by Mick Finlay
‘Told me what?’ asked the guvnor, biting a mince pie. Heaven knows where he got that from, as Lilly still had the manager’s box under his arm.
‘That they’re a violent race.’
‘Show me an English criminal who wouldn’t kill for a crate of gold,’ said the guvnor, catching a bit of crust as fell out his mouth.
‘I’m not talking about criminals.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘What the hell’s wrong with you? Everybody knows what they’re like. They keep fighting us!’
‘We keep fighting them.’
‘You’re a damn fool, Arrowood. A controversialist. You’re no better than those buffoons at Victoria Park.’
‘You’re the damn fool, sir,’ said Arrowood sharply. ‘I wonder you’ve ever caught a crook with a brain like that.’
Napper stared at him for a few moments, his lip curled. ‘Mr Barnett, take your employer to wait on the boat,’ he said at last. ‘McDonald, you stay in here with me.’
‘Don’t be childish, Napper,’ said the guvnor. ‘It’s freezing out there.’
‘Get out. And keep hidden.’
The ship opposite the office was a tea clipper. One of the sailors had seen the police van, so he allowed us aboard and showed us where to stand to keep out of the way as his mate washed the deck around us. On the other side of the boat, a single winch lowered boxes onto a barge, but that was the only work being done this late on Christmas Eve. We were about fifty foot above ground, and would have had a good view of the dock gates on one side and the warehouses on the other if it hadn’t been for the brown fog. It had come down thicker while we’d been inside, cold and gritty and choking in your gullet. We could just make out the shipping office opposite, and on the road a trough for the horses and a row of empty carts. Along the edge of the basin were a line of streetlamps, a solitary man with a loose cap following them until he was swallowed by fog. Somewhere over by the locks we could hear the soft grunt of the pumping station, and in the air the stink of the animal charcoal works hung heavy. There was no hint anywhere on the dock that it was Christmas tomorrow.
The guvnor fiddled in his pocket and handed me a sugar mouse. He pulled out another and bit into it.
‘How’s your back?’ I asked.
‘Can’t feel it,’ he said. His belly gurgled and groaned. He gripped a cleat on the rail and swung back and forth. ‘I need something better than this to eat. And a good tot of brandy. How’s that woman you’ve been seeing?’
‘I’m not seeing her anymore.’
‘Ah… well, I’m sorry.’
I nodded, my hands jammed in my coat pocket. ‘I thought she was someone she wasn’t.’
‘She misled you?’
‘I misled myself.’
He put his hand on my arm and looked up at me. ‘You’ve been making some bad choices since Mrs Barnett died, Norman. Are you lonely?’
The question made me start. Was I lonely? How could he ask that? What use would it do to decide whether I was lonely? I’d spent the last two years avoiding that word, and I wasn’t going to start thinking about it tonight. I breathed long and slow. Somewhere in the fog a horse snorted. Nearby church bells rang out the half hour.
A few moments later, the young clerk stepped out the office and made his way to the gates. He was wrapped up in a thick coat, a bowler, a scarf over his face. Heading home for Christmas.
‘What are you going to do after the funeral tomorrow?’ asked Arrowood when he realized I wasn’t going to answer him.
‘I’m going to Sidney’s for dinner. What about you?’
‘We were going to see Lewis, but not now. We’ll sit at home and look after Isabel.’ He burped. ‘Why is there so much sadness, Norman?’
‘There just is, William. There just—’
He gripped my arm and pointed. From the direction of the dockyard gates, two figures were appearing from the fog. It was Thembeka and Senzo.
Chapter Forty-Five
We crouched below the gunwale, watching through the gaps as they made their way along the cobbles. Their faces were part-covered in scarves and they wore broad-brimmed hats they didn’t have before, but we knew it was them. When they reached the row of carts, they paused and waited, watching out in case anyone should be following. They moved on.
A curse came from the bargee on the other side of the clipper. Thembeka and Senzo stopped, peering over in our direction. There was no chance they could see us through the rails, though the bloke swabbing the deck was in clear sight.
An empty wagon then appeared, approaching from the opposite direction where the warehouses sat silent. The two Africans stood aside to let it pass, but the driver pulled up and spoke to them. His hat was low over his eyes, his collar up.
‘Who’s that?’ whispered the guvnor. ‘Is it Mabaso?’
We could hear the flow of their conversation, the low muttering like the murmur of the boats in the black water. There was a silence, Senzo stamping his feet, the driver sitting back.
‘Well?’ barked the driver, suddenly loud enough to hear.
Thembeka nodded.
A woman burst from the fog from the same direction the wagon had come, walking fast toward them. As she got nearer, we saw it was Princess Nobantu.
Senzo called out as he saw her approach. She ran forward, talking quickly as the driver climbed down from his seat and tied his horse to a post. Senzo tried to put his arms around her, but she stepped back and went to Thembeka instead.
All four of them entered the shipping company office. As soon as the door shut, we hurried down the gangway onto the dockside and crept up to the window. The princess was talking to Mr Lilly, Thembeka and Senzo watching from the side. The driver had his back to us.
‘Go in?’ I whispered.
‘Wait until Napper makes his move,’ said the guvnor.
‘What’s he waiting for?’
‘Mabaso.’ Arrowood turned, looking each way up and down the dock. ‘Damn it. If he’s out there somewhere he’ll have seen us already.’
Mr Lilly went back to the ledgers and took down the one he’d looked at before. Next, he pulled out the drawer of a filing cabinet and found some papers. He asked a question. The princess answered with a shake of her head.
The office manager then put a document on the desk and handed Senzo a pen. He signed it and passed the pen to Princess Nobantu. She reached out to sign, but her hands shook and she dropped it. Mr Lilly returned it to her. She signed her name and stood back.
Mr Lilly blotted the document, then held it under the lamp. His face puckered. He took up the other paper from his desk and studied that. He shook his head and handed the pen back to the princess. She signed again. Again, he checked.
Finally, he took a key from his watch pocket, went to a wall cabinet, and unlocked it. He brought out a bigger key, put on his coat, and turned to the door. The driver turned too.
It was Bill Craft.
We ducked under the window and scurried to the row of carts, hiding there as the five of them came out. Craft untied the wagon and led the old white horse after them as they marched away from the gates towards the row of warehouses further down the basin. A few moments later, the office door opened again, and there was Napper and PC McDonald, peering through the fog. When the wagon turned a corner and disappeared from sight, we all four hurried after them.
At the intersection, Napper had a look round the corner.
‘He’s unlocking the warehouse,’ he whispered. We waited out of sight for a few more moments. ‘They’re in.’
‘The driver?’ I asked.
‘Him too.’
We all had a look now. The alley had warehouses on one side and another basin on the other. There were no big ships moored there, but in the gloom we could just make out the shapes of dumb barges in the black water. Under the haze of a streetlamp stood the empty wagon and the old nag. About a hundred yards past the wagon was another junction.
‘Where are those constables who were supposed
to be following them?’ asked Napper, looking back.
‘Must have lost them, sir,’ said McDonald.
‘Shall we go in?’ the guvnor asked.
‘We wait until Mabaso appears,’ said Napper.
‘Maybe he’s in there already, sir,’ said the PC.
Napper pointed past the warehouse to where the alley joined another. ‘We’ll go round the back and take a position down there. You stay here, Arrowood. If he appears, we approach from both ends and arrest him. Wait till you see us move. If he doesn’t appear, we follow the wagon.’ He turned to the PC. ‘Can you get the van out quickly?’
‘Yes, sir. Stables aren’t locked.’
Napper and the PC went back past the office and disappeared down another alley. A few minutes later, Craft backed out of the warehouse pulling a trolley loaded with small crates, each about the size of a baby. He stopped by the wagon and he, Thembeka, Senzo and the princess lifted them one by one onto the back as Mr Lilly stood watching. When they were finished, Lilly pulled the trolley back into the warehouse and locked up the doors.
‘Merry Christmas,’ he said, nodding his head at each of them.
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Thembeka.
Fearing they would see us, we drew back behind the corner, hearing Mr Lilly’s footsteps approach on the cobbles.
He turned the corner, starting when he saw us. The guvnor shushed him softly and waved him on. He nodded and walked past.
Carefully, we looked round the corner again. The princess, Senzo, Thembeka and Craft stood by the wagon in silence. The princess stroked the old horse. Somewhere in the fog, a man coughed.
‘There, at the basin,’ whispered the guvnor.
A head had appeared in the cradle of a fixed ladder rising from the water to the dockside.
‘He must have a boat.’
We watched as the figure climbed the rungs, his chest coming into view next, his hips, his legs. Finally, he stepped out onto the cobbles. Though it was murky and dark, the figure no more than an outline, we knew from the way his ears stuck out it must be Mabaso. He looked up and down the alley, then hurried over to the wagon.
Napper and the PC, truncheons in hand, burst through the fog at the far end of the warehouses, running towards the wagon. We moved too, our guns in our hands.
For a moment, Mabaso froze. Then, instead of retreating back to the ladder, he darted around the horse. Quick as a cat he was behind Senzo, wrenching his arm up his back, his other hand at his neck.
‘Mabaso!’ yelled Napper, reaching them just before us. ‘Put it down!’
It was only then we saw it: Mabaso was holding a long blade to Senzo’s gullet.
‘Stand back, gentlemen,’ said the African copper calmly.
‘Don’t, please don’t,’ pleaded Thembeka.
Senzo was shaking, pulling his head back away from the blade. His mouth was open, his lips still scarred and swollen.
Thembeka tried to take Mabaso’s arm.
‘No!’ he yelled, pushing the blade harder into Senzo’s throat.
She backed off. ‘He’s been punished enough, Mabaso. Please. No more.’
‘Leave it to the courts, constable,’ said Napper, dropping his truncheon and holding his hands in the air.
‘The court’s already heard his case,’ said Mabaso. He coughed again. ‘He’s guilty.’
‘What court?’ asked Napper.
‘The Ninevite court.’
‘That’s not the law here. Put the knife down, there’s a good lad. He’ll get his punishment. Don’t get yourself into any more trouble, eh? You’ve done enough.’
‘You don’t understand,’ said Mabaso.
‘Then explain it to me,’ said Napper.
Mabaso grimaced, an expression so full of pain I felt my skin prickle.
Then he sliced the blade across Senzo’s neck.
The princess screamed.
Senzo stood for a moment, his hands moving to his throat. Blood began to surge through his fingers.
Before we could react, he collapsed onto the cobbles. Mabaso stepped toward Thembeka, the knife still in his hand.
I fired.
He gave a startled cry, clutching his belly, and as he stood there looking at his hands, McDonald smashed his truncheon onto the back of his head.
Thembeka was already on her knees, her fingers trying to knit together the gash in Senzo’s neck, but the blood was coming faster now.
She muttered something over and over as the blood spread over the cobbles, perhaps a prayer, perhaps a last message to him. Senzo stared up at her face now, his hand gripping her coat. His legs jerked. His mouth shot open.
Then he went slack.
Thembeka buried her face in his breast, sobbing, her shoulders heaving. The princess knelt behind, putting her arms around Thembeka.
Mabaso lay upon the ground behind her, his breath coming in short jerks, his face wrought with pain.
‘Well, you spared the courts some time there, Barnett,’ said Napper, wiping his hands on his trousers. He was trying to sound jaunty, but his voice trembled.
I looked at the pistol in my hands. ‘He was about to kill her.’
The guvnor said nothing. He stared at me.
‘Get the van, McDonald,’ said Napper.
‘He was about to kill her,’ I said again. I’d never felt so cold before. My whole body was shivering.
The guvnor stepped over and took the pistol from my hand. ‘He’d killed three people, Norman. You had no choice.’
‘Hold up your arms,’ Napper said to Craft as the PC scurried away.
‘I just drove him around, sir!’ said Craft. ‘I didn’t do nothing!’
‘That’s enough for me,’ said Napper, putting the wrist irons on him.
We waited for the police van on the foggy dockside, listening to Thembeka sob softly on the floor. Napper went over to check the basin where Mabaso had climbed up from.
‘Little steam launch,’ he said. ‘That was how he was going to get the gold away.’
The van arrived and we lifted Senzo’s body into one of the small cages. Craft was pushed into the other. Mabaso was lying on his side, clutching his knees to his chest, coughing. He cried out in pain as we lifted him onto the floor of the van.
The princess helped Thembeka climb aboard, then sat with her on the bench, holding her hand. Finally, McDonald whipped on the horses and we left Shadwell Basin.
As we rolled through Wapping, the pubs spilling out with folk from all four corners of the world, Mabaso breathed his last.
‘Still think he was trying to impress his superiors, Napper?’ asked the guvnor.
‘Don’t be a fool, Arrowood. He was after the gold all the time.’
‘Have a look in his pocket.’
‘What?’ asked the detective.
‘Barnett, have a look in his pocket.’
I bent down. Mabaso’s mackintosh was greasy with blood. In the pocket I felt a pistol. I pulled it out and handed it to Napper, who held it up to the lamp inside the van. It was one of Lewis’s.
‘That proves Mabaso was at the Quaker Meeting House between Senzo and Thembeka running off and our arrival,’ said the guvnor. ‘Check the other.’
I bent again. Sure enough, I found one of the other missing pistols.
‘So,’ said Napper, crossing his arms. ‘He was trying to make me believe it was Senzo and Thembeka who killed Musa and Mrs Fowler, when all the time it was him.’
‘He was a clever fellow,’ answered the guvnor. ‘He even used your prejudice against you.’
Napper sniffed, glancing at the princess.
‘Bullets?’ asked the guvnor.
I checked the guns: they were fully loaded.
‘Interesting,’ said the guvnor, then sat back and watched the busy night.
Nobody spoke for some time. Finally, Napper said, ‘For God’s sake, Arrowood. Just say what you’re thinking.’
‘Why didn’t he use the pistols? He might have escaped. He had a boat.’
>
‘What does it matter? We’ve got the gold. We’ve got the murderer.’
‘Not of Mr Fowler. That was one of Capaldi’s men.’
Napper sighed. The guvnor glanced at me. We both knew the copper was going to pin that one on Mabaso as well, but I could see that Arrowood had no fight left in him to argue. Capaldi would have to wait for another day.
We drove on in silence. Down Wapping High Street, past St Katherine’s Dock, around the Tower. It was early evening, and Thames Street was high on Christmas spirit. Minstrels and carollers and oompah bands rang out from every corner. Old men in soldiers’ uniforms and paper chains around their necks begged from the crowds of folk filling their baskets from the butchers’, the wine merchants’, the costers’ wagons. Parents took their kiddies to the pantomime, while dippers moved through the currents like flies, preying on the happy gents who’d been in the pub all afternoon. As we stopped and started, Thembeka’s sobs grew quieter. The princess sat upright and stiff, stroking her, staring out at the tumult.
Napper drew down the window and called up to the driver as we neared Blackfriars. ‘Waterloo, constable.’
He sat back on his seat.
Princess Nobantu asked Thembeka something in her own language. Without looking up, Thembeka answered slow, her words broken, her voice barely more than a whisper. Anger appeared on the princess’s face. They talked for a few minutes, Thembeka finally covering her face with her hands, shaking her head.
‘So you were working with Mabaso all the time, ma’am,’ said Napper to the princess. ‘I should have guessed.’
She shook her head. ‘No, sir. Mabaso captured me from the hotel. He knew the shipping company required two signatures, so he had that white man take me to the dock and keep me there until Senzo arrived at the office. I was to get the gold released. Mabaso was going to take it away in the boat.’
‘He knew Senzo would arrive, did he?’
‘He knew they’d been released from gaol and that they’d come looking for me. He told my friends in the hotel he was taking me to the shipping company. He knew Senzo would follow us there.’
‘Why did you agree to do it?’ asked Napper.
‘At first he said he would kill me if I didn’t,’ said the princess unhappily. ‘At first.’
