The Killing Hand

by Andrew Bishop

  “No, I mean, was it going on previously? Before the media attribute the Jack name to the murders?”

  “Possibly. I am unsure how I would tell, but I guess I could go over old case notes. Actually, I will do that now. I apologise that I must leave you for my office.”

  “Not at all,” I said, rising and shaking his hand. “Keep me posted?”

  James said his goodbyes and left, leaving me to retire to my study desk, looking over the article. A young lady in Whitechapel? No, that was not our Jack, that was a copycat. When Edgar Rook appeared, that would be him.

  I placed the newspaper in the drawer of the desk with the other ones; my collection of Jack’s murderous trail. I had kept them as evidence in hope of tracking down Jack, picking out some sort of identifying factor. So far, there was nothing. For hours I made lists comparing the articles, but nothing jumped out at me. I fell asleep at my study desk with exhaustion. I woke up close to midnight and made my way to bed, where I collapsed into further, dreamless sleep.

  I awoke early the next morning and made my way to work. Gilbert made a comment about me arriving on time, but I was in no mood to entertain him. I felt as though I were merely existing until the next meeting, or James to bring me more information. Work was simply a measurement of time to the end of the day.

  “You look like hell, Eric,” Gilbert remarked.

  “I am fine. Just leave me alone.”

  Gilbert did just that. We worked in silence for a few hours. A few businessmen entered throughout that time, making various shipping arrangements with Gilbert, and Sabastian came in for more errands, but other than that it was quiet. Until midday.

  “Gentlemen!” Arthur Shaw smiled as he slipped through the door, “What a lovely day, would you not agree?”

  Gilbert did not entertain him. Instead, he rose from his desk and went through to the back office to collect his fee.

  Arthur grinned and looked at me. “Eric, how nice to see you again. You have not been here the last few times I visited. Doing more than sleeping, I hope? I am afraid your reputation upholds.”

  I placed my pencil down and sat back in my chair. “Bugger off, Shaw. Take your money and get out, we do not need the remarks alongside it.”

  “Tetchy, Mr Godwin, perhaps just woken up then?”

  I offered no response. My anger had been placated with that mini-outburst. I tried to promise myself that would be it, lest I pushed my luck.

  “Well,” Shaw continued, “It must be said, you are quite dissimilar to your Father.”

  Something in me clicked. A deep rage, spurred on by Shaw’s smug face and my tetchiness. Within mere seconds I was up from my desk and in his face. “You do not get to talk about my Father; who made his honest earning where you cheated yours. Compared to my Father you are simply a leech, and yet you continue to feed on his legacy. Do you have no decency? Are you as fowl a man as there can be?”

  Arthur did not respond. He did not get chance. Gilbert entered the room, carrying the case of money, and immediately called out upon seeing us. “Whatever this is, you stop right now. Eric, to your desk.”

  I obeyed, not because it was Gilbert, but because I knew it were best. Shaw did not remove his gaze from me as I did so. I could see the playful façade he had when he originally entered had now been replaced with something much sinister.

  He took his money and left.

  Chapter XVII

  A long two weeks of nothing stretched out before the next weekend. James came up with no news on Jack, and I spent my days working without joy. There was a part of me that, almost ashamedly, was pleased when the meeting did roll round. It gave me purpose, some form of progress. Again, we gathered in to that room, dealt the cards in silence, and got on with it.

  We all put our immediate pairs down on the table and took turns picking cards from one another. This particular game grew lengthy, with several turns where the same card repeatedly passed around the table. It was to the surprise of everyone, including myself, that I emerged victorious, although it was not desired.

  "Well then, this has to be a first," Lucius smiled as he gave me a mock clap. "Have you been practicing Eric?"

  "Not quite," I responded. I knew all too well what it was building up to.

  "Well, do you have someone in mind?"

  Francis hissed in my defence, "No, of course he does not."

  Lucius grinned as he looked at me. "Surely there is someone that stands in your way?"

  "Nobody at all," I said resolutely. "I do not harbour enemies."

  "Leave it Lucius," spoke Francis. "The man does not wish to engage in such activity. If you wish, you may continue the game until another victor emerges. You know that some men in this room do not attend out of choice."

  Lucius did not immediately respond. Instead, he smirked as he observed my composure crumbling. It felt like an eternity as Lucius and I stared into one another's souls. I could see the fire in his eyes, the desire to hear me speak a name. I was almost certain that he could see the fear in mine. And then, joining the stony gaze of Lucius, all eyes were upon me. "Whether or not he wishes to engage in such activity is irrelevant, for he is already doing so. Do you have desire to gain from this opportunity, Eric? Is that not the reason you came here in the first place?"

  My mind took hold. I could not hold my tongue any longer. What would happen if I picked a name? Would another die? Would it be by my word, or by my hand?

  An idea hatched in my mind. I knew what answer I should have given: I should have refused. Yet, despite this rationality rumbling on in my mind, part of me thought otherwise. Even hope gives way to sense, and I knew it would not simply stop that easy. I wanted to leave, but knew I could not. I wanted to find out.

  "I know of someone," I said, buying time. Who would I be willing to put on the line? Who is a man who acts as a leech on my life?

  And, although I knew that I should refuse, I could not. At first I could not grasp why such a horrific notion would overcome me, a situation I had seen many times before now and had been repulsed by and yet, now that it was in my hands, I could not walk away. Slowly the realisation sunk in: this was an opportunity. I had the opportunity to sabotage that which conspired against me. But could I ultimately place an innocents head on the gallows in aid of a greater good? I could, but only with the understanding that victim was no innocent, not really. With Lucius probing me for an answer I had to answer. Oh Christ I hate myself for even considering it. Lucius let out a hungry smile as he waited for the name. Harry looked worried, sinking further into his seat.

  "Do not be a fool," said Francis. "Do you truly wish for the end of another man to forever play on your conscience?"

  But Francis was wrong. I had sat here so long watching the others benefit from this so, so why not I? It would be only one name in a sea of many, and I had the perfect target: Arthur Shaw. His very existence threatened my company, so it made perfect sense.

  "And who will it be, may I ask?" Lucius prompted, cutting off Francis from his reasoning's.

  But was he worth death No, it was a stupid decision - and his death could only serve to incriminate myself anyway.

  But then who? Who else?

  There was nobody else. He was the only immediate person I could name close to me that I would be indifferent to their removal (present company notwithstanding). A part of me believed nothing would actually happen anyway. And if it did? Then I stood to reclaim what was rightfully mine. That which my Father had squandered.

  I said it slow and cautiously, as if the very name itself were a full stop and could never be reversed. "Arthur Shaw." There was no other I could think of. Nobody else. I told myself this over and over again, lying to myself in an attempt to make myself feel better. There is no other. Nobody else. There is no other. Nobody else.

  It was, after all, Godwin & Co, not Shaw & Co.

  He deserves it for what he has done.

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room. I could hear people shifting in their seats. I was a
ware Francis was looking my way - I could feel his eyes burning deep into me, but for whatever reason he did not argue further. He simply stood, shaking slightly at the waist, and slowly stood to leave the room, closing the door gently behind him.

  "Very well, Mr Shaw it is," spoke Lucius curiously, but did not ask me for more information. "Is our business concluded?"

  Nobody contested, and with that Lucius started to collect the cards. Up until then Lucius has known and understood all targets, but there is no way he could have known the reasoning behind mine. Did he just assume it was for gain? Yet, he did not ask me to expand. Nobody asked me for further details. Was this because nobody within that room was the murderer, or that they just wished to keep silent in order to not risk incriminating themselves?

  Lucius gestured to the door and we all stood and departed uniformly, leaving him to finish his drink.

  I pushed my way out into the foyer, weaving my way through the rabid crowd trying to make my way to the exit as fast as possible. I had no desire to stay in that place. I felt suffocated as the weight of my decision began to press against my mind. As I rushed through I heard an all too familiar voice call out to me, causing me to pause. My skin crawled. I turned to see that it was by none other than Gilbert, who stared at me in a perplexed sort of way.

  Said he, "It is interesting to find you here, of all places."

  I stood, wide eyed and unable to respond for a while. It was a few moments before I managed to swallow back my heart and speak. "I like a drink as much as the next man. Is it a crime?"

  "No, of course not, but I thought a man such as yourself would not look upon a crowd such as this for company."

  "Is there something wrong with this crowd?"

  "You know that is not what I mean. It is not your sort of crowd.”

  Before I had a chance to respond, a man called out from behind Gilbert. A short man with wispy blonde hair, who seemed to be almost completely round in figure. "By God Gilbert, is this not your partner in business?"

  Gilbert stepped to one side to let him near. "That it is. This is Eric Godwin - the son of my partner."

  The man looked at me as if studying me. "I have heard of you Mr Godwin - and of your endeavours. A shame that you have burdened Gilbert's duties."

  I went to retort, but Gilbert responded before I had the chance. "An unwarranted comment, Peter. I do not care much for your opinions. Eric is my business partner and I will not speak ill word against him. Perhaps he does not work as efficiently as his Father, but I am glad to have him as a colleague."

  "Ill word? The words do not even need to be spoken. I am far too aware of Mr Godwin's inactivity!" To this the man chortled to himself, and Gilbert merely stared at me as if to apologise on his behalf.

  Gilbert took me aside, away from the man who now turned to the remainder of his company to continue his laughter.

  He spoke, "What business is it you have with Lucius in that room of yours? I have seen you here a few times now."

  I said, "No business of yours, that is for certain."

  "In that case, let me offer you some advice: Lucius and his associates are not to be trusted. He has a reputation here - not a good one - and whatever he offers to you I suggest you do not take it for the man will have your hand off given enough chance."

  I thanked Gilbert, uninterested in his plea, and excused myself, continuing to try to move towards the exit. Although a part of me was thankful to Gilbert for his concern, his warnings came too late to deter me. Would they have succeeded if he had warned me earlier? Even I doubted that.

  He continued. "Listen, I wanted to apologise about the other day."

  "Lilly already apologised on your behalf."

  "Yes, but it was not her place to. Also, she did not explain why - and I feel the need to explain."

  The only thoughts running through my mind were ones of getting out of that club. Away from my Gilbert. Away from my guilt. "Gilbert, the only thing I want right now is the comfort of my own home. When we speak next you can apologise as much as you wish." With that I left with haste and ignorance for any further voices from the crowd.

  Gilbert was left abandoned in a sea of rowdy and drunken businessmen as I made for the door. The pangs of guilt overcame me as I sped through the exit. Was I a bad person? Would I pay for my decisions? Would I suffer any repercussions? I prayed that Gilbert would have that chance to apologise.

  I shifted out through the exit of the busy club, trying to look inconspicuous as I slipped back into the black of night. As I made my way from the club into the adjacent street a grasp upon my collar forced me up against a nearby wall.

  "What was that, Eric?!" screamed Francis. "Why did you give a name? What possessed you?"

  I stammered. What sort of defence did I have? I pried Francis grasp from my throat and pushed him away.

  “Francis, calm down,” I gasped.

  His grip tightened as he raised me up against the wall. "By doing these actions you are no better than the murderer himself, for you have put an innocent man on the line. I feel entirely culpable by assisting the financial deals. Choosing a victim, related or unrelated to our business is entirely immoral. You should not find it so easy to risk someone. What were you thinking? Was there no honesty in you when you said you wished to have no part of this?”

  Those last words in particular pierced me. “What could I do? To reject would only incriminate me.”

  “No, Eric. To walk away would incriminate you – but to reject, as I have done, appears to be acceptable. You know that. I think you have made a grave mistake tonight.”

  Francis spoke no more. His grip on me loosened and I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. I had no chance to respond, but Francis was done anyway. He stepped away from me and turned to leave, disappearing into the shadow of the night. I spent some time resting in the corner against that wall, wheezing, my throat burning raw.

  In the dark streets about me I could see the silhouettes of strangers shirking from all eyes. At first I assumed these figures to be the usual delinquents of the night, drunk and mumbling to themselves, but as I remained in unnerving silence I realised that they were not crooks at all, but officers of the night, policemen patrolling in hope of finding the elusive murderer.

  In the alley beyond Francis hovered underneath the grey skies for a short while. Although the clouds were heavy, there was no rain. He was staring at me, in anger or in pity I could not tell. Shadow clouded his face. Eventually he turned without further word and made his own path home. I did not call after him.

  I made my way home immediately without linger. I ran up the steps to my door, swung it open and closed it behind me. The silence of the house did little to make me feel safe. I threw my coat on the floor and stumbled inside, unsure of where to go and what to do. What is happening here? Do I simply sit by and let it happen?

  I stumbled into the living room, collapsing near the base of my armchair, making myself comfy on the floor. Hell ran down my spine. I had some time yet, He always killed a few days after the decision. Could I reverse it? I could hear Francis’ voice ringing in my mind.

  “You have made a grave mistake tonight.”

  My God, what had I done?

  Chapter XVIII

  I attempted to sleep, but found I could not. My mind was plagued with guilt and horror of the crime that was to be committed. After a short while of lying dormant and unable to sleep I decided that I would not waste the night and instead rise. I bathed and prepared myself for when the morning would come. Even though I had no work to attend to, I still made effort to dress proper. I thought, with no certain clarity, of what actions I could take, of which there were few. I could wait for the certain murder of Arthur Shaw or I could attempt to intervene. Knowing that would be wrought with guilt forevermore should I let the murder occur, I found myself committed to preventing what I had done.

  At first light I descended my stairs and exited into the streets. They were sparse, a few early risers on errands walked with purpose,
but little more. I made my way towards the building of Godwin & Co. As I had hoped, I found it desolate when I arrived, for even Gilbert did not wake at such an hour. I opened the shop with the key that once belonged to my Father, entered, and shut it and the world out.

  The place was quiet. Not even the slight whisper of pen against paper broke the silence. The entirety of the shop was dim, with the morning light only just beginning to peek through the windows and illuminate the floorboards.

  I had no time to linger, for I was unsure when Gilbert would arrive. I assumed not this early, but wished not to remain long enough to find out. I made my way immediately to the log books stacked against the walls containing details of our customers. Although Arthur Shaw was a blackmailer and a crook, I suspected that my Father would have been insistent on marking him as a customer, if not only to make the books reflect the loss.

  It took time, for there were many names scrawled in those tomes and Gilbert had done little to sort them following my Father’s absence, but eventually I found it. I tore the page from the book, placed it back down on the shelf and exited, locking up behind me committing the workplace back to stillness.

  I decided to purchase the most recent newspaper. I was, after all, yet to discover if my actions were all in vain. No murder glorified the cover and this was enough. It was entirely possible that it simply had not been reported by the police yet, but I could only act on what I knew. I returned home and waited for evening to come. He had never killed during the day and I saw no reason for him to start. My best chances of catching him out would be to be there when the attack occurs.

  Once evening came and the sun began to duck from the sky I set out once again. Arthur Shaw lived in the type of place one would imagine a wealthy man to do so. The façade of the grand terrace townhouse imposed itself upon the street below, acting every bit as smug and proud as its owner. I wasted no time in fear of it, instead hopping up the steps and clapping the knocker. By this time the sun had finally disappeared and many were in the street making their way from work.