Constable & Toop

by Gareth P. Jones

  Sam thought about Tanner. He had still been angry when he had met him on the hill because of Mr Sternwell and the will. He had calmed down now. With the clarity of hindsight he could see that Tanner had not been asking for a favour for himself. He was trying to prevent that strange black substance from spreading, and yet Sam had turned him away. Sam had always seen his ability as a burden to be borne, but what if it was also a gift to be used? What if he could make a difference, not just to the dead but to the living too? Mr Sternwell had betrayed Sam’s trust, but Sam could not allow one betrayal to destroy his trust in others.

  He looked down the hill towards the distant skyline of London and resolved to speak to Mr Constable about taking the rest of the afternoon off. He had to find the boy Tanner.

  49

  Breaking In

  The Central Records Library was situated behind a brown door on the twenty-second floor of the Bureau. Lapsewood had held a post as librarian’s assistant there when he had first began work at the Bureau, so he knew that providing he acted quickly and confidently, it was possible to get out with the list without arousing suspicion.

  The problem was getting in.

  Outside the door stood an Enforcer with half his head missing, revealing a brain that had not been especially large even when it had been complete. Lapsewood and the Marquis peered round the corner at him. Hoofmarks on what remained of his face indicated that he had been trampled to death.

  ‘We can’t get past him without permission papers,’ said Lapsewood.

  ‘I will distract him,’ said the Marquis. ‘As soon as you see his back turned, turn to Ether Dust and slip through the door.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Lapsewood asked, nervously wondering whether the Marquis was any more adept at getting into places than he was at breaking out of them.

  The Marquis smiled and winked. ‘I have a few tricks up my sleeve.’

  ‘But if he discovers that you’re a Rogue ghost you’ll be taken straight back to the Vault.’

  ‘True. Valour requires jeopardy, my boy. For when the jaws of danger snap—’

  ‘Again, shall we save the speeches?’ Lapsewood interrupted.

  ‘Yes,’ said the Marquis. ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  The Marquis pushed back his shoulders, puffed out his chest and marched around the corner. ‘Stand to attention when your superior approaches,’ he barked.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the Enforcer, saluting.

  ‘That’s better. Now, I have some rather good news for you, Enforcer . . . er . . .’

  ‘Bloom, sir. Enforcer Bloom.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said the Marquis. ‘We in upper management are on a recruitment hunt. We’re looking for fresh talent to move up the ranks. And you, Bloom, have come to our attention.’

  ‘Have I, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes. How long have you been guarding this door now?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir.’

  ‘During your time you’ve shown aptitude, initiative, intuitive instincts and exceptional cognitive reasoning.’

  ‘Really?’ asked the Enforcer, scratching an exposed part of his brain.

  ‘You have. How do you feel about a nice comfortable desk job?’

  ‘I like this job, sir.’

  ‘Standing in front of a door? That’s no role for a man of your abilities.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’

  ‘No, and besides, this is an order from on high.’ The Marquis spoke sternly. ‘If you have a problem with the decision you can take it up with Admiral Hardknuckle. Now, run along. I’ll stand guard of the door until your replacement turns up.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Come on, man, get a move on before I have you court-martialled for disobeying an order.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Enforcer Bloom did as he was told. He marched around the corner and walked straight into Lapsewood. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

  ‘No, no, it was my fault,’ replied Lapsewood.

  Enforcer Bloom hurried down the corridor and Lapsewood joined the Marquis. ‘That was excellently done,’ he said.

  ‘When it comes to deception one must pander to the target’s vanities. Give them no opportunity to question the assertions you make. For it only takes—’

  ‘Marquis,’ interrupted Lapsewood. ‘It won’t take him long to discover there’s no desk job waiting for him.’

  ‘Very true. I’ll remain here while you go in.’

  The Marquis opened the door and, with a short nod of gratitude, Lapsewood stepped inside the Central Records Library.

  50

  Sam and Tanner

  Sam had made the decision to go in search of Tanner, but how was he to find him? Luckily, Sam had spent enough time amongst the ghosts of London to know who to ask. Still dressed in black from the funeral he took the bus to the city, where he found the three victims of the fire of London sitting at the base of Christopher Wren’s monument. The most horrifically burnt was a man called Pertwee, who, in spite of his appearance, was an extremely charming, friendly fellow.

  Sam had once helped Mr Pertwee by passing on a message to his descendents regarding a mistake in the secret family recipe for balm cakes. Mr Pertwee was on good terms with a good many ghosts due to having died with a pack of cards in his hand, meaning he had plenty of visitors from those in search of a good game of whist. Sam supposed that if he had the rest of eternity with nothing to do, he might want a diversion such as a game of cards. They all talked when they played, making Mr Pertwee a useful source for any information. Taking him to one side, Sam described Tanner to him. Mr Pertwee told him that he had been seen for the past couple of days up Seven Dials way.

  The sky was darkening by the time Sam reached the Seven Dials. Large spots of rain were landing in the road when Sam spotted Tanner step out of a pub.

  ‘Tanner,’ he said.

  The boy turned and looked at him. ‘Why, if it ain’t the Talker who don’t like to talk.’

  ‘Can we speak somewhere privately?’ asked Sam. He said it quietly but was heard by a passing woman who threw him a dirty look and hurried on her way.

  ‘I suppose,’ said Tanner. He led him to an alleyway. It stank so badly Sam almost gagged.

  ‘You’ll have to be quick,’ said Tanner. ‘I’m expecting someone.’

  ‘I wanted to apologise,’ said Sam. ‘I’ve come to offer my help.’

  ‘What’s brought this on?’

  ‘What you said. About the Black Rot. I felt it that night. It got inside of me. Rector Bray wouldn’t even enter that church. You were right. It affects us all. It has to be stopped.’

  ‘All this happened before I came to see you. Why the change?’

  ‘I think I’m supposed to help you,’ Sam said slowly.

  ‘Supposed?’

  ‘Yes, I think perhaps that’s my purpose.’

  ‘You’re losing me now, sunshine.’ Tanner grinned. ‘You had some kind of vision or something? God appear on the back of a white goat telling you to fulfill your destiny?’

  ‘No, it’s not like that. It’s just—’

  Tanner interrupted. ‘Because you’re not the only Talker in the world, you know.’

  ‘I know, but it’s not that common, is it? When we first met you said me being the son of an undertaker explained why I could see you. There are plenty of undertakers with plenty of sons and daughters who aren’t Talkers. Why me?’

  ‘I suppose you’re just lucky, ain’t you?’

  ‘Lucky!’ exclaimed Sam. ‘All my life I’ve lived with the knowledge that I’m different to everyone else. I’ll never be normal. It’s not lucky.’

  ‘Listen, we’ve all got our problems.’ Tanner looked around nervously.

  ‘I’m trying to tell you I want to help,’ stated Sam.

  ‘Yeah, well, you’re too late. I’ve got someone helping me. And he didn’t have to wrestle with his conscience before saying yes. He’s helping me and I’m helping him.’

&nbs
p; ‘Who?’

  ‘Your uncle.’

  ‘Jack?’ said Sam, aghast.

  ‘Yeah, Jack.’

  ‘He’s a murderer.’

  ‘It may have escaped your notice, but I’m already dead.’

  Sam tried to take it in. ‘Jack’s getting ghosts into houses for you?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s doing that for me while I spy on some old fella in this pub for him.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be mixing with people like him.’

  Tanner laughed. ‘I mixed with people like that my whole life. It’s what you have to do when you’re born with nothing. Only now they can’t hurt me no more and I’m using him rather than the other way round.’

  ‘Jack will only bring you trouble,’ said Sam.

  ‘Listen here, your uncle Jack’s doing good work for me. If you don’t believe me, go to Aysgarth House off Fleet Street. That was an infected house before Jack persuaded a ghost to enter. Now it’s all right. I ain’t under any delusions about Jack’s character but I told you, he’s working for me as much as I’m working for him.’

  ‘How’s he getting them in?’

  ‘Who cares.’ Tanner shrugged. ‘Probably with tricks and deceit like what you would have done. He’s going to be here any second, so unless you’re after a family reunion I suggest you scarper.’

  Sam had no desire for an encounter with Uncle Jack in this stinking dark alley, so without another word he turned and fled.

  51

  The Kitchen Killer

  Detective Inspector Savage beckoned the young police constable to enter his office. ‘What is it, Sidmouth?’ he asked.

  ‘There’ve been two more, sir,’ replied the constable.

  ‘I’m not a mind reader, Sidmouth. Two more what?’

  ‘Two more murders like the one in the house off Fleet Street. That’s five in total.’

  ‘You mean, five street urchins killed?’

  ‘No, sir. Three children, a lady of ill repute and an elderly drunk.’

  ‘So in what way were they similar?’

  ‘All the bodies were dragged into residential buildings after they were killed.’

  Constable Sidmouth had Inspector Savage’s full attention now.

  ‘Anything taken?’ asked Inspector Savage.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What was the method of death?’

  ‘The same. A throat slit by a sharp blade.’

  ‘That’s how Heale was killed,’ said Inspector Savage.

  ‘Heale wasn’t dragged anywhere, though, was he?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But it makes you wonder if Jack Toop isn’t behind all this. Not content with killing one of our own he’s now gone on a killing spree. He’s mocking us with these murders. He’s challenging us.’ Inspector Savage banged his fist down on the desk.

  ‘That name, sir – Jack Toop,’ said Sidmouth.

  ‘What about it?’ snapped Inspector Savage.

  ‘I don’t understand where it came from. We’ve no records of a man of that name ever being arrested. There were no notes as far I can tell. How can you be so sure that’s the name of the man we’re looking for?’

  ‘I have a reliable source,’ said Inspector Savage irritably. ‘You’re a young man, Sidmouth. Don’t go thinking you know everything yet, because you don’t.’

  ‘Some of the lads are calling him the Kitchen Killer,’ said Sidmouth.

  ‘I’m sure the newspapers will appreciate their help, but it isn’t our job to name these people. It’s our job to catch them. It is up to us to find Jack Toop and put a stop to this trail of murder.’

  ‘You think he’ll strike again, sir?’

  ‘I have no doubt, Sidmouth. If Jack Toop has declared war on all of us, it’s time for us to retaliate.’

  ‘But we don’t even know what he looks like.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty out there who do. I’ll see Jack Toop swing for this if it’s the last thing I do.’

  ‘If he is the Kitchen Killer, sir.’

  ‘Stop using that name, Sidmouth. We start giving these animals titles and they’ll start believing they’re important.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  52

  Fresh Blood

  In a small, quiet courtyard off Fleet Street Sam found the house Tanner had mentioned. A plaque next to the door read aysgarth house. He wanted to understand how Jack was fulfilling his half of the bargain. To do that he had to speak to the ghost inside that house. He climbed the stairs and knocked on the door. The rain had grown steadily heavier since Seven Dials and Sam’s black funeral attire was soaked through.

  An elderly butler answered. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m here about the chimneys,’ said Sam.

  The butler looked him up and down. ‘You don’t look like a chimney sweep,’ he said. ‘Besides, we have a contract with Mr Compton to clean our chimneys.’

  ‘Yes, that’s who I work for. He said to meet him here.’

  ‘The chimneys aren’t due for cleaning this week,’ said the butler.

  ‘This is Aysgarth House, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is.’

  Behind him a man’s voice said, ‘Who is it, Hopkins?’ A smartly dressed man appeared, clearly superior in status to the butler from the confidence in his voice and the way the butler stepped out of his way.

  ‘He says he’s due to meet Mr Compton the chimney sweep here, Mr Tiltman, but Mr Compton is not due here today,’ replied Hopkins.

  ‘He definitely said to meet him at Aysgarth House,’ said Sam. ‘But if he’s not inside I’ll wait outside for him. Sorry to bother you.’ He turned round.

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mr Tiltman. ‘It’s pouring with rain. You can come and wait in the drawing room. I’m sure Mr Compton has just got mixed up and will be here presently.’

  ‘But, sir,’ started the butler.

  ‘What?’ asked Mr Tiltman.

  ‘You know how Mrs Preston and your wife feel about visitors since . . . the incident.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense. They wouldn’t have me turn away this polite, if rather soggy, young man to catch his death while waiting in the rain.’ He turned to Sam. ‘What’s your name, lad?’

  ‘Sam Toop, sir.’

  ‘You’re not planning to gain entry to rob or murder us, are you?’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  Mr Tiltman laughed. ‘I didn’t think so. Hopkins, the day we lose our humanity because of actions by those who have lost theirs is the day that we may as well give up. Come on in, Sam Toop.’

  Hopkins opened the door wide and Sam followed Mr Tiltman through the hall into the drawing room.

  ‘So you’re learning the trade from Mr Compton, are you?’ asked Mr Tiltman, who had a disarmingly friendly nature and raised eyebrows that implied the world was endlessly amusing.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Sam.

  ‘I think this may be the last time he cleans these chimneys for us.’

  ‘You have a new contract?’

  ‘No, we are to move.’

  ‘Why would you move from this house?’ asked Sam, looking around admiringly.

  ‘I would not but my wife would,’ replied Mr Tiltman. ‘Which, if you know anything about marriages, means I would also. She wants to move us to the suburbs and condemn me to a life of train journeys to and from my work in the city. I’ve no idea where yet, but I imagine my estate agent will find somewhere suitably ghastly.’

  ‘Honor Oak is pleasant enough, and well positioned for such a journey.’

  ‘Is that true? I shall mention the name to my man. Anyway, at the risk of appearing rude, I have some work I must attend to. Do you mind if I leave you dripping here until your master arrives?’

  ‘That’s fine. Thank you for letting me in. I’m sure he won’t be long.’

  ‘Very well. Nice to make your acquaintance, Sam Toop.’

  Mr Tiltman closed the door behind him, leaving Sam alone in the room. Sam wondered that a man with such a house could be so trusting and not assume he mi
ght steal some ornament then make his escape. He walked to the door and listened for footsteps. He didn’t want to betray Mr Tiltman’s trust, but he needed to find the ghost.

  ‘You’d better not be planning on stealing nothing from this house. This family have been through enough as it is,’ said a voice behind him.

  He turned to see the ghost of a ragged little girl standing behind him.

  ‘I’m not going to steal anything,’ said Sam.

  In different circumstances Sam might have laughed at how the girl jumped as she realised that he had heard what she said. ‘You can see me?’ she said, astonished.

  ‘My name is Sam. I’m a Talker.’

  ‘I’m Emily. What’s a Talker?’

  ‘It means a living person who can see and hear the dead. How did he get you in here?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The man who got you into this house. How did Jack persuade you to enter?’

  ‘You know his name? You know that man’s name?’

  ‘Yes. He’s my uncle. How did he convince you?’

  ‘He didn’t convince nor persuade me,’ said Emily. ‘He slashed my throat and dragged me in.’

  Sam’s eyes were drawn to the slit in Emily’s throat. He had to steady himself as Emily’s words sunk in. He remembered Jack showing him his knife, with its sharp blade and stained handle. He remembered Inspector Savage talking of his previous victim having his throat cut. It was suddenly extremely clear what was happening. Jack was using Tanner for something and in return he was filling infected houses, but Jack wasn’t negotiating with ghosts. He hated talking to ghosts. Jack was taking innocent people off the street and murdering them. He was killing them for their ghosts.

  Emily was talking. She wanted to know why she had died, but Sam didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t bring himself to utter anything other than, ‘I’m so sorry . . .’

  ‘Father?’ The voice came from the hallway. The door opened and another girl stepped in, this one very much alive. The girl’s hair was as short as a boy’s. She had large hazel eyes and was undoubtedly the most beautiful thing Sam had ever set eyes on.