Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

“All here, just as you promised.”

The vicar looked surprised. “Surely you did not think I would cheat you?”

A big grin broke across Fletcher’s face. “Actually, I did, vicar. I really did.” Then he turned and loped across the grass and disappeared around the side of the Minster.

The Dealer snapped his fingers at a passing waiter and ordered a double measure of whiskey. He sat in a plush, overstuffed chair in the member’s room of the Lendal Club, the day’s paper at his feet, soaking up the waning sun streaming through a nearby window. The Dealer closed his eyes and thought of the thousands of pounds that would be at his disposal as soon as he and Goodwin concluded their fleecing of Reverend Elsworth and the banker, Lund. And Goodwin, he thought, snapping open his eyes. Where was he?

As the waiter set his whiskey down on a side table, the Dealer caught sight of Goodwin weaving between the islands of chairs and tables scattered throughout the large room.

“I’ll have one of those too,” he told the waiter.

“Where the devil have you been for so long? You know I hate to be kept waiting?”

Goodwin plopped into a chair facing the Dealer and shrugged. “It takes a while to get information sometimes. This was one of those times.”

“So the two of them are in league over the money?”

“Everything points in that direction. In fact . . .” he stopped abruptly as the waiter set down his whiskey and waited until the man was out of earshot before continuing. “In fact, Lund handles the books of the trust that the reverend administers for his niece. I’ve had reports that the police are snooping around the books of the trust, probably looking into the possibility of money being embezzled.”

“That sounds as if it fits neatly with the banker and the vicar having plenty of excess funds to hide.”

“And there’s another thing. The vicar’s niece disappeared recently from Bootham Park Lunatic Asylum.”

“Disappeared from a lunatic asylum? What was she doing there anyway?”

“I’m told that the reverend committed her there for her own safety. Said she was going to harm herself.”

“And she simply disappeared from the place?”

“Not so much disappeared as was taken. She was kidnapped. And the word from the police is that they found her body in the river. Dead, of course.” Goodwin took a large swallow of whiskey.

The Dealer said nothing for a few moments, then raised his glass in a toast to Goodwin.

“You always manage to pry out the important bits of a story, my boy. I think these dealings with the vicar and Lund may prove to be even more profitable than we could have imagined.”

The day had grown dim and the shadows in Round Freddy’s office deepened to hide the accumulation of papers, reports and pieces of evidence that were strewn on every level surface in the room. Round Freddy picked up a miniature mountain of papers and cocked his head toward the chair.

“Please, Miss Waddington. Sit down. I have one of my constables making arrangements for a safe place where we can hide you until this case is resolved.”

“Then you think I am still in danger from the men who kidnapped me?”

Round Freddy pulled at his chin and frowned. “I am not certain that the ones who perpetrated the kidnapping are your worst threat at the moment. However, I would be remiss if I dismissed them entirely, especially this man called Fletcher.”

“And how do you know his name?”

“Throughout the course of our investigation into your whereabouts, he has appeared again and again. An individual who we interviewed supplied us with his name.”

“If you know who he is, why haven’t you arrested him?”

“First, we do not have enough evidence linking him to your kidnapping, or for that matter, to any other crime. Second, we have been unable to locate the man. We know where he lives, but it appears that he has not been home for some days.”

“Yet you seem to think he is not a great threat to me.”

Round Freddy nodded vigorously, then sat heavily in his chair.

“I believe that Fletcher’s actions are orchestrated by someone else.”

Jane stared at the detective for a few heartbeats. “I am not sure that I want you to continue.”

“That’s understandable, miss, but you should be apprised of the entire situation.” He waited for a few moments and only continued after she gave an almost imperceptible nod. “We believe your uncle to be involved in your kidnapping.”

“You are not serious, are you?”

“Dead serious, miss. We have plenty of evidence that Reverend Elsworth, with the assistance of a banker named Lund, embezzled thousands of pounds from your trust fund. I think that your uncle wanted to prevent you from discovering the money was missing and had you kidnapped.”

Before Round Freddy could continue, an insistent rapping sounded through the door.

“Who the devil could that be? I told them I did not want to be disturbed.” He yanked on the latch and pulled the door open to reveal a young boy standing with his cap in hand.

“Is there still a thruppence for information about Mr. Fletcher?” the boy asked.

Round Freddy’s face broke into a grin.

“William Hall, I believe.”

“Aye, that’s me. What about the thruppence?”

“Indeed, thruppence for the information, just as I last said.”

“Then you better hurry over to number eighteen in Haver Lane. The man you call Fletcher, the one with the black eye patch, he’s back.”

Round Freddy fished a three pence piece from his waistcoat pocket and flipped it to the boy, who snatched it out of the air, then turned and ran through the main room.

“A stroke of luck, Miss Waddington. It seems time for me to become better acquainted with Mr. Fletcher. As for you, please remain here until I return.”

As the little Austin shuddered to a stop outside Number 18 Haver Lane, Round Freddy stood up in the vehicle and nearly catapulted over the open top. Regaining his balance, he stepped quickly to the tenement door as Constable Andrews followed.

Round Freddy raised a forefinger to his lips, then made a circular motion with his hand. He wanted the constable to cover the rear entrance to the building.

Andrews nodded vigorously and disappeared down a narrow alley between a dilapidated house and a plasterer’s workshop.

Round Freddy counted to fifty to allow Andrews enough time to get to the rear, then pulled the latch and softly opened the door, not letting it bump against the wall. The hallway was empty, as was the ancient staircase. Upstairs, on the third floor, Round Freddy stood silently outside of Fletcher’s door, his fist balled tightly. He rapped on the door.

He could hear scuffling sounds from inside the room and tried the door latch. Locked. He banged again on the door, louder this time.

“York Police, Fletcher. Open up if you’re in there.”

The sound of furniture being dragged over a wood floor screeched through the door, and Round Freddy hammered the door a third time.

“I am warning you, Fletcher. Open the door this instant!”

At the sound of a window frame sliding in its tracks, Round Freddy leaned back, then bashed his shoulder into the door. It sagged, but held fast. He went at the door two more times before it finally gave way, splintering away from a rusty hasp secured by a metal spike.

The room was empty.

A scraping sound followed by a dull thud and a muffled cry came through the open window, partially covered by dirty curtains billowing softly in the spring breeze.

Round Freddy raced to the window only to see a small scruffy man with a black eye patch limp out of the rear yard into the alley that Andrews had used.