Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

“Are you at liberty to advise me what he said.”

Wray pursed his lips. “I can tell you in confidence that he is rather stretched in his payments to our society, so I suggested he take the transaction to another financial institution.”

“Were you able to make any specific recommendation to the vicar?”

“Why, of course we did. That is one of the reasons we are held in such good esteem by our clients.”

“And you recommended whom?”

“Why the Royal York Banking Society at Parliament and Market Streets. It’s director is Elias Lund.”

Goodwin smiled and rose, then bowed slightly to Wray.

“Thank you, good sir. You have been most helpful. I am sure I will return the favor to you one day.”

Snow eased his hand away from the girl, but kept the knife close to her neck in case she decided to try and run again. He watched as she looked wild-eyed at the farmer’s wife tied in the corner.

The bicycle had allowed him to get ahead of Jane and arrive at the cottage first, but he had been surprised by the woman in the kitchen. She must have recognized the bicycle he had stolen because she berated him loudly, then swiped at him with her broom. Snow had grabbed the broom away and wrestled her back into the house where, with a hard slap across her face, he knocked her to the floor. At the time, tying her to the chair had seemed the best course to take, but now, with two women on his hands and no idea of what to do, Snow wasn’t so sure.

As his concentration wavered, Snow relaxed his grip and lowered the tip of the knife. Almost immediately, Jane crashed her heel down on his right instep, snapping the arch bone and buckling him to the floor. As Jane skittered out of his grasp toward the door, Snow pushed off the floor after her, but collapsed before he could reach her. He hurled his knife after her, but only succeeded in piercing the caned back of an old chair.

Snow heard the kitchen door slam shut and then the sound of the scrape of metal against stone. The bicycle, he thought. She took the bicycle. There was no way he could catch her now. He reached down and rubbed his broken instep, causing alternating waves of pain and relief to wash over him and tears to form in his eyes.

“What are you looking at woman?” Snow saw that the woman was plainly terrified by the unexpected intrusion. “When is your husband due to come back? Is it at dark? Is it?”

The woman nodded affirmatively, her eyes fixed on Snow’s.

“Well then, there’s still time.” Snow pulled his good leg under his body and levered himself up, shifting his weight and standing awkwardly to the left. He reached out and steadied himself against a small table, then saw a shepherd’s staff in the far corner of the room.

“I’ll borrow this staff for awhile, missus, to help me get across your fields. You sit quiet now.” He stared at the woman for a few moments, and then hobbled through the kitchen and out into the yard.

It took Snow an hour to drag his broken foot across the fields to the house where he and Fletcher had hidden Jane. As he pushed open the door, Fletcher was hitching up his pants and fastening on a thick leather belt.

“Where the bloody hell is she?”

“I had her Fletcher, I did, but she stomped me foot and got away.”

Fletcher’s eyes followed Snow’s gaze to his now-swollen foot, which had spread the boot’s loosened laces bowstring tight.

“Now that’s a sight, it is,” Fletcher laughed, then immediately grimaced in pain. He rubbed his crotch gingerly, then shook his head.

“We have to find her, Snow.”

“She’s taken a bicycle from the farm where I found her. She could be anywhere by now.”

“We’ll start at the farm and follow her tracks as best we can.”

“Ah . . . .” Snow hesitated. “There’s another thing.”

Fletcher had reached the door and paused, waiting.

“When I followed the girl to the house, the farmer’s wife attacked me. I had to tie her up to keep her quiet.”

A grin crept onto Fletcher’s face. “Women certainly seem to be getting the best of you today, matey. Let’s see what I can do to help.”

Fletcher’s gait over the rough ground was hardly faster than Snow’s stumbling walk. For each step Fletcher took, his rough trousers brushed against his still-swollen private parts, causing him to stop frequently and catch his breath. Snow, seeing Fletcher’s suffering, became more determined to reach the farmhouse door first, which he did, winded and sore.

Snow pushed the door open with the shepherd’s staff and peered in. The scene was the same as when he had left.

“It looks clear,” he said, but made no move to enter.

Fletcher brushed past him and stopped at the table to tear a chunk of bread from a baked loaf. Taking large bites of the bread, he moved into the front room and stood looking at the woman, dribbling crumbs down the front of his shirt.

“Ah, missus. There you are. It was good of you to wait for us.”

He smiled at Snow, then tapped the side of his head.

“This woman may be able to help us after all, Snow, me boy. Tell me what you think of this.”

The pair moved into the kitchen and Fletcher spoke in a low tone, keeping his gaze toward the open doorway.

“There’s still a payment to come once we finish with his niece.”

“But she’s gotten away and we’ll not catch her now.”

Fletcher clucked his tongue. “Right. But we yet can collect the rest of the money, even without the girl.”

Snow’s smooth brow creased in thought, but he said nothing.

“We have to give the vicar a reason to think the deed’s been done. We need a body for the good vicar.”

The meaning of Fletcher’s argument flashed across Snow’s face like a quickly-moving storm.

“Not me. No I won’t do that. I told you at the beginning I wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

“Ye’ll need not do any of the hurting, me boy. I’ll take care of that. Ye’ll need to do some of the carrying and disposing, though.” Fletcher’s lone eye shone like a warning light on a dark night, but his gaze never wavered from Snow.

Snow, looking at the floor, assented with a small nod.

Back in the front room, Snow squatted in front of the woman and tried to put a smile on his face.

“Missus, you must take a minute to listen to me.” He could see she was scared and tried to calm her. “We don’t want to hurt you, missus, so you must be still.”

The woman’s eyes softened, then suddenly bulged, as Fletcher’s meaty hands encircled her neck and choked off her air. She rocked and kicked as Fletcher tightened his hold, but her efforts only succeeded in pushing out of her lungs what little oxygen remained. Within thirty seconds, the woman’s head slumped to the side. She was dead.

Fletcher’s flushed face looked as if it was burning and the white of his eye flashed in the gloomy room.

“There’s a cart at the side of the house. Bring it around to the door. We’ll load her on it and cover her with that sacking over there.” He pointed to a pile of deteriorating sacks.

“And let’s be quick about it. We have to get her to the river before we can go to the vicar for more money.”

Snow shivered as he looked at the dead woman. Then he hobbled through the doorway.

The journey to the vicarage in Clifton was not unpleasant, Round Freddy thought, as he stretched his legs out as far as the firewall of the Austin would allow. The late spring sunshine had warmed the air, and despite the strong breeze blowing, the day had turned into a fine one. Round Freddy had directed constable Andrews to put the vehicle’s top down, so as to soak up as many of the sun’s weak rays as possible. As the constable drove the car down the dirt drive at the side of the church, Round Freddy quickly put his hand on Andrews’ arm.