"Haven't seen her for a few days."
"Alright, thanks," he called back in an embarrassed tone. He set off for Scally's home then in search of his keys.
Scally's mother was clearly surprised to see him, and she started back as she opened the door to him.
"Mr. Mullins?" she said.
"Is Scally here?" he asked, offended by the way she had reacted to seeing him.
"No."
"Did he leave keys for the shop here by any chance?"
"He might have, wait here," she said, and she closed the door. He could hear he moving things around, and another door opened and then closed inside and finally the door opened to him again. "Are these them?" she asked holding out the familiar bunch to him.
"That's them alright," he said and took them from her with a nod of thanks.
"You’re out of the gaol then?" she said as he was about to leave.
"I was in there a long time for someone who didn't do anything don't you think?" She nodded in a non-committed fashion. "I'm hoping to open the shop up again tomorrow; can you let Scally know when he comes in?"
"Scally doesn't live here anymore, and he wont be working at the blacksmith anymore either." Mullins eyed her in surprise at this- both what she had said and the way she had said it.
"Where is he gone?"
"A gentleman has taken him under his wing and is going to give him a better life."
"What gentleman?"
"That's none of your concern." Mullins realised this was true, and then he thought about Scally becoming a young man. As much as it might pain him to lose the lad, he could see that this was obviously better for him and more than Mullins would ever be able to offer him or his mother.
"He's a good lad, I'll miss him, but I wish him all the best, can you tell him for me?"
"I don't know when I'll see him again myself." His words had softened her towards him, and they shared the loss of the vibrant boy, as though he were dead, for a moment.
"No boy can stay away from his mother's table for too long," Mullins said to her with a reassuring smile. He threw the keys up into the air caught them as he backed away.
As he walked home, he thought more about Scally leaving in this way. It was very odd, definitely not something that happened every day. He wondered why someone would have chosen Scally for such a thing. He was a nice lad and hardworking, but he wasn't all that clever that Mullins had ever noticed.
He was tempted, with the keys in his hand, to look in at the shop but he knew that he should get home. The fear of the Alderman calling on him and finding him out worried him. The last thing he wanted was another stint in the 'Black Dog.' He rushed along the street and tried to think of Kate and not the things that had gone wrong these last few weeks. He hoped that she would be home this time and imagined grabbing her by the small waist and lifting her, laughing, into the air.
Chapter 45
Adams was not in the mortuary when James and Edwards arrived with the body, so they waited in the cold building for him to arrive. James looked as Edwards poked around the room looking at the different medical and surgical instruments on the various counter tops.
"You shouldn't touch anything here," James said.
"If someone is here, there is no more harm a dirty piece of equipment is going to do them." Edwards wore that smirk on his face that James loathed.
"Have you remembered yet where this young lad is from?" James asked looking down on the body. Edwards walked over to the table and lifted the sheet from the victim to peer at the face again.
"I can't place him, maybe he's only a bar boy or something, and he blends in well, I recognise him, I'm sure of that, however."
James leaned in as well and had a look in the hope that in this new light he too might have seen him before. The blank dead face offered up nothing to his memory. "It won't be too hard to find out who he is, a quick trip around a few places and we'll have him placed," Edwards assured him.
"Good morning gentlemen," Adams said as he came into the room. They returned his greeting as he came over and pulled the sheet completely off the body, getting straight down to business.
"This one looks different," James offered, and Adams looked at him and followed his eyes to the wounds on the legs. Adams prodded inside with a wooden pointer and moved from the thighs to the arms and then looked again at James.
"This is indeed different," he said as he looked at Edwards and then to James.
"You can speak in front of him," James said.
"The other killings had parts cut off after the murder to make it look like the victims were killed by an animal," Adams began as though he were giving a discourse to some medical students. "This man's wounds, however, were inflicted by an animal."
James was stunned, he had not expected this at all, he'd assumed that this was the same as the others and that the doctor was going to confirm this as soon as he looked at the body.
"Are you sure Doctor?" he asked.
"Very; it's not what killed him, that would have been the blood loss, but the wounds were made by something with jaws and teeth designed for that purpose." Straight away, the metal teeth used by Cleaves came to mind.
"Could it have been done by something like the metal jaws Cleaves had made?" James asked.
“Cleaves?” Adams asked?
“The Dolocher’” Edwards smiled.
“Oh,” Adams said, “I don’t know about that.”
"Or something like the metal tusks Lord Muc was looking to have made?" Edwards suggested. James looked at him and tried to recall if he had told Edwards about this or not. The doctor didn't know what he was talking about, but he answered James' question.
"Anything is possible, but in my opinion, these wounds were the work of a hungry animal, I see nothing of design or craft here." James' mind whirled about as he tried to place this in the canon of the other murders.
"Why would the animal choose these places to eat?" Edwards said, coming close to the body and looking at the wounds again. James looked again too.
"The thighs I suppose would be normal enough, what with all the meat, but the biceps might be a little odd," Adams answered, and he looked closer at the body again as though his interest had been piqued.
"What are these lines?" James asked pointing; he'd seen some light lines on the skin below and above the wounds that looked almost like tan lines, but the difference was much lighter than that effect would have shown. Adams bent to the thighs and examined this, and then he lifted one of the legs and looked at the back of it.
"I think we have your answer," he said to Edwards. "These were the only parts of the body that were exposed to the animal."
A sense of revulsion ran through James at the thought of this poor boy shackled and covered in some protective shell save for his biceps and thighs as a hungry dog or something like that was let loose on him. He could imagine how horrific this death would have been, and it seemed so much worse to him for this than any of the others thus far.
"Our man fed these parts to the animal," Edwards said as though it had to be said aloud for anyone to be able to comprehend it.
"It certainly seems that way to me," Adams agreed.
"Is there any chance this boy would have died quickly?" James asked. He knew the answer already, but he still had to hope he was wrong. Adams, perhaps sensing this replied,
"It's possible he passed out quickly and felt nothing until there was enough blood gone that he never woke up."
"What an awful way to die," James said, and he blessed himself which was quickly copied by Adams. Edwards, James could see in the corner of his sight, didn't even bother to affect the religious movement. James didn't know why he was surprised by this. "Can you keep this to yourself for now?" James asked Adams.
"Of course."
"Any idea of the type of animal?"
"I wouldn't like to guess, but something with a large mouth, a big dog maybe but I couldn't be sure," Adams said, his shoulders shrugging in apology.
"Than
k you, doctor, for your assistance this morning,” James said, "Goodbye."
When they were in the carriage and alone once more, James looked at Edwards who he knew was waiting to say something.
"Out with it," he said in a gruff tone.
"What do you think?"
"About what?"
"A different killer or our man again?"
"Still the same man."
"How so sure?"
"I can't believe that there are two people that sick in the city at the same time, doing the same thing."
"There are a lot of sick people doing sick things in Dublin!" Edwards laughed as though at James' innocence.
"Not like this, not in this way," James said and then after a thoughtful pause added, "Think of it as a hunch, a feeling I have."
"So what do we do now, listen out for barking dogs who might be hungry?" Edwards asked.
"I know you are being facetious, but yes, that will be one of the things I will be doing from now."
"If it has to do with animals, I think we should talk to Lord Muc again," Edwards suggested.
"Does he keep animals?" James had not known of this.
"Not any more but I'm sure he is still involved somewhere in the business."
"It's a place to start I suppose," James said. He looked out the window, and he could see the face of the boy that lay dead in the morgue, and he saw that same face cry in fear as he was circled by some unseen beast and the horror as he knew that this was the last thing that he was ever going to see. James shook his head to be free of the image, and when he looked up, Edwards was looking at him.
"You know that people are going to think Dolocher when they hear about an animal?" he said.
"I know, I know," James replied.
Chapter 46
The Alderman called not long after Mullins got home after he was released from prison, and the blacksmith was relieved that he hadn't gone to the shop on his way home. Mullins let him inside, noting with thanks that he didn't have any soldiers with him this time. They sat in the chairs by the fire.
"Would you like something to drink?" Mullins offered.
"No, no. I won't trouble you for long," the Alderman replied.
"What can I do for you," Mullins asked, wondering if he should be calling him sir in this context.
"Do you know the man who was with me when we came to your business and your boy did a drawing for us?"
"I've seen him before, but I don't know exactly who he is."
"Not even his name?"
"No, I'm afraid not."
"He told me once that he met you in the street one night when you were looking for the Dolocher."
"I followed him one night, thinking that he might have been the killer," Mullins admitted.
"And what happened?"
"I came around a corner, and he had a blade to my throat, and he asked me why I was following him."
"You told him your suspicions?"
"Yes."
"What did he say to that?"
"Well, he laughed at me and told me I was looking in the wrong place."
"Did he tell you where you should have been looking?"
"No, he said that he if he met the Dolocher he would tell him I was looking for him, but he was laughing when he said this."
The Alderman mused on this and Mullins didn't know if he should say anything more when suddenly he remembered something,
“His name is Edwards," he said.
"So you do know him?" the Alderman said with a curious glance.
"No, I just remembered that he told me his name that night, he introduced himself." The Alderman seemed to be deep in thought again, but finally he said,
"I'm going to assume that you are not idiotic enough to roam the streets at night for the time being, but if you see Edwards around without me can you let me know about it?"
"I can do that," Mullins said, and he wondered now if the man he had followed that night, whilst not being the Dolocher, could be the killer this time. Was this what the Alderman was getting at? "He drinks around here the odd time," Mullins offered, and the Alderman nodded. He stood up, and Mullins did the same.
"I'll be going, thank you for your assistance." They shook hands and Mullins saw him to the door. As he was leaving the Alderman looked back and said, "Don't let on to anyone, even your wife, about this, eh?"
"Of course, Sir. I'll keep it to myself," Mullins said, and he felt his eyes widen like a child trying to convince an adult of their sincerity.
When the Alderman was gone, Mullins sat down again and thought about times he'd seen this Edwards fellow. He didn't recall ever seeing him before the night when Mullins was arrested for one of the Dolocher killings, but since then he had seen him many times. He'd avoided eye contact with him, or any association at all for that matter, as he saw Edwards somehow as a bad luck omen for him.
He boiled water for tea, and his mind drifted back to the Alderman and his possible fears that the very person who was helping him with his investigations might be one who was doing all the killing. The Alderman seemed a different man than the friendly one Mullins had first encountered two years previously. Back then, he seemed warmer and more aware of the people around him, more than was the case now. Before that, Mullins had only known him by reputation, by the moniker of 'Level Low' that was given him. Mullins had seen the weavers strike and riots and he could understand why force was called for, but violence was in him, and he knew that not everyone agreed with this view of things.
Something wavered in the back of his mind, and he pushed it away, but it came back a few times until it pushed to the fore of his thoughts.
The Alderman was harder than he had been before the killings; he was in better shape physically than he had been at the time of the Dolocher killings. He had been very quick to lock Mullins up for the murders, and now he was pushing suspicion towards another of the night’s travellers in Edwards. Was it possible that Alderman James was, in fact, the killer this time around? Could he have given up on his trying to win over the people, appalled at their lack of interest in his attempts to catch the Dolocher? So much so that he had turned inward and back to the same man who had a soldier killed without blinking, who killed those weavers without a second thought?
It would make sense, wouldn't it? The Alderman was probably the only person save the army and parish watch who could roam the streets at night without raising any eyebrows. He had access to places where the killing could take place and the means to travel and dispose of the bodies on the streets. It was suddenly making too much sense to Mullins, and he had to temper himself, realising that he had been carried away by his imagination.
This was all fantasy, he told himself. The Alderman couldn't do this. Or could he? What if he did, what then were the chances of him being caught if he was the one doing the investigation? Mullins thought about this scenario and thought it best to be on his guard and to go along with anything the Alderman asked him but keep an eye all the same lest he was being lured into some trap.
As far as Mullins knew there were no leads on who the killer was. It had been going on for months, and nothing had come of it, there didn't seem to be any witnesses to anything. There was not the same frenzy as when Cleaves was killing everyone under the rumours of Olocher's ghost but this time there was no real public outcry, which he thought was odd.
He went to the front door and looked out into the street to see if there was any sign of Kate coming. Some children looked at him, and a few women spoke in a huddled group near the square, but they ignored him or didn't notice him. He sighed as he looked out knowing that this used to be a nice place to live, where people had trusted him and asked for his help. Now he was lucky if they even came to the shop for something done for them. All because of murders he had nothing to do with.
Chapter 47
The morning stayed dark, the black of night seeming to refuse to lift. Alderman James sifted through his correspondence. The letters had piled up half read, and very few replied to since
this new wave or murders had begun. He recalled his weeks of apologies and entreaties after Cleaves had been caught and he started to go through his amassed mail. This time he was determined that it not get so bad and he focused twenty minutes on this task alone every morning before he left the house. This was the task he was seeing to when there was a knock on the door, and his butler came in. He had a concerned look on his face
"What is it?" James asked brusquely.
"There's a boy here with a letter for you."
"Well give it to me."
"He said that he has been ordered to only place it in the hand of the Alderman." James stood up.
"What is this nonsense!" he barked, "Send the little brute in then."
A minute later, a young boy of about ten years old came in. He was dirty and wore the clothes of the extreme poor, but then James noticed that his hands alone were immaculately clean. James saw the envelope and recognised it as the same as the one he had received from the killer.
"Who gave you this letter?" he shouted at the boy, snatching the letter from his hand. The boy shrank back and looked terrified. "Answer me!" James shouted at him.
"A man," the boy said, he was trembling, and he looked to the Butler as though he might be able to save him from this tirade.
"What man?" James grabbed him by the clothes and pulled him in close to his face. The boy started to cry.
"A man with paint on him," he wailed.
"Paint?" James said, but it was not really a question for the boy. He let go of his clothes and stood up straight again. "He made you wash your hands before he gave it to you?" James asked in a tone much less angry, he felt bad now for being so hard on the boy. The sight of this letter, a mocking jeer to him, had set his passion alight but now he simmered, and he knew that this boy was going to be able to be of very little help to him. The killer had chosen him because he was a nobody who wouldn't know how to describe the man he met.
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