by Andy Emery
‘Well, I’ll try not to have nightmares.’
Gedge lugged his bag out of the cab. ‘Thank you for the ride, Darius. Please tell Mr Rondeau that I will come to see him tomorrow.’
‘Yes, sir. He will contact you to arrange a time.’
It was still only mid-morning, and Gedge was a little surprised that the Inn’s entrance door opened at his push. Inside, a stocky, bearded man was polishing glasses behind the bar. He looked a little askance at the scruffy stranger lugging a heavy portmanteau.
‘Good morning! My name is Lucas Gedge. New in town. Do you have any rooms?’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Frank Hoyte, the owner. There’s a couple of rooms going. Not our best, mind. How long would you be looking to stay? A few days?’
‘More like a couple of weeks at least, to begin with.’
‘Couple of weeks? Well, we don’t get many staying that long. If you’re serious I’d prefer to let you have one of my better rooms, but they’re all taken at the moment. Those that are available now are a bit poky. Draughty, too. One’s on the first floor just above here.’ He jerked his thumb upwards. ‘The other’s right up in the eaves, third floor.’
‘I don’t mind about the quality of the room. I’ve slept in all sorts of places. I just want somewhere to lay my head. Given the choice, I’d like the eaves room.’
‘Good choice. You won’t get the noise from the bar up there. Right, well if you can provide a couple of days’ rent in advance as a deposit, the room’s yours. Mind if I ask what sort of profession you’re in, Mr Gedge?’
‘I was in the army for a long time, and for the last year I’ve been working my way back from India. To be honest, I’m looking to start again, to find myself a new career. I’ve come to the area mainly to see my daughter. She’s living with her mother nearby.’
‘Army, eh? Lot of ex-army types tend to wash up around these parts. It’s a damned shame: many of ’em can’t seem to adjust to living back here. End up in the gutter, I’m afraid.’
Gedge smiled. ‘Well, I intend to make sure that won’t be my fate. Not that I know what to do with myself yet.’
‘Care for a drink while I get Mary to make the room ready? She’s my daughter, helps out around here.’
‘Thank you. Perhaps a mug of coffee?’
Gedge took a table and browsed through a copy of the Lloyd’s Weekly newspaper. The first couple of pages included an exposé of an assault at the London Hospital, and the ins and outs of the scandalous adultery of the Irish nationalist, Parnell.
On the third page, a small piece halfway down caught his eye—East End: Female Disappearances Mount—under the byline of a reporter named Harry Frowde. The story covered a rash of missing persons cases over the last few months. All involved girls in their late teens or early twenties, and all were from upper working-class or middle-class homes. In other words, as Frowde put it, the young ladies were “not of the lower classes, wherein girls running off or falling prey to criminal temptations of all kinds is rife.” There was no attempt to investigate the circumstances of the disappearances, but what concerned Gedge was the location: the very districts of Whitechapel, Wapping and Spitalfields through which he had just travelled. He felt another pang of concern for Hannah, who was sixteen herself, but at that moment Hoyte returned with two mugs of steaming coffee, and he folded the paper up and returned it to the table.
6
Several miles away from The Admiral Jervis, in a shabby terraced house that was being used as an office, a tall man with a shock of black hair and a hooked, serially-broken nose sat behind his desk. He was regarding the two people cowering before him with disgust in his eyes.
‘So, what went wrong? How did she get away from the safe house?’
He was addressing a wiry, hard-bitten woman, and a man of almost opposite appearance: close-cropped hair, thick neck, and with a coat that strained across his ample stomach. The man trembled as the woman spoke.
‘We’re very sorry, sir. Truly! The sly little bugger must have slipped by us somehow. We did follow her, made sure she couldn’t make trouble. There was no chance of that, as it turned out.’
Roland Ackerman curled his lip. ‘So you think it went well, do you, Vera? You efficiently made good your error? Ridiculous! If that hansom hadn’t intervened, the girl would have disappeared and you would have been left standing on the street, looking almost as vacant as you do now. She could have spilt the beans about our little enterprise. Caused a whole lot of trouble for us. As it is, we’ve lost one of the assets we go to a lot of time and trouble securing. What do you say to that?’ He jabbed his finger at the woman.
‘I can only apologise again, sir. You know that nothing similar has happened before in all our time working together. It won’t happen again, either.’
‘Ha! You’re right. It won’t. And what about you, Joe?’ He turned his attention to the man. ‘Sitting there like a sack of spuds. What were you doing while the girl was calmly walking out the back of our supposedly secure house?’
‘Er… I was in the front, sir. Dealing with some other business.’
‘Really?’ He turned back to the woman. ‘Vera, you know I had reservations about employing Joe right from the start. I was soft. I said yes because he’s your brother and I assumed he’d be as good as you. But it’s been obvious for a while that he’s not up to working in this game.’
Joe shifted in his seat, and came to life a little. ‘I’m sittin’ ’ere, you know! Not so much of this talkin’ about me as if I’m not ’ere!’
Ackerman smiled. ‘Joe, I will gladly speak directly to you. You’ve shown yourself to be an incompetent fool. The kind we can’t tolerate. That in itself might not be a problem, but you’ve been right on the inside of things. You know what goes on. That is a problem for me. For us.’ He swept his arm around in an expansive gesture that included Vera and her brother, and stared hard at the man.
Beads of sweat had broken out on Joe’s forehead, and his face had begun to twitch. He lurched to his feet, pulled a small revolver out of his pocket and jabbed the barrel in the general direction of Ackerman.
‘You bastard. You want to do away with me just because of some scrawny little kid. Jesus! You bastard! You act so high and mighty, but you’re no better than us. I’ll bloody do you!’
He squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened, other than a quiet click. A grin had spread over Ackerman’s face during Joe’s rant, and now he spoke again as his assailant stared in disbelief at the weapon.
‘It’s not a misfire, Joe. If you take a look in the chamber you’ll see there are no bullets in your gun. Somehow appropriate, I suggest.’
Joe was shaking with fury. ‘You sneaked into my room and emptied it!’
‘Not I.’
Ackerman inclined his head slightly to the side. Joe followed his gaze, and gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. His sister Vera was aiming her own revolver at his chest.
‘For Christ’s sake, Vera! What are you doin’? It’s him you should be shootin’!’
‘For once in your life I had hoped you might be a man. Might be able to actually hold down a job, do what you were asked. But no! You can’t even manage that. You’ve made us both look bad. You could have brought the whole thing down on all our heads. You know you were supposed to be on watch. Well, you’ve embarrassed me for the last time.’
She cocked the gun.
Joe stumbled back, away from the desk. ‘I’m your bloody brother! Doesn’t that mean something? Why the hell are you sidin’ with ’im? Don’t do it, for gawd’s sake!’
‘I’m siding with him because he’s been good to me. Pulled me out of the gutter a couple of years ago, when I had nothing. He knows I’m good at what I do. I can see a future for me, working for Mr. Ackerman. But with you, there’s no hope. No future. You’ve always been a waste of space. I’m doing you a favour.’
She pulled the trigger.
The pistol’s report was loud in the enclosed space. Vera winced, then shrank
back. Joe looked down at his ample chest, as if he couldn’t quite believe the blood that was oozing from it. But he remained upright and looked around the room, staring into the corners, as if some kind of explanation could be found there.
She fired again.
This time, her brother toppled backwards, dropping like a felled tree. It was a small office, and he cracked his head on the rear wall as he came down. Ackerman thought that if the gunshots hadn’t killed him, then that blow would surely finish him off.
A wisp of smoke drifted across the room. It was silent again. Vera had sunk into her chair, staring blankly at the floor. She let the revolver drop out of her fingers. It hit the carpet with a thud.
Ackerman got up, opened the door, and shouted downstairs.
‘Hodges, fetch Samuels and come up here. Something I need you to remove.’
He sat back down and looked at Vera. ‘You held your nerve. What you just did wasn’t easy, but it was the right thing. There’s no room for sentiment in this world, I’ve learnt that. You’re right. You’re doing a good job here. I trust you. Take a little time if you like. But I need you to get back to the house and carry on looking after our guests.’
Two men entered. The larger one gaped at the sight of the corpse, but a glance at Ackerman’s expression choked off any questions he might have had. With an effort and no little grunting, they lifted Joe’s body and carted it downstairs.
Ackerman addressed Vera again. ‘After they’ve finished, I’ll send them to help guard the place. This job isn’t going to last much longer and I don’t want any more slip-ups. Vera, you did what needed to be done. You know that?’
She said nothing, just nodded. She picked up the gun, tucked it back inside her coat pocket and stood up, still looking at the floor. Slow steps took her to the door. As she laid her hand on the doorknob to open it, she turned back.
‘Thank you, Mr Ackerman. Don’t worry. It’ll go smoothly now. He was only my half-brother, to be accurate.’
After Vera left, Ackerman fetched a pail of water, added a dash of detergent and mopped away the bloodstains. He then sank down into his chair, poured himself a brandy, and thought about the progress of the job.
This was the type of project he liked. It had a definite end-point: a particular number of girls required by the client. There were only three more to be obtained now, then they would be delivered, and that would be that. The gang would go their separate ways, disappear for a while. That was the best way, he reckoned. The local police would have trouble catching a cold, never mind laying hands on a devious bugger like him. But a swift completion lessened any risk of the so-called forces of law and order getting their arses into gear.
Not that he didn’t hope the clients would renew their acquaintance when the time was right. This game was lucrative, and he needed the money. For reasons he could never reveal to any of his henchmen, his clients, or anybody else.
7
Gedge arrived at the address he had written down for his wife and daughter, on a street called Barnet Grove, an unremarkable stretch of terraced houses. A small plaque at the end of the street marked its construction in a building boom of several decades before.
He mounted the three steps and pressed the doorbell. After a few moments, the door swung open and there stood his wife Maggie. She was still attractive, with her chestnut hair pushed back; but was that a hint of grey he saw as well? She looked at him without smiling, rubbing her hands on her apron.
The sight of her brought back so much, from so long ago. The good times, of which there now seemed to have been so few; and the gradual dawning to both of them that there had never been enough to sustain a long-term relationship. When they were in Devon, his time with Maggie had represented a break from the stormy goings-on at his own home. Her parents’ house was always so warm and welcoming in comparison. They spent their time in the woods or at the coast, in his case making a deliberate attempt to separate that part of his life from the rest. So perhaps, right from the start, there had been more desperation than love.
And then of course, the army career. If there had been any hope for them before, it was effectively ended by that. He’d known some men whose marriages had survived the husband being in the military, but they’d been the fortunate few. Maggie was devastated by his decision to join the army and, he suspected, never forgave him. She could never get used to the prolonged absences. Gedge doubted that many women could. It just wasn’t how marriages were supposed to work; the bitterness deepened.
The birth of their daughter Hannah in ’74 had brought new light into their lives. But it didn’t last. If not for their daughter, they would probably have lost touch years ago. As it was, Hannah was the tenuous thread that kept them in some sort of contact. For Gedge, if he was honest, Hannah had replaced Maggie as the light of his life. He yearned to be able to see more of her, and now that ought to be possible, if only he could manage a reasonably amicable arrangement with his wife. To Maggie’s credit, she had not tried to poison their daughter against him, even during his lengthy absences, and Hannah still seemed to love him as much as she did her mother.
‘Hello, Lucas.’
‘Maggie. How are you?’
‘Getting by. So are you staying in London now?’
‘Yes, I have a room at an inn. Nothing fancy, but it suits me for now.’
‘Are you working?’
‘Not yet. That’s what I need to do next, sort something out.’
‘I hope you’re going to cope with being a civilian. I hope your mind hasn’t been turned by what you’ve seen, like some of them.’
‘No more than it ever was. But I know what you mean. I’ve heard the stories of men who couldn’t get used to normal life. Don’t worry, I’m perfectly sane, and tomorrow I’m going to see somebody who might be able to help with job prospects. Is Hannah in?’
Maggie smiled. ‘I wondered how long it would take you to ask that. She’s just gone to the shops for me. Should be back soon. You’d better come in.’
They sat at the kitchen table, drinking tea and swapping pleasantries. About ten minutes later, Gedge heard the front door opening and a familiar youthful voice sang out.
‘Mother! I’m back.’
‘In the kitchen.’
Hannah burst in through the kitchen doorway.
‘Father!’ She ran over and smothered Gedge in an embrace.
‘Hannah! It’s lovely to see you again. Steady on, though!’
Hannah released him, and straightened up, beaming. Gedge’s heart swelled with pride, as he realised for the first time that his daughter was now a young woman. Her hair, the same shade as her mother’s, was longer than the last time he saw her, and was now falling over her shoulders. Her blue eyes seemed a little more knowing, but she still had the turned-up nose, just like an elf from one of the fairy tales he used to read to her. She had obviously hurried home, as she was slightly out of breath, her cheeks rosy red.
Maggie got up to make more tea, while Hannah drew up a chair.
‘Go on, father. Tell me all about your adventures since I last saw you. I’m waiting!’
Gedge left a couple of hours later, as dark was starting to fall. He was dog tired; the long day had finally caught up with him. As he departed, he realised that both women were smiling. It had been a more successful encounter than he could have dared to expect, and he had arranged to take Hannah to a coffee house in a couple of days’ time. Despite his fatigue, he strode down the road, whistling a jaunty music-hall tune.
As he walked away from the house, a man who was standing fifty yards away on the opposite side of the street folded his newspaper and started to follow.
8
Gedge had decided to have a quick drink before turning in for the night, and he sat huddled at a table in The Admiral Jervis, nursing a mug of his favoured ale. It was early evening. Within an hour or two, the pub would be a throbbing mass of humanity, but for now there was just one other solitary drinker. Gedge had chosen his table out of habit
; it allowed a clear view of the rest of the room, including the bar and the doorway. Behind the bar, Frank Hoyte was polishing the glassware.
After Gedge had been sitting there for some twenty minutes, thinking about Hannah and when he would next see her, the door flew open with a crack, ushering in a chill blast of air. Gedge frowned as two figures swaggered in. They were in their late teens, maybe early twenties, sporting cocksure smirks and knock-off fancy-dan waistcoats under their winter overcoats.
The tallest newcomer approached the bar, his confederate hanging back a few feet.
Hoyte put down his rag. ‘What can I get you gentlemen? Ale perhaps? Gin, maybe?’
‘We’ll take you up on that, mate. A pint for my colleague here, and a gin for me. The strong stuff, mind.’
‘Certainly sir. That’ll be…’
The tall youth cut him off, smiling and turning to his friend.
‘I think Mr Hoyte here was about to tell us they’re on the house. Don’t you, Seth?’
Seth leered his assent. Gedge tensed, kept his head down, but with his eyes fixed on the bar. The back of his neck tingled.
‘On the house? This isn’t a charity. Bloody cheek! Hold on. How do you know my name? Acting so familiar!’
‘Not guessed yet, Mr Hoyte? Would have thought it’s obvious that we’re a cut above your usual clientele of sodden losers.’ He made a sweeping gesture towards Gedge and the other customer. ‘My name’s Creek, and me and my associate work for Mr Bacchus, with whom I gather you’re familiar?’
Hoyte’s eyes narrowed. He edged back from the bar. ‘You’re with that lout? Even if I could pay, it was only a few days ago he was in here. You’ll have to give me more time.’
‘Sounds like you weren’t taking our friend very seriously, Hoyte. It was a firm business proposition, and one you’re not in much of a position to refuse. Mr Bacchus wants his money now, and it’s our job to get it. And I’ll tell you now, cock. We will get it, one way or another.’
