Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

“Detective Sergeant Frederick Hume of the York Police Force.” Round Freddy leaned closer to Harold and lowered his voice. “I’m relatively sure we don’t want to advertise the fact of who she is to the entire room, do we now?”

“Nay, that’s not necessary. I’ll get me wife.” Harold disappeared through a doorway and in less than a minute returned with Lizzy.

“Detective, I’m sure you and the constable must be thirsty after your trip out here. Perhaps we can get you a glass of ale?”

“Thank you, missus, but I think it’s best if I see Miss Waddington first. There’s plenty of time for the ale later.”

“Very well. Come around the back and through here.”

Round Freddy stepped into the kitchen as Jane walked through the doorway from the scullery, carrying a stack of clean, chipped plates. He stepped forward and took the stack from Jane and set them on a wooden bench.

“Miss Waddington, I presume?”

Jane’s hands were at her throat, clutching at her collar, as she backed away. “Who are you?”

“Pardon me, miss. I am Detective Sergeant Frederick Hume from the York Police Force. I’m here to fetch you home safely.”

Jane covered her face with her hands and began sobbing.

“Now, miss, there’s no need for that. You’re safe with us. No harm can come to you now.”

Lizzy stepped to Jane’s side and moved the plates so she could sit down.

“I never expected that someone would actually come for me. I thought I would have to go on hiding forever.” Another sob shivered along her body.

Round Freddy ran his hand across his chin, pulling at the flesh.

“There’s nothing to worry about; nothing at all. I don’t imagine that you have packed your things yet. You’ll want to do that so we can be on our way.”

Jane looked up at him and shook her head. “I have nothing to pack. I arrived here only with a bicycle that I took from a farmhouse. Perhaps we can bring it back to them.”

“I can arrange for that to be done, miss. But the more important task for me is to get you safely back to York and into hiding there until these murderers are caught.”

“Murderers? Who was killed?”

“Ah, of course. You could not have known. We found a woman’s body floating in the river. The woman had your bag slung across her. We originally thought that woman was you.”

Jane slumped back against the wall. “How awful. And all because of me.”

“You mustn’t blame yourself, my dear. Whatever drove these ruffians to killing had nothing to do with you.”

“But that might have been me.”

“Yes, I daresay that is a strong possibility. But enough of that. You’re safe with us now and I intend to keep you that way — safe.”

Round Freddy turned to Lizzy. “Might you find a coat for Miss Waddington to borrow. The sun’s going down and the ride back to York is likely to be a bit chilly.”

“Aye, I can indeed.” She disappeared through the doorway.

“Now, miss. I’d like to ask you some questions about your kidnappers. Do you feel up to answering them? Constable Andrews here will make notes of your responses.”

Jane nodded.

“Right then. Let’s start with their number. How many took you from Bootham Park.”

“I actually can’t say, sergeant. I went to sleep that night in Bootham Park and awoke in the morning in a small dark cell in a basement.”

“Do you know where it was located?”

“I only know it was some miles from here in rural country,” she said. “When I escaped from there, I ran across fields and through some woods before coming to a farmhouse, where . . . oh, my god!”

“What is it?”

“The woman who was tied up in the farmhouse. Do you suppose she’s the one they killed?”

“We shouldn’t get ahead of ourselves, miss. Let’s worry about the details that we know and not leap to conclusions that we can’t prove. But we shall check everything that you tell us. Apparently, when you last saw this woman, she was alive?”

“She was. They had her tied hand and foot to a wooden chair and had a gag wrapped around her mouth so she couldn’t speak.”

“And who is ‘they’?”

The snowy-haired young one and the older man with the black eye patch.”

Round Freddy stiffened. “Please describe the older man.”

“Short and stocky, with a stubble of beard on his face. He was always grinning like he knew some kind of secret. But the eye patch made him distinctive.”

“Over which eye?”

“The left.”

“And the other man?”

“He was much younger, hardly more than a boy, and with snow-white hair, closely cropped. He didn’t want to harm me.”

“And how did you discover that fact?”

“I didn’t really. It was more in the manner that he treated me, like when he brought food and water.”

“How did you escape from your confinement?”

Jane blushed a deep red. “Must I say?”

“I cannot imagine that it will be held against you in any way.”

She began to say something, then stopped. “It is shameful. I should not say.”

“Miss Waddington, these are dangerous men. We should know all we can about them.”

“All right, sergeant. I kicked him between his legs when he brought me food. Then I ran up the stairs and out across the fields.”

“Is that when you found the bicycle and used it to flee safely?”

“Actually, I went to the farmhouse where I saw the woman tied up and someone grabbed me from behind. He had a knife and pointed it at my face. But something distracted him and I stomped on his foot. I saw him as he dropped the knife. It was the snowy-haired man. I ran from there as fast as I could and took the bicycle. That’s how I got to Nunthorpe.”

Round Freddy could see that she was breathing hard and in short gasps.

“Andrews, please fetch a drink of water for the young lady. In fact, make it a brandy. I believe she could use the fortification.”

He patted Jane’s shoulder. “All that unpleasantness is over now. You’re safe with us. I promise that I shall look out for you.”

Jane’s teary eyes searched Round Freddy’s face. “I shall hold you to that promise, sergeant.”

The bells of York Minster struck exactly at the stroke of noon, their deep notes resonating off the stone walls of the surrounding buildings. Fletcher huddled closer to the front wall of the massive cathedral, scanning the forecourt and the adjacent pavement for the vicar’s arrival. As the last peal of the bells died away in the weak sunshine, Fletcher spotted the Reverend Elsworth walking briskly along Minster Yard toward the forecourt entrance. The vicar turned in toward the Minster and, seeing Fletcher, slowed his pace to a leisurely stroll.

Fletcher cocked his head toward a grassy expanse adjoining College Street, and the two of them walked side by side in silence. Beneath a spreading elm tree, Fletcher stopped.

“Ye brought the money?”

“It’s right here.” The reverend patted his jacket’s breast pocket.

“Let’s have it here, then.”

The reverend looked behind him toward the forecourt, then back toward the rear of the Minster. Scores of people strolled the grounds; some rested in the shade of trees, while others made the most of the spring sunshine.

“What? Right here in front of everyone?”

Fletcher laughed. “Worried about me causing little bit of unpleasantness, vicar? You know what I did for you. Now it’s your turn to do something for me.” He held a gnarled hand out. “Let’s have it.”

The reverend hesitated, then reached into his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a fat, white envelope. He handed it to Fletcher.

Fletcher moved toward the side wall of the Minster, counting the banknotes as he walked. When he finished, he turned back toward the reverend.