by Emily Organ
“The trains must come through here between Praed Street and Bayswater stations,” said James. “I suspect there is an uncovered piece of track between the houses somewhere in order for us to have heard the engine that clearly.”
We walked only a short distance further before I stopped. There was a heavy, sinking sensation in my chest.
“Of course,” I said. “That is why I’ve heard of this street before.”
“Why?”
We had reached number twenty Leinster Gardens.
“We’re almost there. Someone is playing a trick on us.”
“A trick? Penny, what are you talking about?”
“Come and look at the number which Adam claims to live at.”
We reached the house and looked up at its smart front door with cream painted columns either side of it.
“A trick? I don’t see what you mean. This is Mr de Vries’ house, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not. No one lives here. Look at the windows.”
“You can’t see into them, they’re blackened out.”
“Exactly, and the same with number twenty-four next door. Look. And there are no steps down to the basement. These houses are just a façade.”
The porches, windows, balustrade and railings were exactly the same as those adorning the other houses on the street, but I remembered now that these were not proper homes.
James looked down at the card again. “Twenty-three Leinster Gardens. Yes, this is the right place. Just a façade, you say. But why?”
“For the railway line. That train we heard passed through a tunnel beneath our feet here, and there’s a cutting on the other side of this façade.”
“Well, I’m staggered.”
“I remember reading about it. When the railway line was built, numbers twenty-three and twenty-four of Leinster Gardens had to be demolished to make way for it. It was decided that they would retain the façade of the demolished houses so as not to spoil the whole street.”
James stood staring at the counterfeit houses in front of us, his shoulders slumped. “I’ll be blowed. We’ve been fooled! Mr de Vries is playing games with us. He purposefully sent us out on a wild goose chase to Bayswater. He dropped those cards on purpose, and we fell for it!” James pulled one of the cards from his pocket and scrunched it up in his fist. “I should have known it wasn’t a proper address on the card!”
“How could you have known?”
“I work for the Metropolitan Police. I should know these things about London! And I should have been suspicious the moment he left a card lying around with his address on. He obviously wasn’t going to lead us to his home, was he?”
“We weren’t to know. We had to come and investigate the address, didn’t we?”
“I don’t like being played for a fool!” James spun round angrily and called out to the street: “Mr de Vries! Are you here, Mr de Vries? Are you watching us? Come out of hiding, you coward!”
Everything was silent except for the whipping of bare tree branches in the wind.
Chapter 35
“So who are we looking for?” snarled James as the cab took us back along Bayswater Road. “It’s unlikely that his name is truly Adam, and he certainly doesn’t live in Leinster Gardens. He could be five feet and nine inches tall or five feet and eleven inches tall. Or somewhere in-between. He wears dark clothing and a dark hat. Most witnesses say he’s fair-haired, although some say he’s dark-haired. He may have a moustache and he may not. Does he wear a mask? Or is someone entirely unconnected wearing the mask? I’m feeling lost, Penny, truly I am. Do you mind if I smoke?”
I shook my head and he took out his pipe.
“Witnesses seem rather tricky to rely on,” I said. “If you see a man briefly and are then asked to recall some hours later how tall he was, how do you decide by how much five feet eight inches differs from five feet nine? And if it’s dark, how is it possible to discern the colour of a man’s hair? I think we should concern ourselves less with what the man looks like and consider instead why he has targeted the victims he has targeted. He must have known Mr Larcombe and Mrs Baxter because he planned for both their murders. So what was it that made him behave so violently toward them? Was it an act of revenge?”
“They may have upset him in some way.”
“They must have done. I think it would pay to undertake some more rigorous questioning of the victims’ families and friends to find out who each might have made an enemy of before their deaths.”
“In theory, E and G Division are doing just that. The trouble is that Mr Larcombe, in particular, made an enemy of so many people.”
James lit his pipe and inhaled deeply.
“But we must already know the killer, don’t you think?” I said. “He has a good knowledge of St Giles and he must be good at blending in with the crowd as he’s been able to attend the funerals of several victims without arousing any suspicion. He’s literate, because he is able to write letters, and the quality of his writing suggests a good level of education, unless he has someone else to write the letters for him.”
“We shouldn’t rule it out, I suppose. He clearly enjoys taunting us and seems to enjoy the hysteria he has created across the city. Are those three bobbies I see running?”
He leant forward out of the cab door to get a closer look at the three constables in their distinctive blue uniforms running from Bayswater Road into Hyde Park. James sat back and lifted the roof hatch.
“Driver, follow those police officers! I want to find out what the commotion is.”
“Perhaps they’re chasing a thief?” I suggested.
“It’s quite unusual to see three officers running in that manner. And look at this traffic!”
The cab waited for a gap in the long procession of horses and carriages so that we could turn right onto the carriageway that ran through the park.
“We’re going to lose sight of them if we have to sit here much longer!” I said.
The cab eventually found space to turn into Hyde Park and James opened the roof hatch again.
“Faster!” he ordered. “I need to catch up with them!”
The driver flicked the horse with his whip and it broke out into a fast trot.
James leant over the door of the cab, trying to catch sight of the constables.
“There they are! On the path over there! And it looks like they’ve been joined by some officers from the Royal Parks Constabulary now. Once we’ve got ahead of them I’ll ask the driver to stop and then I’ll speak to them.”
“And what if it’s nothing?”
“How can it be nothing?” James snapped. “Something isn’t right.”
“James, I know you’re angry that Adam keeps evading you, but don’t you think chasing these police officers is a step too far? I don’t see how they can be of any help to us.”
James turned to face me and I didn’t like the glimmer of rage in his eyes.
“Have you any idea what it feels like to have the weight of this case on your shoulders, Penny? Five people are dead and I’m no closer to finding the brute than I was four weeks ago. And to worsen matters, he is determined to taunt us by sending us letters and leaving his visiting card, which has directed us to a false address. He’s playing games with us and he’s winning. The public is terrified and the press is full of nothing but disdain. Yes, that’s your lot.”
He pointed a finger at me and I shrank back from him. This was not the man I knew. He was talking to me as if I were someone else entirely.
“It’s very easy for the press to point out where we’re going wrong, but I defy anyone to get this right. Anyone!”
“I saw what he did,” I said quietly. “I saw the boy murdered.”
I could feel tears building behind my eyes and tried my best to keep them back.
“So you’ve seen what we’re dealing with. This man is a monster. He needs to be caught. Therefore, don’t question me about why I should want to speak to a group of police officers I see running through
Hyde Park!”
He opened the hatch. “Stop here, driver! That’ll do. Open the doors for me.”
I watched James as he ran from the cab. Then I removed my spectacles and wiped my eyes with my handkerchief.
I didn’t have long to wait before James returned. He strolled briskly up to the cab with a firm scowl on his face. I heard him speak to the driver and then he leapt back into the seat beside me.
“Another murder,” he said breathlessly, “and I’ll bet you it’s our poor friend Mr Turner.”
The horse broke into a trot again as we drove across the bridge over The Serpentine.
I felt my stomach churn. “Where?”
“Royal Avenue in Chelsea. B Division has sent a telegram to the neighbouring divisions requesting help. Apparently, the crowds are getting out of control down there.”
Chapter 36
On reaching Chelsea, we found King’s Road blocked by people, so we made the remainder of our journey on foot. A line of bobbies had been tasked with keeping the crowds out of Royal Avenue, an attractive broad street with smart houses overlooking a strip of lime and plane trees. The constables let James and me pass, and at the far end of the avenue I could see the distant portico of the Royal Hospital.
“Is Ed Keller still being held by E Division?” I asked.
“I believe so.”
“If he is, then he can be ruled out as a suspect, I suppose.”
The wind blew up the avenue as we walked towards a group of constables gathered about halfway down. The victim was someone of reasonable wealth judging by the appearance of the house, which stood four storeys high with a balcony, window boxes on each sill and a shiny black door. A horse and covered carriage stood outside the property and I guessed that it was waiting to take the victim’s body to the mortuary.
A wide man with red whiskers and wearing a dark grey suit introduced himself as Inspector Dunleath of B Division CID.
James shook his hand. “Inspector Dunleath, this is Miss Green from the Morning Express. You don’t mind a reporter being here, do you?”
Inspector Dunleath shrugged. “No escaping them really, is there?”
He gave me a smile then blew his nose into a large blue handkerchief.
“Who’s the victim?” asked James.
“Mr Albert Turner. Forty-seven years of age. A lawyer. He lived here with his wife, although she wasn’t present at the time of the murder. He had his throat cut in the drawing room.”
“Who did it?”
“A guest.”
The inspector handed James a visiting card, which looked painfully familiar.
“I knew it,” said James. “Penny, look at this.”
“Adam de Vries again,” I said. “Inspector, you must have a good description of him from the person who admitted him to the house. Who answered the door?”
“The parlour maid,” he replied. “She’s speaking to my colleague at this present moment. She’s rather distressed, as you can imagine. All the staff are extremely upset.”
I took my notebook and pencil from my bag and began to take notes.
“Mr Turner’s throat was cut?” asked James.
“Yes, and it made a terrible mess.”
“Was Adam de Vries known to him?”
“That’s what we’re trying to establish. He must have had a justifiable reason for agreeing to see the man when he called round. We’ll find out from the maid on what business Mr de Vries was attending.”
“Has she given a description of Mr de Vries?”
“So far we know that he was about five feet ten inches tall and had fair hair. He was twenty-eight years of age or thereabouts.”
“Whiskers?” I probed.
“The maid hasn’t mentioned any.”
Inspector Dunleath paused to sneeze, before blowing his nose again. “The butler also saw Mr de Vries, so we are interviewing him as well.”
“And none of the staff were able to apprehend the attacker?” James interjected.
“They tell us it all happened too quickly. Mr Turner was attacked within minutes of Mr de Vries being admitted into the drawing room. The parlour maid had gone to the kitchen to fetch tea and she discovered Mr Turner on the floor of the room when she returned with the tea tray. Mr de Vries had already left the room and she found him in the hallway. She hurried after him, but he dashed off out of the front door. He left his hat behind on the hallway table.”
“Ah, interesting! Has it any distinguishing features which could help us identify its owner?” I asked.
“Not that we’ve established so far. It’s an inexpensive top hat, but we know little more than that.”
“Any idea in which direction the assailant ran?”
“Up that way.” The inspector pointed towards the portico of the Royal Hospital. “He scarpered across Burton’s Court and that would have taken him up to Queen’s Road. From there, he could have turned left and run towards the barracks, or he might have turned right and got as far as the river. For all we know, he’s hopped onto a steamboat. The butler chased him but only got halfway across Burton’s Court. He’s not a young man, and he didn’t see which direction Mr de Vries took from there. Some officers have been sent to the address in Bayswater to apprehend him. He may not be there at present, of course, but they can wait for him to return.”
The inspector sniffed as he tried to find a clean portion of his handkerchief on which to blow his nose.
“They’ll have rather a long wait,” replied James. “It’s not a proper address. We’ve just come from there. Mr de Vries left his calling cards scattered about the place in St Giles. I think you’ll also find that his name is a pseudonym. I’ve been chasing after this man for weeks now and am getting no closer to apprehending him. To make matters worse, he’s sending me letters like this.”
James pulled the most recent letter out of his coat pocket and handed it to the inspector.
“Good Lord,” said Dunleath. “He named Mr Turner in his letter?”
“We received it at Scotland Yard this morning and have been searching for a Mr Turner ever since. We were unable to reach him in time.”
Inspector Dunleath sighed and handed the letter back to James. “Well, you’d better come inside and speak to the staff. You’ll want to see the scene of the murder, I’m sure. Your colleague, Chief Inspector Cullen, is already here.”
“Yes indeed.” James turned to me. “My apologies, Penny, but we can’t allow the press inside the house as yet.”
“That’s quite all right,” I replied. “I can’t say I want to go inside in any case.”
“Do you have everything you need for your report?”
“I do. I need to get to the office now in time to meet my deadline. Good luck, James.”
He gave me a smile, but I could see sadness in his eyes.
Chapter 37
An unpleasant odour greeted me as I arrived into the newsroom that afternoon, a filthy man in ragged clothes sat at Edgar’s desk.
“Miss Green! Have you missed me?”
“Edgar?”
He scratched at his neck, which already looked red raw.
“Don’t come too close,” he replied. “I’m playing host to a fine crowd of creatures.”
“Fleas?” I asked.
“And lice,” said Frederick, wrinkling his nose.
“How was St Giles?” I asked.
“It has some hospitable gin shops, but I can’t say I recommend the dosshouses. I’m lucky not to have been struck down by an infectious disease.”
“Did anyone suspect that you were a news reporter?”
“Some chaps thought I was a bit fishy, but most of them were too drunk to care. As long as I bought them a drink, that is. I hope I’ll be reimbursed by Mr Sherman in due course. I was an extremely popular chap when I was buying the beer and gin. And look, here’s something that will cheer you up.”
He handed me a letter, which I took carefully from his grimy hand.
I read it out: “‘The Director of
the British Museum begs to inform Mr Edgar Fish that a reading ticket will be delivered to him on presenting this note to the Clerk in the Reading Room within six months of the above date.’”
I paused and then said, “Well done, Edgar. You got your reading ticket back!”
“Father pulled a few strings. I finally managed to find him sober at his gentleman’s club. Thank you for your help with all the Sudan work.”
The door to the newsroom opened and slammed shut as Mr Sherman strode in. “Our wanderer returns, eh, Miss Green? Are you pleased to see him?”
“Of course. I’m always pleased to see Edgar.”
“He’s written pages of notes on his experiences, so we have many good stories to publish. He’s back here now because I want him to work with you on the murders. There’s almost too much to keep up with after today’s terrible events in Chelsea. I take it you’ve got everything you could get your hands on so far?”
“Just the circumstances of the murder. I didn’t have time to interview any witnesses before the deadline.”
“Super. Get it all written down and I’ll have a look at it later this evening. I want you and Edgar back in Chelsea early tomorrow morning. Before he does anything else, however, I’m taking him down to the Turkish Baths, where he can get a proper wash and scrub from Ahmet, my favourite tellak.”
Edgar was clean-shaven and well-groomed when I met him outside Sloane Square station early the following morning. The ornate buildings around us were bathed in pale sunlight and there was birdsong in the trees. I took in the scene and reminded myself that there was beauty in this city, even in winter.
“How nice it is to be in a pleasant part of town again,” said Edgar as we walked along King’s Road. “Wide streets, respectable stores such as Peter Jones and a well-bred class of people.”
“But it seems that murderers are venturing into Chelsea after all.”
