The Severed Man

by George Mann

  Newman caught his eye, before glancing back at Emily, who had shuffled around in her seat and was watching Honoré anxiously. ‘Tarot.’ He seemed to ignore Lechasseur’s question completely. ‘One of the so-called Greater Arcana. The Devil.’ He watched Emily carefully to see if she reacted to that.

  She remained steadfast.

  ‘This appears to be his calling-card. The killer’s, that is.’ He paused for a moment. Lechasseur filled the gap.

  ‘You mean, the killer leaves these at the scene of each murder to let you know he’s responsible?’

  ‘Indeed I do. We’ve found an identical card at the scene of each death, with the exception of the incident that occurred this morning... We’re wondering if he was disturbed before he had time to place it.’

  ‘Or if we were the ones placing the cards on the bodies.’ Lechasseur snorted. ‘Well, I can assure you that’s not the case.’

  ‘No, well...’ Newman looked a little sheepish. ‘You understand that I have to follow all lines of enquiry.’

  There was a brief moment of awkwardness. Then Emily spoke in a quiet, even voice. ‘Were the cards all left in the same place? I mean; did he leave them on the floor nearby, or on the body? I certainly didn’t see anything when we stumbled upon the dead man in the alleyway last night.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, they’re always in the same place, clutched in the left hand of the victim. It’s got the boys here a bit spooked, if truth be known. All this occult business, devil worshippers and whatnot. They’re saying – amongst themselves – that the creature that’s killing these poor chaps is some kind of devil spawn or diabolical beast. Fanciful, I know.’ Newman shrugged, and then slipped the Tarot card back into the file.

  Emily glanced at Lechasseur. Newman stood up from behind his desk.

  ‘Anyway, thank you for all your assistance. If only there were more people like the two of you, willing to rally round when they hear a police whistle, we’d not be in the circumstances we’re in today.’

  Honoré looked at him wryly, rubbing his battered face. Newman stumbled, obviously embarrassed. ‘Of course, we’ll have to make sure that people are treated with a little more grace in future.’ He smiled. ‘Thank you both, once again. I’ll have one of the lads show you out.’ He moved to the door and opened it. ‘I won’t keep you a moment.’

  Newman left the room, and, in a single smooth movement, Honoré swept the file towards him on the desk, opened it, and quickly started scanning the typewritten sheets therein. Emily glanced worriedly at the door, but after a moment, Honoré slid the sheets back in the file and replaced it in its original position on the table.

  A moment later, Newman reappeared with a young man in a suit and tie.

  ‘Johnson here will show you out. I’ve got a hundred and one things to be getting on with.’

  Johnson turned towards Emily and Lechasseur, a slightly perplexed look on his face. ‘If you’d like to follow me...’ He turned about and started his way slowly along the corridor. Newman stepped around his desk and took Lechasseur’s hand in his own. ‘If you think of anything, you know where to find me.’

  Lechasseur smiled. ‘I certainly do. Thanks for the brandy.’ He took Emily by the arm and, together, the two of them stepped out of the office and set off after the younger man in the suit.

  As they were led away from Newman’s office, Emily and Honoré exchanged a cautious glance. Emily reached out and placed a hand on Honoré’s arm, urging him to slow down so they would drop out of earshot of the young officer.

  ‘Honoré, about the tramp...’

  Lechasseur put a finger to his lips. ‘Not here, Emily. We’ll be outside in a few moments. Let’s go somewhere quiet.’

  Emily nodded, obviously biting her tongue.

  They continued on down a flight of stairs and out into the main foyer of the building. Through the glass panes that lined the walls, the sunlight was filtering in, creating great columns of dust and light that swirled in the air, pooling on the shiny-tiled surface of the floor. Men in uniform shuffled around the place like so many worker ants, the drone of their chattering voices combining to create a kind of deep, low-level hum.

  Honoré and Emily made their way towards the exit, following the trail of the junior who had led them there from Newman’s office. Just before the doors, he stopped them with a wave of his hand.

  ‘You are free to go. Thank you for your cooperation. Please return the garments at your earliest opportunity.’

  He sounded bored, delivering a line he had probably spoken a thousand times before. He stared forward into the middle distance, not even interested enough to watch them leave as they stepped out into the brisk morning and made their way, slowly, along the street and away from the vast police headquarters.

  After a moment, Honoré hesitated, coming to a sudden halt. Emily skipped a few paces ahead of him before stopping herself and turning back to see what the problem was.

  ‘Come on Hon...’ Just as she was about to hurry him along, she followed the line of his gaze, to see Newman watching them from his window on the second floor, his face partially obscured by the sheen of light from the reflected sun.

  Honoré shivered and turned about, taking Emily by the arm as he headed off along the street.

  ‘Let’s get out of here. I think I need a cup of tea.’

  At that, Emily almost laughed out loud.

  After a brief walk along the riverside, they came upon a small tearoom set back from the river amongst a number of smaller, ramshackle buildings. They ducked inside, and were immediately assaulted by the smell of frying bacon and eggs. Lechasseur felt his stomach lurch. He turned to Emily. ‘Find us a table at the back. I’ll order us some food.’

  ‘But what about...?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.’

  Emily shrugged and wandered over to a table in the corner of the room, shook off her coat and pulled up a seat. She felt rather odd sitting there in a long, Victorian dress, and rather constricted too, but no-one else seemed to think she looked out of place. Honoré, on the other hand, had certainly been drawing a few looks whilst they made their way through the busier streets. It was quiet in the little tearoom, however, and the few patrons that were around were sat hunched over their morning papers, or else staring through the grimy windows at the riverfront, watching the world go by. They were too wrapped up in their own thoughts to allow their attention to be distracted even by something as unusual as a tall black man accompanied by a pretty young woman.

  After a moment, Honoré appeared at the edge of the table with a small tray. A large pot of tea, a jug of milk and two china cups were placed in front of her on the table, before he slid into the seat opposite and removed his own coat, hanging it over the back of his chair.

  ‘Food will be over shortly.’ He reached over and poured himself a drink.

  Emily looked at him quizzically. ‘Where did you get the money from?’

  ‘Ah. I’ve been meaning to get to that...’ He reached into his pocket and drew out a small black wallet of beaten leather, which he placed on the table before her.

  Emily turned it over in her hand. It was well worn and emblazoned in gilt with the initials E G.

  ‘I figured he wouldn’t be needing it any more.’ Honoré smiled. ‘Besides, I thought we needed to know who he was.’

  Emily looked aghast, and placed the wallet back on the table. ‘You took that from the corpse? Last night? Put it away, Honoré, I don’t want to know any more.’

  ‘Come on Emily, there’s more to it than that. I saw something last night that I think we need to investigate.’

  ‘Okay. Okay. But first let me tell you about the tramp.’

  ‘I need to tell you about what I saw.’

  ‘I understand that Honoré, but this is important too!’

  ‘Look...’ He paused whilst the waitress placed two pl
ates of bacon and eggs on the table in front of them. ‘Let’s eat our breakfast first and then we can both tell each other what’s on our minds.’ He picked up his knife and fork and started cutting into his bacon.

  Emily waited until he had taken a mouthful of food before launching into her monologue.

  ‘Right. You eat, I’ll talk. I’ve been thinking about that tramp all night and I think I’ve got an answer, of sorts. Consider this: how old was the man we saw in 1950?’

  Honoré looked at her in desperation, before mouthing his reply around his food. ‘About late thirties, thirty-five?’

  ‘Exactly. So how could we have followed his timeline all the way back to 1892?’

  Honoré sat up, placing his cutlery down on the edge of his plate. He considered that for a moment whilst he swallowed his food. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘I’m saying that he must be a time traveller like you or me. Think about it. He’s alive, here, somewhere, in a period well before he could possibly have even been born. And the fact that his timeline is all broken and severed, that must mean something, must have something to do with his connection to time. If you think about it, that’s why he could have been showing you images of me in your dream. Maybe trying to tell you that he was like me? Perhaps he needs your help to make a jump in time, or something.’

  Lechasseur looked a little startled. ‘Why didn’t I think of that? It’s all so obvious. And it fits in, somehow, with what I need to tell you.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘The dead man, Edward Groves,’ Honoré waved the wallet at her to emphasise the point, ‘was a time sensitive too. Or I think so, anyway. His time-snake was different, suggestive. I don’t believe he was active in the same way as you or I, but I do think there has to be a link there somewhere.’

  Emily sounded shocked. ‘You don’t think the tramp is the murderer, do you? That would explain why he was present in this time period, and why he was looking for you in 1950.’

  Honoré levelled his gaze at her. He looked suddenly serious.

  Emily shuddered and reached out for her tea, trying to reassure herself with a long, hot draught.

  ‘I don’t know, Emily, I really don’t. But I suppose it’s going to be up to us to find out.’

  ‘So what’s next? After the bacon and eggs, I mean?’ Emily had made a start on her breakfast while Lechasseur was talking.

  ‘We visit the scene of the most recent murder.’ He smiled.

  ‘You got the address from Newman’s file?’

  ‘Yeah. And I’ve got a horrible feeling we’re not going to like what we find.’

  The walk across town took about forty-five minutes. The layout of the streets and buildings was vaguely familiar to Lechasseur, yet every time he was confident he knew exactly where he was going, he’d turn down a side street and end up lost. The city refused to give up its secrets.

  The day was gusty and overcast, and although it was not yet raining, it felt like it was holding back, ready for a downpour. That, in itself, felt a little portentous, and left Honoré feeling broody and tired.

  As they walked, Honoré tried to piece it all together in his head. If the severed man was the murderer, then they were on the trail of a killer; and not only that, but a killer who was looking for him, too. To what end, he could only imagine.

  His gut instinct, however, suggested something different entirely. He just didn’t believe that the tramp was trying to kill him. If that had been the case, he’d have made his move by now, probably in 1950, when Lechasseur had been less aware of what was going on and more vulnerable because of his ignorance. It had to be something else.

  But what? Where was the connection he was missing? If the tramp had travelled here from the future, there had to be a reason. And somehow that had to tie in with the deaths. He was sure of it. Particularly after discovering that Edward Groves had been a time sensitive like himself. And then there was the fact that the tramp had been severed from his own timeline, yet still existed within at least two, probably three time periods. He could make no real sense of all these disparate threads.

  It all hinged, he supposed, on whether or not they would find anything at the scene of the second murder – a run-down apartment building over in the East End.

  When they finally arrived, after spending some time exploring the area, they found the house had been boarded up. It was a tall tenement building, nestled amongst a number of other rather run-down looking flats and shops. The police had obviously decided to move on, and Lechasseur could see signs of forced entry in the building next door. It certainly didn’t look like the sort of place they wanted to hang around in for too long.

  Emily had obviously had the same thought. ‘Are you sure we’ve got the right place, Honoré? It looks a bit... well, a bit like an uninhabited slum.’

  ‘It’s the right place. The boards on the windows look new, and it’s certainly the correct address.’ Honoré edged his way over towards the front door and tested the lock. The police had done a good job barricading the door, and it wouldn’t give.

  ‘I think we’re going to have to get in round the back. Come on, this way.’

  They circled their way around the small terrace and ducked down an alleyway at the back. A pervasive stench assailed them, and Emily walked carefully around slops of mess and rotting food waste that had been dumped on the cobbles, unwanted. A scruffy-looking black cat was sniffing around amongst the rubbish, looking for a scrap of something half-edible. It scampered away when it noticed them coming.

  The back gate gave way easily to Honoré’s shoulder whilst Emily kept watch, and they stepped into the overgrown yard at the rear of the property. It was clear almost immediately that the place had been more-or-less abandoned for some time; weeds rose out of the ground from between the paving slabs like miniature eruptions of green and yellow, the hope of life from deep amongst the detritus. More rubbish was piled into the corners of the yard; old, burnt-out pieces of furniture, a chair here, a table there. Lechasseur thought he could even see the edge of an old oil painting sticking out from the flowerbed, half burnt away and turned into so much useless carbon and ash. The place had an oppressive air about it, and both Honoré and Emily were keen to keep moving before it settled on them and took hold. They clambered over the stacks of waste and made their way towards the sash window at the back of the house. The police had not even bothered to attempt to board up the rear, probably assuming that the stacks of rubbish would be enough of a deterrent to any would-be thieves. Either that or they had more important things to do, like beating up innocent civilians. Lechassuer rubbed his bruised face with a painful cringe.

  Emily was looking at the bricked-up hole where the back door had once been. ‘Looks like someone was keen to keep other people out.’

  ‘Or to keep people in.’ Honoré gave Emily an ominous glance. ‘We’ll get in through this window here. Come on, pass me that.’ He indicated amongst the rubbish, and Emily dug out a rusty metal bar that looked as if it had once been part of an old iron bed frame. Honoré used it to prise open the window, which crumbled away almost immediately, obviously rotten through. He pushed the frame up on its runners, wincing at the loud creaking sound it made, and beckoned for Emily to climb inside.

  ‘What, me first?

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘In this dress?’

  ‘Okay, I’ll go.’ He swung one leg up onto the windowsill, careful to balance his weight so that the crumbling wooden frame wouldn’t give way beneath him. A moment later, he lifted himself bodily through the hole and disappeared into the darkness of the old house. To Emily, it seemed disconcertingly like he’d just been swallowed. She heard his feet land on the other side with a resounding crunch.

  He was quiet for a moment whilst he looked around.

  Emily was almost startled when, a minute later, his head emerged from the window again, smiling. ‘Come on in, it lo
oks okay.’ He reached out and took her hands, helping her up.

  She landed beside him with a thud.

  The room in which they found themselves was dark and small, but with a high ceiling that gave the place a kind of eerie vastness, making Emily feel more than a little uncomfortable. It was as if it reminded her of somewhere, some familiar location that she just couldn’t place. Piles of rubbish and paper were spread around all over the floor.

  Every movement that they made seemed amplified by the unnatural silence of the old house. Emily felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck bristle.

  ‘This place is so quiet. There was never any love here.’

  Honoré knew exactly what she meant; there was a terrible atmosphere of loneliness, of isolation, like they were somewhere otherworldly, somewhere at odds with the real world. Given his experiences of late, nothing would surprise him less.

  ‘I’m going to take a look upstairs. You check it out down here.’

  ‘What if I find the body?’ Emily’s nervousness was evident in her voice.

  ‘They’ll have moved it by n...’ Lechasseur, half turned towards Emily, stopped dead in mid-sentence. Emily had the sense that he had taken a step backwards away from her.

  ‘Honoré? What is it, Honoré?’

  Nothing.

  Emily could feel her palms getting sweaty. Her heart raced in her chest. She stepped forward into the shaft of light that was streaming in from the window, trying to pick out Lechasseur from amongst the shadows. ‘What’s the matter, Honoré?’

  It took him a moment to answer, and to Emily, it seemed like an age.

  ‘I’m here.’ His voice seemed to echo from across the room.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. I’m going to head upstairs now.