by Sam Christer
‘You will be in the company of many violent criminals tonight,’ continued Alex, ‘but none are as ruthless and brutal as Lee, and none, including him, dare act without Huiwi’s instruction. Old he might be, but he still has absolute control of those who follow him.’
The professor added to the background. ‘Initially, the Chans settled in the East End and at first appeared to be solely concerned with their traditional businesses of tailoring, laundry and distribution of herbal medicines. But appearances are deceptive. In reality, the old man and his son Bai, Lee’s father, were secretly building a varied criminal enterprise. Bai was killed in a dockland battle – one the Chans subsequently won. They now control a great number of opportunities within the port of London, including the importation of undesirables from his homeland and the shipment and distribution of opium. Had they confined themselves to these activities then perhaps our paths could still have crossed as safely as country roads conjoin in remote corners of Cornwall or Cheshire. But sadly they did not.’
Alexander continued the account. ‘They have become increasingly meddlesome in matters of our interest, especially horse racing and the lucrative betting that accompanies it. One of their associates, an equestrian veterinarian, doped a horse we needed to win. Opium was put in its water. We lost a lot of money on that outing.’
‘And the meddler lost his head,’ added the professor. ‘You saw the acquisition in my laboratory gallery, Simeon. It is also partly the reason I did not wish to have Miss Breed attend the dinner with us. One never knows whose memory might be jogged by her presence, even if she does currently look very different.’
I understood now why Surrey had been so shaken that night I had discovered her soaked in blood and sitting alone in the darkened kitchen, with a hessian sack tightly bundled up. Decapitating the veterinarian must have been a gruesome and traumatic task.
‘So, now both sides must speak?’ surmised Sirius. ‘And I take it that our gathering is devised for us to deliver a final warning?’
The professor smiled. ‘Mr Chan does not take notice of warnings. Tonight is about me making him, his grandson and his business partners, a proposition that hopefully they will see as impossible not to accept.’
Alex took his cue to elaborate. ‘They will be asked to withdraw, forthwith, from all racecourse and gambling activities. In return, we will grant them a share of revenues from the courses that they are currently trying to exploit. In short, they get paid for doing nothing.’
‘And if they don’t agree?’
‘Then there will be bloodshed,’ Moriarty replied. ‘If they force our hand then we will embark upon a spree of beheading that would shock Vlad the Impaler.’
I handed the photographs back and asked with some trepidation, ‘What part am I expected to play?’
Alex returned the pictures to his envelope. ‘After dinner, the professor and I will retire with Chan and his grandson. The Chinaman has also demanded a ‘virtuous exchange’, to ensure no foul play takes place. This means Lady Elizabeth will sit in one room with a member of his family, while Lee’s wife Wu will sit in another with Simeon. Sirius will stand on guard with one of the Chan men in the corridor that separates the two rooms.’
We progressed into St Pancras and disembarked at what was a breathtaking cathedral of a station. Porters moved our luggage, and Moriarty and Elizabeth walked off together.
As we ventured into the London fog and busy streets, I realised I had quite forgotten how the smoke and dirt clung to the clouds and leached away all colour from the day. We hailed two hackneys and made excellent progress to the professor’s house. It held a good position on Albert Road, close to Primrose Hill and the Zoological Gardens. Strong gates and high walls kept out prying eyes and uninvited visitors. The grounds were patrolled front and back by armed men, many of them ex-militia.
Once settled, I was introduced to the house servants and then shown around, so that I might familiarise myself with the building. It was a third of the size of Moriarty’s mansion in Derbyshire but still generous in dimension and lavish in furnishings.
I was admiring the dining room, resplendent with cherry wood panelling, a matching long table and chairs sited under crystal chandeliers, when Sirius came to the door. His face was lit up with excitement. ‘They are here,’ he announced. ‘Let the games begin.’
The professor had described old man Chan as ‘a reptile’ and once he walked into the house in Albert Road I understood why. Small, thin and wheezing, he shuffled in a slow, hunched manner that gave the impression of a prowling lizard. His face was saggy and spotted with dark brown age patches that looked from a distance like scales. Flesh hung in folds from his neck like turkey wattle.
He took a seat at the middle of the table, next to his grandson. On his other side sat the professor and then Elizabeth. I was positioned directly opposite him, near Sirius. The rest of the party consisted of half a dozen men from Moriarty’s London contingent and a corresponding number from Chan’s organisation, out of which only half appeared to be Chinese.
Dinner was deliberately an excellent and refined affair, designed to lower the tensions on both sides and eliminate any chance of violence breaking out. A rich julienne soup followed by broiled salmon, then a trio of roasted beef, lamb and chicken. Finally, vast plates of cakes and éclairs were laid out, along with mountains of strawberries and cherries. Along with this feast came a plentiful supply of white, red and dessert wines but both Lee Chan and I abstained. Our eyes locked several times during the courses. The stare that had scorched the lens of the portrait camera burned a path across the table to me.
I returned it with icy disdain. We both recognised each other for what we were. Killers know other killers. It is a haunted look that no one else has. One that says a line has been crossed and will if occasion demands be crossed again.
The moment came for us all to leave the table and fulfil our respective duties. The younger Chan rose and half-smiled at me. That old familiar tingle, that exciting chemical precursor to violence, rushed through my blood. It would give me great pleasure to test myself against him and I am sure he felt exactly the same.
The room emptied and I went to sit with Lee’s wife. Wu Chan was more mouse than woman. Slight of size and weight, small black eyes, tiny hands and quieter than any human I have ever met. She moved silently in a long red and gold one-piece dress and did not speak a word. Indeed, such was her silence, I wondered whether she understood any English.
Three silent hours and the chimes of midnight passed before the tense and awkward wait was terminated. Doors opened down corridors, feet clattered on wood and marble floors, servants’ bells rang and voices chattered. A sharp knock on the door startled me. Wu looked up and I saw fear in her eyes.
‘There is no need to be afraid of anyone who knocks,’ I said, more to myself than my companion. ‘It is those who do not that must be feared.’
Sirius entered, nodded at the lady and informed me quietly, ‘Business has been successfully concluded. Elizabeth is with the professor and your guest can be reunited with her family.’
I thanked Sirius and as he left I spoke slowly and a little more loudly than necessary to Wu, ignorantly imagining that slowness and loudness would somehow help her understand a foreign language, ‘They are finished. You and I may now rejoin the others.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said in perfect English, then rose without emotion, put her hands together, bowed slightly and shuffled out of the room as quickly as her long, tight dress would allow.
I walked behind her to the main hall where everyone else had already gathered. Elizabeth was next to Moriarty and still seemed tense. Sirius was vigilantly watching the Englishmen in Chan’s party. They were tall and broad, dressed smartly in dark suits and were lighting cigarettes. ‘Who are they?’ I asked him.
‘I don’t know,’ he replied in a hushed voice. ‘They are from London and the Midlands and run illegal betting rings for the Chans. They put up the cash, while those lackeys provide t
he muscle and take the risks.’
I was about to take a closer look at them when I heard the professor laughing. I turned and saw him and the old Chinaman shaking hands. Lee Chan was close by, his eyes taking in everyone and everything.
Servants descended upon the visitors with coats, and we soon passed through the front door and into the crisp night air. As our guests’ carriages approached my attention turned again to Chan’s men. I recognised two of them. A large fellow and a smaller, stouter one. They were Brummies. Blinders.
In the same moment, the big man also recognised me, and he declared loudly to his friend, ‘It’s ’im! ’im wot done ’enry and Billy in that alley.’
The smaller man squinted across at me. ‘You’re fuckin’ right!’ He threw down his cigarette and moved quickly towards me. I saw the glint of a blade slip from his sleeve to his hand.
He lunged and swept it at me. I dodged to the side and he missed, bumped shoulder first into a wall.
Before I could make my next move, Lee Chan stepped forward. He spun on his left foot and sank the sole of his right shoe into the middle of the man’s head.
The Brummie went down in an unconscious sprawl.
Lee shouted something in Chinese. Several of his countrymen rushed forward, lifted the knifeman from the floor and carried him away.
Lee straightened his dinner suit and walked over to me. ‘Please forgive such intolerable rudeness. I apologise for my man’s actions. I assure you he will be severely dealt with.’
‘It looks like he already has been,’ I answered.
‘He will be properly disciplined.’ He nodded courteously, then added, ‘Please tell me, why did he so urgently seek to harm you?’
‘I think he mistook me for someone. I suspect he drank too much of the wine that you and I avoided,’ I added lightly. ‘Some Englishmen get confused and do stupid things when they are drunk.’
He could tell I was lying. ‘And some do stupid things when they are sober. Like beheading a man I was fond of.’ He stepped closer to me. ‘Do you know of what I speak?’
My eyes held his and I remembered Surrey and her bloodied hessian sack in the kitchen back in Derbyshire.
The professor stopped the conversation. ‘Lee, your grandfather is calling for you. I think he is very tired and wishes to go home.’
Chan could not refuse such a request. But still his eyes held mine. ‘We are strangers,’ he said directly to me, ‘but I know you. Know what you are and what you do. We will meet again, of that I am certain.’ He nodded ominously then strode away.
After the visitors boarded their carriages and left, Moriarty gathered everyone and summarised the outcome of the meeting. ‘We have tonight laid the basis of a cooperation that will serve us well for the next half-decade. Between the Chans and ourselves we have the most lucrative business infrastructures inside and outside of London. Now we must take full advantage of what is at our disposal.’
Once the applause had died down Elizabeth declared she was weary and retired for the night. The professor, Alexander, Sirius and I stayed up until dawn, mainly drinking and talking about the future.
I learned that Moriarty’s British and overseas businesses were booming and that his family was now heavily invested in every major legitimate and illegitimate enterprise imaginable. Somewhat in his cups, he mentioned the family’s heads of shipping, pharmaceuticals, transportation and ‘entertainment’ based in cities all across the world. It struck me that what he forgot to mention was the great pains he and his kin went to in order to remain far removed from the criminality but closely protected, by the likes of us.
The following day, we rose late and headed back to Derbyshire. I was informed that Elizabeth and Sirius had already left on an early train as they had other business to attend to, and I found myself returning with only the professor and Alex.
On arrival in Derby, we were met by Thackeray. To his disappointment, I explained that I was too tired to ride up top with him. Instead, I climbed inside and within minutes was asleep.
When I awoke we were in the countryside. The carriage had halted and from outside, I heard voices. Men, shouting loudly.
‘Get out! Out with your hands up!’
The professor’s face showed a mixture of surprise and interest, but certainly not shock. He spoke to me in a calm and unworried voice. ‘This is not a trick, Simeon. It seems we are about to be subjected to robbery and no doubt a hideous delay as well.’
We had been stopped at a remote junction on the Derbyshire-Staffordshire border. Two armed men had fallen upon us. One had climbed up the carriage steps and put a gun to Thackeray’s head. The other pulled open the carriage door, and at pistol point, ordered us out.
I am sure that in the haze of that heated moment the thieves had both felt in complete control of that situation. I am equally certain that, out of the four of us, they believed Thackeray, with his weathered looks and broad shoulders, presented a greater danger than the middle-aged man, his disabled companion and their youthful servant.
It would, then, have come as a complete surprise to them when I knocked away the pistol of the assailant nearest me, grabbed his arm and broke it with a twisting move that Michael Brannigan would have been proud of.
The man was still yelping when I picked up his weapon, pressed it against his head and shouted to the accomplice, ‘Put your pistol down, or I will shoot your friend.’
His friend pushed his gun to Thackeray’s skull. ‘You do that, young Mister, and I’ll off your coachman.’
‘Put it down,’ I shouted again, ‘or in three seconds, I pull the trigger.’
He shifted the gun again. ‘I mean it, mister.’
Across the ground, I saw my shadow and the robber’s, fused by the gun I held to his head.
‘One!’ I shouted.
There was no call of two, or three. A familiar feeling filled me. Flushed every atom of my body. It was anger, but not as I had known it before. Not wild and raw, not hot and snarling. It was as cool, soft and comforting as a freshly laundered bed sheet.
I pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the countryside.
Thackeray made a grab at the shocked man by his side and pushed the pistol skyward. Another roar entered the clouds.
Anger catapulted me onto the driver’s boards. I knocked Thackeray aside, grabbed the robber around his neck and leapt from the carriage. I saw my shadow land and crumple, separating from the man whose neck I knew I had just broken as easily as a trapped rabbit.
And then that coolness went, emptying from me like a plug had been pulled. Within a second, I felt drained. Felt nothing.
‘You really must learn to count, Simeon,’ remarked the professor, as he moved from the carriage to inspect the bodies. ‘My, what a mess. Thackeray, bury these fools in the undergrowth.’ He waved a hand to his left. ‘And make sure you empty their pockets; we should at least profit from their impertinence and our inconvenience.’
The coachman walked around the back of the brougham and unclipped a shovel that he used whenever wheels needed digging out of ruts – or apparently, a corpse need burying.
‘Give me a little time, sir,’ he called as he headed into the thicket. ‘I’ll soon ’ave two nice graves for these bastards to slip into.’
One Week to Execution
Newgate, 11 January 1900
Despite the torture of my walking marathon, I slept little that night. My mind was in torment and I only fell asleep when the soft light of dawn began to illuminate my cell.
I was fuzzy headed and still chasing off nightmares when two gaolers shook my bones and announced that Levine was at the gate and wished to see me as a matter of urgency.
Walking chains were fitted and I was taken to a room where my peacock lawyer strutted from wall to wall in a suit of blue, shirt of pink and tie of red.
‘I hope you have good news,’ I said as the screws fastened down my chains at a table and pushed me into a chair.
‘I have lodged intent of appeal with the
Crown,’ he said as soon as we were alone. ‘And I have found men of straw to bolster our case.’
‘Men of straw? We have to rely on scoundrels who stalk the Old Bailey offering to lie for any solicitor with coin enough to buy their oaths? I would beseech you, sir, to—’
He flapped a hand to cut me off. ‘No, no! These are stronger straws than the court has ever seen. Do not worry about their veracity or believability.’
‘And what will they say?’
‘Whatever we wish. But to put the right words in their mouths, I must know more than is on your file, more than you said at the trial – hence the urgency of my visit.’
‘I have held nothing back.’
‘Then we must go over everything in meticulous detail and see if we have missed something.’
Levine fished a gold pocket watch from inside his jacket and examined it. ‘Neither of us has an abundance of time, Mr Lynch. Your story, please?’
‘Very well. You know that I resided in a flash house run by Paddy Hoolihan.’
‘I do.’
‘That I had intended to leave the following morning with two companions, Jimmy and Charlie Connor—’
‘This I know. Go on. Go on!’
His impatience irritated me. I closed my eyes so I could not see him. Let my mind drift back to that night. ‘I had fallen asleep, when there was a noise. Charlie, Jimmy and I were bunked at the top of the house, crammed into the roof space just beneath the rafters. It had been the worst spot to lodge, until we heard the sound of the Old Bill breaking down the door.’
‘What did you do?’ He dabbed his nose with a handkerchief.
‘I remember Jimmy dropped to the floor, peered through a crack in the boards to see what was the cause of all the noise. “Coppers!” he said. “They’re downstairs.” I pulled on my boots. Charlie opened the loft hatch and said there were lanterns moving near the foot of the stairs, so we decided to chance it.’
