As the meeting broke up, Pyke asked to speak to each of the detectives separately in his office.
‘Ah, Frederick,’ Pyke said, as Shaw took the chair opposite him. The youngest detective sergeant had a nervous disposition and Pyke wondered whether this made him more or less susceptible to the kind of pressure Pierce was capable of exerting.
‘I wanted to make sure that you didn’t have any concerns with the way I’m overseeing the investigation.’
‘Me?’ Shaw ran his fingers through his brown hair and laughed. ‘Why would you think I had a concern?’
‘You’d come to me, if you did, wouldn’t you?’
‘Of course I would.’
‘Because I remember you saying that the investigation into the murders five years ago had been flawless. I suppose I’ve been arguing otherwise in public. I think there were avenues that weren’t fully explored and I’m not sure how overwhelming the evidence against Morris Keate actually was.’
Shaw nodded vigorously, as though he agreed with Pyke’s point. ‘I was young at the time and maybe a little naive. It was my first murder investigation. A part of me still wants to think we got everything right.’
‘And do you? I mean now, with the benefit of hindsight?’
The younger man shook his head. ‘It doesn’t seem likely, does it? Not in light of what’s happened in the past month or so.’
Pyke looked into Shaw’s eyes and tried to imagine him slipping off to see Pierce in his office at Bow Street. Was he capable of such deception?
‘Very good,’ he said, smiling. ‘That’s all for now, Frederick. Could you tell Jack to join me for a few minutes?’
As soon as Whicher had settled into the chair Pyke started by telling him about his suspicions regarding Shaw; the fact that he might be the one passing secrets to Pierce.
Whicher held his breath for a moment, as if weighing up the claim in his head. ‘Do you know this for certain?’
‘He was part of the original investigation. I think he feels a certain loyalty to what was done at the time and hence to Pierce; and I don’t think he quite realises what’s at stake here. I’m not just suggesting that the investigation was botched; I’m saying it’s possible that Morris Keate was deliberately picked out to take the blame and that Pierce knowingly allowed it to happen.’
Whicher nodded, but said, ‘You’re sure you’re not letting your antipathy for Pierce colour your reading of the situation?’
‘All I know is that I need to plug the leak in this vessel as quickly as possible. If Pierce knows what we’re doing as a department, he can always remain one step ahead of us, covering his tracks.’
‘You’re talking as if you’ve already made up your mind that Pierce is actively seeking to sabotage this investigation.’
Pyke had asked himself the same question: whether his antipathy towards Pierce was causing him to read more into the situation than was appropriate.
‘Now you’re here, Jack, I did want to talk to you about something else.’ He waited for a moment and then gave an account of his visit to the Model Prison and his suspicions regarding Druitt.
‘You think Druitt knows who killed Guppy and Hogarth?’
‘Either that, or he’s pretending he does. But if he is in communication with the murderer, perhaps he might lead us to him.’
Whicher crossed his legs and pondered what Pyke had told him: the idea seemed to sit heavily on his mind.
Pyke rubbed his eyes again and tried to suppress a yawn. He hadn’t slept well the night before and had woken up long before dawn. ‘I was also thinking about these two boys, Gregg and Clough. They were part of a mob run by Horace Flint. He was murdered a few years ago. Now a man called George Culpepper has taken over.’
‘And?’
‘If I’m not mistaken, Culpepper is involved in a battle over territory with the Rafferty brothers. The same Raffertys, if you remember, who were initially accused of killing the three men in Cullen’s shop.’
‘But we came to the conclusion that the Raffertys weren’t to blame for that.’
‘I know. I was just thinking that no one’s ever recovered the Saviour’s Cross, have they?’ Pyke was still bothered by this idea and the notion that Egan, the fence, might have found a way of locating it without them knowing.
Whicher was still struggling to follow his logic. ‘Are you suggesting that this business between the Raffertys and Culpepper is related to the theft of the cross?’
‘Not at all.’ Pyke leaned back against his chair and sighed. ‘I don’t know what I’m saying, Jack. I’m just worried that Rafferty and Culpepper are involved in all this and I can’t yet see how.’
Afterwards Pyke thought about their conversation and wondered how much he could trust even Whicher. It was surely inconceivable that Whicher was passing information back to Pierce. Pyke liked the man, and in their own way they’d become close since the summer, but he knew very little about the detective sergeant. He was interrupted in his thoughts by a knock on the door as Lockhart peered in.
‘Come in, Eddie, please have a seat.’ Pyke waited for Lockhart to sit down before adding, ‘I just wanted to say how much I appreciated all you did, getting the affidavit from the coroner’s assistant.’
Lockhart nodded but said nothing.
‘There’s something else I’d like you to do for me. It’s a little unorthodox.’ Pyke saw Lockhart’s strained expression and smiled. ‘You were once a beat constable in the Kensington Division, weren’t you?’
‘For a year or so.’
‘So you would have come across a sergeant by the name of Russell?’
‘I knew him; I couldn’t say with any certainty that he’d know me any more.’
Pyke was certain that the man had been told to look out for and protect the interests of the Hogarth family. Why else would he come running as soon as the alarm was raised?
‘I want you to go and see Russell. Assure him you’ve got confidential information about our investigation into Hogarth’s death. Tell him you want to trade. He’ll ask what you want in return; be vague. Tell him the investigation has uncovered something important that links Hogarth and Guppy, that this information will discredit Hogarth and that his family will want to pay to have it silenced.’
Lockhart looked at him dubiously. ‘You’re assuming Russell is somehow in the pocket of this family.’
‘That’s right,’ Pyke said. He paused, wondering whether he needed to add that, until recently, Pierce had been in overall charge of the Kensington Division.
‘You’re assuming that Russell will believe I’m corrupt, too.’
‘If he is corrupt, it will be easier for him to believe you are. My guess is he won’t question it: he’ll be too keen to relay your offer to the family.’
Lockhart thought through the request. ‘I take it you’re just fishing? You don’t really have anything that connects the two murders?’
‘Not at the moment. But that’s not to suggest a connection doesn’t exist. And let’s not forget about the issues here. We’re up against a man, or a group of men, with the power to conceal a murder and make two other people — the coroner and the porter — disappear into thin air.’
‘So what if Russell turns around and accuses me of trying to profit illegally from my work?’
‘He won’t.’
‘But if he does?’
‘If he does, just deny it. After all, it’ll be your word against his.’ Pyke paused and rubbed his chin. ‘But I’ll bet you a hundred pounds he won’t do that.’
‘A hundred, eh?’ Lockhart looked at Pyke and smiled. ‘Maybe I should take you up on that.’
Martin Jakes was waiting for Pyke in the main office of the Detective Branch. At first Pyke thought something might have happened to Felix. Quickly the curate assured Pyke that his son was well and was thriving as a helper. Once they were seated in Pyke’s office, Jakes started to explain the real reason for his visit.
‘Something’s been playing on my conscience since o
ur last conversation. I’m afraid to say I wasn’t entirely honest with you.’
Pyke studied Jakes’s face and motioned for him to continue.
‘You asked me whether I knew Brendan Malloy and Morris Keate.. ’
‘And you told me you didn’t. Or that you had heard of them but didn’t actually know them.’
Jakes nodded slowly, as though acknowledging the lie. ‘Keate was once a member of my congregation at St Luke’s.’
Pyke went across to the fireplace and poured more coal on to the fire. When he turned around, he said, ‘I’d always assumed he was a Catholic.’
‘Most people did; because of his association with Malloy.’
‘So Keate did know Malloy, then?’
‘When I couldn’t help Keate any further, I sent him to Malloy. I didn’t know Malloy and to this day I’ve never met him, but at the time he’d garnered something of a reputation for the exorcisms he performed
… For a long time, the Protestant Church has turned its back on the practice of exorcism. It’s deemed to be too close to confession; too much power in the hands of the priest. I sent Morris to him because I didn’t know what else to do.’
Pyke gazed into the fire and said, ‘Tell me about him.’
‘Morris Keate was a simple man, in every sense of the word; a little strange, perhaps. Lived with the constant fear that he’d been possessed by the Devil. But in his own way he was kind hearted. Or so I thought.’
‘Until he was arrested and accused of killing those boys?’
The memory of this time was clearly painful to the older man. He loosened his collar and wiped his forehead. ‘At the time, I was persuaded that Morris had, in fact, done what he’d been accused of.’
‘And now?’ Pyke tried to read the troubled expression on Jakes’s face.
‘Now, I don’t know. I really don’t know. Part of me would like to believe he didn’t kill those boys. I don’t like to think that any of my congregation would be capable of such a thing. But if he were innocent, that would be even more horrendous: an innocent man killed on the scaffold.’ Jakes’s eyes remained downcast.
‘You didn’t campaign on his behalf at the time of the murders?’
‘As I said, I was persuaded by the evidence. And Morris failed to provide any kind of defence for himself.’
Pyke went across to the window and opened it. He wanted some cool air on his face. It also gave him a few moments to think about what Jakes had told him.
‘What do you know about Keate’s family?’
‘I think I’m right in saying he was very close to his mother. And he had brothers and sisters. But I didn’t know them. None of them ever came to St Luke’s.’
‘You wouldn’t know where I could find them now?’
Jakes shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. It was a long time ago.’
Pyke felt let down by the curate and he wanted Jakes to know it. ‘Tell me, Martin. Why did you lie to me, when I asked if you knew Keate?’
Jakes let out a heavy sigh. ‘It was a terrible time for me… for the entire congregation. What Morris did; what they accused him of doing. Somehow the idea of revisiting it seemed too painful for words. I was a coward. I suppose I was hoping the whole thing would just go away.’
‘So why put right this wrong now?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jakes stared down at the floor. ‘I suppose I didn’t want you to catch me out in a lie.’
This made a certain amount of sense. ‘If I was to talk to Brendan Malloy, he’d be able to confirm that Keate once attended your church.’
‘Yes, he would.’ Jakes looked wary, perhaps even sheepish. ‘You’re a perceptive man, Detective Inspector, but you shouldn’t underestimate the damage that a guilty conscience can wreak.’
‘And now you’ve unburdened yourself, do you feel lifted?’ Pyke didn’t bother to hide his scepticism.
‘I should have told you the truth when we last spoke. I was wrong. I apologise.’
It was a grudging apology and Pyke was minded not to acknowledge it. ‘I have one more question to ask you and I’d appreciate it if you could answer me honestly. Did you know Guppy at the time?’
‘Do you mean when Keate was attending St Luke’s?’
‘Yes. I want to know whether Guppy knew Morris Keate.’
‘That’s how I first met Guppy,’ the curate said, eventually. ‘He came to see me, professing an interest in Keate’s circumstances.’
‘Was this before or after his arrest?’
‘Before, I think.’ Jakes’s voice was hoarse, his throat dry.
‘You’re quite sure about that?’
‘Quite sure.’
Later, after an apologetic and troubled Jakes had left, Pyke turned over what he’d learned. So Guppy had known about Keate. In itself, this proved nothing, but perhaps it helped explain why the rector had responded so demonstrably when Malloy had visited him the previous spring. According to Malloy, Guppy had only taken his claims seriously when he’d realised who the Catholic priest was. If the two men had never met before, why would Malloy’s name give Guppy such a fright? The only answer Pyke could think of was that in Guppy’s mind the name was somehow linked to Morris Keate. Still, why would this have unsettled the rector?
Outside the public entrance to the Kensington station house, on the other side of the busy High Street, stood Pyke and Felix. Dressed as costermongers, they were selling fruit from a barrow; Pyke in a full-skirted velveteen coat, a corduroy waistcoat, matching cord trousers pulled tight at the knees, and a pair of heavy ankle boots; Felix in a tatty cloth coat, wool breeches and boots, with a silk handkerchief tied around his neck and a beaver-knapped top hat on his head. Pyke had made sure their hands were muddy and their faces were smudged with soot. Since lunchtime they had sold seven shillings’ worth of oranges and apples; the owner of the cart, who’d agreed — under duress — to rent it to them, was watching from the window of a nearby coffee shop.
It had almost been a joke, initially. Pyke had gone home the previous night and without really thinking about it had asked Felix whether he might consider helping him on a job. To his surprise, the lad had leapt at the chance, and ever since then Pyke had been wondering whether he’d made a big mistake. It was true he needed help; you always did whenever you tried to follow someone. But was it wise to use his son on such an assignment? What if something went wrong? He’d never knowingly put Felix in danger, but then again, could he be absolutely certain that Sergeant Russell would fail to spot he was being followed?
Across the road, a man stumbled out of the Farriers tavern. They watched him wait on the pavement, swaying while a wagon with its cargo covered by a canvas tarpaulin rattled past. Their eyes went from him to a man wearing a sandwich board advertising ‘SMITH’S JET BLACKING’, but before Felix could ask what jet blacking was, an argument flared up between a basket seller and a crossing-sweeper over who should clear up the mess made by the former’s donkey. It was bitterly cold and no one paid much attention to their ranting. There was so much to take in, so much to look at, that Felix hardly seemed to know where to direct his attention. Pyke kept his eyes fixed on the entrance to the station house. He had seen Lockhart enter about half an hour earlier and suddenly there he was on the steps, looking one way and then the other, before hailing a cab. Now Russell knew, Pyke presumed, and it was just a question of waiting.
The cold, biting wind made it difficult to stand still, and they moved slowly around the barrow, a few steps at a time. There were men coming and going from the station house all the time; police constables mostly, but also clerks, office boys, messengers and tradesmen. The constant stream of bodies made it hard for Pyke and Felix to stay focused, but the notion that Russell might appear at any second kept them alert. As the light began to fade, Pyke felt the first drops of rain on his face, and by the time the lamp-lighters started their rounds, the rain had become heavier and more persistent.
Fifty minutes after Lockhart had climbed into a hackney carriage, Russell
emerged from the station house dressed in his dark blue uniform. He glanced furtively up and down the High Street then turned right out of the building, walking briskly to the first corner and crossing the road. Having pointed out who Russell was, Pyke watched as his son set off after the policeman and waited for a few moments before following. Pyke could just about see Russell’s stovepipe hat bobbing up and down among the other pedestrians, their umbrellas raised to shield themselves from the rain. It took twenty minutes to walk from the station house to the Hogarth residence at the top of the King’s Road, and once Russell was safely inside, Pyke joined Felix in his hiding place across the road. Despite the rain and cold, Felix’s face glistened with excitement. Their wait on the other side of the quiet street was not a long one. About five minutes later, Russell reappeared and, after looking up at the darkening sky, he continued on his way, this time heading back in the direction in which he’d come. Again, Pyke let Felix take the lead and this time allowed a little more distance between himself and Russell because the streets this far away from the High Street were not busy.
About halfway between the King’s Road and Kensington High Street, Pyke noticed that Felix was walking more quickly, and moments later he broke into a jog. Pyke was fifty yards farther back, and by the time he reached the place where Russell and Felix had turned on to a quieter street, he had lost them. Pyke raced to the next corner and looked both ways along the residential street, a row of stout terraces facing one another. There was no sign of either Russell or Felix. Suppressing an urge to call out, Pyke turned suddenly, hearing something move behind him. He found himself staring into the ruddy face of a policeman he didn’t recognise. Russell stepped out of the shadows, a grin spreading across his face. He had a truncheon in his hand and it was raised. Pyke searched his peripheral vision for any sign of his son; at the same time, Russell whipped his arm through the air and Pyke felt the thick end of the truncheon connect with the side of his head. His legs buckled and a flash of light exploded behind his eyes; after that, he put his hands out to break his fall and slipped into unconsciousness.
The Detective Branch pm-4 Page 25
