by JM Bannon
Dolly thought for a moment. “There are four other deadly sins, but given the ones you listed, I would say greed.”
“Greed. I was unsure, and I do appreciate a professional’s opinion. Now, with Señor Moya there is the potential for either greed or envy.”
“Please elaborate,” interjected Dolly.
“The Moyas, while related to the throne of Portugal, are self-made. Emilio’s grandfather captained slave ships. Señor Ernesto Moya, Emilio’s father, produced an exceptional amount of coin for Chilton’s bond syndicates in the slave trade then onto the harvest and sale of West Indies cotton and tobacco on the return passage. Don’t look so shocked, Detective. The city of London was built on the flesh trade. If not in financing the ships or insuring the cargo, they did so on the return of cheap goods made in the colonies. Frankly, it’s the beloved mechanists and their engines that got the empire out of financing the slavers.”
Dolly fancied the blunt talk of the Yank, and he settled in for Randall’s lecture. “First Chilton financed his ships then he helped diversify investments across the trade. When the Commonwealth outlawed the slave trade, Moya needed to change businesses. Those that made money insuring his cargo and financing his fleet followed Moya’s transition into other colonial ventures. Emilio’s father, always one step ahead, moved into the sugar business in the West Indies.
“Now, Ernesto had two sons, Hernando and Emilio. Both were sent to the best schools in England. His father thought with an English education his heirs would become captains of finance with a foot in the New World and one in the Old … Ah, here we go.” Arthur had returned to them pushing a serving cart.
He poured and handed them each a crystal tumbler of scotch whiskey then displayed a box of Cuban Partagas cigars to Dolly. Dolly selected a cigar.
“Thank you, Arthur,” Williamson said.
Arthur nodded while Randall kept talking. “Hernando was cut from the same cloth as his father, a man of action. But he is the younger son, and his inheritance is far smaller than Emilio. Hernando went to Brazil to make his fortune in the sugar business. He has plantations in Brazilia and Haiti. We have co-invested in his enterprises and done well.
“The older Emilio learned something else in England. How to be a man of leisure. He stayed in London after he finished school to carouse with the group of English dandies rather than join the family business. With each success, Hernando makes Emilio richer and finds it disagreeable that his brother has a say in company affairs and receives a large allowance. I know Hernando will be the master of his fortune, but he lets his family situation and the privilege of his brother fuel resentment. With Emilio dead, the Moya fortune of nearly seven million pounds goes to Hernando.”
“Is Hernando in London?”
“Not that I know of,” said Randall.
Arthur then turned to offer Randall a cigar. Randall took one. “I would like a flat cut, not a V cut, please.” He handed the cigar to Arthur, who cut the cigar then handed it back to Randall.
“May I cut your cigar, Detective,” said Arthur.
“Please.”
Arthur made the cut then handed the cigar back to Dolly. As Dolly wetted the end of the cigar, he then removed loose tobacco from his mouth. When he looked up, Arthur was igniting a lighter.
“Arthur, get us matchsticks to light the cigar. You’ll ruin the flavor with that filthy lighting fluid.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You see some things should not change, like lighting a fine cigar with a flame of a match after the sulfur is burned off.” He leaned back in his chair to draw on the cigar as Arthur held out the match.
Dolly noticed now the top of the man’s walking stick was a carved wolf head with gold filigree and the collar around the wolf’s head had a pattern of circles, with a smaller circle or dot in the center of each larger circle.
“This is a fine cigar, Mr. Strathmore.”
“I am personal friends with Don Jaime Partagas. He has an amazing plantation. You know, they say these cigars are rolled on the thighs of virgin girls. Can you believe that?” asked Strathmore.
“Smoking a cigar that is this smooth, I believe it,” replied Dolly as he held out the cigar sideways, gazed at it and gave Randall a smile of satisfaction.
“We became friends after I looked at his property to assess the collateral for a loan he has with Chilton. He took me on a tour to see the assets. First, he showed me the tobacco fields. Not worth much. Next, he showed me his inventory of tobacco that is curing. Now there is a value that can be priced to market right in Havana. He could tell I was struggling to see how I could approve the size of this loan he sought with what he had shown me, so he said he was prepared to secure the loan with his prize chattel, a group of slaves. Forty in number he had roll his cigars.
“After lunch, Don Jaime and I rode in his surrey to the building, and to my surprise, when I enter, it’s not forty vestal virgins rolling cigars, but forty old men. Toothless scrawny, not a one looks like he would live another day or could work an hour in the field without keeling over.” Randall took a sip.
Dolly laughed. “So much for the loan, I’d say.”
“Well, funny you say because that was what I was thinking. Forty young slave girls that can roll cigars. That is stock, and if the cigar market falls, they’re still breeding stock or trainable for the house or field but how do I give him 20,000 pounds’ sterling for some tobacco and forty men with one foot in the grave?” Randall stretched out his bum leg and rubbed it while he spoke.
“Well, one thing I have learned is that I can always learn just one more thing, and I needed to learn about the cigar business, but I also can’t look a fool in front of Don Jaime.
“I wired Don Moya, Emilio’s father, who was still alive at the time in Haiti. I requested to know if he had knowledge of the tobacco business and the matter of the value of a cigar roller. He introduced me to Don Jose Hoya de Monterey, who agreed to meet with me the next day. So the next day, I had a meeting with Don Jose at his plantation and asked him what he would pay for five of Don Jaime’s top cigar rollers. He told me that if they could roll a pyramid like these, he would pay one thousand pounds each. I asked him if I could go to see his rolling rooms and you know what he said? 'Amigo, you will not find any virgins there either.'"
The two men laughed. Dolly needed to get Randall off his stories and onto the subject of Saturday night.
“What was Mr. Lester Chilton’s disposition on Saturday?”
“Reasonable for an English man who just lost his father to a heinous murder and had his bank robbed. If I know Lester, he will try to lose himself in the work and pick up as much of his father’s clientele that he can,” said Randall.
“Was there a reason you all convened Saturday night?” asked Dolly.
“Emilio wanted Chilton to loan money against his inheritance to invest in Babbage’s manufacture of difference machines. He touted that the next advances in mechanical automation would require his methods in computation.”
“And?” pressed Dolly.
“Lester said Babbage hadn’t a chance without support from the guild and was resistant to investing with Babbage.”
“Would Lester Chilton have a reason to kill his Father and Moya?”
“Detective, Don Moya left an estate of over seven million pounds. While that is a fantastic sum of money for most, it is nothing to the Chiltons. Lester and Francis were close as a father and son could be and business partners as well. Lester had more than enough money to wait out Sir Francis’ last day on earth, when he would inherit another fortune he could not spend.” Randall finished as he dropped ash in the ashtray on a corner table.
Dolly felt the time was right. “So why did you meet with Emilio at his hotel room the night of his death?”
Randall smiled and paused before he answered. “I won’t ask how you knew I met with him nor will I deny that I did.” Randall adjusted his position to get closer to the policeman. “I met with Emilio because I wanted to hear more ab
out his scheme with Babbage. It intrigued me, and there are interested pools of capital that the mechanists have no influence over. I am not interested in missing out on a good deal because some guild cronies of Chilton would get upset.”
“Was there anyone there that can corroborate your story?”
“Maybe your witness? Other than that, no. It was brief. I was also staying at the Carlton. I dropped in to make a date with him for lunch,” answered Randall.
“At one-thirty in the morning?” Dolly queried.
“Detective, that may seem strange to you, but we had just been carousing and gambling not a few hours before. I imagined he would either be up and ready for more, or passed out and not able to answer his door.”
“So you were the last one to see him alive?” said Dolly.
“No, Detective. That would be whoever killed him,” answered Randall.
“And you think that is Hernando?”
“The brothers never did see eye to eye. They were too different, and Hernando’s good stewardship enriched Emilio, who gambled, drank and whored. You said it yourself. Greed is a primary motivator. I would have Arthur get the betting book and wager that this boils down to family and money, Detective.”
Dolly thought this would go in circles unless he could find evidence beyond what he had to connect Randall, but his gut was telling him that Randall knew more than he was letting on. “Here is my card. If you think of anything, please wire me. I would be indebted.”
“Sir, I will, if I recall anything. There is nothing more that I want than to help you find the culprit and bring him to the gallows. As far as being indebted, never say that to a banker, my friend.”
Wednesday, the 16th of June
9:30 AM, Scotland Yard
When Dolly entered Commissioner Mayne’s office, two gentlemen were already sitting in the two seats in front of the commissioner’s desk.
The two men stood upon his entrance. Mayne remained seated with a sour look.
“Detective Sergeant Frederick Williamson, I would like to introduce you to French consul, Dr. Felix Anou,” Anou was a slight man with a bald head and a goatee, although he was an English-educated physician and had been in the United Kingdom for decades as an attaché to the consulate; his face, his clothes, his tone, accent, and demeanor all reeked of France.
“And this is Special Envoy of the French government, Guild Master Gerrard Saint-Yves,” said Commissioner Mayne. Dolly struggled to understand what a necronist was doing here. The guild’s close relationship with Emperor Napoleon made them a foe of the Queen. Many thought they used their scrying powers to give the Emperor an advantage on the battlefield. Other rumors were that the necronists negotiated a covenant between the Devil and Napoleon for his protracted life. Between the government's concerns of the guild being saturated with enemies of the Crown and both the Catholic and Anglican Church considering their practices unholy, Parliament had never ratified the guild in the commonwealth.
“Good morning, sirs,” replied Dolly, shaking both men’s hands.
Dr. Anou, the smaller of the two, wore a light gray suit with a matching waistcoat, his dark goatee waxed to a point and his mustache tips curled.
The guild master presented himself; dressed in the classic garb of the necronist guild. Other than the edge of his white shirt cuffs showing, the ominous character was cloaked entirely in black. His long black silk brocade coat practically brushed the floor, with two rows of pewter buttons closing the front. On his high collar was the gold insignia denoting his rank as a Grand Master of the Wyrding, he was upper echelon necronist. Only six had that rank.
The commissioner continued. “Detective, it appears that the coroner’s inquiries to reach the next of kin of Emilio Moya raised eyebrows in Haiti, and they wired the French Republic.”
Dr. Anou interjected, “The French government requests the Crown to support their pursuit of a fugitive that may be on UK soil. The Emperor’s ministry will share all the pertinent facts with your department to assist in this matter.”
The commissioner could see the consternation on Dolly’s face and intervened to get him up to speed. “Dolly, this came from the home office. Walpole agreed to cooperate and offered the Metropolitan Police Service a sharing of intelligence and the arrest of the suspect.”
Dolly took the cue. Take your medicine. “Who will be my liaison?”
“Mr. Saint-Yves,” responded Dr. Anou.
“Not a Gendarme, or at the very least, one of the Emperor's secret police,” suggested Dolly.
Saint-Yves spoke. “Detective, the Emperor chose me because I am an authority in the arcane and have investigated the techniques of the fugitive. I can be of considerable service to your department and can help you to catch her.”
“You are seeking a woman?” Dolly replied. His interest was aroused.
“Yes, an ex-slave who instigated a rebellion in the protectorate of Haiti,” replied Anou.
“A colored girl?” Dolly followed.
“Most slaves in Haiti are negroes,” stated Dr. Anou.
“Why is this of concern to the guild?” asked Dolly.
"This is a matter of interest to the Republic of France and the security of its citizens. This woman is engaged in unwholesome practices; his Holiness Cardinal Almont, the See of the Catholic Church, as well as the guild have deemed these to be unnatural and heretical acts,” declared Dr. Anou.
"Now the Church and the necronists are making joint proclamations. My, how times have changed," taunted Dolly. Fifty years ago, when the necronists appeared in France as a cult, the pontiff declared them heretics. If it were not for the support of Emperor Napoleon, it is feasible that the Holy See would have sought to purge Europe of the necronists.
Dolly took another tack. “What makes you think the fugitive is here?”
“The plantation where the revolt started was a Moya-owned estate. Señor Hernando Moya was murdered. The Colonial Police advised the government when your coroner sent a cable to Hernando Moya to inform him as next of kin to Emilio Moya. I am not a police officer like you, Mr. Williamson, but it is logical that if both Moyas were slaughtered the same way, that it is the same murderer out to seek vengeance on the Moyas. You attempt to associate a natural cause to supernatural incidents of Señor Moya's death and that has bewildered you. I can explain how he perished," said Guild Master Saint-Yves.
Dolly crossed his arms. "Well, let’s have it.”
The necronist met his stare.
“You found the bodies in a state of dehydration, as if all the body’s fluids had been removed or as if the body had been burned, yet there was no sign or source of a fire. The guild consulted with the spirit world, and we have learned that the fugitive has tormented the souls of the living by invoking the fires of hell to appear here on earth.”
“So, you're saying you have talked with Señor Moya’s ghost? You fellas are going to put me out of work if you can start having spirits point out their killers," retorted Dolly.
Saint-Yves’s face never showed a variation of emotion. “Detective, I did not partake in the seance, nor do I know if those that did were contacted by Señor Moya or some other spirit guide. I can guarantee you that if the woman is practicing heretical arts in London, you will need our cooperation with her capture.”
“So, you're the guild expert on Voodoo?” asked Dolly.
“What makes you ask that, Detective” replied Saint-Yves. Dolly got the rise he was looking for out of the Frenchman. Not even a necronist could stay stone-faced forever.
Dolly pressed. "Let’s be clear. From this point on, if you answer my questions with a question to evade giving me the information I desire, we’re finished. Come calls from the Earl of Derby or the Queen herself.” The detective turned to Mayne. "Take me off the case and give it to someone that has time for this farce.”
Before Mayne could answer, Gerrard spoke. “Very well. It appears you know something of the arcane and therefore know our fugitive, and likely the suspect you seek, is a practi
tioner of Voodoo. I have been to Haiti and understand the nature of the practices and the capabilities of the practitioner. The woman we seek is a high-level Hougan witch doctor. She can twist the will of the living and raise the dead.”
“If we can keep it straight that I am the detective in charge, and you are a liaison with no jurisdiction and under no circumstances are you to act on your own, then I'll give this a go. We will apprehend her, lock her up and leave it up to our two governments to determine how justice will be meted out. If you agree, I will make sure I share my knowledge to date and continue to uncover during the investigation. Fair enough?”
"Detective, I agree to your offer. I only suggest that when the hour arrives to capture the Hougan, that my qualifications and services will be required to guarantee no further deaths at the hands of this enchantress,” replied Saint-Yves.
“We will cross that bridge when you hand over some evidence to where we can find your witch. Where do I reach you when I need your help?"
“I will be staying at the French consulate and can be type-wired there,” responded the guild master.
Dolly smiled. “Thank you, gentlemen. I will be in touch, and I will look forward to seeing your notes on the incident in Haiti.” With that, Dolly left the office and returned to his desk.
He sat down and gave his desk a visual survey, letting out a heavy sigh. He noticed at the top of the incoming mail bin an envelope addressed to Detective Sergeant F.A. Williamson in elegant calligraphy.
He flipped it over. The envelope was sealed with wax, but he could not make out the imprint. He opened the note with his penknife, noticing Rose’s ward dangling next to it.
The message read:
Dear Mr. Williamson,
You are invited to dine with Mr. Lester Chilton at the Meadhurst Manor on 24th June 1858.
Given the distance, the Chilton home will be open for you to stay as a guest on the noted evening. Please advise us of your acceptance of the invitation and intended arrival at Meadhurst so that our driver can meet you at the station.
