“What precisely is it you do?” he asked.
“I don’t do anything. I live off my inheritance.”
I handed him his drink. He took a sip. He didn’t notice anything.
“I wish I had an inheritance,” he said. “My parents want me to look for a job.”
“You live with your parents?”
I poured myself a glass of port, added a pinch of cocaine to that too and joined him on the sofa.
“They want me to work for a bank. They paid for my membership to the club so that I can make contacts.”
“The Bohemian is the wrong kind of club for a bank job.”
“I know. But it’s the only one they could afford.”
“I hear you went to a meeting of the Sons of Cain.”
“I thought we were meant to be anonymous.”
“You are, but I’m the one who nominated you. And I paid your fee, so I have a right to know. How was the meeting?”
“Very interesting.”
“How many people were there?”
“There were three of us. A cat, a falcon, and me. I’m a monkey. Why did they make me a monkey?” He laughed. There was a blush on his cheeks, and his eyes looked excited.
“What were the other people like?”
“Oh, Cat was a woman. Boring. Feeble. And Falcon... I don’t know. A little mysterious, I thought.”
“Mysterious?”
“He was a little cagey. A little hesitant.”
“Was he good-looking?”
“Well, I didn’t see his face, of course. I think he was quite handsome. He had the bearing of a handsome man. But I was the handsomest of them all! I was a lively, handsome monkey!” He laughed again. “Have you ever heard of anything more ridiculous? A handsome monkey!”Roaring laughter. The drugs were taking effect.
“But I’m not sure I’ll be able to attend another one,” he added once the laughter had died down. “I’m running low on funds.”
“I might be able to help you with that.”
He shook his head. “No, no, no. You already paid the first instalment.”
“I’ll pay the second one as well. If you help me out with my magic.”
He looked at me, his eyes wide with excitement. “I’d love to help you out with your magic!” He slammed the glass down on the table and shoved up closer to me. “Tell me what to do! Tell me what to do!”
His excited behaviour made me smile. He must’ve been very unaccustomed to narcotics for them to work so swiftly.
“I’ve been trying these last few days to make a golem.”
“My statue! Yes! You want to bring it to life!” He was bouncing with excitement. I had to put my hand on his knees to calm him down.
“I haven’t had any success yet, because I am missing a vital ingredient.”
“A touch of divinity!”
“That’s right. I thought I’d found the magical ingredient and inserted it into the statue, but it didn’t work. So, I took it out again. Do you want to see what I inserted?”
“Yes, please! Yes!”
I went to my desk. I took a silver cigarette case out of the drawer and placed it on the coffee table. “The magic ingredient is in that case.”
He looked at it, eyes wide. I could see his heart pounding beneath his shirt.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Open it up.”
He slowly reached his hand out towards the case and touched the lid with his fingertips, but he quickly pulled his arm away. “I daren’t.” His voice was trembling.
“Go on. It won’t harm you.”
He took a deep breath and tried again. His hand shook as he lifted the lid. He leaned in towards the case and looked inside. He scowled. “What is it?”
“Ears.”
“Ears?”
“A woman’s ears.”
“Why are they black?”
“They’ve gone bad. That’s why the experiment failed.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“The body parts must come from someone special, or they’ll rot again, like the ears. It must be another son of Cain.”
A look of horror came over his face. “Do you mean me?”
I laughed. “No, you nincompoop! Not you.” Although I must admit, I had considered it. To use the body parts of the very person on whom my new Adam had been modelled. How perfect that would be! But Theo wasn’t quite right. He was too young, too innocent, too boyish. He lacked wisdom and gravitas. I had somebody else in mind.
“Who then?” Theo asked.
“How about Falcon?”
“Falcon?”
“I hear he’s been excommunicated. That makes him fair game.”
“But I don’t know where he lives.”
“Well, I do.” I took the old man’s address book out of my pocket and opened it up. “His real name is John Billings, and he lives in Spitalfields.”
14. The Rogue Element
It was a muggy day with no wind, which meant that the stench from the river was worse than normal. Billings and Clarkson walked down Limeharbour Road, holding a handkerchief to their noses. The masts of the ships anchored in Millwall Dock stuck out over the roofs of the small terraced houses. Passers-by (dock workers, Chinese sailors, fishmongers) looked suspiciously at the two detectives as they scanned the house numbers. This was a dreary and unwelcoming place, Billings thought. An odd location for Mr Doucet to house his father.
Clarkson stopped in front of a grocery shop and looked up. “This is it,” he said. He checked the house number with the address written on his paper. “This is where he lives.”
The door was open, and the two detectives went in, relieved to leave behind the stench of the river. But an even worse smell wafted towards them as they entered the building.
“Cor blimey!” Clarkson screwed up his face and buried his nose in his handkerchief. “What the devil are they cooking in there?”
“Smells like cauliflower,” Billings said.
The smell got worse as they climbed up the stairs.
“Bloomin’ ’eck, they’re really over-cooking it!” Clarkson retched. “Must’ve had it boiling for hours.”
Billings raised his handkerchief to his nose. “He’s dead.”
“What?”
“Doucet’s father. He’s lying dead in his apartment. That’s why it smells of cauliflower.”
“What are you talking about?”
Billings rushed to the door and grabbed the handle. It was unlocked. He swung open the door. The stench filled the room, and it was overpowering. It wafted out of the apartment and made Clarkson retch again.
Billings held his breath as he scanned the room. At the far end, between the armchair and the window, he saw a body lying on the floorboards. He rushed towards it. It was the old rabbi, Frater Sapienti, Mr Doucet’s father. He lay face up, his eyes sunken, his mouth open. There were blood stains on his lower torso and tears in the old man’s shirt.
“He’s been stabbed,” Billings said. “Must’ve been lying like this for two or three days.”
Putting the handkerchief to his nose again, he squatted beside the body and reached for the inside pocket of the old man’s jacket.
Clarkson approached. “What are you doing?”
“What do you think I’m doing? I’m looking for the address book, of course.”
“Shouldn’t we alert the local police before you start rummaging through the dead man’s clothes?”
“The address book is what we came for, Clarkson.” He reached for the other pocket, but both were empty. Billings looked through the trouser pockets.
Clarkson frowned. “Come on, Billings. Leave the body alone. Let’s do things by the book.”
“Doing things by the book doesn’t get us anywhere. We need to find the other order members and speak to them.” All the pockets were empty. He stood up and frowned. “It’s gone. Whoever killed him must’ve taken it with them.”
“Why would they do that?”
“What do you thi
nk? To stop us from finding them, of course.”
“Why are you so convinced that it was a Son of Cain who did it?”
“Who else could it have been?”
“Doucet says they’re not a violent organisation, and I believe him.”
“It was a Son of Cain, Clarkson. Maybe the killings weren’t officially sanctioned. Maybe it was a rogue member acting on his own, but it was a Son of Cain. Of that I’m sure.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“We need to go back and speak to Mrs Grenfell. She’s a high-ranking member of the order. She must know others. Let’s go back to Mrs Moorhouse’s now.”
Billings brushed past his companion and marched towards the door, but Clarkson grabbed his arm and detained him.
“Hang on there, Billings. What about the body?”
“Let somebody else find it.”
Clarkson frowned. “We can’t do that, Billings. What’s got into you? We’re policemen.”
“You are. I’m not.”
“We should at least alert the local police.”
“There’s no time for that.”
“What’s the bloomin’ rush?”
“We need to speak to Mrs Grenfell, Clarkson. We should’ve asked her to describe the other members before. I can’t believe we didn’t do that.”
“We can speak to Mrs Grenfell after we’ve alerted the local police.”
“She might be gone by then.”
“Where the bleedin’ hell is she gonna go to? Screw your head back on, Billings! I know you’re anxious to find out who attacked you, but we’ve got to remain rational. Now, one of us should alert the local police, and I propose it be me. You’re coping with the stench better than I am.”
“SHE’S GONE.” MRS MOORHOUSE stood by the window, her arms folded, gazing out at the street. Her face looked pale and tense.
“What do you mean she’s gone?” Clarkson asked.
“I mean she’s gone. Packed her bag and left. Said she didn’t dare stay here any longer now that her whereabouts had been revealed. She doesn’t trust anyone, and nor should she. The Sons of Cain have ears everywhere. I’ve a good mind to leave myself, only I have nowhere to go.”
Billings looked at his companion, barely able to contain his anger.
Clarkson avoided the look. “Do you know where she went?” he asked Mrs Moorhouse.
“No.”
“I thought she said she’d run out of money.”
“I gave her some. When she runs out again, she’ll write to me, and I will send her some more.” She turned to look at the detectives. “But what about me, that’s what I want to know. Will I get some protection?”
“Protection?”
“They killed my cousin. They cut Mr Billings’ finger off. They’ll be coming after me next.”
“We don’t think the Sons of Cain are responsible for any of those crimes.”
“Who is then?”
Clarkson turned towards his companion.
“My theory is that there’s a rogue element within the order,” Billings explained. “A high-ranking member acting on his own. He’s practicing some kind of dark magic which requires the use of body parts. This action was not sanctioned by Frater Sapienti, which resulted in his death. The rogue element is using former members as victims. Have you been excommunicated?”
“Pardon?”
“Have you left the order?”
“Well, I haven’t told them I left, but I have no intention of going back.”
“Did they send you a cracked pocket mirror?”
She shook her head.
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Let’s go.” Still angry, Billings turned his back on Mrs Moorhouse and stormed out of the apartment.
BILLINGS MARCHED DOWN the road, his brow furrowed, his hand trembling. Clarkson had been struggling to keep up with him all the way to Clapham. Now, as they reached the street where he lived, he’d finally had enough.
“For God’s sake, Billings. Calm down. What is wrong with you?”
Billings stopped and turned around. “Why didn’t you interview Mrs Grenfell properly when you had the chance?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you ask her about the other members?”
“As I recall, you were the one doing the interview.”
“But it’s your case! You’re the police detective in charge!”
“Why are you shouting at me?”
“Because I want to find the rascal who cut off my finger! Mrs Grenfell is gone now, and she was our only lead! We’re never going to get this case sorted!”
“Yes, we will. We always do.”
“How, Clarkson? How will we?”
Clarkson thought about this. “Well... I don’t know.”
“You never know, Clarkson, because you’re not up to this case! I don’t know why they handed it to you. I don’t even know why you got promoted!”
Clarkson went quiet for a few seconds. “What’s got into you, Billings? Why’re you being mean to me?”
“I’m being honest.”
“What are you getting all hot under the collar for?”
“They cut off my finger, Clarkson! This case is personal!”
Clarkson mumbled back, “It always is.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, it’s true. Cases are always personal to you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The last case before you got sacked...”
“I didn’t get sacked.”
“Oh, that’s right. You left of your own accord. Because of your back, wasn’t it? How’s your back now, Billings? You don’t look like you’re in pain. You walk faster than I do.”
“I told you. My back’s fine now.”
“I let you help me with this case because you asked me to. I didn’t need you, but you begged me to let you in. So I did. Because I’m a friend, and that’s what friends do. But what kind of friend are you, eh? You just disappeared on me. From one day to the next. Didn’t respond to any of my letters. Was that friendly?”
“I told you. I was feeling bad.”
“We only met each other again by coincidence. Because a woman got killed. One who you were supposed to be shadowing. You’re involved in this case, Billings. Like you were in the last one. That’s why you got sacked. Nothing to do with your back. It’s because you were involved with that young man. The one you took home with you. The one you shared a bed with. The one who ended up confessing to the murder of the Hirsch brothers.”
Billings was struck dumb. He just stood there, staring back, a look of disbelief in his eyes.
“I’ve suspected all along, Billings, and that look you gave me just now has confirmed it. Why didn’t you trust me enough to tell me? Was that friendly?”
Clarkson paused for a reply, but Billings remained rooted to the spot, thoughts rushing through his mind. All this time, burdened with feelings of guilt and secrecy and the fear of being found out, when Clarkson knew all along – and didn’t mind.
“You could’ve told me, Billings. You needn’t have borne this all on your own. I’ve been a true friend to you for all these years. I deserve better than you turning on me every time you get frustrated by a case!”
Now it was Clarkson’s turn to get angry. Scowling, he brushed past his companion and marched ahead of him.
Billings cursed himself. He turned around and was about to run up to Clarkson and apologise, when a young man sitting on the curb in front of the house suddenly got up.
“Mr Clarkson,” he said, walking up to the detective. “I’ve been waiting for you. Somethin’s come up. You’re needed urgently.” The young man looked at Billings. “Oh, hello, Mr Billings. I ain’t seen you in a long time.”
It took Billings a few seconds before he recognised him. “Oh, hello, Jack!” He looked him up and down. “My God, you’ve shot up, haven’t you? I barely recognised you.”
The boy smiled proudly.
“What happened?�
� Clarkson asked.
“Somebody’s come forward about the Thames River body. It’s the man’s father. He’s waiting to speak to you.”
“My God, that is good news!”
Billings looked confused. “What is it?”
“The dismembered body we found in the Thames. We published a sketch of the dead man’s face in the newspapers. It seems someone has finally identified him.” He took the house keys out of his pocket and threw them at Billings. “Let yourself in and make yourself something to eat. I’m going back to work.”
Before Billings was even able to say thanks or sorry, Clarkson and Jack were rushing down the street.
15. A Nasty Piece of Work
Billings sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.
Tilly sat beside him, wagging her tail, her head resting on his lap, looking for attention.
Trotter also watched him. “What are you thinking of, Mr Billings?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you worried about money?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I’ve noticed the letters on your desk. They’re payment requests, aren’t they?”
“We need another case, Trotter, or I’ll be forced to close down.”
“Don’t worry, Mr Billings. Another case will come up.”
“Actually, I was thinking about something else.”
“What?”
“I was thinking about that meeting I attended with the Sons of Cain. There were two other novices there. We identified Mrs Moorhouse, but I’m trying to recall what I know about the other one.”
“Was it a man or a woman?”
“A man. Young, I think. At least, his voice sounded young, and he seemed boyishly excited about the whole thing. All I remember is that he wore a monkey mask, he came from Luton and he had a dog called Bessie.”
“What kind of dog?”
“A beagle. I think he could be the one who cut off my finger.”
This made Trotter sit up in his chair. “Why?”
“Well... I remember Tilly barking at the intruders when they broke in.” He finally gave the dog the attention she’d been craving and stroked her head. “One of them was scared and stayed in the doorway, but the other one said that bitches didn’t bite. He knew because he had one of his own.”
A Glimpse of Heaven Page 13
