by Andy Emery
As he rounded the corner, his growing foreboding crystallised into harsh reality. The cloud he’d seen wasn’t a meteorological phenomenon; it was a pall of acrid smoke issuing from the upstairs windows of the asylum. People ran out of the building, some covering their faces and spluttering. Several others sat or lay on the ground in the asylum’s forecourt. A blanket over one shape told its own story.
A small crowd of figures looked on at the chaotic scene. Several wore the institution’s uniform. Gedge spotted Demeter at the back of the group, pacing up and down, wringing his hands. He looked diminished and impotent.
The whistles Gedge had heard were blasts being issued by two police constables. One ushered the building’s inhabitants away from danger, while the other stopped the more foolhardy onlookers from approaching too close.
‘Lucas! Gedge! Over here!’
He wheeled round. Inspector Jack Cross dashed up to him. ‘Jack! What the hell’s happened?’
‘I don’t know any more than you can see with your own eyes. The constables and myself have only been here for twenty minutes.’
‘What about the fire brigade?’
Cross shook his head. ‘Good question. The nearest fire station’s at Liverpool Street, but the engines from there have been called to a major incident in the city. So we’re having to wait for crews from farther away. I’ve got more bobbies on their way, but God knows how much damage is going to be done before we can get this lot under control.
‘Some of the inmates have got out, but the fire seems to have started on the top floor, and when I got up close to the building I heard what sounded like a riot going on. I fear we’re going to have dozens of dead up there. Some of those violent bastards won’t be missed, but one way or another there’s going to be hell to pay. But what are you doing here? Levitt?’
Gedge nodded. ‘And he’s on the top floor himself. Look, Jack, I’ve got to get up there.’
‘If it were anyone but you, there’d be no chance. But as you can see, I’ve got nobody I can send with you. Just be careful. You’ve no idea what you’ll find up there, and I don’t just mean the possibility of getting burnt to death.’
Gedge grasped his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. ‘I can remember the route to Levitt’s cell from our visits here, but there were several locked doors on the way. I’ll need someone with a key.’
‘No problem. We’ll get one of the warders to give you a set.’
Gedge shook his head. ‘I’ve a better idea. Someone who knows all the nooks and crannies like the back of his hand.’ Gedge jabbed a finger in the direction of the pacing Demeter.
‘The director himself? You’ll find his former self confidence seems to have evaporated.’
‘I’ll see you back here shortly, hopefully with Levitt in my tender loving care.’
Cross had already turned away on seeing several more constables arriving to be allotted duties. Gedge strode up to Demeter.
‘Professor. We meet again.’
‘Gedge! What are you doing here? And at a time like this? My dreams are going up in smoke. This is all too much. I can’t—’
Demeter burst into tears. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve.
Gedge got a hold of his collar and jerked him close. ‘Listen, Demeter. It’s time to pull yourself together. You’re going to help me. Theodore Levitt. I need him, and he’s a special project of yours, isn’t he? He’s up there now, surrounded by smoke, flames, and dozens of other lunatics who may be running wild.’
‘And despite those dangers, you’re going up there? Only a true madman would do such a thing.’
‘Now you’re beginning to talk some sense, professor. You have the keys I’ll need to gain access upstairs, I’m sure. A master for the main door into the secure unit, and then individual keys for each cell, including Levitt’s. Is that it?’
‘Yes, yes. That’s correct. Here. You can have them.’ The professor removed a jangling key ring from his belt and handed it over. He pointed out the keys that Gedge would need.
‘Thank you. But before I go, just tell me something about the men who shared the secure unit with Levitt. There weren’t many of them, were there?’
Demeter suddenly showed an interest. ‘No. Only six, including Levitt. So-called Black Jack Mullan is probably the ring leader. He has a peculiar evil magnetism. Not intelligent, but a sort of animal cunning. He’s six feet six tall and nearly as wide.’
‘And the other four?’
‘There are two identical twin brothers, Thomas and Sidney Coker. From an old circus family. Both were trapeze artists, but there was something wrong with both of them, up here.’ Demeter tapped his head. ‘There were tales that got hushed up, things happening to some of the circus animals. A trail of mistreated or dead pets in the towns that the circus had visited. Their activities came to a head when they took a dislike to the clowns. Strung up one of the midgets from the high wire. Cruelty’s their thing. Both thin as rakes, but you can tell them apart as Thomas favours a moustache.
‘Old Augustus Yallop is, like Levitt, not a murderer, but some say he might as well be. He was a confidence man, praying, as they always do, on the weak and vulnerable. It’s claimed that more than one of his victims put paid to themselves in despair after they lost everything to his evil wiles. He’s about seventy. Who knows how many of those crimes he committed over the years.’
Gedge scowled. ‘It sounds like he’s a calculating criminal. Why is he in an asylum?’
‘About a year ago he started acting strangely. He was good with money, an excellent book keeper, and apparently worked for the Flynn gang. You know, the Banshees. But he frittered away his fortune, took up drinking and gambling, then burnt his own house down. That’s what led him to be sent here. Frankly, though, I have yet to identify which particular malady afflicts him.
‘Lastly there’s Edgar Brand. A former vicar, if you please. Known as “Rev” in here. He still wears a dog collar. Developed his own unusual strain of Christianity in his rural parish in Surrey, one that involved ritual blood sacrifice. Poisoned his curate for poking his nose in. Despite being mad as a hatter, he still has that aloof manner I associate with the more annoying clergy.’
Gedge smiled. ‘He’s holier than thou, you mean? Alright. Thank you for that information, Professor. I’m going in.’
Gedge strode up the entrance steps, past the amazed looks of the watching warders and asylum staff. The main doors stood open. Gedge passed through the small vestibule and flung open the inner doors.
Inside, a vacant reception desk sat in the centre of the entrance hall, with rows of offices either side. Many of the doors were wide open. One of the offices had been ransacked; there were papers and files strewn all over the floor. The door was marked by a sign in gold lettering: Professor Demeter.
He turned towards the central staircase that led up to the first floor.
Ominous noises filtered down from above: whoops of celebration, bangs and crashes, and the unmistakeable crackling of an established fire.
As he started up the stairs, a man came bounding down: a scrawny individual, his face as white as the grave.
‘Fraser!’ Gedge caught the man by the arm.
‘Let me go! For god’s sake!’
‘Not until you tell me what’s going on up there. I want to know about Theodore Levitt.’
‘Levitt? I couldn’t care less! I’ve got to get out of here! Let me go, ye bastard!’
Gedge wound the front of Fraser’s tunic tightly at his throat, half-throttling the man. ‘I just told you. I need to know what’s happening up there, in the secure wing. Now cough up, or you’re going nowhere.’
The warder’s eyes darted from side to side. ‘It’s madness. Black Jack Mullan somehow managed to get his hands on some keys. He must have started the fire. Several cells, bedding, all on fire. It’s spread. And he’s holding court in the middle of it all. He’s got several of them under his spell.’
‘Where are they, exactly?’
�
�All over. They’re rampaging about, burning as they go.’
‘Is this just some orgy of destruction, or is there something more sinister behind it?’
‘Are ye asking me to see inside their minds? That’s been difficult enough for the professor, never mind a common lackey like meself.’
Gedge thought for a second. ‘Are there any more warders up there? Are they in danger?’
The Scot let out a high-pitched squawk of a laugh. ‘Danger? What do ye think I was running for? Yes, there’s two more left up there. Faris and Ryan. They’re barricaded in a cell. Should be secure, but who knows? If that mob get their hands on ’em…’
‘I’m sure they appreciate your concern. Get going. Down the stairs. The police will take your statement.’
As soon as Fraser had disappeared below, a door crashed open somewhere above. Gedge flattened himself against the wall and craned his neck upward, as a vague shape appeared, looming over the bannisters. A second later, a bulky object was tipped over the railing, landing with a sickening thud in front of him on the stairs. In the second of silence that followed, Gedge heard the door shutting again above him, muffling the sound of laughter.
It was the body of a man wearing a warder’s uniform. His left leg and right arm lay at unnatural angles to his body. Two fingers and an ear were missing and he was covered in blood. It was obvious that he’d died before being pitched down the stairs. There was a badge pinned to his chest. He wiped the blood off it. Mr. C. Ryan. So, one more warder, the one Fraser had called Faris, was still up there with the inmates.
Cold-blooded murder. Finding out what had happened to Levitt was going to be twice as difficult now; he might be dead himself. Gedge drew the revolver from the poacher’s pocket inside his coat and crept up the stairs.
Two flights led to the first floor, with a landing between. He could easily be seen if anybody was watching from the floor above, so he flitted across the open space smartly, flattening himself against the wall, inching up the last flight of stairs.
28
He raised his head so he could just see onto the first floor at ground level, between the bannisters. Rubbish was strewn around, including numerous pieces of broken furniture. The smell of smoke wafted into his nostrils.
On one side, the door leading to the conventional prisoners’ wing was ajar, showing the interior ablaze. Tongues of flame licked their way out of the doorway and onto the landing.
Fortunately, the flames had not spread across to the secure wing, directly in front of Gedge. Presumably the inmates had keys, but so did he. He moved onto the first floor landing, treading lightly, checking for creaking floorboards. But the cacophony coming from beyond the closed door would have drowned out everything. Shouting, laughing, wood splintering, and—could it be?—the crazed tinkling of a piano’s keys. It was as if the door was a portal to some fantastic alternate realm, where a murderous bacchanalian orgy was taking place.
Gedge shook his head. It didn’t matter what was going on, he had to find Levitt. He was going in.
He slotted the brass key into the door and turned. He eased the door open by a few inches and looked inside. The central hall was flanked by six cells, all with open doors. Again, rubbish was littered everywhere: empty beer bottles, clothing, broken furniture.
The open area in the middle was probably used as a recreational space for the limited times the inmates were allowed out of their cells; that would explain the presence of the piano. A ginger-haired fellow wearing a dog collar hammered at the keys with a serious expression on his face. Evidently, this was ‘Rev’ Brand.
A huge man sat on an enormous armchair that might as well have been a throne. He had close-cropped hair and bare, tattooed arms like ham shanks. ‘Black Jack’ Mullan. He was laughing uproariously at the individual facing him across a small table. A man in a warder’s uniform—Faris—was tied to a chair with his wrists lashed to the tabletop. Mullan ordered him to keep his fingers spread out as he stabbed a dagger into the gaps between them. Gedge had seen this game before, and he knew that at some point either Faris would flinch or Mullan would misjudge, and a finger would be stabbed. Mullan would then probably carry on until he had a full set.
Also seated, chuckling, hurling imprecations at Faris and swilling beer from bottles, were two stringbeans who could only have been the Coker brothers. Neither Levitt nor the elderly confidence man Yallop were in the room.
The little group formed an absurd tableau which could explode into violence at any time, inevitably ending with the death of Faris.
Not if Gedge could help it.
He advanced on them, wondering how far he could get before they noticed. Only a yard, as it turned out. Mullan’s face twitched towards him, the black eyebrows raised, like greasy slugs above the widening eyes. A snarl fell from his dribbling lips.
‘We’ve got company, boys!’
The Cokers leapt up from their chairs and the former Vicar stopped his tinkling, an annoyed expression on his face, as if someone had interrupted one of his sermons. The warder Faris stared desperately at Gedge.
Gedge spoke evenly. ‘Hello, gentlemen. You’ve been causing a bit of a commotion up here. People are worried about your safety.’
Mullan released a loud guffaw, letting rip with an explosive fart at the same time. ‘And well they might be! It’s gettin’ a bit hot up here, eh, lads? Still, only ourselves to blame. But tell us who you are, stranger, to be addressin’ us in this manner. Not seen you before. For all we know, you’re another inmate. One of us. You look mad enough. Eh, lads?’
Brand and the Cokers cheered their assent.
‘Well, I’ve been here a couple of times, Mr Mullan. But as a visitor. And it’s the man I was visiting that I’m here to find now. His name is Theodore Levitt, and he was in the secure unit with you gentlemen. Where is he now, please?’
While Gedge was speaking, Brand and the Cokers approached to within a few feet. Brand had armed himself with a splintered chair leg, and the brothers brandished bottles. Mullan remained perched on his throne.
Sidney Coker spoke, snarling. ‘Why should we tell you anything? I see you’ve got a gun. Well, there’s four of us, and we’re real mad. That’s what they say. Maddest of the mad. Worse than all the rest of ’em in ’ere. We don’t care, see. You can kill one or two of us, but not all four. So why don’t you bugger off and let us carry on enjoying ourselves, eh?’
Gedge shrugged. ‘Well, in a way, we’re more similar than you realise. I’ve seen things that you four could never imagine, for all your so-called madness. Depravity, torture, murder, war. Perhaps I just don’t care, either. But as I told you, I’m here to find Levitt. There’s no need for violence. It’s up to you. I just want to make you aware of the risks.’
That did it. Brand launched an assault, with a religious zealot’s mania in his eyes. He drove the jagged end of the chair leg towards Gedge’s stomach, towards the spot where he’d been stabbed by the Death Dog the previous day. Gedge wanted to avoid shooting if possible; he parried the maniac’s blow then kneed him in the groin. The fallen vicar collapsed in agony.
The two Cokers were on him. Moustachioed Thomas leapt on Gedge’s back, locking one arm round his throat and reaching for his gun hand with the other. Sidney jabbed at him with a broken bottle. Gedge clenched his teeth against the pressure around his neck, and wrenched his right arm away from Thomas’s grip. This was no time to enforce his no-shooting policy, and he fired, hitting Sidney in the arm and causing him to drop the bottle and reel away.
With his full concentration on the man on his back, Gedge flexed downwards, pivoted forward at the waist, and put all his energy into hurling him over his shoulder. Thomas sailed through the air, landing on top of his brother. As he made to get up, Gedge brought the butt of the pistol down on the back of his neck, knocking him unconscious.
As he straightened up and got his breath back, Gedge realised Mullan was still there in his seat, watching. But he now had a gun of his own aimed at Gedge.
/> ‘Well done, matey. You’ve left those three in a heap on the floor and no mistake. But I always knew they were amateurs. Not like old Black Jack here.’
Gedge studied the weapon in Mullan’s hand. It was a peculiar, crude-looking gun, like a child might make. It was about a foot long, a simple piece of wood, with a metal tube extending from the business end and a simple trigger with no guard, and no stock at the rear.
‘I see you’re wondering how I got hold of this little beauty in a secure establishment like this. Well, there’re some clever men in here. Good with their hands. Woodwork, metalwork, bit of background in taking guns apart. Between a few us, we made it during those workshops they lay on, supposed to help with our madness. Easily hidden, you see, in its component parts.’
Gedge stole a glance at the warder Faris. He had crawled away to the wall and was watching their exchange with apprehension.
‘Very impressive, Mr Mullan. But I say again. I only want to find Levitt. Where is he?’
‘Not sure I know, mate. Him and old Augie Yallop went back into Levitt’s cell for a chat some twenty minutes since. Still there, I suppose.’
Levitt’s cell was down a short corridor behind Mullan.
‘Why did Yallop want to talk to him?’
‘No reason I should tell you anything, but I’ll humour you for now. I don’t know the reason, but Yallop’s as cunning as a wagon-load of foxes. He’s probably got his eye on some scheme that Levitt’s accidentally let on about. Now he thinks we might get out of here and he’s already got his mind to business. Comes from doing all that work with the gang.’
Gedge feigned ignorance. ‘What gang?’
‘Oh, the Irish lot. The Flynns. Call ’emselves the Banshees now. Old Yallop used to do a lot for them. Fiddling the books, greasing palms. Anything bent that doesn’t involve the strongarm stuff.’
‘I see. That only makes it more urgent that I find Levitt. So you need to get out of my way, Mullan.’
The big man laughed again. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got you covered. Your revolver’s at your side. You can’t possibly be quick enough to get off a shot before I do. And there’s a big old bullet in the chamber of this thing.’
