someone he'd never had any personal disagreement with…He took too much pride in his kills for that.'

There was a rap on the door, and Constable Marsh poked his head around it.

'Um, Sarge…Sorry to disturb you, but you're really going to want to see this,' he said, and stepped back.

The door was pushed swiftly open and Prometheus walked in, with Hawkspear over his shoulder, writhing and groaning, closely followed by a guilty-looking Jennings and Butter behind him. Jennings fell to his knees, sobbing. Prometheus slowly lowered Hawkspear's bloodied body directly onto the desk, forcing Berry to hastily snatch up the half-full bottle of whisky from it.

'What's all this?' demanded Sergeant Berry. 'Jennings, lad, you've got some explaining to do!'

Quaint looked to the newcomers. 'Prometheus…Butter, would you care to enlighten us? I'm sure the sergeant is just as anxious as I am to hear what this is alla about.'

'Cornelius, man-thank God you're all right!' Prometheus said, clamping his huge hands on Quaint's shoulders, before turning to Berry. 'Sergeant, ye may remember me…from earlier in the week? I was a prisoner here, do ye recall?'

Berry stared at the seven-foot bearded, bald giant with hands like tennis racquets and a body like a tractor engine. 'How could I forget, eh?' he said with a polite nod.

'The sack of guts bleeding on yer desk is Tommy Hawkspear -the monster responsible for all the killings that've plagued yer wee district here this past week…includin' the murder of Madeline Argyle.' Prometheus paused, gathering up his strength at the mention of Twinkle's name. 'An' yer Commissioner, n'all. I s'pose ye're already acquainted with that snivellin' worm on his knees over there mewin' like a wet cat?'

Jennings clambered to his feet clumsily. 'Sarge…I've been stupid, I know that. But the boss told me to do it! He said I had to do what this Mr Reynolds fella wanted. He was blackmailin' the guv'nor…he had some dirt on 'im from some days in their past, we both 'ad no choice. Reynolds said this bishop character was wantin' somethin' from the cemetery and he was helpin' him get it…I don't know what, and I didn't ask. But I was only follow-in'orders, Sarge, you have to believe me!'

Quaint interrupted: 'Constable, you saw this "Mr Reynolds" character yourself?'

'Yeah, course I did. In the backyard of this very station, no less…shows you how cunnin' the man is! Looks like he ended up stabbin' the guv in the back after all.'

'Describe him to me, this man,' Quaint said.

'What? I…I dunno…tall, he was. Tall and thin, like a scarecrow…spoke French, although not when I knew him, he didn't. Seemed to be all an act with him. He was pretendin' to be a Londoner. I dunno why.'

'Anything else?'

'Apart from the scar, y'mean?' sniffed Jennings.

'A scar? Where?' demanded Quaint.

'Down here,' the Constable muttered, tracing his finger down the left-hand side of his face. 'Right nasty one, an' all, it was.'

'That's Renard, all right.' Quaint said.

'It is?" asked Berry. 'How can you be so sure?'

'Because I'm the one that gave him the scar,' replied Quaint. 'This Bishop you mentioned, Constable…it can only be the same one that countersigned Hawkspear's release papers. What does he look like, Jennings?'

Jennings shrugged. 'Dunno, mate. Never seen 'im. Like I said, 'parently there was somethin' in the cemetery that he's after.'

Quaint clenched his jaw, and pulled on his overcoat. 'Sergeant…I think it'll be worth us taking a trip to this cemetery of yours, don't you?'

'What? Right now? What about this one?' asked Berry, pointing at Hawkspear's groaning body. 'I can't just leave him to die on my desk, but if I lock him up-after what he's done to people round here, not to mention Commissioner Dray-my boys'll have his guts for garters.'