The Killing Hand

by Andrew Bishop

  “What entitles you to decide who should live?” Lucius countered.

  “We should stop now, whilst we can. If we do not wish to do this, we can all escape – all at once. One of us would perhaps be seen as a threat, but all of us would be seen as a statement. We’ve kept our silence this long.”

  Palmer shook his head resolutely, his eyes transfixed on some insurmountable thought. “No, this is a gift. This is the only way to topple my competitors.”

  “It will be too suspicious if all these big name company executives keep dying,” Lucius reasoned. “Of course there is a limit to having only people from rival company’s die. That is why it is most beneficial for Jack to extend his reach into crimes within businesses. Everyone is doing it.”

  “Not like this.” Francis scowled.

  Lucius said nothing, instead dealing the cards and immediately beginning to play. The game was tense. We played quick, but were frigid and without enjoyment. Here were men playing games designed to entertain, but our hands were chained by it at the very same time. I glanced over at Francis’ hand partway through and saw that he actually had a winning pair, but instead chose the let them go. He was playing the game, but only out of necessity. He was an unwilling participant, but not a player in the truest sense of the word.

  It was Harry who played the winning hand, although I fear he did not wish to. Unlike Francis, I believe he may have feared being caught in the act of being deceptive – despite the fact that his hand was well hidden. He had decided to play by the rules, even if he did not agree with them.

  “Who do you choose?” Lucius spoke.

  Harry stammered, partly with a name, partly with objection. Fear overtook him again. “D-David Gosfoth.”

  “Of?”

  “David G-Gosfoth of Haswell Insurance.”

  “Then consider it done,” Lucius clapped. “It crosses my mind that we are too fiery this week, the media too loud, and the gaze of the law too wide. I wished not to do this, but it has been growing on my mind in recent weeks; I propose we cut these meetings down to fortnightly. There are enough other murders occurring in London to muddy the investigation if we slow our pace, so it will help to not incriminate ourselves further. Does anybody disagree?”

  Nobody objected to decreasing the frequency of the murders. Although it looked as though Palmer wished to do so, he remained quiet as the outvoted party.

  “Good,” Lucius continued. “Two weeks today. Now, get out.”

  Chapter XV

  With the meetings now fortnightly, I found myself with more time to wait between each infernal decision. Whilst this should have made things better, the wait only made me restless. Thoughts that were originally placated by the turn of the meetings only served to grow. Normally, I would spend a week worrying about how to rid myself of this infernal situation, before attending and convincing myself that there was no way. Without that fix, my mind only served to ask further.

  It was a week later, on the very same that that the meeting itself would have rolled around, when I found myself on the doorstep of James’ house. I had got up early with one intention: to improve my friendship with James. Following the public meeting, and the events where he had reported Rufus’ death, I had not seen him. I grew worried that those last two events would grow bitter, and I found it best to visit and return our friendship to its former state. There were no materialistic items that would sway his mind; only a genuine apology. I paced about my living room for the morning, thinking on the matter and of exactly what I would say. If James were to detect even the hint of a lie in my voice then he would reject such an apology. Perhaps he would not say so directly; he would say he were busy with his work, but that door would close. I had already shut him out enough since my return; I wished to do that no more.

  I cannot claim that this was all in pure intentions, however. James was heading the Jack case. The sword was double edged: if he were to discover the truth then I would be sentenced to death, but if he found nothing then I would be stuck on this path forevermore.

  I enquired at the station once I was ready, but was told that he was not on duty on that particular day, so I made my way towards his home. The rain was coming down hard. I was sodden the entire way through by the time I got there. Rainwater ran like streams between the cobblestones of the street. James opened the door a good while after I had knocked. His eyes were blackened and his hair greasy. “Hello, Eric.”

  “James, I have seen so little of you recently and I feel dreadful for the little time I have been able to offer you, it must seem so rude of me.” I stopped short when James simply stepped to one side, inviting me in.

  “Do not be silly – and get out of that damned rain! You are a working man now, as am I, and it is only natural that our schedules conflict. Let us forget about it,” he said and led me into his home.

  His house was homely, but unkempt. Several paintings of himself and parents hung from the walls, nicely furnished but not extravagantly so. We went to his study. Although I had seen the room previous to my departure from England, it has since taken on a different face. Great wooden bookcases lined the walls, filled with various books and personal notes. A large writer’s desk sat in the middle of the room, atop it various pens and paper lay in mid-use. The great wide window was before it, although the thick curtains were drawn and the sunlight denied.

  “This is where you work?” I asked.

  He nodded. “I use this to study, when a particular case requires it. The Jack case has been something else. I’ve been spending more and more time in here.”

  “Did you not say you had someone in custody?”

  “Yes, but they had an alibi for many of the murders. Think it was just a wrong place, wrong time type of scenario.”

  “So where you do you go from here?”

  James strode over to his desk, pushing about the papers. “I do not know, Eric. It is a shambles. The murders happening within a wide radius, everyone under the spotlight. There has to be some detail that narrows the search.”

  “Any details of the killer?”

  “Yeah,” James laughed. “The devil himself, allegedly. Nothing I can use though. He is just man; a man who has shrouded his identity… I am sorry Eric, I do not wish to bore you with the details of my work.”

  “Quite the opposite. I find it all very interesting. I would love to help you if I could, but I am afraid I have little I could aid with.”

  James smiled as he sat at his desk. “Like the good old days? I miss sitting around and putting our minds together, Eric. I hope we can do it more so with time.”

  “I do too, James,” I said, eyeing the Jack papers on his desk. “I do too.”

  James sat up at the edge of his seat. “Did you attend Rufus’ funeral, by the way?”

  “No, I did not. No invitation – and I had not seen him in years.”

  “I did some investigation into Rufus’ financial situation. I do not know how much of him you remember, but it appears his situation was dire. A lot of money owed to a lot of people.”

  “Do you believe that the murder may have been motivated by that?”

  James tilted his head slightly. “It seems likely, but something does not settle well with me. You see, his company was diving – a lot of losses on the books, money disappearing all over the place. I am not quite sure what the man was up to, but it appears he may have been extracting money from his business for personal pleasure.”

  “That is not strange; I hear such a thing happening all the time. I hear he had split from his wife and he was not in a good place.

  “Where did you hear such a thing?”

  “Lucius told me, when I met him at the public meeting, do you remember?”

  “Ah yes, of course. Well, I agree with that much. But the thing that makes me curious is that, upon his death, someone immediately stepped forward to buy his company out. Almost as if it were premeditated.”

  I paused, not sure what I wanted to ask, but knowing that to remain silent would only torm
ent my own curiosity. “Who bought it out?”

  “I do not know.”

  “But is it not public information?”

  “Oh, yes. But that is the thing. I know the name of the company that bought it out. When I tried to investigate further on the name, I found that almost immediately the company disbanded and all profiteers liquidised. I think the company was simply a front.”

  “There were no listed owners?”

  “No papers, no nothing. It was like it came from nowhere, then destroyed itself without the proper paperwork. I think someone in the legal side of things hand a hand in this. I think there are several people pulling strings to aid each other, here. This is not simply a rogue killer, this is some sort of bizarre operation to eradicate companies entirely.”

  This was Jack’s plan. Fatten us up, then sell us off. Our own individual companies – and The Hudson Group itself – would be snatched from us when the time was right. The killings were never really in our own personal gain, not really. It was all adding to Jack’s prize – or to whoever worked with him.

  James and I talked idly for a while, but my mind could no longer concentrate. It felt like I was on borrowed time, like every breath I took was a countdown. After a while of talking, we decided to return to our duties. I turned to my workplace, having ignored it for the morning. I shifted into the shop like some child who had knowingly done wrong, sat at my desk, and proceeded to wonder what the hell my next move was going to be.

  Gilbert, as usual, could not hold his tongue. “You are late again.”

  “I am aware of this detail; however I had matters to deal with.”

  “You always have matters to deal with, and they always appear to be more important than your work. If you continue with this attitude, I will have to find a way to have you removed. You are of no worth to this company if you are not here.”

  “You cannot simply expect me to return to London and have my affairs in order,” I reasoned, hoping to avoid a full on argument. “I am still picking up the pieces of my life.”

  “It has been four months now since your return. Whilst I am sure there was plenty to sort out, I cannot fathom what remains now. Perhaps you broke your life more than you imagined in that short year out? Or perhaps it broke your mind and what little work ethic that remained in you. If you do not have your affairs sorted within due time, I will have to find a way to compensate for lost time.” With the end of his speech, he clapped his hands together and bowed back to his work, indicating no further word on the matter.

  I felt like a pupil being scolded. Despite Gilbert's warnings, I would do nothing to appease him. The situation I found myself in was dire and demanded my utmost attention. Gilbert's failure to notice this was not of my concern, for I had more important things to focus on.

  When the next meeting did arrive, it came with no sense of dread. The extra week had helped to provide a feeling of detachment, as if it were all just a horrid thought buried deep in my mind. And the fact that I was here? It was as if I was acting it out in some sort of make-believe play. But it was not real, not matter how much I really knew otherwise, my mind told me it was not really.

  Lucius took a sip from his drink as we all readied ourselves. “I am sure you have all read of David Gosforth’s death in the past week. Whilst not a great profit to us, it is hopefully one that will aid Harry.”

  Harry did not reply.

  Lucius continued, “Then let us play, and let us leave. It appears we have no desire to remain in one another’s company longer than we have to.”

  The game of cards commenced same as the time previous. Some played more willing than others, but as a whole no-one seemed to care for the game much anymore. Harry remained playing strictly by the rules, Francis paired nothing up throughout the entire game, I paired a few, but ultimately sabotaged my own game, Lucius played whilst coldly glaring at us taking our moves, and Palmer rushed through his turns, everyone emerging as the victor. We did not play further to find out the losers.

  “Edgar Rook,” Palmer said without being asked. He stood from his chair. “Two weeks today?”

  Lucius nodded. Palmer left without saying a word. Harry followed suit. Francis stood and beckoned for me to join him, but I shook my head. I could see the confusion in his eyes; I felt guilty for leaving him in the dark, especially with including James in all this, but I had no choice. Once everyone had filtered out of the room, I remained where I stood. Lucius’ gaze fixed upon me. I did not speak until the door had closed behind me and the steps were no longer audible.

  I asked, “Do you know what happened with Rufus’ business?”

  Lucius shrugged, but it went jagged partway through. “No. I do not.”

  I have no doubt that his words were the truth, perhaps it had not crossed his mind at all, but I knew full well at my mention of it that he had suddenly developed a good idea.

  I continued, "It has been bought out. Much in the same manner that this group arries out its business. Does that not concern you? That the very thing we have been doing to others is now being done unto us."

  Lucius remained silent, his gazed transfixed on an irrelevant object on display at the far end of the room. He found no answer there.

  "Who opened the account?" I asked. "Who formed The Hudson Group?"

  "I did."

  "Did you actually open the account yourself? Or did you merely agree to it?"

  Once again, silence. The things that Lucius' did not say were providing more insight than those that he did.

  "We must entertain the fact that we are being played," I said. "That we are being used as pawns to develop a monopoly for another. When the time is right someone is going to come down and remove us all, just like our victims. The only way to get out of this is to reveal them before that happens."

  "And how would you propose we do such a thing?"

  To that, it was my turn to be silent.

  Lucius continued, “You all berate me, but has it ever crossed your mind that we are in the same fucking situation? I would free myself of this insanity, if I could, but I cannot. It appears that only Palmer relishes in it, for he is too short sighted to actually see the reality. How about you all keep your tongues firmly in your mouths, less you have an idea what will not result in the death of us all?”

  I remained quiet. I had no idea that Lucius had felt this way, I had only assumed that he were the same as Palmer. “And if we remain quiet?”

  “I am certain that will result in the death of us all, too,” he said, before adding, “Although I cannot be certain. I cannot see a way out, and to sit here listening to your moral berating’s does nothing for my mood.”

  With that, Lucius stormed out of the room. He left the door open behind him, and I could hear as he strode down the hallway and into the crowd, ignoring those that called his name.

  Chapter XVI

  It was late morning when I rose next, once again sleeping my life away. Despite the late mornings, or in some cases – early afternoons – I often felt tired. The only reason I woke on this particular morning was due to the knocking at my door. Cursing under my breath, I dressed and answered the door to James, who was unusually animated.

  “How much of your life do you actually spend in a conscious state?” he asked as he noticed the bags underneath my eyes.

  “As little as possible if it can be helped. If you have come to lecture me, I am not interested. There are more pressing matters to which I must contend.”

  “No – no not at all. No lecture. I simply wanted a talk.”

  I realized this to mean that James wished to pick my brain. I resigned myself to the fact that I would not be going back to bed any time soon and stepped aside, inviting him in.

  James seated himself in the living room, pulling a copy of The Times from under his coat and passing it to me. “I have something to show you, see this.”

  “You are delivering my paper now? Would you care for a stipend? I can be most generous.”

  “My salary is adequate,
thank you. You certainly are a moody blighter when you have just woken up.”

  I read the article aloud.

  THE TIMES, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1838

  SPRING-HEELED JACK MURDERS CONTINUE

  Another murder of the foulest kind was committed in the early hours of yesterday morning. SPRING-HEELED JACK murdered a young lady in Whitechapel, leaving her body in an alley before fleeing the scene. An officer arrived shortly after, but by that time the killer had fled the scene.

  James waited until I had finished reading the article before talking again. “The whole of London is in an uproar. Jack has been targeting businessmen until now, but this is entirely different. What do you think?”

  “Perhaps the fact that the previous victims were businessmen was purely coincidence?” I said, hoping that it may throw some suspicion from James' mind.

  “That could be an angle,” James hummed, “but I think this: these murders were not carried out by Spring-heeled Jack at all. The motives and the means do not align. What would Jack, a killer seemingly motivated by wealth, be doing in Whitechapel? I believe this was an opportunity killing to which the media has attached the Jack name to. Where is the mention of devilry? Of crazed madmen leaping away?”

  Scanning through the article I saw James' name mentioned as head of the investigation. “Do you not think it was dangerous, them announcing you as leading the case?”

  “I have been doing this job for a few years Eric; I know how to handle myself. Besides, it was reported after the public meeting; such information is not easily forgotten by the public. Especially when they want answers, I will attest to that.”

  “So what are your next moves?”

  James shook his head as he stood. “Honestly? I have none. The murders occur in such a wide radius that it is impossible to appoint enough officers to cover all opportunities. There must be something to tie all of this together.”

  “How long has this being going on?” I asked.

  “Since September, I suppose. You have seen the newspapers, surely? It was all reported in there.”