I left then, dodging the drooling Mackenzie and Tucker. I cast a last glimpse at McGray, bent over the table and absorbed in the documents.
At least the work kept him from going mad.
That was how he’d dealt with his parents’ death. That was how he still dealt with his sister’s incurable madness – the one useful trick I could learn from him.
43
The appeal, unsurprisingly, was dismissed by the courts.
An independent judge had studied evidence, files and statements, and concluded there was no reason the case should be reassessed.
This coincided with a series of three sordid articles in The Scotsman, which retold the details of the crime, the court proceedings, and also gave a meticulous account of Katerina’s murky side businesses. Now that she had a foot on the gibbet, more and more of her old ‘clients’ had come to the fore, revealing ever more embellished tales of corruption, fraud and seductions.
Trevelyan happened to be reading those very articles when I stepped into his office – and it was no coincidence.
‘No,’ he mumbled.
‘S-sir?’
‘The answer is no.’
‘May I at least be allowed to expl—’
‘You are here to request I delay the hanging, are you not?’
‘Yes, sir, but—’
‘I can’t do that.’ He lifted the newspaper. ‘Have you read this?’
‘I only had time to skim through the first pages.’
‘Did you know that the Lord Provost has on occasion consulted that blasted gypsy?’
I swallowed. ‘The – the fact may have been brought to my attention.’
‘An “anonymous source” has declared so. Not so anonymous since the Lord Provost dismissed his valet only last month, and the man was spotted at the Caledonian Station purchasing a first-class ticket to London. These newspapers must have paid him well.’
I sighed. ‘Is this the reason our appeal has been dismissed? The most powerful man in Edinburgh lobbying the courts?’
‘I cannot tell. Possibly.’
I felt exasperated. I nearly turned on my heels and left, but that would have equated to signing Katerina’s death sentence myself.
‘Sir, may I at least sit down and explain?’
Trevelyan sensed my concern. ‘You may, but unless you offer me some outstanding piece of information, I am afraid this will be a complete waste of our time.’
I did sit down, and explained the situation as carefully and briefly as possible : we had a good lead to follow, and the execution might take place merely hours before we secured enough evidence to reopen the case.
Trevelyan did listen, and when I was done he lounged back, interlacing his fingers and looking at me with the most conflicted gesture.
‘I am under strict orders to carry out the hanging as planned.’
‘Orders? The Lord Provost has no authority on the judiciary.’
Trevelyan simply sighed at this. We both knew how the world worked.
‘So he will let an innocent woman die in order to keep his name clean?’ I blurted out.
Trevelyan tensed his lips, the tendons around his mouth sticking out. ‘The woman has been tried and sentenced.’
‘And I just told you it may be the wrong verdict!’
Trevelyan stared at me without blinking. I could see the battle in his auburn eyes, the man trapped between his own morals and orders from high above.
He leant slightly forwards. ‘Go find some evidence. If you do, bring it directly to me, whatever the time, and I will speed up things. That is all I can do for you.’ He glanced at the newspapers. ‘And if this gypsy does get out of this, it would be best for her to deny publicly all these stories.’
Still utterly frustrated, I nodded and left.
On my way to the office I was intercepted by Constable McNair – who had still not forgiven me for leaving him with Mrs Holt’s child. With him came a rather old, haggard-looking man, so thin I feared his wrists would snap if we shook hands.
‘Inspector, this lad’s looking for ye,’ said McNair, and before I could give him another abnormal assignment, he turned on his heels and left.
The grey man bowed at me. ‘Mr Reynolds, sir. Undertaker. I have been hired by Miss Dragnea.’ And he offered me a small letter. I recognised the handwriting. ‘The lady wants me to take care of her funeral arrangements. Her man servant has covered all expenses.’
‘What do you want with me?’
‘The lady mentions your name in the letter, sir. Says I’ll need a special permit to get into the jail to retrieve her remains, and that you may be able to help me.’
As I held the letter and read Katerina’s requests for her own funeral, something clicked in my mind. Whatever the outcome, there would still be a world after Monday. The sun would rise, people would go to work, I’d drink my morning coffee and do my ascot tie, and all the practicalities of life, like interring a body and paying the men who did it, would have to be dealt with. The fact that Katerina herself was taking care of those particulars – the acceptance, the resignation that it implied – made my heart ache.
‘She wants her remains to be treated with dignity,’ Mr Reynolds added, after I’d been silent for a while.
‘Of course,’ I mumbled, folding the letter. ‘Wait here. I will see you have a permit issued right away.’
And I went right back to Trevelyan’s office, before his guilt waned.
Also, I was in no rush to give McGray the news.
He was nowhere to be found.
I first went to his house, but only saw Joan and George. They told me Nine-Nails had sent Larry to enquire at the courts, and when he heard the outcome he’d sunk into a chilling silence. He had then left the house, telling no one where he headed – in fact, only opening his mouth to tell the dogs to stay. Joan had never seen him so pale. George said he had, and I did not need to ask him when.
Joan offered me a whisky, but I refused and went back to the office. I was sick of facing doom and misery, and the familiar solitude of the crammed basement, with its damp walls and dusty piles of witchcraft books, ironically, offered some comfort.
I spent the rest of the day and most of the day after investigating Walter’s gem trade, yet finding very little. I did manage to locate a couple of his dealers – dodgy men who were less than co-operative and who barked at me that Nine-Nails McGray had already knocked at their doors.
By the end of the second evening I left the office feeling that now familiar oppression in my chest, which had been growing in me steadily from the very start. I felt as if we had upturned every stone except those nearest to us – the most noticeable, the most obvious one.
And now we had so little time I could not even think straight.
The City Chambers was desolate by then, so it surprised me to see a lonely, dark figure walk along the shadowy courtyard. Something caught the glimmer of the street lamps.
A shiny, smooth scalp.
‘You?’ I cried, for Pratt was staring directly at me.
He smiled with obvious malice, his teeth more yellowy under the gaslight.
‘Working late, inspector? Still hoping for the best?’
I said nothing. I simply walked away, describing a wide circle around him, as if avoiding a Biblical leper.
The evening was surprisingly mild and I yearned for some fresh air, so I headed home by foot. I might even take Philippa out for a late ride.
I took the long route, walking towards the brooding Edinburgh Castle. I passed by the bustling Ensign Ewart pub, and was tempted to check if McGray was there, but I did not have the energy to face him. I told myself I’d do so very soon, though.
I went down the steep steps of Castle Rock, which took me into the gloomy Princes Street Gardens. The trees’ foliage had already turned brown and yellow, and I meandered over a crushing carpet of dead leaves.
Somehow I wandered westwards, and I found myself facing the dark tombstones surrounding St Cuthbert’s Church. Colo
nel Grenville and his wife rested there.
I cannot tell what, but something pulled me in that direction, and I walked in-between the graves as the last gleams of sunlight died in the sky. It was not difficult to find the Grenvilles’ crypt, still decked with garlands of evergreens and white flowers, now mostly withered.
I stood there for a moment, not moving or thinking. The sounds of the city were barely audible in those sunken gardens, and the fresh breeze heightened the sense of absolute, undisturbed peace.
As I stared at the dying petals I wondered if Grannie Alice also lay there. Perhaps it was she who had drawn me there, to confide in me the ultimate secret we’d been searching all along. I also wondered if Martha Grenville could have really visited her son. I wondered if my own uncle had indeed shown his face to me. Was it possible that I had ousted him as he attempted to speak to me one last time?
The alternative was hardly a consolation : that this was all there was to see. A cold grave. Boxes with bones slowly crumbling into dust. And when the city eventually met her end and the ages eroded this land, that dust would be carried away and become lost in an undistinguishable mass of sediments.
I nearly gasped at the thought, but then I heard something. It was a faint ruffle, impossible to identify, closely followed by the crunch of leaves on the ground. I looked back, my eyes squinting in the dim light, and almost immediately I saw the outline of a heavy-built man.
Tall and broad-shouldered, he stood some twenty yards away, but approaching at a steady pace. I heard another sound from the opposite direction. I looked back to the crypt, and nearly gasped when I saw a second man emerge from between the graves.
Him I could see more clearly. The street lights projected the shadows of naked branches on his features. His skin was pasty and scarred, and he chewed on a toothpick.
I felt my empty breast pockets. I had not carried a gun for weeks.
‘Good evening,’ he said with a rasping voice.
I gave him a nod and walked away, only to find that a third man had appeared out of nowhere. He and the first figure, now alarmingly near, stood motionless in my path.
‘Ye have a light, boss?’ the pasty man asked.
‘At home,’ I said.
The man spat the toothpick and took a few steps in my direction. There was no trace of emotion in his face.
‘Pity,’ he said. For a moment we simply stood there, frozen still, and then all hell broke loose.
The three men fell on me like a pack of wolves. I tried to run, but before I could take a single stride they’d already seized me. They pulled my shoulders down, bringing me to the ground as if I were made of rags. And just as I fell on my back, the first man came to me, lifted his muddy boot and stamped it right on my crotch.
Needless to tell my male readers how much that hurt (and a good portion of my female readers will tell me they’ve had far worse), so I will simply say that I recoiled, seeing stars and letting out a squeal so high-pitched I must have awoken half the dogs in the city.
So painful it was that I barely felt the man grabbing my collar, lifting me and thrusting a punch to my stomach. Depleted of air, I fell slack on the ground. I felt their grubby hands picking me up, I smelled their breaths and sweaty bodies, and prepared myself for a good thrashing.
The second blow to my stomach lifted me cleanly in the air, and this time I swirled and fell face down, tasting soil and leaves as I struggled to breathe again.
I saw their boots, ready to kick me to a pulp, and I shut my eyes and covered my face as best as I could.
Then there was a gunshot.
To me it sounded muffled, as if travelling through a mass of water, and I thought I heard a horde of feet trampling all around me. For a horrifying instant I thought they were crushing me, but then I realised they were in fact running away.
There was a second gunshot, only this time I heard it clearly. I desperately tried to move, but all I could do was jerk my legs and spit on the ground.
A cold hand pulled my shoulder and helped me roll onto my back. The figure leaning over was blurred, my eyes misted by the pain. I only managed to see something white, silvery, glinting in the dark.
‘Inspector, are you all right?’
The voice sounded familiar enough, but the pain I still felt in my torso and nether regions left little room for rational thought.
‘I’ll call us a cab.’
I was lifted and dragged across the graveyard, and only when we reached the bustling Princes Street did I manage to plant my feet on the ground.
At once I retched, bending forwards and emptying my stomach on the kerb. I felt a hand patting me on the back, and the next thing I saw was a two-seater cab halting before me. The driver jumped down and helped me in.
‘Where to, sir?’ he asked as soon as I was secured on the seat.
‘Great King Street,’ I said automatically. In hindsight, I should have gone back to the City Chambers, but I was still too stunned to think.
The dark figure sat next to me and the cab set in motion. I focused on the rhythmic sound of the hooves, breathing deeply and clutching my sore gut.
‘Take us through Leith Street,’ the voice said, and then, just as I realised that would take us through the longest possible route, I recognised him.
I looked up, momentarily forgetting all pain. The street lamps lit only half the face, but that was enough. I saw the glimmer of white teeth framed by leathery, orange flesh, and the glint of the vulgarly oversized diamond ring.
‘You!’
His face was distorted with worry. So much so I almost believed his good intentions.
‘It was so fortunate I happened to be strolling down there,’ he said. ‘And with this.’ He opened his jacket to show the derringer attached to the lining. ‘Imagine what could have happened otherwise.’
‘Stop!’ I yelled to the driver, banging on the cab’s ceiling. I was so shaken Fox easily pulled me back to the seat.
‘Please, inspector, let me take you to your home. You are in no condition to—’
‘You arranged this!’ I growled, kicking about in a paroxysm of rage. ‘You slimy, seared, rotten shred of baboon’s buttocks! You—’ I gasped. ‘You and Pratt … He has been following me!’
‘Inspector! Do you have no faith in humanity anymore?’
‘No.’
‘Why, I do not feel I deserve—’
‘Stop the damn cab, you blithering idiot!’ I howled from the bottom of my stomach, seeing that the driver was turning into the narrower, darker side streets.
The man did halt, but only when we were a good distance from the main road.
I kicked the door open and jumped off. As soon as my feet splashed on the ground I heard Fox’s voice right behind my back.
‘If you need to know something about me, why don’t you ask me directly?’
I turned very slowly to face him. It was beginning to rain, and I was so furious I expected the drops to boil as soon as they touched my skin.
‘Very well. Why did you send your damn bullies to scare me?’
Fox hinted a smile, but the wretch was too clever to admit anything out loud.
‘A few of my contacts and patrons told me that this nine-fingered man appeared asking, quite specifically, if they had any dirt on me. You seem a sharp man, inspector ; you surely understand that’s not good for my business. It scares the clients away.’
I was furious. Livid. I felt my heart throbbing with rage and my tensed muscles, ready to hurl myself at the bastard and beat his ghastly leathery face until it resembled a plateful of fried haggis. I still do not know how, but I managed to turn on my heels and walk away.
‘What did you want to know?’ he repeated. ‘Something about the gold mine?’
I stopped. I was tempted to turn, but the rain strengthened and I walked on.
‘Or was it about my last quarrel with the colonel?’
I stopped again. I could not ignore that. When I looked back Fox was already next to me.
&n
bsp; ‘There was a gold mine,’ he said in a murmur. ‘Grenville and his father-in-law acquired it through tricks and fraud. They forged some deeds to support a supposed claim to those lands ; however, they lost those documents.’ He laughed scornfully. ‘Or rather, Grannie Alice took them.’
I said nothing. I simply stood there, looking suspiciously at him.
‘The mine was always under her name. The false claims on the mine relied on her having ancestors who lived very briefly in Africa. Alice had no trouble going to the bank, accessing the family safe and retrieving the deeds. She did so right after my uncle, my half-uncle and my own father died. The poor sods got really ill while smelting gold, working themselves like dogs in the mines. And they were not the only ones ; their workers fell like flies, like they always do in gold mines.
‘Grannie Alice was distraught, as you can imagine. She despised the colonel, her husband, her own son and daughter for taking part ; for championing the scheme and then spending lavishly on the profits. And I think she must have despised herself even more for allowing it all to happen, so she hid the documents from them.
‘Years later she attempted to gather them all, I assume to surrender the documents or reveal where she’d hidden them. Sadly, my great-grandmother died just the evening before. Poor thing. She collapsed in the middle of the street.’
I remained as expressionless as before, wincing only when the ever-thicker raindrops lashed my face.
‘I travelled to the mine recently,’ Fox added, ‘only to find that a local company had taken possession of it. Illegally, of course. They’d bribed the land registry, but we could only prove it by showing our deeds. That mine must have been active almost uninterruptedly for the past fifteen to twenty years. Can you imagine how much they’d owe us? That was when the search began. The Grenvilles stripped their house, as you might have noticed during your investigations.’
I finally nodded, recalling the stripped floorboards and plaster.
‘As to my quarrel with the colonel …’ Fox sneered. ‘I summoned him. I knew that the séance was taking place, and I also knew how naïve my cousin Leonora and my uncle Peter could be. I knew the Shaws might want to trick them, so I warned the colonel that I would defend what rightfully belonged to our side of the family. He lost his temper, like he always did when someone challenged his almighty word, and he tried to punch me. Fortunately, in my profession I have learned very well how to dodge blows.’
The Darker Arts Page 29
