Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

The reverend’s eyes widened again, and then he hung his head until his chin touched his chest.

“I know,” Round Freddy said. “Admitting one’s wrongs is good for the soul.” He leaned closer to the vicar. “I’m listening.”

Round Freddy stood at the entrance to the narrow alley off Dudley Street, staring into the gloom created by the adjacent buildings. The smell of rotting garbage and sewage wafted out and stung his nostrils. Turning back toward the street he motioned for the constables to draw nearer. As they did, he hitched up his trousers around his considerable stomach.

“Men, I know we have run through this exercise once today to no avail at St. Philip’s vicarage. But put that visit out of your mind. This is the place where we must be at our best.”

He pointed down the alley. “Down there, inside of number three on the right, is a man who would do us harm. His name is Fletcher and he has killed once already. Fletcher is armed with a double gun, so this is no time to be a hero. I would dearly like to capture the man alive, but if it comes down to a choice of him or one of us, don’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”

Round Freddy looked each man in the eye in turn. “Any questions? Good. Sergeant Wills, take two men with revolvers and four other constables. Please secure the rear of the building. I shall give you five minutes to get in place.”

After Wills and the other constables left, Round Freddy studied the men in front of him.

“You four in the back, I want you to seal off both ends of this alley. The two of you with Webley revolvers, stay next to me on the way into the house. The rest of you, follow inside behind us. Got it?”

A murmur of assent went through the crowd of constables.

Round Freddy squeezed down the alleyway, stepping over dingy piles of material that he preferred not to think about. After thirty feet, the alley widened into a miniscule courtyard that had four doors fronting onto it.

“That one,” he said, stepping toward a weather-beaten wooden door. “The vicar said second on the right.” Round Freddy eased up against the door frame and checked the men behind him. Then he slowly grasped the door latch and moved it upward. To his surprise, it moved freely. He leaned against the door and it swung open slightly. It wasn’t even locked.

He twitched his head toward the door and the two constables with the revolvers went through one after the other, their Webleys held high, pointing toward the ceiling. Round Freddy followed them and halted inside the front room. It was empty.

The far wall held a plank wooden door that looked as if it had been built for a barn but installed here. Round Freddy tried the latch and pushed against the door, but it didn’t budge.

“Who’s there? Is that ye, Snow?” The voice was muffled through the thick door.

Round Freddy stood to the side of the doorway and raised his voice. “Mr. Fletcher. It is Sergeant Hume of the Hull Police come to pay a call on you. Would you unbolt the door for us?”

“Ye can bloody well bugger off. I ain’t opening no door.”

“Mr. Fletcher, I suggest you have a peek out the rear of the building. You will see that we have stationed constables in the rear garden, so you have no chance of escape in that direction. The only way out is through this locked door. Please consider the situation and unbolt the door.”

“I has a gun in here. There’s no way ye’ll get through that door alive.”

Round Freddy raised his eyebrows and looked at the constables behind him. “We are well aware of your twelve bore, Mr. Fletcher. Nevertheless, we do not think that you actually want to use it, for if you do, it means the end for you. My men will show you no mercy. They will shoot you down like a rabid dog.”

“Well, woof, woof, to ye then. I shan’t be unbolting the door. Me and Snow’s mum will sit in here, right comfortable.”

Round Freddy stepped back and ran his hand down over his face. Why hadn’t he considered the possibility that Fletcher would have another hostage? After all, he held the reverend and his housekeeper hostage. And the housekeeper had said Fletcher threatened to harm them, so there was no doubting what he might do with Snow’s mother.

Round Freddy needed time to think. He wanted to develop a plan to deal with Fletcher. He leaned toward the door. “Sit tight, Mr. Fletcher. We shall not trouble you at the moment. However, we will still be right outside in case you’d like to give up.”

“Tain’t no chance of that,” came the reply through the door.

“I didn’t think there was,” Round Freddy mumbled to himself as he stepped out into the courtyard. “Not a hope.”

The Dealer had done it to him again, Lund thought, only this time instead of meeting south of the river along the railway, he had to meet the man in front of the White Cross Mill on the Haxby Road, near the York Union Workhouse. As he trudged past Clarence Gardens he reviewed why he was taking this chance.

The detective sergeant had already instructed him how to proceed in order to trap the Dealer. Lund didn’t want to go along with what they wanted, but what choice did he have. They had enough evidence to put him in gaol for too many years. His only recourse was to cooperate with them and they promised to be lenient for his part in the embezzlement, especially if the money were returned to Jane Waddington.

Of course, the police wanted the Dealer to reveal his part in hiding the money that Lund embezzled so they could put the arm on him too. Lund had no quarrel with the Dealer being arrested. But something in the way the Dealer treated him ate at the back of his mind. Lund had decided that he would make an example of the Dealer first, and then set him up for the police. He owed it to himself to set things straight.

As he passed the football ground, Lund noticed a small knot of young men milling around the end of the pitch. He quickly ducked behind thick bushes at the side of the road and continued parallel to the road until he had left the noisy group behind. Just past Fountayne Street, he turned down a narrow lane and slowed his pace, studying the buildings that lined the road. Within a minute he was in front of the White Cross Mill, but could find no sign of the Dealer.

Grumbling to himself, Lund shuffled around the east side of the mill, running his hand along the rough stone as he turned the corner and nearly bumped into the Dealer, who stood a few feet out from the building with his hands on his hips.

“Mr. Lund. What a pleasure to see you.” The Dealer tipped a silver flask up to his lips and drank deeply. He capped the flask and put it in an inside coat pocket. “Tell me, my good man, what kind of investment did you want to discuss with me?”

Lund was startled by the Dealer’s sudden appearance and struggled to set his mind in order. “I – I- I wanted to commit more funds to your expertise,” he said, sidling away from the building and toward the open space at the rear of the mill. “I have some more money to place into properties.”

“Do you now? Perhaps you can tell me where a man of your limited means would get more money, more than you already have entrusted to me, to invest?” The Dealer still stood with his hands on his hips, staring intently at Lund. “And perhaps you have this money with you now?”

Lund hesitated too long and knew the Dealer had caught him in a lie. “Well, I am not prepared at the moment, that is, I do not have the funds on my person right now . . . .”

“What is it you want from me?” The Dealer stepped closer to Lund, putting his face into a shaft of light that glinted off his teeth.

“Only the usual services.”

The Dealer cocked his head. “And what might those be, eh, Mr. Lund?”