Mersey Dark

by Michael Whitehead

  The door at the far end of the dark office opened, “Tanner, my office when you have a moment,” the deep voice of Station Sergeant Philips rose above the general chatter in the room. Tanner looked over the heads of the few seated officers and acknowledged his superior.

  A moment later, Tanner was sitting in front of a large dark wood desk, looking at Philips while the man rifled through a small pile of paperwork. He was a heavy man who had to lean forward to compensate for his prodigious stomach. While he looked, he stuck his tongue between his teeth and breathed through his nose. He quickly came up with a form which he handed to Tanner.

  “Nice work, last night,” Philips said with a grin. “The judge will eat those boys for breakfast. I’ll be surprised if they don’t swing.”

  “I knew we’d get him in the end,” Tanner nodded. “What’s this?” he asked, waving the paper in his hand.

  “I need you to head to Falkner Street. We have a double murder. One of the neighbours says she went round after she didn’t see the owner a Miss...Whitchurch for a few days. I sent one of our uniforms to have a look, the lad can’t talk about what he saw, it’s bad Nelson.”

  Philips been with the Liverpool police for quite a few more years than Tanner and was not a man prone to drama or exaggeration. If he said the scene was bad then Tanner had no reason to doubt it was terrible.

  He looked at the form, all the usual details were there. Miss Whitchurch was the owner of the house, the second victim was assumed to be her fiancé, Mr. Timothy Hitchins. They hadn’t been seen for the best part of a week. There really wasn’t much else he needed to know, at least not as second-hand information. He would find out the important stuff when he saw the place.

  “Any family?” he asked.

  “Not that we know, the constable didn’t hang around too long, he just shut the house up, came here, made his report and went home.” Philips hesitated for a moment before carrying on, “he was crying, Nelson.”

  Tanner looked at Philips to see if his leg was being pulled, but saw that the sergeant was being earnest. He looked down at the paper in his hand one more time, then he nodded, turned and left the office.

  He returned to his desk and gathered his coat and a notepad, looking once more at the mess on his desk with a stab of guilt.

  “You got a job, Tanner?” Harry Groves asked from his seat.

  “A couple of murders on Faulkner Street,” Tanner answered while patting his pockets, making sure he had everything he needed. He would need to pick up the keys to the murder house from the front desk on the way out.

  “Any chance I can tag along?” Harry asked, looking eager.

  Tanner wondered, for a moment, if this might be good experience for the lad. Then he looked back at the young, eager face and decided that, if this was as bad as Philips had said, it might damage the boy’s enthusiasm.

  “Maybe next time, Harry,” he said, then he turned and left the office.

  Chapter Four

  The house on Falkner Street was quiet and dark as Tanner came to the front door. There was no sign of a forced entry, at least not from the street. He glanced up and down the road and saw curtains twitch in a couple of the houses. News travelled fast in a town like Liverpool and a murder would already be the hot topic. He made a note of the houses where someone had been paying an interest; they would be the first calls he would make when he got around to questioning potential witnesses.

  The key was heavy and iron, and Tanner had to try a couple of times before he found the right place in the lock to allow it to turn. The door swung slowly open without having to be pushed, to reveal a dark hallway with a hardwood floor. Ahead of him a wide, carpeted stairway made its way up to the first floor. The bodies were up there, according to the report.

  Before making his way up the stairs, Tanner poked his head into the downstairs rooms. He wanted to know he was alone, as much as anything else. To the right was a dining room with a further door that led to a kitchen. Everything in here was well ordered and tidy.

  He made his way to the back door. Much like the front there was no sign of forced entry, both the door and the sill were undamaged. He made his way back through the dining room and out into the hallway.

  On the coat rack an expensive Crombie overcoat hung alongside a few smaller ladies coats. If the house were not enough to demonstrate the relative wealth of the young lady who owned the house, these coats were. The Crombie represented a month’s wages for Tanner and it crossed his mind that he could swap it for his own worn out coat and nobody would know. He smiled and walked away, leaving the clothing intact.

  To the left of the hallway was the parlour. The room was well furnished, with a heavy, patterned carpet. A couple of unfinished drinks sat on a small table and Tanner noticed the poker was missing from a black iron, fireside companion. The fire was set but had not been lit.

  Tanner followed his feet out of the parlour door and looked up the stairs. Before he set his feet on the fist step he found his knuckledusters in his pocket and slipped his right hand into the brass. He avoided using the banister on either side, not wanting to ruin any potential evidence, although he saw no sign of struggle in this part of the house.

  As he made his way up the stairs the familiar metallic smell of blood met him. It got stronger with each step but was mixed with a second, less distinguishable smell. He stopped and took a deep breath, closing his eyes in the hope that it would allow his nose to work a little better. The aroma was like a mixture of stagnant water and rotting vegetables, the kind of odour one associated with bins or sewers. It wasn’t one thing but a mixture of putrefied scents.

  No sound was coming from the upper floor but Tanner took his time as he got to the blind corner at the top of the stairs. It had been a lesson he had learned early in his career; that the scene of a crime might not be as empty as it appeared.

  He had been a rookie when he had been assigned to watch over a body near the banks of the Mersey. A couple of sailors had found a murdered prostitute in a wooden equipment shed. PC Tanner, as the junior officer, had been assigned the duty of waiting for the wagon to turn up and take the body away. It should have been a boring morning, spent smoking and kicking his heels. He hadn’t figured that the murderer was still there, hiding under a pile of sacking at the back of the shed. A severe headache and a lot of ribbing from the lads at the bridewell had followed when he had been coshed on the back of the head. Only his top hat had saved him from a broken skull. So now, he always watched his back.

  The first body was on the landing. She was a young woman, who wore a fine dress. It looked like she had probably been out for the night. She was sprawled at an unnatural angle, with one shoulder and her neck bent up against the far wall. A huge wound was open in her throat and blood had drenched the front of her dress, turning it black in the half light.

  Tanner knelt and looked at her hands. There was no sign that the young woman had tried to defend herself, her nails were unbroken and clean. They were one of the few parts of her that weren’t drenched in the blood that covered the whole scene. Fine droplets had sprayed far enough up the walls that there were even a few on the ceiling. There were, however no splashes of blood that usually happened when someone had been stabbed.

  The amount of blood gave Tanner the idea that the huge throat wound might have been done in one attack. As if she had had her throat torn out rather than having it cut. The edges of the wound were rough and flesh hung from it in fibrous strands.

  As far as Tanner could see there were no other wounds on the victim. Tanner got back to his feet and stepped past her toward the room at the far end of the landing. The door was open and he could see a pair of feet from a second body. Darkness meant that he had to step into the room and open the curtains slightly in order to see what had happened inside.

  It was a blood bath, the body on the floor had been dismembered to such an extent that it was hard to tell if it had been a man or a woman. Flesh had been torn from the body and shreds of it lay discarded ac
ross the carpeted floor.

  The victim’s face was unrecognisable. Large cuts streaked their cheeks and forehead and the nose was completely gone. The lips had been torn back, revealing a rictus grin. The flesh of one arm was almost completely gone yet the bones remained. The skeletal fingers grasped out to nothing.

  Tanner felt himself becoming light-headed, and he realised he was breathing far too fast. He had been a detective for such a long time that he had been certain nothing could shock him anymore. He had seen murders and bodies that had lay undiscovered for weeks, these things no longer had much of an effect on him but this was different. There was a fury here that he couldn’t explain, the wounds gave the impression of rage and animal violence. These people had been torn apart and savaged.

  “It is horrendous indeed, is it not?” a male voice said from the landing behind Tanner. He spun around in shock, it had been a long time since anyone had been able to come up behind him without his knowledge, and he was sure he had locked the door behind him.

  The man was about ten years older than Tanner, tall and extremely well dressed, he carried a cane but didn’t lean on it or seem to need it to walk. He stood away from the body of Elizabeth Whitchurch and appeared to be the only clean thing in this scene of blood and violence.

  “Who the fuck are you? How did you get in here?” Tanner asked, almost shouting in his surprise.

  “My name is Templeton, DC Tanner. I’m sorry if I startled you, I certainly did not mean any harm. Do excuse me.” The man’s voice was as cultured as any Tanner had ever heard, he surely did not come from this part of the world. Tanner was almost certain if this man were to address Queen Victoria, that she may come away from the conversation feeling a little improper.

  Tanner began to get a little of his composure back, he straightened himself and took a step toward the newcomer.

  “Okay, Mr Templeton,” he began, but was interrupted.

  “Just Templeton, if you don’t mind, please DC Tanner.”

  “If you insist, Templeton. As you can see this is a crime scene, so there are a few things I would like to know, but first I’d like you to move downstairs.” Tanner kept walking forward as he spoke, taking control of the situation. In his experience this usually resulted in a criminal or member of the public backing away, Templeton stood easy however, not moving or appearing threatened.

  “As you wish, detective,” Templeton said, and waved his hand, allowing Tanner to walk ahead of him. Tanner stared at the man, not taking the offered curtesy and waiting until the stranger nodded and stepped onto the top step.

  He followed the well-dressed gentleman into the parlour where he closed the door behind him, not wanting any more surprises.

  “Now, I have a few questions,” Tanner began. “Firstly, who are you and how did you get in here?” He was amazed to find that, despite the fact that this man had made no threats, that he was actually nervous.

  “As I said, Detective Tanner, my name is Templeton. I have been asked by my employers to investigate these three murders. I got in by way of picking the lock on the back door, I did lock it again after me. I thought about using the upstairs window, which was open when I arrived. I did not wish to damage this suit, however. I did close the window, to preserve the scene upstairs for you, I hope you don’t mind.”

  Tanner was becoming infuriated by this conversation. Each question seemed to lead to two more, he tried again.

  “Who are your employers? What is their reason to want to investigate these murders? How do you know my name? And what do you mean three murders? There are two bodies upstairs.”

  “I’m sorry, detective, I can’t tell you the name of my employers. They like to keep their interests private. They have however, contacted your Head Constable, an ex-army Major named Grieg if I’m not mistaken. Mr. Grieg had assured them that I will be given your fullest cooperation while I investigate this matter.

  “Lastly there is a third body in the wardrobe upstairs. It appears to be almost completely stripped of flesh and the remains are on top of what looks like a nest made of clothes. It is most intriguing.” Templeton finished speaking while moving to the front window and glancing up and down the street.

  “Let me get this straight,” Tanner said, crossing his arms. “You won’t tell me your full name, you won’t tell me who you work for, yet you turn up here telling me that I have to cooperate in your investigation? Excuse my reluctance to believe you Mr. Templeton, but sod that for a game of soldiers.”

  “Very well Detective Tanner. May I suggest a compromise?” Templeton asked, with a grin.

  “I’m listening,” Tanner replied.

  “What do you say if we both take a look upstairs together? We can put our ideas forward, maybe even help each other with some conclusions and then we can go back to Argyle Street in order to straighten out anything you are unhappy with?”

  Tanner looked at the man, once more. He was well dressed, extremely well spoken and had not in any way acted as a threat. He had a feeling that everything he had just been told was true and that there was something more to all of this than he knew.

  “Okay,” he said. “Show me the third body and then you can tell me what you think happened up there. After that, we are going back to the bridewell and you can explain to the duty sergeant who you are and what you want.”

  “An excellent plan, Detective Tanner,” Templeton agreed.

  The two men made their way back upstairs, the photograph of an elderly couple stared at Tanner as he reached the landing. A single droplet of blood had run down the glass, giving the woman in the photo a sinister aspect.

  Templeton led the way along the landing, being careful not to disturb any patches of blood. Past the body that Tanner was happy to assume was Miss Whitchurch, and into the bedroom that looked like the scene of a massacre.

  Now that he was ready for the horror in the room, he was more able to take in the details. The room was dominated by a large four-poster bed, the sheets of which might once have been white but were now the dark brown of dried blood. In the corner stood a large, ornate wardrobe. The door of this was open slightly but the innards were hidden by lack of light.

  Tanner stopped and looked down at the body on the floor, once more. The clothes were finer than those of the woman on the landing, this was a well-off gentleman. It seemed certain that this was the fiancé, Timothy Hitchins. The violence and ferocity of the man’s death was still overwhelming to behold. The attack seemed to have no focus. The killer must have kept up his assault long after the victim was dead.

  Templeton had moved toward the wardrobe, he stood ready with his hand on the door, waiting for Tanner. As the detective stepped forward he swung the door open to reveal a sight worse than that in the rest of the room. The body inside was almost picked clean, there was no other word for it. Tanner had seen the carcases of chickens with less meat on them after a Sunday dinner.

  The skull glared up at him from its place on a pile of clothes. It was, as Templeton had described it, a nest. The skeleton was still streaked red with blood but in many places the white of the bone gleamed through, looking wet and shiny. The skeleton was scattered, as if they had been moved and discarded. This was no longer a body, it was just a rough collection of the parts that had once been a person.

  “What has happened here?” Tanner heard himself ask? His mouth formed the words that were spinning through his mind.

  “It is disturbing, is it not?” Templeton asked from his place next to Tanner and seemingly a thousand miles away. Tanner felt the man place a hand on his shoulder and despite the fact that they were strangers, found it reassuring.

  “I don’t understand what has happened here,” Tanner repeated, in a hoarse whisper. His eyes were drawn to the mocking, leering grin of the skull. It stared at him with hollow sockets, laughing and accusing him.

  “I have a theory,” Templeton said. “I would however like to hear what you think before I voice it.”

  Tanner cleared his dry throat. The air in the
room was suddenly far too warm. In all his years on the force he had seen a lot of bodies but never one that had been left like this. He had seen them dragged out of the Mersey, stabbed, hung, and beaten to death. He had seen fresh bodies and rotten cadavers that had sat in water for weeks.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said out loud but completely to himself, but that wasn’t strictly true. What had he thought at first seeing the collection of bones? A chicken after dinner. “This body’s been eaten,” he said. He was at once repulsed, confused and utterly sure that he was correct.

  “That is my thought, detective,” Templeton said.

  “Who would do such a thing?” Tanner asked the older man.

  “I’m not sure that is the pertinent question. I would suggest we need to be asking ourselves, what would do such a thing,” Templeton replied.

  Tanner began shaking his head. “You don’t expect me to believe a wild animal came in here, killed three people and left, do you?”

  “I’m not saying it was an animal, detective. I’m also not sure that this was done by a human either.”

  “What then?” Tanner asked, then gave an answer to his own question, “a monster?”

  “Before I closed the window, I did notice this,” Templeton said, backing away from the wardrobe and pointing to the sill beneath the large sash-window. “It is exactly as I found it.”

  On the window sill was a lock of hair, it was dark and coarse looking. A lock wasn’t exactly right though, thought Tanner. It was more like a tuft of fur, the kind of thing that Roland left around his flat when he was malting. It was stuck in a small, dried patch of blood.

  Templeton took a clean handkerchief from inside his suit jacket and passed it to Tanner. The detective took a folding knife from his coat pocket and released the blade, then used it to pry the hair from the windowsill. A small chip of paint came away with the hair and blood. He folded the whole thing, keeping the evidence safe.