Constable & Toop (24 page)

‘We were a pair of thieving children. There is much about pickpocketry that appeals to a child. Running, sneaking, shouting, adventuring . . . the thrill of a chase. But, it is not a game. Or if it is, it is an extremely dangerous one. In stealing from Old Man Chester I saw an opportunity to escape. I allowed myself to get caught so I could throw myself on his mercy. It was a most cynically rehearsed performance. But heartfelt all the same. Whether he saw it for what it was I do not know, but he took me under his wing all the same.'

‘So you left your brother?'

‘Jack had already found his own apprenticeship,' replied Mr Toop.

‘Jack did an apprenticeship as well?'

‘Of sorts, yes. His was an apprenticeship of thievery. His mentor was a man named Reeve. An attic burglar at the time, but a smart one. In every sense. He dressed well, even when he didn't have two coppers to rub together. All the pickpockets looked up to him, but Jack idolised him. He wanted to be him. He made his choice and I mine.'

‘How old were you?'

‘Eleven and twelve. Young to make such life choices, I suppose.'

‘What happened to Mr Reeve?'

‘I have no idea. Caught? Dead? Still thieving? There are few options for such men and none which is desirable.'

Sam picked up his father's empty plate. ‘I have one more question,' he said.

‘Yes.'

‘Jack mentioned my mother, so you must have seen him again when you were grown up.'

Mr Toop looked away, avoiding Sam's gaze. ‘Jack and trouble are like smoke and fire. You find one, the other won't be far away. Whenever he has come back into my life I have regretted letting him back in. Now, Sam, I must get to work.'

Mr Toop left the room, clearly flustered. Sam picked up the newspaper and noticed the headline.
The Terrible Murders of the Kitchen Killer
. The story told of a monster roaming the streets of London slitting the throats of the impoverished then dragging them into strangers' homes to die. As he read the gruesome details of the murders his hands began to shake until he was unable to read a single word.

‘Jack,' he muttered. ‘Jack. What have you done?'

In the dark alley of the Seven Dials Tanner had furnished Jack with another two addresses from the list. He then crossed the road and went into the pub, slipping through the wall of Mr Reeve's office for his third day spying. The previous day had provided no further revelations and today, once again, much of the day's business involved money lending and was conducted in a professional manner with an underlying threat of violence. Dubious behaviour no doubt, but nothing out of the ordinary and nothing about Jack.

Along with the usual debtors, Mr Reeve met and made deals with thieves, beggars, brothel-owners, swindlers, embezzlers and pickpockets. There appeared to be no criminal occupation so low or depraved in which he didn't have some involvement. At midday there was a queue of people waiting in the bar to see him, but when a man with a pock-marked face entered, Mr Bazeley allowed him to walk straight in. A rake-thin young woman with mournful blue eyes who had been begging Mr Reeve for a loan went pale with fear when the man entered the room, and Mr Reeve quickly announced their business done with.

‘Detective Inspector Savage,' said Mr Reeve. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?'

‘There's no pleasure in this visit,' replied Inspector Savage.

‘I'm sorry to hear that. What's troubling you?' asked Mr Reeve. ‘You do seem troubled.'

‘Murder, Mr Reeve. Bloody murder.'

‘The worst of all crimes, Savage.'

Inspector Savage tossed a newspaper onto Mr Reeve's desk.

He picked it up, read the headline and snorted. ‘The Kitchen Killer?' he said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Read it,' said Inspector Savage.

‘I don't appreciate being told what to do in my own place of work, you know that. Nor do I get my information from such unreliable sources as this.'

Inspector Savage scowled and offered no apology. ‘This man kills his victims by cutting their throats,' he said.

‘I'd swear these newspapermen have a greater thirst for blood than the most scurrilous criminals,' said Mr Reeve.

‘Heale was killed the same way.'

‘Yes.' Mr Reeve met Inspector Savage's gaze defiantly.

‘Heale's murder was the work of this man, Jack Toop. Or so you told me.'

Tanner's ears pricked up at the mention of Jack's name.

‘That was what I heard,' said Mr Reeve. ‘You've not found him, then? What more than a man's name and address do you need to bring him to justice? Would you have me round him up and deliver him to the hangman for you?' He spoke angrily.

‘I chased Jack Toop from that address myself. We lost him down Peckham Rye.'

‘Jack was always a good runner.' Mr Reeve smiled fondly.

‘In Honor Oak I came across a shop with his name. An undertaker's.'

Mr Reeve laughed. ‘Appropriate enough. Jack's certainly buried a few people in his time.'

‘The proprietor was also a Toop, but he claimed to have no knowledge of him.'

‘What was this man's Christian name?'

Inspector Savage pulled out a notebook and flicked it open. ‘His name was Charles Toop,' he read aloud.

‘Charlie Toop,' said Mr Reeve. ‘Now, there's a name I haven't heard in some time.'

‘You know him?'

‘Yes, I know him. That's Jack's brother.'

‘So he was lying.'

‘Yes. You searched the premises, I take it?'

‘You don't need to tell me how to conduct my business,' snarled Inspector Savage.

‘I thought that was exactly what I had to do,' replied Mr Reeve.

‘Now, listen here. I only have your word that this Jack Toop even exists.'

‘Oh, Toop exists all right. And Charlie is his brother. It's not me that's lying to you.'

Inspector Savage leaned close and spoke quietly. ‘You'd better not be, Reeve.'

Reeve did not back down. ‘I'm not one of the common crooks you spend your days chasing,' he said. ‘I'm paying you good money, Savage. More than the pittance you earn from the law. But that money can stop any time. As Heale's death showed, no man is safe in this city. Now, I have given you Jack's name. I suggest you find him, arrest him, lock him up, then hang him. Maybe he is your Kitchen Killer. Maybe not. My guess is not. Jack may be a killer, but he isn't a mindless killer. As a gesture of good will I'll put some feelers out for you, but if you're serious about catching Jack you need to go back to Charlie's shop and make him talk.'

‘You're sure he knows something?'

‘I can tell you how to find out for sure . . .'

Tanner had stopped listening. He was hovering over Mr Reeve's desk, reading the article. It listed the addresses where the bodies had been found. He didn't need to check his list to know they were the ones he had given to Jack. This was Jack's solution – not persuading ghosts, but creating them. Sam had been right. Tanner had put his lot in with a bad man and now terrible things were happening. People were being killed and it was Tanner's fault. Tanner turned to Ether Dust and flew through the wall into the pub. So intense was his anger and guilt that he knocked a freshly poured pint of ale clean off the bar as he whooshed past, sending it smashing onto the wooden floor.

Since the appearance of the dead girl in the kitchen, Aysgarth House had been a very different place to live. Gone was the air of levity. In its place, an unpleasant tension lingered. Obsessed with moving house, Mrs Tiltman had grown increasingly frustrated with her husband's attempts to pretend that everything was fine.

‘Whatever happened to that article you were writing about that man Fallowfield, Clara?' asked Mr Tiltman, from behind his newspaper.

‘I'm still working on it,' replied Clara.

‘Well, you'd better get a move on. It looks as if the old fraud's about to go public.'

‘What do you mean?' asked Mrs Tiltman coldly.

‘This advertisement says there's to be a public exorcism at Drury Lane Theatre. It mentions Fallowfield's name,' he said. ‘It says the place has been haunted for years.'

‘The Man in Grey,' said Clara, remembering what the doorman had said.

‘I'm impressed,' said her father. ‘You have been researching the subject.'

‘So he's putting on a show?' asked Clara.

‘Fallowfield is inviting sceptics to come and debunk his show. The gall of the man. He's throwing down the gauntlet. You know how much I like a good gauntlet-throwing. Let's go.' Mr Tiltman's eyes sparkled with childlike excitement.

‘No. I forbid it,' said Mrs Tiltman.

‘Forbid?' replied Mr Tiltman, catching Clara's eye.

‘You think the two of you can go down and poke fun at the whole thing, but no, I won't allow you to take Clara, not at night. No,' stated Mrs Tiltman, folding her arms defiantly.

‘She'll be with me,' said her husband. ‘London is no less safe than it ever was.'

‘No less safe?' exclaimed Mrs Tiltman. ‘How can you say that with this killer roaming the streets?'

‘Darling, please keep your voice down.' Mr Tiltman spoke sternly. ‘Mrs Preston will hear.'

‘Mrs Preston?' pronounced Mrs Tiltman. ‘What about me? I can barely stand to leave the house these days. I can't sleep. I'm scared to step outside. I'm scared to stay in. I will not have you taking Clara out at night while this monster is out there.'

Mr Tiltman sighed. ‘It was an unfortunate incident and that is all.'

‘A burst pipe or the stubbing of a toe is an unfortunate incident,' countered Mrs Tiltman. ‘This is something else. How long must you keep us here, living in abject fear?'

‘If you are worried, take a holiday. Take Clara to visit your aunt. The country air will do you good.'

‘No, we need to move, George. All of us. We need to get out of the city.'

‘I don't want to go,' said Clara.

‘The decision is not yours,' snapped her mother.

‘He doesn't want to leave either,' replied Clara.

‘You will not speak to me that way,' said Mrs Tiltman.

‘I don't think we should be hasty in reacting to this. It was a terrible shock for us all,' said Mr Tiltman.

‘Yes it was,' shrieked Mrs Tiltman. ‘Finding that poor murdered girl in a pool of blood. It was a shock.'

With her back to the kitchen door, Mrs Tiltman couldn't see Hopkins standing in the doorway, holding a tray. Behind him in the kitchen Mrs Preston burst into tears.

‘Are you happy now?' asked Mr Tiltman.

‘Happy?' replied Mrs Tiltman, who was also crying. ‘No, I'm very far from happy.'

‘That poor woman has been through enough,' said Mr Tiltman.

‘Can't you see? It's not just about her. The body was found in our house. Ours. We have been invaded by this horror. Can't you see that? Our house is stained with that girl's blood.' Mrs Tiltman stood up, knocking over her chair, and fled the room.

‘Darling,' pleaded her husband, following her out.

Hopkins said, ‘I had better see to Mrs Preston, Miss.'

‘Yes,' replied Clara.

Eventually everyone calmed down and dinner was brought and consumed in a frosty, reserved atmosphere. Afterwards Clara went to her room.

‘It's you, isn't it?' she said, unsure where to look. ‘It's your ghost. You're the girl that was dragged in here, aren't you? You made my theatre move. Do it again, show me you're here.'

Nothing happened.

‘Please. I want to help.'

Still nothing.

Clara wasn't to know that Emily's ghost was downstairs in the kitchen, standing next to Hopkins, trying her best to comfort Mrs Preston.

Sam was helping his father when there was a knock on the workshop door. Mr Toop looked up from the piece of wood he was planing. ‘Yes?' he called.

The door opened and Mr Constable appeared. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Mr Toop,' he said. ‘This gentleman would like a word.'

Behind him stood the man with the pockmarked face.

‘Inspector Savage,' said Mr Toop.

Sam could tell his father was spooked by the policeman's return.

‘Charlie Toop,' said Inspector Savage.

‘I prefer Charles.'

‘I prefer Charlie. As in Charlie and Jack.'

‘I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about.' Sam's father sounded flustered.

‘I think you do,' said Inspector Savage.

‘If you have something to say, I'd appreciate you coming out and saying it.' Mr Toop spoke angrily. ‘As you can see I have no corpses for you to flavour today, Inspector.'

‘I'd be careful with your jokes, Mr Toop. I'm here to discuss your brother. We have reason to believe he's back in London up to his old tricks. I'd like to know everything you know.'

‘I already told you—'

‘That you have no brother? Yes, you did say that and I do not appreciate being lied to.' Inspector Savage's manner was calm but assertive. ‘You are Charlie Toop. You grew up in the district of Whitechapel with your brother Jack. Your brother is guilty of murder, and if you are found to be protecting him the law will see you swing for your part in this unsavoury business.'

‘Father—' began Sam.

‘Sam, please leave this to me,' snapped Mr Toop. He turned to Inspector Savage. ‘We parted ways many years ago. We chose different paths, Jack and I, so when I said I didn't have a brother I meant I didn't have a brother any more.'

‘No,' said Inspector Savage. ‘You lied to me, Mr Toop, but that's going to stop now.'