"I'm sorry," said Lawrence sincerely. "I know what it's like to lose a daughter. You have my deepest sympathies."
"It was a long time ago," said Higgins. "God took her for his own. It was a natural death and I have learned to live with her loss. But only her loss, you understand. Not the rest of it."
Higgins returned to the second packing crate and sat heavily with his head in his hands. He was silent for a moment, and Lawrence watched him brooding until a groan from the man on the floor broke his reverie.
"He's waking up," said Lawrence.
"Good. I want him to hear this." Samuel Higgins approached the man and heaved his body to a sitting position. The man flopped against the wall with his head tilted uncomfortably to one side.
"Not quite awake," Higgins continued, manipulating the figure into the corner where he sat him in a more natural position.
"Better," said Lawrence.
Higgins grunted. "As I was saying, my life then was quite different – a wife, a child, normality. I was content with my lot and nothing could have prepared me for what happened in 1890."
"That was the year Amelia Jeffs died," said Lawrence.
"Exactly," said Higgins. "When Amelia died, a part of me died with her. My life changed irrevocably. Pass me the flask, will you?"
Lawrence slid the metal container across the floor. Higgins knocked it back and wiped his lips. "I haven't talked about this for years," he said.
"Is Isabel aware?" asked Lawrence.
"She knows very little," said Higgins, "and this revelation will prove deeply shocking. It's unfortunate."
"What are you talking about?"
"Never mind. I was telling you about Amelia. I knew her fairly well. She was a kind girl, very sweet. I remember her rescuing a baby starling after a mauling from a cat. The bird was in a bad way. It should have died, but Amelia nursed it back to health. She was like that."
"Were you acquainted with her family?"
"I knew them, but not well. Rachel minded little Edie once or twice and occasionally Amelia. Well, having a daughter of my own, I love little girls and often stopped to speak to them when they were playing on the road. So, I knew the children very well, but not so much the parents. Back then, I worked for a different newspaper, and my route to work took me through West Road. I usually carried sweets in my pocket and would treat the girls whenever I saw them. And not only the Jeffs girls, but many other local children. They're such innocents, Lawrence. Easy to chat to, full of interesting ideas and observations. And in case you were wondering, I didn't confine my attentions only to little girls. I made friends with the boys too. God blessed Olga and I with only one child, and I would have welcomed a brood of them, but it was not to be. And with so many friendly children nearby, it was not a tragedy."
"Your interest in the children was fatherly?"
"Of course." Higgins frowned. "It's a fair comment. I enjoyed their company for the most innocent reasons. But everything changed when Amelia died."
"I think I can guess what happened."
Higgins nodded. "I'm sure you can. I passed Amelia outside her house in West Road on the night she died. I was not the last to see her – Lizzie Harmer ran into her a few moments later outside number thirty, and by then I would have been almost home. I thought nothing of it until the following day when the rumour mill started grinding, and word went around that Amelia was missing. Her father began searching and he couldn't find her. You've read the reports – you know what happened. Days went by with no news. Everyone was looking for Amelia – in their outhouses, in the park, in the scrubland by the building site. They spared no effort to find the girl. Speculation was rife, as you can imagine, and after a few days, people who had always trusted each other, started thinking the unthinkable. Could someone have abducted Amelia and was it one of their own? Finally, they found her body on Saint Valentine's day, strangled and violated. There was an uproar, Mr Harpham. Speculation turned to accusation and suspicion to certainty. Amelia's killer was a man, and they considered any man under the age of eighty a viable suspect.
Two days after Amelia died, I walked my usual route to work and encountered young Cyril Hicks as I had done many times before. I handed him a toffee, and his mother ran from the house and snatched it from his hand, shrieking at me to leave her child alone. Her actions horrified me and her words cut to the quick, revealing unbridled concern about my motives. Shaken, I decided not to hand out any sweets until more time had passed. But children don't think like adults. They still ran up to me, clustering around excitedly and looking for kind words and treats. And like a fool, I gave in to my better judgement. Within days, the finger-pointing began, suspicion settling on me like maggots on a corpse. The curtains twitched when I walked past, parents called their children inside when they saw me approach. The road emptied, and I changed my route to work, but it didn't help."
Higgins took another gulp of brandy. "Has anyone ever ostracised you?" he asked.
Lawrence shook his head. "No."
"You can't imagine the loneliness. It was already quiet at home. Rachel started in service only weeks before Amelia died and lived with the family in Cricklewood. Olga was still with me then. But gossip is insidious. Words shouldn't hurt, but they do. The whispering started, each wicked suggestion infiltrating every part of our lives. We had no extended family. Both my parents were dead, my only brother living in Leicester and Olga's kin in Europe. As the devilish accusations gained traction, our friends peeled away. People stopped speaking and I narrowly avoided losing my occupation. Had my editor not been a principled and rational man, I would have, for my colleagues turned their backs on me.
Then one day two women cornered Olga in the corner shop at the end of West Road. They said they'd seen me talking to Amelia Jeffs, and not only Amelia but Mary Seward too. Olga spoke up for me, ridiculing the idea that anyone could remember what happened on the day of Mary's disappearance all those years ago. But, Harpham, people remember what you tell them. They repeated the stories so often that they quickly became fact. And before long, Olga couldn't walk down the street without catcalls and stone-throwing. We held our nerve, carried on, tried to live life as best we could, but it never stopped. By the spring of 1890, I was a social pariah and Olga, my accomplice. And just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, this happened."
Higgins pointed to the blacked-out lens with a shaking finger. "Do you want to see it?"
Lawrence shuddered. "I'd rather not."
Higgins grasped the fraying elastic holding the glasses on his head and stared at Lawrence as if in two minds. Then he lowered his hands. "It's not a pretty sight," he said. "I won't subject you to it."
"What happened?" asked Lawrence, confronting the unavoidable.
"It was a day like any other," said Higgins. "Except it must have been busier than usual as the light was failing when I returned, so I must have worked long hours. It was late spring and, by then, I'd taken to alternating my route between several streets leading home. It was the only sensible way to avoid a frightening and potentially embarrassing confrontation."
"I can imagine." Lawrence was starting to feel sympathetic towards Higgins despite his better judgement. He had seen enough in his time to know that rumour and innuendo could finish a man. "I'm only surprised that you didn't move."
"I would have but Olga didn't want to. She liked the house and thought that moving would only make me look more guilty."
"I expect she was right."
"She usually was," said Higgins. "And had she known of the colossal lapse of judgement that her husband was about to make she would have moved heaven and earth to prevent it."
"What did you do?" asked Lawrence.
Higgins put his head in his hands. He sat quietly for a moment, sighing as if he would give all he possessed to go back in time and reverse the consequences of his ill-considered choice.
After a moment, he raised his head, and a tear trickled down his cheek. Lawrence stared, not knowing what to say. He opted for
continued silence.
Higgins spoke in a faltering voice. "The route I chose took me down the Portway, crossing the top of West Road near the park. On the corner of the junction near Donaldson's house, I passed little Alice Houghton playing by the road with a friend and almost stopped to speak to her. It was getting late, and before Amelia's death, I wouldn't have hesitated to tell her to run along home before nightfall. But I thought twice and carried on walking without acknowledging her presence. Well, to my surprise, I felt a soft squeeze. Alice had caught up with me and slipped her hand into mine. She said hello and asked how I was, and then, in a sad voice, she asked why I didn't like her anymore and what she had done to upset me. It broke my heart, Harpham. But how could I explain it to her? Children should stay innocent for as long as possible. I could not tell her the truth for fear of distressing her or making her fearful. What I should have done is to walk away. What I did was give her a few sweets. And that decision changed my life forever."
Higgins stood and paced towards the open window, placing his hands on the ledge. "I went home, had my supper and was settling down for the evening when I heard a hammering at my door. Olga looked up in surprise and told me not to answer it, but stupidly I assumed someone was in trouble and thought they might need my help. I didn't stop to consider an alternative and flung the door open. But when I looked outside, nobody was there. I shut the door behind me and walked up the path to take a better look to see if the local children were playing knock down ginger. Then, just as I was about to go back indoors, someone seized me from behind, and a group of men bundled me away. They covered my head with a hood and marched me off. I had no idea where they were taking me – West Ham Park as it turned out. I could not see them, but I could hear them whispering about the dreadful methods they would use to make me talk. And as they approached the park, their voices grew louder and more confident. Darkness had fallen, but even through a hood, I could feel the difference between the lamplit street and the terrible emptiness of the park. I was friendless and alone, and all I could do was wait and hope that I could talk my way out of it. I stood unbalanced as they removed their hands and lingered nearby. I could feel their presence and knew they were watching me, and their silence only increased the terror. For a fleeting moment, I hoped they had seen the folly of their behaviour, but then I heard heavy breathing, and someone coughed.
" 'Who are you? What do you want?' I asked determined to break the silence, then suddenly a kick to my solar plexus knocked the breath from my body. I dropped to the floor, winded and writhing in terror."
"Filthy pigs," said Lawrence, now unable to hide his empathy. "That's no kind of justice. What did you do?"
"Nothing. How could I? One of them leaned over and removed the hood. He held a lantern over me, waiting until I could catch my breath long enough to speak. Then he told me he would kill me if I didn't confess to Amelia Jeff's murder. Well, of course, I said I hadn't done it, and he said he'd heard that I'd seen her that night. I knew it would be worse if I lied so I agreed that I had seen her, but that I hadn't harmed her."
"Did you know him?" asked Lawrence
"I'd never seen him before in my life," said Higgins. "Not him or any of his friends. They were young men, a bit rough around the edges, but not the sort who run in gangs. Anyway, I assured him I wasn't responsible for Amelia's death, and he accused me of trying to lure Alice Houghton away from her family by giving her sweets. I told him exactly what had happened and suggested he ask Alice who would confirm my story. At that point, he spat in my face and kicked me between the legs. I screamed in pain, Harpham. God help me, but at that moment, I was on the verge of confessing if only to make it stop. But my screams enraged them further. One man stepped forward and put his hand over my mouth while pressing my nostrils. I was gasping for air, fighting to breathe. The man with the lantern told him to stop and sat down beside me while the others stood above. He said he was the cousin of Alice's friend, the girl I had seen playing with her in Portway. The story his relative relayed gave an entirely different interpretation of my actions. Her family had told her never to accept things from strangers, repeating the rule often since Amelia's murder. They had instructed her to tell a grown-up if anyone she didn't know offered her anything. So, he couldn't care less what Alice said, his cousin's story was all he needed. There must be a motive for going around giving young girls sweets with no good cause. He called me a filthy pervert and asked how I wanted to die. My teeth were chattering with the cold, and I'd urinated in fear. I was alone in the dark, at the mercy of strangers, and I didn't know whether I'd survive the night. But in the end, I could not bring myself to lie. If I'd lied, they might have taken me to face proper justice, but I would not confess to something I hadn't done, nor would I choose the means of my demise. So, I said nothing, and they took it in turns to kick me and beat me until I was half dead. Then, one of them found a brick near the pathway and slammed it on my temple, shattering my skull and eye socket. The pain was unendurable and within moments, thankfully, I lost consciousness."
"God, that's awful," said Lawrence. "I don't know what to say."
"Then say nothing, old chap. That's not the worst of it. One man must have had a rudimentary conscience and anonymously called a doctor. They told him where to find me, and it didn't take long before the doctor transported me to the hospital. I spent weeks there while they repaired what remained of my face. After a few days Olga came to visit me, but weeks went by, and she didn't return. I pressed the nurse for an early discharge, and when that wasn't forthcoming, I walked out anyway and went home. There, on the mantlepiece was a letter from Olga. Never a strong woman and always on the wrong side of squeamish, she couldn't bear the thought of my broken face. Nor could she stand any more accusations. She had left to start a new life. I never saw her again. And that, Harpham, is my story."
Lawrence gestured for the flask. Higgins slid it towards him, and he took a slug. "I'm sorry," Lawrence said, almost lost for words. "But answer me one thing, if you can. When Isabel mentioned your injury, she said that you had forgiven your attackers and even spoke up for them at the trial. Why?"
"Because fear motivated their actions. Someone had taken two girls and murdered another. Though in all innocence, I had behaved unwisely. Had I committed the act of which they accused me, there would be justification for revenge. So, whose fault was it?"
"Theirs," said Lawrence. "That's not how justice works."
"But it doesn't work, does it?" said Higgins. "Here we are eighteen years on from the first disappearance, and we're still none the wiser. The police have failed. Ten crimes against children remain unpunished. Those men may have got it wrong, but at least they tried."
"They ruined your life," said Lawrence. "I don't understand."
"No, they didn't. He did," said Higgins glaring towards the sitting, hooded form of the bound man breathing heavily in the corner. "All that remains is to find out why."
CHAPTER 29
How and Why
"Go on then," said Higgins. "You've heard my story. Now I want to hear yours."
The man shifted uncomfortably on the floor but said nothing.
"Your story. Now," said Higgins, menacingly, as he approached the bound man and smiled. "Now," he said again.
"Water," gasped the man. "I'm parched."
"Story," said Higgins. "Or I'll cut you."
"You wouldn't," croaked the prisoner.
Higgins slid his hand into his jacket pocket, removed a long, sharp blade, and held it in the lamplight. "This knife should do the trick," he said.
"Steady on," said Lawrence. "There's no need for that."
"He's bluffing," snarled the bound man.
Higgins knelt and put his face close to the hood. "I'm not, you know," he whispered.
The man squirmed, and for seconds nothing happened. Then with lightning speed, Higgins grabbed the man's hand, slammed it on the floor and pushed the knife-edge onto his little finger using his body weight to slice through the bone. A scream pier
ced the air and Lawrence leapt from the crate. "For God's sake, no!" he yelled, trying to keep his balance.
"Sorry, Harpham," said Samuel Higgins, wiping the blade on his trouser leg. "I'll get to the truth one way or another."
"Then untie me. This is ridiculous."
"I can't. You'll try to stop me, and it's too late."
"I can't watch this."
"Then don't," said Higgins. "I'll take you into the back room, but I thought you'd want to know what happened."
"I do," said Lawrence. "I'll hear the truth, but I don't want to see a man tortured, no matter what the provocation."
"Sorry, I can't help you," said Higgins. "He'll lose another finger every time he doesn't answer me – and worse if he prevaricates for much longer. You can either listen or sit elsewhere. Your choice but I'm losing patience, so decide."
"I'll stay," muttered Lawrence, trying to ignore the whimpers of the bound man on the floor. He clutched his damaged hand in the other and rocked pitifully.
"Good. Then we'll begin." Higgins paced towards the second packing crate and kicked it towards the man, then sat with his legs splayed and his hand on his chin. "Let's start with Eliza Carter."
"I didn't do it. I didn't hurt Eliza," said the man.
"Come now," said Higgins, stroking his finger down the knife blade. "That won't help you."
"Really. I didn't. It was nothing to do with me, and neither was the other girl."
"Mary Seward?"
"Yes, Mary. I swear I didn't touch them."
"So, Amelia was the first."
Silence.
"I'm waiting."
"Yes," whispered the man.
"Speak up. I can't hear you."
"Yes, damn it. She was the first. I killed Amelia Jeffs."
"How?"
"I choked her with a scarf."
"And?"
"What do you mean, and?"
"What else did you do?"
Silence, then the man in the hood started sobbing.
"What else?"
"I... I. God help me."
The Moving Stone Page 16
