I could not repress a gasp. I’d never believed in omens, but this had been written merely minutes before Dyer’s demise.
‘We cannot yet refute that Dyer did this,’ I mumbled, if only to reassure myself.
McGray kneeled down and again tasted a drop of blood from the tip of his finger. Not that we had many doubts as to its nature.
‘Real blood, just like before.’ He stared at the lines for a moment, mouthing them once and again. Then he rose and went to the junior officers. ‘Oi, baby-face! Go get another laddie to help ye. Look for any traces o’ blood in the building and around it.’
‘Aye, sir,’ said the perky young man, and left us with poor Cooper.
There was a mighty bump on his head, and a flirtatious maid was pressing a damp cloth to his scalp.
‘How did that wretch get out?’ McGray barked, his loud voice making Cooper squint. ‘I told youse to lock every damn exit! And take the names of everyone going in and out.’
‘Sorry, sir. The door was unlocked.’
McGray could have smacked him again had the poor chap not looked so shaken. ‘Who unlocked it?’
‘Dunno, sir. I – I didnae see.’
McGray made to slap him with the back of his hand, but then took a deep breath. ‘How could ye not see? Ye were s’posed to be guarding the damn entrance!’
The young man pleaded. ‘I only went for a quick piss about an hour ago. But it was just a minute!’
‘One bloody minute too fuckin’ long!’
‘I’m really sorry, sir.’
‘When did ye notice the padlock was open?’
‘About a quarter of an hour later. Not five minutes before all the hubbub started. I leaned on the door and it opened! I hadnae seen it before ’cause it’s too dark back here. I was looking at the padlock, my back to the hotel, when someone struck me on the head. Brought me down, the blow. I fell on my face ’n’ was all woozy ’n’ couldnae scream.’
‘Did you see anything?’ I asked, pointing at the smears of blood. ‘Did you see who did that?’
‘Nae. My head was turned to the wall. I only heard the rustle o’ clothes. And then the dogs went mad, and then I heard Inspector McGray climbing down the pipe and I saw him getting out. And then I saw ye, Inspector Frey, and then that ginger Irishman.’
My jaw dropped.
‘Stoker?’ asked McGray, his frown growing deeper.
‘Aye. He went out, sir, right after Inspector Frey here spoke to him.’
‘Did he come back?’ I prompted.
‘Nae, sir. At least not this way.’
I scoffed. ‘I do not like this at all. McGray, he came to me all distraught, crying that banshees can also take the shape of black dogs, but all I could think of –’
To my surprise – though I should not be shocked any more – McGray took the news as if I’d announced the doors of hell had just opened.
‘That’s what made me look down,’ he said, ‘I was reading that this morning. The banshees also come as huge black hounds that follow whoever is about to die. With red eyes. They’re called the Auld Shucks. Remember that dog howling when we were up on the roof?’
‘Yes, but –’
‘That didnae sound natural.’
‘It was just a dog howling,’ I stressed. ‘Perhaps the smell of blood made them uneasy …’
‘Och, I cannae argue right now,’ McGray said. ‘We must find Bram. The sooner the better …’
‘You look more concerned than I expected,’ I said, looking at the tendons bulging on his neck. ‘Why do you fear for him so much?’
McGray did not reply, but he called two officers. One was instructed to look for a very tall, sturdy Irishman in the neighbouring streets. The other chap was to look for him at the hotel. And if their searches were not thorough enough, Nine-Nails was to ‘suspend them by a rope tied to their———’ (here the reader should fill the gap). And he also asked them to keep their eyes open for a huge black hound.
‘A hound indeed,’ I said scornfully as they left.
‘Frey, don’t make me regret I saved ye from getting splattered.’
‘McGray, as much as I appreciate the favour, this is all very clear: There was no banshee cry because we had the entire building surrounded by policemen. The perpetrator attempted to do the writing discreetly to then be able to flee, and would have succeeded had you not looked down at precisely the right time.’ McGray inhaled, ready to defend his theory, but I had to stop him. ‘We will not agree on that right now. I’d rather focus on that padlock. It was on this side of the door; whoever opened it did so from within the yard. That someone must have been spying on Cooper, waiting for him to get distracted.’
‘Sirs, I swear I didnae –’
‘Oh, shush, Cooper!’ I said. ‘It does not seem logical to unlock the door, leave it open and only then strike the guard. If someone tried to get out unseen, you’d think they’d strike the policeman first, and then unlock the door.’
McGray nodded. ‘It’s good when ye put yer brains to work, Frey, ye should make a habit of it. Aye, it must have been two different people. One person unlocked the door and sneaked out – he didnae come back or he would’ve locked it again to cover his tracks – I’d bet more than just ten years’ worth o’ whisky that a second blasted bastard hit Cooper afterwards; most likely someone not connected at all with the one who unlocked the door.’
I pondered. ‘That makes a lot of sense. And the second party, the one who hit Cooper, was most likely the one writing the verses. Perhaps they went back to the hotel and did not even need the door.’
‘A banshee wouldnae need –’
‘Nine-Nails, for the love of God!’
After that we looked carefully into each nook and cranny of the backyard, but found nothing of relevance. We also looked into the pantry that adjoined the backyard and the kitchens. There was a pile of flour sacks in utter disarray, jars knocked over, and potatoes and almonds scattered all over one corner of the room. However, the cooks and scullions said all that was perfectly understandable: the place had been mayhem since the morning, everyone rushing to get things ready for the dinner and reception.
Nearly every servant, maid and guest was questioned, and this time Superintendent Campbell spared no resources. As soon as he received word of the sighting, he sent us a dozen men, both constables and sergeants, who helped us do the leg work.
Still, it was three o’clock in the morning when we finally dispatched the last witness.
My father, Catherine and Elgie were amongst the last to leave (McGray might have had something to do with the delay), and my dear stepmother could not stop moaning about how roughly they’d been handled by ‘the most vulgar, impertinent of police pigs’. She would never let me or my father forget the episode, and I knew it would be decades before she stopped recounting the incident.
Tired as we were, McGray and I had to go through the list of people questioned. The statements had been compiled neatly by the constables and were stacked in a tidy pile, waiting for us on the ballroom’s main table. Nine-Nails went through it while helping himself liberally to a marzipan parapet, chocolate rocks and brandy, the latter kindly brought to us by the equally sleepy headwaiter.
‘Besides Stoker, was everyone accounted for?’ I asked, giving in to a most ungentlemanly yawn. When I opened my eyes I saw McGray’s mouth half open, crumbs of chocolate falling on to the table. ‘What is it?’
‘Ye won’t believe this. We cannae find Ellen Terry.’
‘Why were we not told immediately?’ I leapt to my feet as I saw a slender figure coming in. I was so tired I had to blink twice before recognizing the smug face of Freddie Harwood.
‘Young man, we have no time for your impert–’ McGray smacked me in the stomach with the back of his hand. Only then did I remember that Freddie had begged to talk to us before the pandemonium began.
He approached us rather gingerly, nothing like his usual self, although he’d soon come back to his ways.
‘Can we speak now?’ he said in a whisper.
McGray looked at him gravely. ‘Depends. D’ye have something useful to tell us?’
Freddie nodded vehemently. ‘You cannot tell anyone you heard this from me.’
I arched an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘If they knew I told you … It could ruin my career.’
It struck me as ludicrous that a fourteen-year-old put so much emphasis on the word ‘career’.
‘We won’t tell a soul, laddie,’ said McGray. ‘Honest.’
There is something about McGray’s countenance that always works at these moments. Whenever he assures discretion, or appeals for trust, there is complete earnestness in both his voice and features. Even the spoiled, insolent brat Freddie responded to it. The boy looked alternately at each of us, and all of a sudden spurted out the words he’d been so afraid of.
‘I saw someone walk out of Miss Terry’s rooms – just before the ball. A man I had never seen before.’
32
McGray grasped the boy’s arm. ‘Ye swear it’s the truth?’
‘Yes.’
‘And it was a complete stranger, ye say?’
‘Yes.’
‘What did he look like?’
Freddie writhed like a worm, harming himself more than the hand gripping him, so McGray had to let him go.
‘I didn’t see much of him. The man ran away very quickly and I only got a glimpse of his working-class clothes. Oh, and he had dark hair – very greasy.’
‘Is that all you can remember?’ I asked. ‘Any detail might be of help.’
Freddie did not need to ponder for long. ‘Well, he ran with a funny gait and he … he left behind a hint of a ponging whiff, something I have never smelled before.’
‘Was it chemical?’ I asked. ‘Or body odour, perhaps?’
Freddie had a good thought this time. ‘Not sweat, I am sure. I would say chemical.’
McGray pondered. ‘If ye smelled it again, d’ye think ye’d recognize it?’ Freddie nodded, but there was not much else he could tell us. We told him to stay at the hotel at all times, in case we needed to ask more questions, but he did not receive the instruction with much enthusiasm.
‘You won’t tell anyone, will you?’ he said before leaving us, but once again he sounded arrogant: commanding rather than requesting.
‘Treat yer mother ’n’ sister better and we’ll see,’ said McGray.
‘Don’t talk to me as if I were a silly little –’
‘Get out!’ McGray hollered. Most people would have rushed out, or at least started, but Freddie smirked in the most arrogant way imaginable, and very slowly and insolently dragged himself to the door.
‘And now Miss Terry,’ I groaned. ‘Shall we send someone out to look for her too?’
McGray waved a hand indifferently. ‘Aye, but I’m sure Terry will be back. She cannae miss her big opening night, or posing for her portrait tomorrow morning.’
‘What about Stoker? He has not come back yet.’ I looked at my pocket watch. ‘He went out right after I saw him, so he has been gone almost four hours.’
Nine-Nails bit his lip, a dark look on his face, and as he rubbed his eyes he snorted. I wanted to ask what the matter was, but I was too tired to argue. Again I yawned, yearning for a warm bed and a sound sleep, but we were not done yet.
After McGray sent out two more men to look for Stoker and Miss Terry, we received a note from the morgue. Dr Reed was already there and had begun work on Dyer’s body. He told us he wanted to see us, and that Constable McNair had left news from the butchers he’d visited through the night (I had completely forgotten about them).
Before heading to the City Chambers, McGray wanted to have one last look at the backyard. We found nothing, but on our way out I recognized the dim corridors we’d seen when first visiting Mrs Harwood. I realized how close to the kitchens her lodgings were.
I took a quick detour to check on her door, which one of our men was still guarding. The officers had changed shifts, so the current chap looked much fresher than us.
‘No one’s come in or out, sir,’ he told us, but I was not satisfied and knocked at the door. Mrs Harwood did reply, albeit with a rather throaty voice.
We went in and found her sitting up in bed, wide awake despite the hour, with a small trinket box on her lap. From it she was withdrawing iridescent beetle wings and lining them up meticulously by her side.
‘I should have enough,’ she told us, smiling, before we had asked anything.
‘Enough?’ McGray asked. ‘To do what, missus?’
‘To repair Miss Terry’s dress. She came to tell me a few had fallen off. But I have enough! I’ll mend it for her …’
I tried to sound as casual as possible. ‘At what time did Miss Terry speak to you? Before she went to bed?’
‘Oh, yes. Before all that noise from outside. Told me she had to look fresh for Mr Sargent. The painter. He’s coming all the way from London just to finish Miss Terry’s portrait. It is very, very important her dress looks its best.’
As she re-counted the little wings I approached the window and pried the curtains apart with two fingers.
Though locked, the window overlooked the now busy backyard, where I saw a few maids mopping up the red writing.
We left the Palace Hotel at half past four in the morning.
I would have happily rented a cab, but McGray decided he needed some cool air and a stroll to refresh himself. I remembered he seldom slept more than a couple of hours, so this night would have felt almost normal to him. By the time we made it to the City Chambers my eyes itched with drowsiness.
Luckily, the seemingly pubescent Dr Reed had a large flask of very strong coffee, which his mother had forced him to take with him. I welcomed the caffeine more than a sweet lady’s kiss.
‘Constable McNair left you this message,’ Reed told me with his now usual antipathy. ‘He was adamant he’d tell you in person, but he looked so worn-out I told him to go home.’
‘You hardly have the authority for that,’ I mumbled, proceeding to read the message.
McNair had a quivering, rather childish hand, yet quite legible, and since most of the officers cannot read or write, I was quite pleased. In a message with atrocious spelling and not a single punctuation mark, he told us of all the butchers’ shops he’d visited, and then listed a handful of merchants who’d sold either blood or blood sausages to customers who were not regulars. That narrowed the possibilities to a manageable number.
‘He has done an excellent job,’ I concluded, folding the note and shoving it into my pocket.
‘Reed,’ said McGray, ‘what did ye have to tell us?’
‘I’d better show you,’ he replied, guiding us to his work area. ‘These are Mr Dyer’s belongings …’
A muddy, bloodstained coat had been stretched on an operating table, and next to it an assortment of items had been lined up in a meticulous fashion, from the largest to the smallest. Besides the common articles (a watch, a comb, a small tin of wax which Dyer had surely used to shape his moustache) there was an object that instantly caught my eye: a very small notepad. McGray picked it up and had a close look at the covers.
‘Looks brand new,’ he said as he opened it.
‘His notes are in shorthand,’ said Reed, ‘so I’ve not been able to read a thing.’
‘Give me that,’ said I, reaching for the small pad.
‘Can ye read shorthand?’ a surprised McGray asked me.
‘Some. I learned a little while studying law. I thought it would be useful if I ever practised at the courts.’
Reed frowned. ‘I thought you’d started a medicine degree. Did you read law afterwards?’
McGray cackled. ‘Nae. The soft dandy tried, but he abandoned that one too.’
‘Two unfinished degrees?’ Reed cried.
I hate it so much when those two join forces against me. ‘Indeed, Reed. That is infinity times the number of degrees Inspector McGray has ever started.’
The notepad was indeed new, for only the first few pages had been scribbled on, and I went straight to the last lines, dated the night before. Despite my rusty training, I had no difficulties in making out the meaning.
Hid in little alley behind hotel.
Heard person going out & door flapping.
Found back door open! Got in.
Saw guard coming back. Hid in pantry.
Shadow walked past me. Someone wrapped in white.
Shadow’s out. Hit the Peeler. Must look out when shadow’s gone.
Blood! In the yard ——
33
‘D’ye need any more proof?’ McGray asked as soon as I translated those lines. ‘The poor bastard was innocent. He was only looking for a story.’
He was right. The meaning was clear, and I instantly felt a pang of guilt.
‘Good Lord, we chased that man to his death …’
McGray patted me on the back. ‘Nae, don’t blame yerself. The rascal shouldnae have run like that.’
I assented. ‘Indeed, but he would not be dead had we not been investigating – Nine-Nails, do not grin so triumphantly!’
‘Say what ye like, but the prophecy was clear. Chase nae the voices, for only death and –’
‘Sod the prophecy! I’d as soon visit those butchers and show you how blasted bloody wrong you are!’
‘All right, all right,’ said McGray, his hands up. ‘I think ye better rest. Yer getting grouchier than when I caught ye having yer lavender bath.’
I took a deep breath, massaging the bridge of my nose. ‘I suppose tiredness is getting the better of me.’
‘Aye. Go home, have yer beauty sleep and come back – say midmorning.’
‘What about Stoker? And Miss Terry?’
‘I’ve nae forgotten about them, but I’m much fresher than ye. I’ll help the lads’ search. I won’t leave a bloody flagstone unturned. And I’ll make sure someone wakes ye up if anything develops.’
Feigning more reluctance than I actually felt, I made my way to the door, yet pointing at Reed. ‘Do examine Mr Dyer properly. There’s clearly no need for a post-mortem, but make sure you do not miss anything he might have carried in his pockets or –’
A Mask of Shadows: Frey & McGray Book 3 (A Case for Frey & McGray) Page 22
