‘Here we are, Doctor!’ It was Palmer, with blankets and a coffee.
‘Hurry!’ I said. ‘He appears to be in shock. We need to get him warm.’
We entered and I covered the shivering young man. Palmer handed me the coffee.
‘Try to drink some of this, Deacon Buttons,’ said I. Father Lamb is on his way,’ although it was clear to me that the boy needed medical attention more than spiritual.
He moaned. ‘Father? No, no! He can’t see me like this.’
‘Easy now. He already saw you at the river. He was terrified for you. You were very nearly successful in killing yourself.’
Buttons sobbed, burying his face in his arms. ‘If only …’ he wailed.
‘Find him dry clothes, and make sure he stays warm,’ I said and left as the young policeman helped Buttons to drink. Perhaps Lamb could offer some comfort or even some insight. As I left the cell I glanced back at the young deacon. It struck me that saving a man for the second time in a day only to send him to the gallows was a questionable act of mercy.
Back in the hallway, a red-haired constable I had glimpsed at the riverside hurried by me in the hall.
‘Excuse me, Constable!’ I called out. ‘Father Lamb, the Catholic priest who was at the reception desk? He was called to see this prisoner. Do you know where he is?’
The man shrugged. ‘He wasn’t called for Buttons. It was for that other young man from last night.’
‘One of your drunks in there?’
‘Oh, no. Tall, pale fellow. Vittle or something, I think. Odd character.’
‘Leo Vitale?’
‘That’s the one. Wanted to make confession.’
How strange. But Leo Vitale was an Italian name – perhaps he was Catholic. Did asking to confess imply guilt? Holmes had said something about Vitale possibly being a third man in Buttons’ room at the rectory the night of the murder. And now Vitale wanted to confess.
This was news Holmes needed to hear.
‘Where is Vitale?’ I asked.
‘Out back, I think. We have an extra cell in what used to be the stables. Five prisoners last night. That’s crowded for us,’ he said with a laugh, then departed.
I ran back to Holmes’s cell in the desperate hope that he was still in the building. I was in luck. He had escaped his bonds and the cell itself but was still in the small anteroom where, as yet, no one had spotted him. There he had lingered and was leaning, rather casually, I thought, against the wall.
He glanced up. ‘Buttons is all right?’ His voice was weak.
‘Yes. Mild shock, but he is being treated. Give me my knife back,’ I snapped. Holmes reached into his pocket shakily. His face was ghastly white. ‘What is the matter with you?’ And then I saw it. ‘Holmes, your shoulder! You dislocated it again, you damned fool!’
‘Pop it in for me, Watson, that’s a good fellow,’ he said, handing me back my knife.
I could not take my eyes off him and fumbled as I put the thing in my pocket.
‘Now, if you don’t mind,’ he said.
He was right. I needed to work quickly before swelling made it impossible. There was no time to bring him to task for this foolish manoeuvre.
‘Stand away from the wall,’ I ordered. ‘Hold onto these bars with your other hand, and brace against me.’ I felt the injured shoulder. ‘Dear God! Why didn’t you wait? Hadley will release you eventually.’
‘Watson. Do it now!’
‘Steady, there.’
I took hold of his right wrist and pulled it gently and firmly straight out from the torso. Then yanked. There was a distinct pop and Holmes stifled his own cry into the crook of his other arm. He sank against the wall, breathing heavily. ‘I think I might need to give up on this trick.’
‘Your best idea of the day. Let us do this right, Holmes, and get you officially released. I will post bail.’
He did not move for a moment, his eyes closed in an effort to recover. ‘I must get to the rectory before the police destroy the evidence. I am not at all sure Buttons is our man, after all. But I need to confirm two details. I hope Wright—’
‘Holmes! Vitale just called for Father Lamb.’
‘Vitale called for the priest? Why?’
‘To hear his confession,’ I said. ‘I didn’t realize Vitale was a religious man.’
‘He isn’t. Don’t you remember “if there is a God”?’
‘Then what would drive a man to—?’
‘Stop!’ Holmes held up a finger. ‘Be quiet.’ For five seconds he was a perfect statue. His face reflected something I had witnessed before. It was like the tumblers of a lock, clicking into place inside his mind.
Vitale killed Dillie. It had to be. The loss of a ring he could not afford to lose. The quiet, logical demeanour masking a roiling, tumultuous emotional life, a love he had never experienced, ripped from his grasping hands. By now I had become more adept at following my friend’s logic. And now, consumed with guilt, needing to confess—
‘Where is Leo Vitale being held?’ Holmes asked quietly.
‘I am not sure. I think they put him in some kind of overflow cell somewhere behind this building. In the stables.’
Holmes leaped to the door and peered into the hallway beyond. It was empty.
‘Watson, there is no time. Listen to me carefully. Go and get Hadley. Bring him to Vitale’s cell. And hurry! A man’s life depends on it!’ And he was up and running down the hall before I could stop him.
I hurried to the front of the station. ‘Inspector Hadley?’ I asked the man behind the desk.
‘Just left,’ said the fellow, nodding towards the entrance.
I exited on a run.
CHAPTER 41
A Spot of Trouble
Outside, the rain had stopped, and it had washed the dense air clean. I saw Hadley down the street, walking quickly, the morning light highlighting his tan-coloured summer Mackintosh.
‘Mr Hadley!’ I shouted. My injured leg made running difficult.
He turned to see me limping after him.
‘Mr Holmes has asked for you, sir! Can you please come back with me?’
‘Dr Watson, I am sorely in need of a good breakfast. Perhaps you should join me. We can discuss bail for Mr Holmes.’
‘Leo Vitale has asked Father Lamb to hear his confession!’
Hadley pulled up short at this. ‘Well, that is interesting. Perhaps Vitale is ready to admit his guilt.’
‘Possibly. But please come now! Holmes fears a man may die in your custody!’
And had Hadley not responded as he did, that man might well have been Sherlock Holmes.
We raced back to the station to find chaos there. Apparently Holmes’s escape from his cell had just been noted, and Pickering was in a lather. Palmer and the red-haired young constable stood in the entry room. ‘Find him! Find him!’ Pickering shouted, strapping on his pistol.
If anyone could hide himself in this relatively small police station, it would be my friend.
The moment Pickering saw Hadley he rushed up to his superior. ‘Holmes has broken out again. He must have had help.’ He turned to me in a fury. ‘You!’ Pickering reached out and grabbed my wrist and was about to snap on handcuffs when Hadley stopped him.
‘Step away, Mr Pickering. I have had enough of your temper,’ said Hadley.
‘Temper, sir?’ cried Pickering. ‘That Holmes has made a mockery—’
‘Mr Pickering, you are on leave as of this moment. Finnegan and Palmer, follow me!’
I just caught a glimpse of Pickering’s gaping response as the four of us headed down the hallway.
‘Where is Leo Vitale being held?’ asked Hadley of his young officer.
‘We moved him to that cell out at the back when we took in the two drunks last night,’ replied Palmer as we raced down the hallway and into a courtyard.
We dashed into a ramshackle back building. It was a former stable, now a storage area, containing a lone cell at the far end. The barred door to the cell wa
s ajar. We heard a desperate cry. ‘Help! Murder!’
It was Holmes’s voice!
The scene that greeted us there was something I never expected. Two struggling figures blocked the entrance.
It was Holmes locked in mortal combat with Father Lamb!
The priest had his hands wrapped around Holmes’s neck. The detective clawed at them, and then both lurched back from the doorway towards the centre of the cell, as Holmes managed to kick Lamb’s feet out from under him.
They crashed to the floor, revealing behind them Leo Vitale, hanging by the neck from a noose created from the sheet of his cot!
The noose was tied to a pipe in the ceiling. Vitale’s feet dangled and kicked six inches off the ground as he clawed desperately at it. He gagged and choked – the terrible sounds of a dying man.
‘Take him!’ Hadley directed his men to Holmes and Lamb. Palmer and Finnegan leaped into the fray as Hadley and I ran to the boy.
Hadley took Vitale’s legs and hoisted him up, taking the pressure off while I removed my pocketknife and slashed through the fabric. In a moment, we had him down and onto the cot, where I tore off the noose. The thin young man was white and still. I gently felt his neck to determine if the windpipe had been crushed.
Suddenly Vitale gagged and choked. We had managed to cut him down just in time.
‘We have him, sir,’ said Palmer, and we turned to see Finnegan and Palmer holding Holmes between them.
Lamb was nowhere to be seen.
‘Not him, you idiots, the priest!’ shouted Hadley.
They hesitated. ‘But—’ cried Finnegan.
‘After him, now!’ ordered the Inspector.
They released Holmes, who would have collapsed had I not caught him. I did so and sat him on the edge of the cot. Holmes rubbed his own throat and glanced over at Vitale, whose hands were across his heart as he continued to inhale big gasping breaths.
‘Vitale?’ Holmes rasped.
‘He will make it.’ I said.
Leo Vitale’s eyes opened part way and he took us in. ‘Thank you …’ he whispered, his voice ravaged.
‘Lamb strung you up there?’ Holmes asked.
‘Yes,’ murmured Vitale. ‘He is stronger than he looks.’
He must have been strong to have nearly bested Holmes, I thought. ‘Don’t try to talk, Mr Vitale,’ I said.
Holmes looked up at Hadley, who had been watching this exchange with deep interest.
The senior policeman, to his credit, did the decent thing and did it without hesitation. ‘I apologize, Mr Holmes. We will catch Lamb. You have the lead, sir.’
‘To your office, then,’ said Holmes. ‘I have a plan.’
‘Have blankets and food brought for Mr Holmes,’ I said.
Hadley spoke sharply to a deputy in the hall outside the room, and the fellow ran off to gather what was needed.
‘But I need a moment first,’ said Holmes. He reached over and pulled back the collar of the boy’s shirt. I presumed he was looking at the wounds from the noose, but I gasped when I saw a purple ink stain on Vitale’s neck.
‘Mr Vitale. You were in Buttons’ room the night of Dillie’s murder. You lied to me about that,’ said Holmes.
‘Yes … yes, I was, but …’ The boy’s eyes filled with tears.
‘Tell me what happened, and if you want to avoid the hangman, you will not lie to me again.’
‘I … I …’ the boy choked and coughed violently.
I took out my flask again and poured brandy down his throat. ‘He should not be speaking,’ I said.
‘Then I will speak,’ said Holmes. ‘Correct me if I am wrong, Mr Vitale. Fail to do so at your peril.’ He glanced up at Hadley, who nodded in the affirmative. ‘You were there because after arguing with Miss Wyndham outside the Cross and Anchor, you did not just ‘walk the streets for awhile’. No! Instead you followed her to the rectory. You wanted your ring returned. You saw her enter the rectory, but you didn’t go in right away. Instead, you stood outside her window, in the rain, watching.’ The boy stared at Holmes in astonishment. I had seen that look many times before.
‘I saw a partial footprint outside, but it was muddied from the rain and I was not sure until now. Through the window you saw Buttons with her, but soon after, he left. I warrant you did not want a fight. You only wanted your ring back from her.’
Leo Vitale continued to stare at Holmes, wide eyed. He nodded again.
‘But your ring was not there. That is because Dillie had just sent Deacon Buttons to the pawnshop with it, and also with Freddie Eden-Summers’ ring. But she did not tell you that.’
Vitale moaned. ‘Dillie said her sister had stolen it.’ His voice was barely above a whisper.
‘Ha! Atalanta. A smart lie, and believable. Otherwise you would have followed Buttons and retrieved your ring. So you stayed.’
‘And you attacked Miss Wyndham!’ said Hadley, picking up Vitale’s right hand. ‘Look, gentlemen. His knuckles are abraded. You hit something with force. Odelia Wyndham was beaten before she died.’ Vitale closed his eyes and shook his head weakly.
‘Mr Hadley, please,’ said Holmes. ‘He fought with Eden-Summers later. That part is true, isn’t that right Mr Vitale? We will get to that. No. You lingered in the doorway of Buttons’ room instead of entering. A sense of propriety, perhaps?’
‘Yes. She … she was …’
‘Unclothed. Yes, I know.’
How did he know? I did not voice the question, Vitale did.
‘How do you know this, sir? It is like you were there!’
‘Traces in the deacon’s bed. The girl got into his bed unclothed. But this was after you left. We will get to that, too. You remained in the doorway … and …’ Holmes closed his eyes. I would swear that the scene was playing almost like a series of daguerreotypes, flipping in a carnival peepshow in his head.
‘Yes, yes, I see it now,’ he continued. ‘That ink stain on your neck, Mr Vitale. The residue in the doorframe. Watson! The half empty bottle of purple ink with the dented cap! Do you remember?’ Do you see?’
I remember him noting the ink bottle in Buttons’ room. But … ‘No, I don’t see,’ I said, frankly more puzzled than before.
Holmes stood up abruptly and looked down at Vitale.
‘Miss Wyndham picked up that bottle of ink and flung it across the room at you. It hit the doorjamb, the cap cracked, and a few drops spattered on your neck, there. And on the moulding around the door, which I noted, even though it was cleaned up after you left.’
Leo Vitale was breathing in quick, shallow breaths.
‘Slow, deep breaths, Mr Vitale,’ I said.
‘You might well have become enraged. You had been betrayed, stolen from, used – and attacked – and yet you left. You left the young lady unharmed.’
Vitale closed his eyes, nodding.
‘But those torn knuckles!’ insisted Hadley.
Holmes held up a hand. ‘Tell us about the fight with Eden-Summers at Trinity. What happened there? Why did you go there?’
‘I tried to tell him what Dillie … what I thought she …’ He began to cough. ‘Perhaps together we could … but he would not let me into the room, he would not listen.’ Another coughing spell overtook him.
‘Easy, Mr Vitale,’ I said.
‘He came into the hall. He told me he would have nothing to do with me. That Dillie would never do what I claimed. He was inebriated, belligerent. We fought …’
I remembered now that Eden-Summers claimed his injuries were from a fight with some stranger in the hall. He had obviously left out a key element of the story.
‘But why did you go there?’ asked Hadley. ‘What did you expect?’
The boy was now coughing so hard he could not answer.
‘He hoped that Eden-Summers would join him, and that the two of them together could perhaps recover their rings. Isn’t that right, Mr Vitale?’ said Holmes.
The boy nodded, recovering. ‘I thought he might have more influence.
’
‘But as you said before, some combination of pride, ego and a great deal of alcohol prevented your rival from seeing the logic of your plan. You left Eden-Summers. What did you do next?’ continued my friend.
‘I went back to my room. I tried to sleep.’ Tears ran down Vitale’s face. ‘I regret … I regret …’
‘You are lying!’ cried Hadley. ‘What you regret is killing Odelia Wyndham!’
‘No!’ gasped Vitale. ‘I regret not returning to her. Because I might have saved her.’
Holmes rose abruptly. ‘May we finish this in your office, Mr Hadley?’ said he.
Vitale closed his eyes and tears coursed down his cheeks. ‘I might have saved … if only …’
Ten minutes later we faced Hadley in his spacious and well-lit office. The police inspector sat behind an imposing desk and leaned forward on it, attentive and fully ready to listen to Holmes. My friend and I were seated in chairs facing the desk. Holmes was wrapped in a blanket and holding coffee in his shivering hands, despite the rising warmth of the day. He had not eaten in a day and a half, and the rescue in the lock and contretemps in Vitale’s cell would have laid low a lesser man.
‘Mr Holmes, this remains a puzzle,’ said Hadley. ‘If you believe Mr Vitale, and it seems you do, then who killed Miss Wyndham, and why on earth would Father Lamb attempt to kill Leo Vitale just now?’ asked Hadley. ‘There are too many unanswered questions in the scenario you project.’
‘I will answer these questions within the hour. I can tell you one thing, however. Miss Wyndham was killed for love. Has Constable Wright returned from inspecting Deacon Buttons’ room?’
‘Not yet. For love, you say? But here is another question. Who pulled the lever at the lock, nearly killing you and Buttons?’ asked Hadley. ‘Tell us again, Dr Watson, what you saw?’
The men turned to me. I shrugged. ‘As I said, the figure was hooded and masked. I could make out nothing.’
‘Height?’
‘At least my height. Perhaps taller.’
At that moment, young Palmer burst into the room. ‘They caught Father Lamb, Mr Hadley! He was running fast, but he claims Mr Holmes attacked him as he tried to rescue Vitale from a suicide attempt.’
The Three Locks Page 26
