The Detective Branch

by Andrew Pepper

  ‘That so?’ Culpepper was grinning. ‘In which case, next time you come, I’ll be ready and waitin’.’

  ‘I still want to know about the boys,’ Pyke said, taking another step towards Culpepper.

  ‘And like I told you, Detective Inspector, I didn’t know ’em, didn’t know a thing about ’em, except what I read in the papers.’

  Afterwards, Pyke wondered whether his next act had been somehow calculated or whether he’d simply wanted to hurt Culpepper. In the end, it didn’t matter. It was the suddenness of his movement which took Culpepper by surprise. Before the man could react, Pyke had grabbed a clump of his hair and slammed his face down against the hard surface of the table. He repeated this movement and heard the bridge of Culpepper’s nose snap, saw the blood leak on to the table. With air expanding in his chest, Pyke turned suddenly and walked towards the door. If the man standing there had held his ground or if any of them had drawn a pistol or challenged him, he might not have got out of there unscathed. As it was, they were all too stunned to do anything. By the time Pyke stepped on to the street, he could feel the veins corded in his neck.

  ‘Pyke.’

  Clare Lewis caught up with him. Her neck was red and mottled, her tone insistent.

  ‘I didn’t know you were in bed with a man like Georgie Culpepper, Clare. He’s an animal. He once hacked off another man’s head with an axe and stuck it on a pole.’

  ‘Exactly,’ she said, her whole face flushed with colour. ‘Even more reason why what you just did was stupid beyond belief.’ She shook her head. ‘You think you can just walk all over a man like George Culpepper in front of men who are supposed to fear him and not expect him to retaliate?’

  ‘He knew those boys, didn’t he?’ When Clare didn’t answer, Pyke said, ‘He knew them but for some reason he’s pretending he didn’t.’

  She stepped into the space between them and he could smell gin on her breath. It made him want to kiss her. ‘And that’s why you broke George’s nose?’

  ‘They were eleven or twelve years old when they died. Just children.’ Pyke waited. ‘As far as I know, they both worked for Flint. Even at the time, no one came up with a reasonable explanation as to why two dippers from the same swell mob should’ve been targeted by a religious lunatic.’

  Clare’s expression softened a little. ‘And you think George knows?’

  ‘He knows something.’ Pyke looked around and waited for a beggar to limp past. The air was cool and damp and he felt spots of rain on his skin. ‘How well do you know him, Clare?’

  ‘He’s a fair partner and he leaves me to run things the way I want to.’

  ‘He has the morals of a goldfish, Clare. He was brought up by a pack of wild dogs.’

  ‘It must be easy to judge everyone else, Pyke, when your own life is so beyond reproach.’

  ‘I’m touched by your sarcasm.’ Pyke smiled weakly. ‘What I did in there was light the fuse. Georgie knows something about those boys, I’m sure of it. My guess is he’ll want to talk to someone. Who knows? With a little prompting, that person might be you.’

  ‘Are you asking me to spy on him?’

  ‘Not in so many words. But if you were to hear something . . .’ Pyke hesitated. ‘Look, I could pay you.’

  He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Her back stiffened and there was a wounded look in her eyes. ‘For some reason, I never felt you thought of me as a prostitute.’

  Pyke watched her trudge back towards the tavern, trying not to think about the hurt he’d just caused.

  Walter Wells was waiting for Pyke in the main office of the Detective Branch, ahead of a meeting with Mayne they were both due to attend. He was pacing up and down, oblivious to Shaw and one of the clerks, who were sitting at their desks. As soon as Pyke walked into the room, the acting superintendent took him by the arm and led him into the corridor. ‘Just a word of warning, old man. Pierce has heard about your notion that Charles Hogarth was murdered; he’s also been told you’re trying to link it back to the investigation of the boys’ murder. I’m told he’s going to be at the meeting. He’s going to come after you with everything he’s got.’ Wells waited for a clerk to walk past them and added, ‘You need to tell me everything you know, if I’m going to be able to help you.’

  Pyke wasn’t surprised that Pierce was rattled or that he’d invited himself to the meeting. What did concern him was the speed with which Pierce had found out about his plans.

  ‘Someone who was at the meeting in the department yesterday must have gone straight to Pierce.’

  ‘Between the two of us, Mayne’s hopping mad. As far as he sees it, you’re stirring up trouble with no proof to support your claims.’

  They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, and as they started to climb the stairs, Pyke said, ‘By the way, you might want to look at a man called George Culpepper or one of his mob as the likely gunman in the murder of Sean Rafferty.’

  It had been meant as a casual remark, a bit of help to Wells, but the acting superintendent immediately stopped, turned to Pyke and hissed, ‘I, sir, have given you every support, even to the point where it’s harming my own standing with the commissioner. The very least I’d like in return is the opportunity to go about my job in the manner that I see fit.’ His face was hot and red, and without another word, he stormed up the stairs, leaving Pyke a few paces behind him.

  Pyke managed to catch up with him outside the commissioners’ offices. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Walter. It was just a piece of idle gossip. I thought you’d want to hear it, that’s all.’

  Wells gave him a grudging nod and the two of them entered Mayne’s office. Mayne was talking to Benedict Pierce.

  Even before Pyke had taken the chair provided for him, Mayne said, ‘Is it true, sir, that you have instructed your men to treat the death of Charles Hogarth as murder?’ The words shot off his tongue like bullets.

  ‘That is correct, Sir Richard.’

  Mayne had expected Pyke to deny this accusation and was momentarily flummoxed. ‘Even though the coroner has ruled otherwise and the man’s funeral has already taken place?’

  Pyke glanced over at Pierce, whose face was gleaming with anticipation. ‘Yes, in spite of all this,’ he said calmly.

  ‘Then your actions put you at odds with the law of this land and I have no choice but to suspend you from your duties.’

  ‘That would, of course, be your prerogative, Sir Richard, but before you come to a decision, perhaps you should look at this.’ Pyke reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, smoothed it out and handed it to Mayne.

  ‘And what in God’s name is this?’

  ‘It’s an affidavit sworn this very morning before Sir William Wightman, Justice of Her Majesty’s Court of Queen’s Bench. You’ll see that the signatory, Tom Challis, is a clerk at the office of the coroner for the County of Middlesex. He has sworn under oath to seeing, with his own eyes, marks or holes in the hands and feet of the deceased, Charles Hogarth, that could only have been caused by crucifixion.’

  Pyke looked at Pierce’s face. It told him all he needed to know. Lockhart hadn’t said a word to him. For so long now, Pyke had assumed that Lockhart was Pierce’s source in the department and now that no longer seemed to be the case. Who else could it be? Not Whicher. That just left Shaw - and Wells.

  Mayne stared at the document, seemingly not knowing what to do or say.

  ‘The onus is on the coroner to justify his original finding but sadly he is nowhere to be found. The same is true of the porter who apparently discovered Hogarth’s body in the first place. Both men live on their own but neither has been seen at their respective place of residence in over two weeks.’

  ‘What are you saying, Detective Inspector?’ Mayne stared down at the document in his hands.

  ‘Let’s consider the facts. Johnny Gregg was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of December 1839. Isaac Guppy was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of Dece
mber 1844. Stephen Clough was crucified ten days after Gregg on the thirteenth of December 1839. Charles Hogarth was crucified ten days after Guppy on the thirteenth of December 1844.’

  Pierce was on his feet. ‘We don’t know for certain that Hogarth was crucified and in any case, Detective Inspector Pyke has found no hard evidence linking these murders with the events of five years ago.’

  Mayne looked at Pierce. ‘Sit down please, Benedict,’ he muttered.

  ‘We’re not simply dealing with murder here,’ Pyke said, raising his voice a little. ‘What we have is a wilful attempt to conceal the actual cause of Hogarth’s death. The question we should be asking is why? My guess, for what it’s worth, is that someone didn’t want us to make a connection between Guppy and Hogarth. In other words, if we find how they’re linked, we’ll find out why they were killed. It also stands to reason that whoever wanted to keep Hogarth’s murder a secret has sufficient authority to influence the coroner’s decision.’ Pyke hesitated and said, ‘And perhaps a police investigation.’

  That was too much for Pierce. He turned to Mayne and exploded, ‘This man is pursuing a personal vendetta against me and the men who carried out that investigation.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Pyke said, ‘but it’s clear enough to me that the man who killed Guppy and Hogarth certainly is. What I’m proposing to do is to open up that investigation. To find out once and for all what took place and why someone feels sufficiently motivated to take out their anger on Guppy and Hogarth. Who knows? Perhaps there are others. Perhaps this man hasn’t finished.’

  Mayne slammed his fist down on his desk. ‘Enough.’ It was the first time Pyke had ever heard him raise his voice. He held up the document and said to Pierce, ‘Can you explain this to me, Superintendent?’

  Pierce tried to find something to say but the words wouldn’t come. Mayne went on, ‘Then it would seem I have no choice but to support Detective Inspector Pyke’s preferred plan of action.’ He swivelled in his chair and turned to Pyke. ‘But woe betide you, Detective Inspector, if you should choose to comment on this matter in public, at least until you’ve been able to ascertain exactly what happened. Do you understand? You’ve told your men. That’s fine. But you’re not to say a word about this to anyone else. And by that, I do mean anyone. If word gets out I’ll have someone bring me your head on a platter. I don’t think I’ll have to look hard for volunteers.’ With that, Mayne brushed the front of his hair with the palm of his hand and added, ‘That will be all for today, gentlemen.’

  Pyke caught up with Benedict Pierce at the bottom of the stairs.

  ‘You got the wrong man five years ago and I think you know it. I think you’ve known it all along.’

  Pierce smiled almost imperceptibly. ‘Excuse me, Pyke. I have a division to run.’

  Thrown by the man’s nonchalance, Pyke said, quietly, ‘In the past I thought you were just self-interested, the kind of man who’d do anything to ingratiate himself with his superiors. Now I think you’re wilfully corrupt.’

  As Pyke stood aside, Pierce leaned into him, so close Pyke could smell his breath, and whispered, ‘I’m going to break you.’

  EIGHTEEN

  A cold mist had descended on Islington by the time a hackney coach had left Pyke outside his house, its stagnant breath clinging to the pavements and the bare trees, so that you couldn’t see for more than a few yards. Perhaps this was why he didn’t notice her, at least until his key was in the front door. She called out his name and as he spun around, she removed the scarf from her head, long curls of black hair falling around her face as she did so.

  ‘How did you . . .?’

  Sarah Scott stepped into the light produced by the porch gas-lamp and smiled. ‘You’re not the only one capable of finding people.’ She was wearing a long black velveteen coat over what looked like an old smock.

  ‘Come in, please,’ Pyke said, turning back towards the front door, but her gloved hand caught him by the wrist and gently pulled him back.

  ‘Can we just take a walk to the end of the street?’

  Pyke looked at her smooth, dark skin, her plump, sensuous lips and her thick eyelashes. Ever since his trip to Suffolk, he’d tried, and failed, to visualise her. Now those memories came flooding back; the feel of her skin, the sharpness of her cheekbone, the brown flecks in her otherwise blue eyes.

  ‘How did you find me?’ he asked, joining her on the pavement. She was looking up at the house.

  ‘I followed you from Scotland Yard.’ She smiled breezily. ‘This is rather a grand home for a police officer, isn’t it?’

  Pyke decided to ignore the question. He started to walk and she fell in at his side. ‘What brings you to the metropolis?’

  ‘I was thinking about something you said to me when you visited the colony.’

  ‘Oh?’

  For a moment, Sarah stopped and toyed with the silver pendant attached to her necklace. ‘You said that if I believed Ebenezer Druitt was in some way responsible for the murder you told me about, the rector, then I should speak up.’

  ‘I also said I didn’t want to force you to do anything you weren’t ready to do.’

  ‘I know and it was sweet of you.’ As she spoke, he could see the air condense in front of her. ‘Come on, let’s keep walking. Otherwise we’ll turn into blocks of ice.’

  ‘After I visited you in Suffolk, I went to talk to Druitt in his cell at the Model Prison,’ Pyke continued.

  ‘I hope for your sake you escaped unscathed. That man has a way of infecting one’s thoughts.’

  Pyke took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, but he didn’t feel he had a choice. ‘Druitt intimated that you and he had been close . . .’

  He thought he saw her suck in her cheeks.

  ‘Before I knew him, I found him tolerable company. Most people did. As I said, he could be quite charming when he wanted to be.’

  ‘No more than that?’

  This time she turned and faced him, the anger in her expression almost palpable.

  ‘He would make you think that. It’s how he operates. Plants an idea in someone’s mind and lets it mushroom. It’s one of the reasons I parted with Brendan. Druitt managed to convince Brendan that he and I were lovers. The green-eyed monster did the rest.’

  ‘I take it he was lying?’

  Sarah glanced at Pyke, scowling. ‘Do you really need me to answer that?’

  Pyke walked on for a few yards. The light from the gas-lamp had been swamped by the mist. On one side of the street was a row of terraced houses, but now Pyke couldn’t even see their front doors. On the other side was an open field, but it had become a wall of darkness.

  ‘Tell me something,’ Pyke said, staring straight ahead. ‘When you were living at number twenty-eight Broad Street, did you ever come across a man called Morris Keate?’

  ‘Keate?’

  ‘He was a night-soil man. He was also fascinated by the Devil, I believe. He might have gone to see Brendan Malloy, to be exorcised.’

  ‘No, I don’t think I ever met anyone by that name.’

  ‘And you don’t remember Malloy mentioning him?’

  Sarah shook her head. Briefly Pyke told her about the two boys who’d been killed five years earlier. She told him she remembered the murders and asked why they were of concern to him now.

  ‘Morris Keate was tried and executed for killing those boys.’

  ‘And you don’t think he did it?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘One of the boys, Stephen Clough, was found nailed to the door of a stable that Malloy used as a venue for mass.’ Pyke hesitated and then told her that a City alderman had been crucified a couple of weeks earlier, on exactly the same date that Clough had died, and that Guppy had been murdered in the same manner, and on the same date, as the first boy.

  ‘I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with either Brendan or Druitt,’ Sarah said, when Pyke had finished.

  ‘Maybe nothing, but Malloy went to see the rector earlier
this year, to warn him that Druitt had foreseen his death. And don’t forget that the surplice the rector was wearing on the night he was killed turned up at number twenty-eight Broad Street. When I questioned Druitt about all of this, he professed ignorance at first but then, as I was leaving, he told me I should pay attention to the date of the rector’s death.’

  Sarah paused for a moment. ‘So you think Druitt knows who killed the rector?’

  ‘I’d say he wants me to believe there’s a connection between Guppy’s death and the murder of the boys.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Pyke shook his head. ‘Part of me thinks he’s just trying to cause mischief.’