by Bettie Jane
They walked without speaking, shuffling their feet slowly and quietly, not sure exactly what they were looking for. There appeared to be rooms off the main passage, but she couldn’t tell how spacious the offshoot areas were. She felt Frankie’s squeeze her shoulder as he leaned in and whispered in her ear.
“Wait one second.”
She stopped, and he reached around to take the lantern from her.
“I think I hear something in that room to my right. It was the briefest sound, maybe only a rat, but I think we should check it out.”
“I’ll follow you.”
He stepped off the path and she followed him into what turned out to be a very small area with more skeletons. She focused on where she put her feet so she wouldn’t accidentally step on human bones. A shiver ran through her, induced by the thought of hundreds of bodies rather than the cold that permeated the space. She recalled how she’d just told Frankie that these crypts had been sealed due to the cholera outbreak and before that, bodies were tossed in here during the Black Plague. With every breath, she hoped desperately she wasn’t picking up a virus that would kill her.
It would serve Jacob right if she died down here. She distracted herself with thoughts of his grieving for her and nearly forgot where they were until Frankie stopped and she ran into the back of him.
“Look.”
She peered around his shoulder to see a woman huddled in a corner, tied in ropes, her body sagging against the concrete walls. Julia noticed there was also a decrepit coffin to the right of her.
“Is she—?”
“I don’t know. I’ll check. Stay behind me.” She hesitated. “I’m going allow you to protect me now, Frankie. Well done.” She squeezed his shoulder and took a small step forward, then another until she reached the woman’s side. To Julia’s delight, she was breathing. It was a shallow breath, but it was breath.
“Thank the stars, Frankie. I think she’s alive.”
Julia bent down to try and rouse the woman she assumed was Brenda. She was blonde like Harry had described in his notes.
“Brenda?” She gently touched her shoulder. “Brenda, wake up, darling. We’re here to help you.”
She wasn’t stirring, so Julia continued to gently shake her in between untying the ropes that bound her wrists to her ankles, forcing her body into an awkward bent shape. The poor woman was at the very least going to be very sore.
“Wake up, darling. Let’s go home.”
The woman’s eyes blinked open. After a small moment passed, her memory seemed to return and she tried to scurry away, but she didn’t get far as she was already backed against the wall.
“It’s all right,” Julia said soothingly. “We won’t hurt you. Is your name Brenda? Brenda McFee?”
The woman nodded, her eyes wide with fear.
“You are safe now,” Julia offered. “Try to stretch your arms and legs a bit, dear.”
She complied, her muscles obviously stiff. She stretched for a moment or two and then looked at Julia, fear still in her eyes.
“Where’s—where is he?”
“There’s nobody else here, only me and my friend, Frankie.”
“Harry. Where’s Harry?” Her voice held a tinge of panic.
Julia’s heart sank. She was going to have to break the news of Harry’s death to this already traumatized woman.
“We suspected you were missing and it was a long shot, but we had reason to think you might be down here. I’m so glad you are okay. Are you a friend of Harry’s?”
“No!” Her answer was loud and definite. “He’s the monster that brought me here.”
“What? What do you mean? Are you talking about Harry Jones, the reporter for The Daily Telegraph?”
“Yes.” She sniffled and wiped a tear from her cheek. “He’s a horrible man. He took us to St. Vincent’s and killed my friend, then brought me here. I don’t know how long ago. It’s so dark down here, but it feels like it must have been days. He left me here and said he’d be back. He threatened to do horrible things. He said he was going to take his time with me.” Her voice broke and she sobbed, falling into Julia’s arms, who caught held her. “I was so scared.”
“Who is your friend, Brenda?” Julia felt like ice inside. She was afraid she already knew the answer.
“His name is Walter Smith.”
“Walter is your friend? The gardener at the St. Vincent’s? You lived at the orphanage for a time, didn’t you? Is that how you knew Harry?”
Brenda nodded. “He was always an animal. So mean to all of us. They made him leave after only a short time. None of us ever forgot him.”
“I was at the orphanage yesterday, Brenda. I spoke with a young girl who said all the girls there were afraid of your friend, Walter. Why would that be? They spoke of the garden shed as a place where he hurt them.”
“I don’t know. Walter hasn’t worked at the orphanage in years.”
Julia’s breath caught in her throat. Her head was spinning and not only because she was likely breathing Black Plague air. Everything she thought she knew over the last twenty-four hours was being turned on its head.
“Who are you?” Brenda asked.
“My name is Julia Barlow. I’m a reporter for The Daily News. This is my friend Frankie. We are investigating the murder of Harry Jones.”
“He’s dead?”
For the first time the fear in her eyes began to ease, and Julia could see her body visibly relax.
“Yes. He was killed outside Bower and Co. We thought the Dock Murderer killed him, and that he had also kidnapped you. The girl mentioned she heard Walter, or whoever it was pretending to be Walter, say that you were going to be an honorary Dock Girl.”
“Harry killed those other women. He said they were cruel to him and that he’d been waiting to take his revenge since the day he left. Walter, he protected all of us from Harry back when we all lived there.”
Julia was stunned and words failed her. She looked at Frankie and saw that he was as shocked as she was.
If this woman was telling the truth, Harry Jones was the Dock Murderer.
11
Early Wednesday Morning
February 13th, 1921
St. Bride’s Crypt
London
Julia and Frankie helped Brenda out of the crypt and drove straight to Scotland Yard.
On the way, while Frankie drove, Julia tried to make sense of this new information.
“If Harry killed Walter and kidnapped Brenda, who killed Harry?” She kept her voice low so Brenda, sitting nearly catatonic in the back seat, wouldn’t overhear.
Frankie replied. “We still don’t know why you’re in the center of this either. Someone went out of their way to set you up.”
“I hope Jacob is there,” Julia said, and meant it.
When they arrived, Julia let out a sigh of relief when she saw that, even that late at night, Jacob was at his desk.
They introduced him to Brenda. “This is Brenda McFee.” Before Jacob could ask the questions that were obviously on the tip of his tongue, Julia caught him up on their nocturnal activities, telling him of the dead body in the gardening shed at the orphanage, their decision to check out the crypts under St. Bride’s, and then finding Brenda. Overall, Julia was impressed with his lack of overreaction to her tale, although he did frown at the dead body. He frowned again when she began relaying Brenda’s part in the story.
“We found her in the crypts, tied up and unconscious. When she woke up, she said that Harry Jones kidnapped both her and Walter Smith. He took them to the gardening shed at the orphanage where he killed Walter and then took Brenda and tied her up in the crypts. I think, had he not been killed outside Bower and Co., Brenda here wouldn’t still be with us.”
It was a mouthful and one that seemed to surprise Jacob as much as the information had shocked Julia and Frankie.
He looked between the three of them, not saying anything, until he picked up his phone.
“Abernathy. I need you to
take a statement.”
He hung the telephone up again and before anyone else could speak, Abernathy was at Jacob’s desk.
“This is Brenda McFee. Please take her statement. Miss McFee, if you could please do your best to tell everything you can remember to Officer Abernathy.”
Brenda nodded, seeming to be quite overwhelmed. She hadn’t spoken since they’d gotten in Julia’s car. She stood and followed Mr. Abernathy out of the office.
Once Brenda as gone, Jacob looked at Julia for what felt like a full minute.
“I’m glad you are all right.” His voice sounded sincere but that was only the polite thing to say.
“Thank you.”
“Do you think Brenda’s accusations are true?”
“Given the amount of information he had documented in his files and his fascination with St. Brides’ Church—and then finding Brenda there, it is certainly possible. When I saw how thorough Harry’s files were, I assumed he was an excellent reporter. I never met him in person. I suppose it might be worth talking to his editor or his peers. Have you searched his residence yet?”
“Yes, though not personally. Officers went to his home yesterday. There didn’t look to be anything of consequence.”
“I’ve been thinking about the interview with Scotty. You recall the blonde woman he saw with Harry’s body? Blonde women of a certain height seemed to be his type, if it was Harry posing as the gardener at the orphanage. Do you think that anonymous woman was involved or truly just happened upon the scene?”
“It’s difficult to know, but I wouldn’t rule it out. Whoever she is.”
Julia hesitated, then forged onward. “I have a theory about who took my notebook and placed it at the crime scene, but I haven’t been able to figure out a motive. Perhaps if we put our heads together?”
“Happy to. Your insight is always much appreciated, Julia.”
Her heart warmed, against her better judgement, at his use of her first name. Jacob Gibbs was infuriating.
“Fred Thompson, Harry’s editor, was at my speech, which was the last place I remember having it. He’s also on the bartender’s list of regulars who were there that evening before Harry was seen leaving the bar. I think it’s highly likely that Fred Thompson, either by himself or in collusion with Harry Jones, framed me. What I don’t know is why. I can’t make any sense of it at all, including how there is a certificate of ownership for a gun I did not own. It had to be forged.”
“It was forged. The true owner of that gun is none other than Fred Thompson. I checked the validity with the government office.”
“Harry’s editor killed him? Why?”
Frankie spoke up. “That seems to be the question of the day, doesn’t it?”
“I did some digging,” Jacob told them, “and learned that The Daily Telegraph is close to bankruptcy. Or, rather, it was before Harry’s articles on the Dock Murderer greatly increased the paper’s readership.”
“Harry was murdering women in order to sell papers?” Julia asked.
“I suspect that Fred and Harry were working together. Perhaps Fred worried that Harry would talk so he killed him?”
Julia considered this and realized it was likely Fred killed Harry and then task Julia with writing a story, knowing that her newfound notoriety would definitely sell more papers. She considered her brief experience at the newspaper’s headquarters and retraced her time there. The tour of Harry’s desk. The view of St. Bride’s. The significance of Fleet Street’s history. Suzette’s grief over Harry.
A thought struck her.
“I have another idea that might give us a little more insight into what exactly happened that night. This is only a hunch, mind you. I have no proof, other than a sense that I got from Suzette, one of the secretaries at The Daily Telegraph.”
“Go ahead and elaborate. We are all friends here.”
He smiled warmly, and her traitor heart did a flip-flop.
You’re a foolish, foolish girl, Julia.
“I suspect that Suzette was in love with Harry. She mentioned that they often lunched together at St. Bride’s and dined at the White Hart pub in Waterloo on occasion. Her build, her profile—she fits the description of all the women he murdered. I think Harry and Suzette were lovers. Her grief seemed more intense than what I would expect over a colleague. Granted, I only met her that one time, so I don’t exactly have her normal demeanor to compare to. I also suspect that Fred Thompson was in love with Suzette. What if Harry’s murder was a crime of passion?”
“You think Fred Thompson killed Harry, not to shut him up and save his paper, but because he was stealing the secretary’s affections?”
Julia shrugged. “People have killed for lesser things.”
“I suppose you are right at that. Only one way to find out. Let’s have a chat with Suzette. If you’re right, perhaps Suzette and Harry planned to meet that night outside the pub and before they did, Fred killed Harry. Setting you up would simply give his paper more publicity in the end. Your being framed was from greed, the murder may well have been from jealousy and anger. I believe Fred Thompson had Harry’s murder planned before he ever offered you a position. He would have had to forge the certificate of gun ownership well in advance. That was part of his plan, to put you in the center of it all.”
“For the sake of publicity and selling newspapers. That is insane.”
There was a commotion outside Jacob’s office. A young, blonde woman was being escorted into the building quite forcefully by two uniformed police. Her face was stained with tears and her stylish dress covered in blood splatter.
“That’s Suzette!”
“Give me a moment. I’ll find out what’s happening,” Jacob said as he stepped out of his office and approached the officers. Julia stood and followed, but hung back inside the office door, getting close enough to hear.
“She is under arrest for the murder of Fred Thompson,” the officer told Jacob.
Directly behind Julia, Frankie whistle one of those long, low sounds that were more breath than sound.
“Oh my,” Julia said. Suzette hadn’t noticed Julia standing only a few feet away. She was staring at the floor, her shoulders hunched over. She looked like a defeated woman.
“Officers,” Jacob said, “she is also a witness in another, related murder. I’d need to interrogate her briefly.”
The two uniformed men looked at each other. “Of course, Inspector Gibbs. Pass her back to us when you are finished with your questions.”
Suzette went willingly with Jacob, who led her by her upper arm into his office. It wasn’t until Julia stepped out of the way and cleared her throat that Suzette looked up at her. Shock showed in her eyes for a brief moment but was quickly replaced with a heartbreaking desolation.
“Hello, Suzette. Are you all right?”
Suzette’s eyes welled with tears and they spilled over onto her cheeks. “Julia Barlow. No, I’ll never be all right again. Fred Thompson is a monster. He killed Harry.”
Jacob led Suzette to a chair across from her desk. “Can I get you some water, Suzette?”
“No, thank you.” Her voice was flat and her eyes were dead.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions surrounding what happened to Harry. Are you willing to speak with me?”
“Of course.” Something in her voice lifted with the mention of Harry’s name.
“Were you going to meet Harry the night he was killed? Were you the one that saw his body?”
She sniffled and nodded. “I did meet him there. We had plans to meet at half past nine. Somehow, Fred found out about it. Once he saw us together, he held us at gunpoint, and he made me watch as he shot Harry. Then he told me that he would set me up for his murder if I said anything, so I didn’t. That day, when you came in and asked me about Harry, I wanted so badly to tell you what happened.”
Jacob continued. “Fred pulled a gun on both of you and killed Harry. Then what he did he do?”
“He said that the police would immedi
ately think I was the killer since I was having an affair with Harry. Fred has always been jealous and never allows me to be happy. Now I never will be again.”
“Suzette,” Jacob said gently, “there is something you should know. Harry Jones was the Dock Murderer. He and Fred Thompson were working together, as far as we can tell. I’ll never be able to say this again out loud, but you should know that you’ve done the city of London a great service.”
Suzette’s eyes widened. “He—what? That’s not possible.”
“I’m afraid it is entirely possible.”
They took a few more minutes with Suzette, answering her questions and telling her about the girl he’d held hostage.
“I know you cared for Harry, but he was fooling you, just as he was fooling everywhere else. I’ll call a lawyer for you.”
By now, constant tears flowed down Suzette’s face. Jacob led her back to the uniformed officers as promised.
“She’s had quite a shock now, hasn’t she?” Frankie asked.
Julia nodded, exhaustion suddenly pressing in around her.
“Let’s get a drink, friend,” Frankie said to Julia.
“I’m beat. I just want my bed, please.
12
Thursday Afternoon
February 14th, 1921
Goodall Residence
London
When the dust settled, everyone that needed to be arrested was, except for those who were dead. Someone new would take over as editor for The Daily Telegraph, Julia was keeping her job at The Daily News, and Frankie had planned a most elegant proposal that night on Valentine’s Day for Mattie. Julia couldn’t wait. She was already dressed and waiting for the time to arrive for her to leave.
The only loose end as far as she was concerned was the predicament of the children at St. Vincent’s and her personal situation with Jacob Gibbs. She planned on visiting Mary this weekend and had a secret mission to find a family for Mary. She wouldn’t tell Mary about that until it was a sure thing, though. No point in getting the girl’s hopes up. However, she could visit and take a personal interest in Mary’s security at the orphanage until that time.
