The Darker Arts

by Oscar de Muriel

  Madame Katerina emerged from the waiting room, escorted by two officers. She looked dwarfed between them, and even though she managed to keep her chin high, she could not help wincing at some of the abuse people shouted at

  her.

  Sheriff Blyth immediately cried for order, overpowering the crowd.

  ‘I will remind you all in the gallery,’ he boomed, pointing at the rows, ‘that this is a legal precinct. I will not tolerate any puerile remarks, indecent language or any form of disorderly behaviour.’ He then lowered his voice to a normal volume. ‘Administer the oath to this lady.’

  A clerk went to Katerina with a Bible, and as she took the oath, a man at the gallery shouted something I could not quite catch.

  Katerina turned in that direction, incensed.

  ‘Of course I know what the Bible is, you soiled imp!’

  ‘Order!’ cried the sheriff, making more than one audience member jump. He cast another murderous stare before looking at the paperwork. ‘What is your name, madam?’

  ‘Ana Katerina Dragnea.’

  Sheriff Blyth sneered blatantly at her. ‘Curious enunciation. Place of birth?’

  Katerina, to my surprise, blushed more than if asked the size of her undergarments.

  ‘Dumfries.’

  The room filled with thunderous laughter, only this time the sheriff let it die out naturally, himself unable to repress a smirk. ‘You certainly don’t sound from there.’

  Katerina was not amused. ‘My family didn’t mingle much with the Scots when I was young.’

  ‘I see. Now …’ the man read the documents with a growing smile. ‘Occupation?’

  Katerina interlaced her hands and lifted her chin a little more. ‘Trade.’

  The remnant laughter morphed into booing and whistling, which Sheriff Blyth did not tolerate. After silencing the mob, he leaned slightly forwards.

  ‘Can you be more descriptive, madam?’

  Katerina glanced at me, then back at the sheriff. ‘Brewer, mainly, my Lord. With a few businesses on the side.’

  Blyth raised his eyebrows. ‘Fortune teller, says here.’

  Katerina sighed, having to swallow her temper. ‘Yes … my Lord.’

  There were whispers and muffled giggles.

  ‘A fraudster, I see,’ said Blyth, making it clear it was not a question. ‘You are accused of the deaths of Mr Hector Shaw, his grandson Bertrand Shaw, Mr Peter Willberg, his niece Miss Leonora Shaw, as well as Colonel Arthur Grenville and his wife, Mrs Martha Grenville.’

  Half the courtroom gasped at the very mention of the colonel. I looked back to find the Gertrude woman pressing a handkerchief against her nose – most theatrically – and Walter Fox shaking his head, a hand on his mouth.

  ‘How do you plead?’

  All the voices dwindled, people holding their breaths and straining their ears. When Katerina gathered breath, she could be heard clearly up to the last row.

  ‘Innocent, my Lord.’

  There was an instant rabble. Whistling, booing and yelling of all manner of insults – ‘liar’ and ‘bitch’ were the softest contributions. It took the sheriff a full minute to silence the crowd, after which he threatened to vacate the court and continue the hearing in private should another racket occur. I thought he would ask Katerina to describe the events, but instead he asked her to sit down and looked at our bench.

  ‘Who took the bodies from the scene?’ he demanded, and McNair raised a hand. ‘Come forward.’

  After taking the oath and declaring his name and rank, McNair narrated how he and another two constables had been summoned by Mr Alexander Holt, the colonel’s valet. Mr Holt had identified the bodies, and this had been verified later at the morgue by Mr Walter Fox.

  I was surprised that the issue of the séance had not yet been mentioned at all.

  Sheriff Blyth looked through his documents. I recognised a carbon copy of Reed’s preliminary report.

  ‘Where is the forensic boy?’

  I stood up and spoke before McGray had any chance to move.

  ‘Doctor Reed is conducting further tests as we speak, my Lord.’

  As I introduced myself, someone shouted something like ‘sod the English rose!’ and there was a ripple of laughter, but Blyth was too busy flicking impatiently through the report.

  ‘This is really poor, inspector. Are you saying that in this day and age, Her Majesty’s police forces are unable to tell what killed six fresh corpses?’

  I could feel McGray’s nervous glance.

  ‘As you can see in the preliminary report,’ I said, ‘all routine examinations have been performed thoroughly. I myself looked at the colonel’s heart and found no trace of illness.’

  ‘Curious,’ said the sheriff. ‘That detail is not mentioned here. Is there any other unofficial matter you can tell me?’

  I, of course, thought of the bloodstained knife McGray had found but saw no need to mention it until we had Reed’s results.

  ‘Nothing of consequence yet, my Lord. And since the cause, or causes, of the deaths cannot be ascertained at present’ – someone shouted ‘ascer-whah?’ – ‘I would suggest this inquest is postponed until we can offer more conclusive results.’

  That caused some booing.

  Sheriff Blyth read the report intently, and then looked up, analysing me.

  ‘Are you sure there is nothing else you’d like to tell me?’

  I remembered myself asking the exact same question to Katerina and felt that my eyes belied me just as much. I spoke fast.

  ‘Only that we cannot rule this as murder if we do not know what killed those people. There is no direct evidence against Miss … Mrs— Madame Dragnea here. And—’

  ‘Do sit down, inspector.’

  I did so, hearing mocking giggles in the crowd and feeling terribly useless.

  McGray leaned to whisper into my ear. I thought he would give me some of his best sarcasm, but I’d be surprised.

  ‘It’s all right, Frey. Ye did what ye could.’

  ‘There is a second suspect under custody, I believe,’ said Blyth. ‘Bring in Alexander Holt.’

  In he came, a moment later, also escorted by officers. Unlike Katerina, Holt looked ready to soil himself, crouching and hiding his face from the crowd, the jury and the sheriff.

  This time it was McGray who stood up at the first chance. ‘May I speak, my Lord?’

  Sheriff Blyth grinned. ‘Nine-Nails McGray!’ and again he did not attempt to silence the laughter caused by his own words. ‘Of course you can.’

  I prepared myself for a scene, but McGray conducted himself with surprising composure.

  ‘Inspector Frey ’n’ me found this man at the Grenville residence. Stealing. We asked him what he was doing ’n’ the lad ran for dear life. Had we decided to examine the place fifteen minutes later, this man would nae even be here.’

  Blyth turned to the valet, who had taken the oath while McGray spoke. ‘Is that true, Mr Holt?’

  He whimpered a high-pitched ‘yes’.

  ‘He had a second set o’ keys to the house,’ McGray continued. ‘He surrendered one to constable McNair but kept the other, ’n’ he used those keys to break in. He had full access to every room in that house throughout the night.’ McGray must have seen, just as I did, that the Pratt man was readying himself to speak. ‘And even if ye rule out robbery,’ he said, a touch louder, ‘I can think of another thousand reasons he might want to murder his masters. I cannae think of a single one Madame Dragnea would.’

  ‘Thank you, inspector,’ said the sheriff, though from his tone he might as well have said ‘shut up’.

  McGray sat down and then Blyth moved on to the questioning.

  Holt repeated what he’d told us the day before almost word by word – he’d fetched the guests, ignored what the family was up to, left them a little before midnight, only after ensuring no other servant remained at home, and did not return until the morning … to find the six dead bodies. He then pleaded innocent to the
murders. Thankfully, Sheriff Blyth proceeded as swiftly as possible ; towards the end, Holt’s constricted voice told us he was about to pass out.

  I thought the sheriff’s next step would be to verify his alibis, but again I was surprised. Blyth looked at the front bench. ‘I know the procurator fiscal has a few facts to share.’

  He knew – so that Pratt man had talked to the sheriff before proceedings. Most irregular.

  Pratt stood up and, almost preening, walked to the sheriff and offered some of his documents for inspection.

  ‘Thank you, my Lord. Yes. I have documents here, provided by the relatives of Colonel Grenville, rest in peace. These will certainly speak in favour of Mr Holt.’

  ‘This is the colonel’s will,’ said Blyth.

  ‘Indeed. Provided by the colonel’s mother-in-law, Mrs Gertrude Cobbold, who’s had the courage to come here today.’

  The woman was still pressing the handkerchief on her face, so hard this time I feared she’d break her nose. The act seemed to work ; people around her patted her back and offered encouraging whispers.

  ‘You will find there a list of valuables which the honourable colonel bequeathed to his valet,’ said Pratt. ‘The document states clearly that Mr Holt should be able to take possession of them with immediate effect. So, unless Mr Holt was—’

  ‘Och, wait a sodding minute!’ McGray cried, to the delight of the gallery. ‘Does that justify him snooping around a crime—’ he corrected himself in time, ‘what might be a crime scene? The place was cordoned off by the police! And he admitted he stole a gold pendant that belonged to Miss Leonora Shaw.’

  Even from distance, I heard Mrs Cobbold gasp. Mr Fox whispered angrily at her.

  Pratt smiled wide, ironically showing a horrid gold canine, whose sparkle perfectly matched his hairless head. ‘Mr Holt undeniably has the poor judgement befitting of his class, but that does not make him ipso facto a murderer. Not only can the colonel’s family vouch for him, we also have the man’s own writing. In his will, Colonel Grenville refers to Mr Holt as “more than a servant. A good, trusted old friend.” Is that what a master says about a problematic employee?’

  He pointed at those lines. Blyth found them and then passed the documents to the jury. I saw several heads nod fervently, yet just as many suspicious stares.

  ‘That means nothing!’ McGray snarled, but Pratt’s smile only widened. He walked so close to McGray I feared for the bald man’s safety.

  ‘Inspector McGray, correct me if I’m wrong. You are a frequent client of Madame Katerina, as the lady is best known.’

  ‘Aye … Pratt.’

  ‘How many years have you—?’

  ‘How is that relevant, ye—?’ He had to bite his lip to contain a torrent of vulgarity.

  Pratt revelled in it. His golden tooth caught a glimmer from the windows. ‘It would speak highly of you, as a friend of hers, to try and find other suspects so that this lady—’

  ‘This tarry-fingered bastard was sneaking at the crime scene!’ McGray roared, his voice resounding throughout the courtroom. Pratt jumped a little step backwards. ‘He stole a piece o’ jewellery one o’ the victims was wearing! God knows what else he could’ve tampered with!’

  Sheriff Blyth hammered this hand hard on the bench. ‘Inspector! Stop it. Your point has been noted. There’s no need to turn this court into a fish market.’

  McGray was mad with rage but had the good sense to compose himself. He sat down and did not answer.

  ‘And I suggest the procurator fiscal also moves on,’ said Blyth. ‘I believe you wanted to question the accused.’

  ‘Which one?’ mocked McGray, and Blyth shot a look which silenced him.

  ‘Miss Dragnea,’ said Pratt, and Katerina was brought forward again. ‘Why did you meet the six deceased on that night?’ he probed, wasting no time.

  ‘Everyone knows. They asked me to conduct a séance.’

  ‘I see.’ He turned to the jury. ‘A harmless pastime, surely. Well … unless the wrong people are summoned to conduct it.’ He lowered his voice when he turned back to face Katerina, sounding ominous. ‘I heard some disturbing facts from Mrs Cobbold, which I’d like you to verify. Is it true … that you asked all the victims to bleed themselves before your … rite?’

  There were gasps in the crowd.

  Katerina stared at him right in the eye. ‘It wasn’t me who asked them. It was required.’

  ‘Required?’ repeated Pratt. ‘By whom? The spirits?’

  McGray made a fist and I seized his arm.

  ‘Yes,’ said Katerina.

  ‘Which spirits?’

  Katerina gulped. ‘Miss Leonora told me they wanted to speak to her grandmother.’

  ‘The late Mrs Alice Shaw. Grandmother and wife. Are you telling me this deceased woman told you—?’

  ‘She didn’t tell me!’ Katerina hissed, but then composed herself.

  ‘I am simply trying to understand,’ Pratt went on with a mockingly sweet voice. ‘Why would a grandmother—?’

  ‘She hated them,’ Katerina blurted out. I had to cover my brow.

  Pratt spoke as if talking to a small child. ‘She hated them … So she wanted her own kin’s blood?’

  ‘Yes,’ Katerina hissed. I saw tears of anger pooling in her eyes.

  Pratt finally moved away from her, but he still had one more card up his sleeve.

  ‘Miss Leonora told her aunt, Mrs Cobbold, that in order to make this offering they were to use a very special knife …’ I saw Katerina bring a hand to her chest as she heard that. ‘A knife provided by you, madam. Is that true?’

  Katerina’s hands began shaking. I thought she was about to faint.

  ‘Yes.’

  As soon as she said it, and while the gallery exploded in surprised gasps and cries, she looked in our direction, as pale as a ghost. So that was what she’d not told us!

  ‘Why did they have to use your knife?’ Pratt asked her. ‘Why not use any of theirs?’

  ‘The— the blade had to be cleansed so the offering was pure. The spirit was angry! That’s why I told them all the servants had to leave! We had to be in the house alone. I didn’t want anyone else’s soul to get harmed!’

  My hand slid from my brow to my mouth. I pictured myself leaping towards her, pulling at her skirts, shrieking, ‘please, for the love of God, stop talking!’

  Pratt came to us then. ‘Inspectors, I trust you’ve carried out a thorough search of the site. Did you find such knife?’

  McGray could have disembowelled him there and then. ‘Aye.’

  ‘Inspector Frey,’ said Pratt, half smiling, ‘you forgot to mention this knife a few minutes ago.’

  ‘I did not—’ I was going to say I did not know that the knife belonged to Katerina, but that would only reveal that she had lied to us earlier. Miraculously, I managed to tweak my sentence in time. ‘I did not mention it because there is nothing yet to suggest it is a relevant piece of evidence. It is currently being analysed. As I said before, this audience would better serve its purpose, my Lord, once we—’

  ‘You’ve made that point already, inspector,’ said the sheriff. ‘You too, Mr Pratt. The jury have been made aware of the existence of such knife ; that is sufficient for now.’ He looked pointedly at us. ‘I will only remind you this once, inspectors, that it is your duty to inform the court of any findings, regardless of your own opinions … Unless you want to be charged with perjury and perverting the course of justice.’

  Again, I had to grasp McGray by the arm, fearing he’d hurl himself onto the sheriff and bite off his radish-like nose.

  Blyth then turned to Pratt. ‘Anything else you want to add?’

  ‘Only to stress the fact that this gypsy spent the entire night at the site, locked in with her six unsuspecting victims, only after making sure nobody—’

  Blyth cleared his throat loudly. ‘Very well, very well. I think enough has been said. We shall now let the jury go and deliberate the—’

  I jumped on my
feet. ‘My Lord, I insist this case cannot be ruled without—’

  ‘Sit down, inspector! You’re embarrassing yourself.’ Blyth looked at the jury, ignoring me even though I remained standing. ‘The evidence has been presented before you. You can go and deliberate in the room provided by the court. This session is closed.’

  12

  McGray and I could not face waiting at the courtroom. We tried to go for a walk around Parliament House but were chased by a horde of idiots who demanded Katerina be hanged before sunset.

  We went back into the building and waited at the small yard right next to the High Court chambers. I looked at that side of the building, where Katerina was now most likely to be judged. There were only a few lawyers and clerks around, all staring at us, but at least they left us be.

  McGray lit a cigar with shaking hands. He grumbled, puffing smoke through mouth and nostrils like a locomotive. ‘Damn idiots! And that fuckin’ Pratt! Och, if I could just—’ He encircled his hands, imagining they were around Pratt’s neck. I thought it would not be a good moment to point out that Katerina had not helped herself at all.

  ‘There is no use lamenting now. We should start thinking what—’

  ‘There they are, laddie!’

  I turned to the gate and saw it was McNair who’d spoken. Behind him came, at last, the young Dr Reed. The baby-faced man clearly had had a terrible time finding us : his hair was dishevelled and his cheeks so brightly flushed they looked as if someone had pressed perfectly round red-hot irons against them.

  McGray went straight to him and grabbed him by the lapels, lifting him to his tiptoes. ‘What the hell happened to ye? They’re about to send Katerina to trial!’

  I went to them and begged McGray to let the young man go. He tutted and clenched Reed’s clothes only a little less tightly and let him stand on his soles. That was all the restraint he was capable of.

  Everyone at the yard was watching us, so I lowered my voice. ‘Did you carry out the tests?’