Mersey Dark

by Michael Whitehead

  “I think we need to go back to the station and talk, Detective Tanner,” Templeton said.

  “That sounds like a very good idea,” Tanner replied. The two men left the room, and headed for the stairs. Tanner thought he may wish to return after he had spent some time thinking about what he had seen. In the meantime he wanted to know more about this man and the orders that had been sent down from the head constable.

  The day was warm as they opened the door, the birds were in fine voice and the sun made a mockery of the horror that the house behind them held.

  Chapter Five

  Sergeant Philips leaned over his desk and passed Tanner a letter with a look of regret on his face. He took it and read the copperplate handwriting as Philips spoke to him. It was a curt but official note that said, the officer in charge of investigating the Falkner Street murders was to extend every courtesy to Mr. Templeton and assist him in any way he desired. The letter was signed Major John James Grieg, Head Constable.

  “Sorry, Tanner. A lad brought it not long after you left for Falkner Street. I thought about sending it on to you but there didn’t seem much point. I thought I’d get the chance to break the news to you when you got back here. I didn’t think Mr. Templeton would be at the house when you got there.”

  “So I’m supposed to play second fiddle to some bloke none of us have ever heard of, just because a letter arrived from the brass?” Tanner asked, barely hiding the anger in his voice.

  “Nobody said you have to play second fiddle to anyone,” Philips said, holding up his hands in placation.

  “It says I have to assist him! If that’s not playing second fiddle I don’t know what is,” Tanner said, his anger continuing to rise.

  “Look, it’s an order and I can’t do anything about that. Command speak and the rest of us listen, you know how it works. That said, as far as I’m concerned, you just need to let him tag along with you. Everything else is up to you.” As he spoke he stood up and moved around his desk to the door of his office. He opened it and leaned his head out.

  Templeton was sitting on a small bench in the grey corridor, upright and unruffled. He turned and smiled as Philips beckoned to him.

  “Mr. Templeton, would you join us please?”

  “Just Templeton please, sergeant,” Templeton said, as he made his way into the room. He looked as out of place in the bridewell as he had among the blood and carnage in the house on Falkner Street. His expensive looking suit and shoes were completely at odds with the nature of the building which held the dregs of society.

  “Take a seat please,” Philips said, gesturing to the empty chair next to Tanner. The older man obliged and sat down.

  “Can I assume everything is in order, Sergeant?” Templeton began, but Philips cut him off with a raised hand.

  “I see from this letter that you have friends in high places, or at least your employers do,” the senior officer said from his place behind the desk. Templeton said nothing in reply. “I want you to understand that this is a very serious crime that my officer is investigating. This kind of thing is completely irregular and I will not have one of my best detectives hindered while doing his job just because someone with money has decided to take an interest. I don’t know why you’ve been sent here but I want you to understand that DC Tanner is in charge of this investigation.”

  “As you say, Sergeant. I’m sure the two of us can help each other to bring this situation to a satisfactory conclusion.”

  “Do you have any police experience?” Philips asked, continuing as if Templeton had not spoken.

  “I have many years’ experience as a private investigator. I have worked around the world. I would not have troubled you with this, except I like to make sure I am not stepping on the toes of the local police force. I could easily continue with my work independently but it seemed the sensible course of action to make my investigation official.”

  “Listen, I’m not here as your assistant, no matter who your employers have managed to convince otherwise. In fact, if I feel you are slowing me down, I will drop you quicker than a hookers draws.” Tanner said, half rising from his chair.

  “Very well,” said Templeton, with a smile. “It’s a deal. You allow me to investigate these and any related murders with you, and I will do my best not to slow you down.”

  “What do you mean, related murders?” Philips asked.

  “Oh, I’m perfectly sure that there are none, at the moment,” Templeton said, letting the final three words hang in the air for a second. “It is my experience that cases like these are just the start of something bigger. I have conducted a number of these investigations and they rarely end where they begin.”

  “Well, in my time I’ve found that most murders are crimes of passion or convenience. Unless you know any different, I’m going to assume that is the case here,” Philips said, before turning to Tanner. “So, how bad was it?”

  “I’ve never seen anything like it.” Tanner began. “They were torn to pieces. At least two of them had been mutilated after they were dead. They must have been, nobody could have lived with half of those injuries. The third died from a single huge wound to the throat.”

  “One of them had their throat cut?” Philips asked.

  “No, it was torn out. It was brutal.”

  “Any ideas who might have done it?”

  “We are yet to confirm the identity of the victims, never mind the killer. I’m confident that the lady of the house is the victim with the throat wound. It seems reasonable to say the second victim is her fiancé. As for the last body, I have no idea. It was little more than a skeleton. There was no face, not much of anything left. I’ve never seen anything so brutal.”

  “No clues at all?” Philips asked.

  “The upstairs window was open when Templeton arrived. There was a lock of dark hair on the window sill. All the bodies were upstairs. There isn’t much to go on so far, but I’m going back there after this.” Tanner said this and found himself looking to Templeton, waiting for the man to confirm his plans. Despite his objections, he found he had a liking for the older man. He had a casual superiority to him that had little to do with hubris. He struck Tanner as the kind of man he might want next to him in a crisis. Templeton nodded his acceptance and before too much longer the pair were heading out of the office and toward the detective’s desk.

  The last thing Philips said before they left his office was, “Do whatever you have to, just make sure you catch this bastard.”

  The detectives office was empty, except for Morris. A slow-witted, moon-faced boy who always had a smile on his face. His kindly, olive-shaped eyes dipped to the floor as the two men entered the room. He might normally have spent his days in the workhouse, but the boys at Argyle Street had put him to employment as a sweeper. He could be found most days pushing a broom around the bridewell and on his days off drinking tea in the canteen.

  “Answer me a question,” Tanner said, looking to Templeton.

  “If I can, detective,” the older man replied.

  “Why did you so quickly jump to the conclusion that the murderer wasn’t a person?”

  Templeton looked thoughtful, as if he was trying to find the words for his answer. He was silent for a moment and then took a deep breath.

  “Before I came back to England, I was in Australia. My employers were eager to acquire an ancient artefact. To be more precise, an ancient cursed artefact. The story was that the amulet held the trapped soul of a cursed woman. She had the power to possess people’s minds and bodies.” He paused for a moment, letting the smile that crossed Tanner’s face grow and then fade.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Completely. I found the amulet but it slipped my grasp. By the time I found it once more it had caused the deaths of over two hundred people.” Templeton paused, obviously seeing the questions that were rising to Tanner’s lips.

  “And this thing was what? Magic?” he asked.

  “I guess that is the easiest way to
describe it, yes.” Templeton spoke with such simplistic finality that it was hard to doubt him. Tanner had certainly never been a man who held with the current trends for psychics and séances. Such parlour tricks seemed like grown men and women playing at children’s games. He had seen stage magicians but spent his time trying to figure out how the illusions were performed, rather than in wonder at what people called magic.

  “I understand that what I am telling you is difficult to accept. I would just ask you to keep your mind open to the possibility that this case may not be as simple as it first appears.” Templeton said.

  “And this is why you have taken an interest in this case, because you think there might be something magic involved?” Tanner asked. As he spoke he looked about, not wanting any of the other detectives hearing this ridiculous conversation. The room was empty, even Morris had found himself another floor to sweep.

  “Not I, detective. Just as you are, I am merely a tool that my employers use to their best advantage. They tell me to look for something and I look. They tell me to investigate a murder and I do as they bid.

  “In the main, I find nothing less mundane than a jilted husband or a fight over money. In those cases, my employers are usually no longer interested and I am called away. Every now and again however, I find something less ordinary.”

  “And your employers do what exactly?” Tanner asked.

  “That depends what I find, Mr. Tanner,” Templeton replied. “Their interests are varied and specialised. I don’t ask too many questions and they tell me exactly what they need me to know. They are powerful men, detective and I am no more than an employee.”

  “One last question, how did your employers know about those murders before the police did?” Tanner asked. Templeton simply looked at him and shrugged. It was all the answer he seemed willing or able to give.

  “May I suggest that we find someone who can tell us a little more about the hair we found?” Templeton asked, changing the subject.

  “I suppose you have an idea where we might find such a person?” Tanner asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” Templeton answered with a smile, rising from his seat and folding his coat over his arm.

  The doors to the Liverpool Literary and Philosophical Society were broad and heavy. The brass bell pull was shiny with use, Tanner pulled the chain and waited while the door was answered. As it opened the smell of cigar smoke and whiskey wafted out and onto the street.

  An elderly man in a fine uniform that put Tanner’s own attire to shame, stood framed by the lamplight beyond. His thin white hair was oiled in place and as he spoke he held his hands clasped before him.

  “Good morning, sir,” the man said, looking over Tanner’s shoulder and addressing Templeton.

  “Morning,” Tanner replied with a scowl. He had expected a level of snobbery from the men of the institute, being upper-class as they were, he had not however expected to be mistaken for a servant by the door man.

  “How can I help you?” The doorman’s eyes flitted briefly to Tanner and then returned to the finely dressed and more senior Templeton, causing the detectives anger to rise.

  “I am Detective Sergeant Tanner. I’m here on a serious matter and wish to speak to someone who can help us with our investigations,” he said, trying to remain calm.

  “Very well, sir. Did you need to speak to anyone in particular,” the doorman asked, finally addressing Tanner directly and stepping back to allow the two men entry.

  “It is a matter of science we wish to discuss,” Templeton said, taking his coat off and handing it to the doorman. Tanner thought about doing the same but decided to keep his.

  “Science, you say? Well, we are rather empty at the moment. Give me a moment and I will see who is in the lounge.” With this the door man walked away, leaving them in the large and well-furnished entrance hall. The carpet felt so heavy underfoot that Tanner was almost tempted to take his shoes off to try it with his bare feet. The stairway leading to a second floor had dark wood bannisters with newel posts that were topped with huge brass toppers.

  It wasn’t long before the doorman returned with a man in his mid-thirties. He had thick sideburns that led up to hair that was thinning on top and showing patches of white. His waistcoat looked like it might have cost more than all of the clothes Tanner owned.

  “Gentlemen, William Rathbone, how may I be of assistance?” the man asked holding out his hand to Tanner and then Templeton.

  Tanner had heard of the Rathbone family, they were extremely wealthy and owned Rathbone Brothers, a merchant company. William Rathbone was a man of fine reputation, generous and heavily involved in public health issues.

  “I’m DC Tanner and this gentleman is Templeton, Mr. Rathbone. We have a matter we need assistance with, in relation to a serious crime. We were wondering if you might know someone who could help?” Tanner asked.

  “Please, come in to the lounge. We can discuss the matter in more detail and find some refreshment.” Rathbone said, beckoning with his hand.

  He led them into a large room filled with high-backed, leather armchairs. The smell of cigar smoke and fine spirits was stronger in here than anywhere else in the building. A number of dark portraits of stern-faced gentlemen hung on the walls.

  “When they were seated a young man in a white jacket and white gloves brought a silver tray to a small table near Rathbone’s chair. It had an expensive looking bottle of whiskey and three glasses on it. Rathbone poured three measures from the bottle without asking his guests if they wanted a drink.

  “Now gentlemen, what exactly do you need?” he asked.

  “We are investigating a murder,” Templeton began, eliciting a raised eyebrow from Rathbone. “We were hoping you had a scientist in your company who could assist us with this.” He produced the handkerchief and briefly showed Rathbone the clump of hair.

  “This is evidence, is it?” Rathbone enquired. “I’m not sure we have the science to tell you whose head it came from, I’m afraid.”

  “We rather thought it might belong to an animal. We were wondering if you had any natural philosophers in your midst,” Templeton said, putting the handkerchief back in his inside pocket.

  “Ah, in that case I may be of a little more assistance,” Rathbone said with a grin. He swivelled in his chair, evidently looking for someone. He raised a hand and the young man in the white jacket came back to the table.

  “Sir?” he asked, bending slightly at the waist.

  “Be so kind as to fetch me a pen and something on which to write, there’s a good fellow,” Rathbone said with a grin. The servant left them for a moment and returned with an ornate, portable writing desk, complete with ink pot, pen and various other implements. He took a sheet of paper and jotted down a name and address.

  “This is the person you want, I’m sure they can help you. They can be a little...eccentric but they’re the best natural scientist I know,” he folded the paper and gave it to Tanner. “Is it impertinent to ask where these murders took place?” Rathbone asked as he leaned in conspiratorially and whispered.

  Tanner thought for a moment and considered that the murders may well be public knowledge by now.

  “Falkner Street, Mr. Rathbone. I’m afraid there was more than one victim,” he said.

  “How awful. What violent times we live in,” Rathbone responded, looking shocked.

  “Indeed,” Templeton added before emptying his glass. He ran his tongue around the inside of his mouth and smacked his lips in appreciation. “A fine drink, Mr. Rathbone. I thank you for your time.”

  Chapter Six

  Billy Gerrard stared down at his feet as the officer led him from his cell. There was a slight flip, flip noise as the toe of one of his shoes opened and closed as his walked. The officer said nothing but the heavy hand on Billy’s shoulder felt like the weight of the world.

  The corridor ran along the line of cells, as they walked past the next door Billy saw a pale faced, thin looking man who peered at him out of t
he hatch. He grinned at Billy as he was escorted past.

  “Going to see the judge, wee-man?” the face asked in a broad Irish accent. “You’ll be swinging by this time tomorrow, boy.”

  “That’s enough, Mickey,” the officer said, leading Billy on toward the end of the corridor. He had been here before, he knew that this was the moment that held his fate. If the officer turned him left he would be heading toward the magistrates and the certainty of time in jail. If on the other hand they turned him right, he was in for a lecture by the sergeant and a warning. So far it had always been right but he knew there was the chance that his luck might change.

  He was sure that if they let him go he would be back here before too long. He had no choice in the matter, his brothers and sisters needed feeding and there was no way he could depend on his mother to do it. Jail scared him badly, but the alternative was no easier to face. If they locked him up, his family would be dead, or in the workhouse before the end of the week.

  Each footstep felt like the rung of a ladder, but Billy didn’t know yet if he was climbing up or down. They reached the end of the corridor and the officer gripped his shoulder. Waiting until Billy looked up at him, tears forming in his eyes that he refused to allow to fall, then guided him right.

  Billy felt waves of relief wash over him and the officer squeezed his shoulder a little tighter, a friendly gesture.

  “You’re a lucky lad, Billy,” the officer said. Billy thought his name was Jones but couldn’t be sure. He said nothing, instead he wiped his nose with the back of his grubby hand and looked back down at his worn shoes.

  The walk to the sergeants office wasn’t a long one but by the time he arrived, Billy felt dizzy with relief. The officer knocked on the door and a deep voice bid them enter.

  Sergeant Philips sat behind his desk, looking stern. A mug of tea sat steaming on top of a pile of papers that Billy could not have read. The sergeant signalled for Billy to stand in front of him and leaned back in his chair, his vast stomach stretching the buttons of his dark blue jacket.