Den of Thieves

by William Holden

  “Thank you.” She took a sip. “I went to my neighbor across the street and asked him to fetch Mr. Wilcox, just as you asked.”

  “How long before Mr. Wilcox arrived?”

  “It was no more than an hour.”

  “And your neighbor’s name?” Pierre questioned.

  “Mr. Bromley. Alexander Bromley.”

  “Did Mr. Bromley contact the coroner as well?”

  “I doubt it. Mr. Bromley seemed quite out of sorts when I imposed upon him to fetch the magistrate. He is not the type of person to go out of his way for anyone, and since I did not specifically ask for the coroner…no, I am quite sure he was not the one.” She looked at Pierre then at me before proceeding. “Mr. Wilcox came alone. He was here for no more than a few minutes before the coroner arrived.”

  “And you have no idea who notified the coroner?” I asked.

  “No, though I thought it was strange that Mr. Wilcox did not seem surprised to see him. They just nodded and gave each other one of those knowing glances.”

  “Then what happened?” Pierre continued.

  “The coroner inspected my husband. He said he expected a blow to the head was the cause of death, but he wouldn’t be able to confirm that until he took the body back to the dead house for further examination. Mr. Wilcox assisted in getting my husband’s body on the wagon, then the coroner just drove away with Franklin.” Her voice quivered. She inhaled a fresh round of grief and dotted her eyes to dry them.

  “Did you question either of them as to why the body was being moved before the inquest?”

  “Mr. Wilcox told me it was not my place to question him or his ways of conducting business.” She took another sip before continuing. “He asked me for an inventory of what was in the coffer and proceeded to instruct me on how much of a reward I should offer.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I did as you asked. I thanked the magistrate for his suggestions and told him I could afford at most twenty shillings. Even the thought of taking that sum of money from anyone, especially you, Mr. Baptiste, well it leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth.”

  “Do not worry about it. It is better to come from me, than from that bastard.” Pierre spat. “Pardon me, Mrs. Reid.”

  “Please, it is not like I have not said worse about him myself.”

  “Did he question any of your neighbors or make any inquiries about your husband’s death?” I asked. A twitch of nerves rattled my body as the true nature of Mr. Wilcox’s trade was becoming more apparent. For the past year, Pierre warned me repeated times of his treacherous ways, and while I knew Pierre would never lie to me, it was not until Mrs. Reid retold her story, did the realization come to me of what I would be up against if Mr. Wilcox ever called in my debt. A shiver trickled down my back and brought goosebumps to my skin.

  “After being told it was not my place, I felt it best not to question anything. The last thing I want is to be on Mr. Wilcox’s list of troublemakers. For all I know, I would be the next corpse being taken to the dead house.”

  “Mrs. Reid, you know I have no patience for the man we call the magistrate, but even I have a hard time believing he is a murderer.”

  “As I mentioned last night, the man is evil. He does not have a soul. He knows something about my husband’s death. I am convinced of it.”

  “You keep insinuating Mr. Wilcox’s involvement. What are you not telling us?”

  “He said there was not going to be an inquest into Franklin’s death.”

  “Why? Inquests are required of all suspicious deaths.”

  “Precisely my point, Mr. Baptiste. Mr. Wilcox believes my husband’s death was an accident. He said there was blood on the corner of the table. He is writing it up that Franklin fell and hit his head. He is hiding something, Pierre. Please, you must help me.”

  “Of course, we shall help.” Pierre patted my leg. I saw Mrs. Reid blush and bow her head as if she saw something she was not supposed to. “There is one good thing in all of this.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “Without an inquest, we are free to investigate. We do not have to worry about crossing any legal boundaries. I think it is time we check in with the neighbors, Thomas.” Pierre stood.

  “I am still in the dark as to why Mr. Wilcox or the coroner would not want a formal investigation.” I stood as well. “Especially given the fact it provides us with the ability to conduct an investigation ourselves.”

  “I tell you he is involved,” Mrs. Reid repeated as Pierre helped her up. “The man is the devil himself. You must put a stop to him.”

  “Mrs. Reid,” Pierre patted her hand. “We shall do what we can to solve your husband’s murder, but tell me, was mine or Thomas’ name mentioned last night?”

  “No, I did as you asked and kept you out of what little conversation I had with the man.”

  “Thank you. The less the magistrate knows of our business, the better. One last question if you do not mind.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Have you given any more thought as to whom might have known about the coffer?”

  “No, I am sorry, there is no one.”

  “Did anyone know you and your husband were planning on attending the hanging?”

  “My husband and I are…were not the social type. We shared pleasantries on the street with our neighbors but not much else. Why do you ask?”

  “No reason just curious. Now, if you will excuse us we do not wish to take up any more of your time.” Pierre leaned in and kissed her cheek. “We shall be in touch soon.”

  “Thank you.” She patted Pierre’s hand then reached for mine. She kissed my cheek then whispered, “He is a good man, Mr. Newton.” She winked then let go of my hand. I smiled and nodded my agreement. “Oh, I almost forgot one thing.”

  “Yes,” Pierre said as he turned around.

  “There was something else taken during the burglary. I had not noticed until this morning. I do not know why anyone would steal it. It is not worth a thing that I know of.”

  “What is it, Mrs. Reid?” I pushed with too much eagerness.

  “A mask. It hung over there.” She pointed to a faded spot on the wall across the room from the settee.

  “What sort of mask?” Pierre asked.

  “One of those fancy-dress masks. There is a name for it, but it is escaping me.”

  “Can you describe it?”

  “It is white, more of a dirty white I guess. Square along the top and sides.” She used her hands to outline the shape around her head. “At the jaw, the mask falls out into a sharp point covering the mouth and chin.”

  “Are you talking about a Venetian Bauta?”

  “Yes, that is it. Oh, and the flat exaggerated nose.” She shivered. “I found the thing hideous and terrifying, but Franklin loved it so. The only value in the mask was sentimental. I do not know why anyone would bother stealing it.”

  “To hide their identity, especially if they saw Mr. Reid in the living room.”

  “But why not leave it behind. It is not something you could pass off in public in the city. I am sorry, Mrs. Reid, thank you for your time. The mask gives us something to go on at least.

  “Take care, Mr. Baptiste, and you as well, Mr. Newton.”

  “Good day, Mrs. Reid.” I bowed and let myself out, catching up with Pierre on the street.

  “Care to enlighten me on what has you so distraught?”

  “Spitalfields, as you can tell, is not short on population. Remember I lived in this area to be close to the people who needed my services. These people have a difficult enough time putting food on the table much less have anything of value to store in a locked box. No one is going to burgle a home in this area, unless they know there is something inside worth taking.”

  “If the Reid’s had enough money and jewelry to keep locked away, they were not as poor as they made people believe. So, why were they living here?”

  “That is a good point, Thomas.”

  “So, we just ne
ed to work out who knew the Reid’s well enough.”

  “Right. Let us start with Mr. Bromley.” Pierre headed across the street. “The theft happened in broad daylight. Someone had to have seen something.” Pierre knocked on the door. I wiped sweat from my brow. The door opened.

  “Can I help you?” Mr. Bromley kept his foot against the other side of the door. Allowing less than an inch of open space in which to peer out at us.

  “Pardon our intrusion, I am Pierre Baptiste—”

  “I am aware of who you are, Mr. Baptiste. Again, how may I help you?”

  “My associate, Mr. Newton and I, would like a few words with you about the robbery and death of Mr. Reid.”

  “Shouldn’t this be left to the magistrate?”

  “Mrs. Reid has asked us to look into the matter for her.” Pierre removed his hat. “May we?”

  “Very well.” He sighed as if it was the greatest imposition to let us in. “I am not sure what you hope to gain by talking with me.” Mr. Bromley said as he shut the door behind us. He remained in the small, windowless hallway, indicating we were not going to be invited any farther.

  “How well do you know the Reid’s?” Pierre placed his hat in the crook of his arm.

  “Well enough to be polite when passing each other on the street but no more.” He lit a pipe and blew smoke over his head as he looked at us. “I know what you are getting at, Mr. Baptiste. The people in Spitalfields have enough trouble trying to survive; we certainly do not have the time nor the energy to nose our way into the private lives of our neighbors.”

  Mr. Bromley’s less than gracious demeanor started to annoy me. “Mr. Bromley, we are not insinuating you had anything to do with the events of yesterday, we are only trying to determine who…” I stopped myself from saying too much. Pierre had not mentioned the coffer, and if that was on purpose, I was not about to spoil his plan. I changed the direction of the conversation. “Did you go to the hanging yesterday?”

  “I did not, it was not my place nor my problem.”

  “As you were home, did you happen to notice anything unusual across the street?”

  “Mr. Newton, I can tell you are unaware of life in Spitalfields. They do not consider this the pit of London for nothing, the area is teaming with unusual activities, and odd characters twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. No one, even the street beggars can have the where-with-all to keep track of every oddity.”

  “We are well-acquainted with the livelihood of this area, Mr. Bromley. We are assuming, based on when Mrs. Reid was absent from the house, Mr. Reid was murdered sometime between ten and five yesterday afternoon. If you would answer Mr. Newton’s question in regards to your observations during this time, it would be appreciated.”

  “I have nothing to say, as I observed nothing.” He walked toward the front door. “The one time I left my home yesterday was around eleven in the morning. I needed a few things at the market. I was home by half past twelve.”

  “You did not go to work yesterday?” I said.

  “I work every day, Mr. Newton. My workshop is in the cellar, and therefore there are no windows for me to peer out of. I am cut off from most of the filth of life, and that is the way I choose to live.”

  “If I may ask, what is it that you do?”

  “I am a locksmith.” He opened the door and stood to one side. “Now, if there is nothing else, I have pressing matters that need my attention.”

  “Thank you for your time, Mr. Bromley.” Pierre bowed then replaced his hat. The door slammed shut before we had a chance to get to the edge of the street.

  “Well, he was of little use,” I said. “Where to now?”

  “Let us talk with the neighbors on either side of Mrs. Reid.” Pierre winked at me and bowed with his hand out for me to take the lead.

  “You are such a charmer.” I winked back. “If I could I would take you here and now.”

  “In this filth?” Pierre laughed.

  “I have fucked in worse conditions, and it was not love that made me do it.” I shook the sexual thoughts from my mind as I knocked on the door. I cleared my throat and straightened my overcoat as the door swung open.

  * * * *

  “How many people have we spoken to today?” I sighed with defeated exhaustion in our efforts. “I cannot believe no one has any information for us. Someone has to be lying.”

  “With Mr. and Mrs. Ames, nine.” Pierre must have seen the discouraged look I was sure was etched into my expression. He stopped and turned to me. “You are right. One, if not more of them, are keeping information from us.”

  “But why?”

  “You have to remember the folks here in Spitalfields are afraid of authority. They trust no one from the outside. That is why having my office here was so beneficial. They saw me as one of them.”

  “I do not understand. We are just trying to find out who murdered Mr. Reid.”

  “And there lies the problem. If it were a handbag, silver, or wig, they would be pointing fingers at everyone who passed, but this is murder. They are afraid if they say anything, whoever murdered Mr. Reid will come after them to keep them quiet.” Pierre pulled out his pocket watch. “It is three o’clock. We have been at this for nearly six hours, and we still have to get home and prepare for the dinner party.” Pierre touched my elbow, and we began to walk down the street, looking for a carriage to take us home. “We shall regroup tomorrow morning and see what our next steps should be. In the meantime, let us get home.”

  Chapter 4

  “What is our carriage doing here?” I asked the question more to myself than to Pierre as our hired Hackney carriage pulled up to Clapton’s and parked behind our carriage.

  “Perhaps, Christopher came back early so we could meet his parents.”

  “I wonder what they are like?” We waited without further comment until the coachman opened the door and assisted us out of the carriage. I handed the coachman his fare and nodded my gratitude, then turned my attention to Pierre. I opened the side door and stepped into the house. “Christopher?”

  “Mr. Baptiste.” Sheppard walked out of the kitchen with a warm, friendly smile.

  “It is good to see you, my friend.” Pierre laughed and opened his arms to Sheppard, who hesitated before stepping into Pierre’s arms for a brief hug and pat on the back. “Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

  “Always a pleasure to serve you, sir.” He turned his attention to me. “Ah, and Mr. Thomas. It is nice to see you as well, and in much better shape than when we last met.”

  “Sheppard, it is wonderful to see you again.” Before I could open my arms to embrace him, he reached out and took my hand and shook it. His white shirt was unlaced halfway down his body, exposing the smooth contours of his chest. His black hair, which I remembered short and well groomed, hung just past his shoulders and pulled into a ponytail. A few stray strands of hair fell over his face. He brushed them away and tucked the hair behind his ear. I could smell alcohol on his breath.

  “Ah, London must be treating you both well.” He stood back and eyed us both with a nod of approval. He raised his glass and finished off his drink. “I hope you do not mind, Mr. Baker said to make myself at home, and so I did. French brandy, Mr. Thomas. I see your taste in spirits match your taste in men, strong, well bodied, and satisfying.” He nodded toward Pierre. A smile curled at the corners of his mouth, then as quick as it formed, the smile quivered and disappeared. His demeanor changed. I realized the blush might not have been from embarrassment but rather anger at himself for his words.

  “Then Christopher is not here?” I questioned in hopes of changing the subject. “What about the carriage?”

  “Fate played a brilliant hand of cards this morning.” Shepard walked behind the bar. “Care to join me?” He did not wait for an answer before pouring brandy into three glasses. “I arrived just as Mr. Baker was about to leave to pick up his parents at the inn.” He handed us our drinks. “To being reunited.” He raised his glass. “I have done it
again, have I not? My apologies. I tend to get distracted in my thoughts. As I was saying, I offered to drive Mr. Baker, but he insisted I stay here with the carriage and wait for your return. He hired a Hackney carriage for the day. It seems there is some fancy-dress dinner tonight the two of you are attending, so he thought it best if I stayed here and at your service.”

  “Yes, and thank you for reminding us.” Pierre sipped his brandy. “We should consider getting ready. We cannot be late tonight. How are you with dusting wigs, Sheppard?”

  “It has been a while since I dusted, but I am sure the talent has not left me.”

  “No one said anything about having to wear a wig.” I interrupted. “I have not worn one in years, and I do not plan to start now.”

  “I do not like the thought of wearing one of those dreadful things any more than you, but the fact of the matter is simple, we are going to be welcoming a foreign dignitary. It would be inconsiderate of us not to be in formal wear tonight.”

  “There are no options in this, Mr. Thomas. You cannot go to such an occasion without your wig. Like it or not, you and Mr. Baptiste will be representing London. You never know when you will need the assistance of the Dutch. You want to make sure you are respectable in their eyes.” Sheppard finished off his drink. “I am glad to see living in London in such a comfortable home environment has not completely changed you, Mr. Baptiste.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Coming and going, here and there.” Sheppard waved his arms about, “never prepared for the next event, or meeting.” He laughed. “Your lack of preparedness was always one of your charms, for that reason I have water heated—” he sniffed the air and held a handkerchief to his nose “—and insist you bathe tonight. You must be at your most presentable when you meet Mr. Borgstrom this evening.”

  “You know about the Dutch dignitary?” I said.

  “Of course.” He bowed and walked toward the back stairs. “One would have to be living in complete isolation not to know of his extended stay in London. Sheppard looked at Pierre and raised an eyebrow.

  “Do you know why he has come?” I asked as we walked up the back stairs.