Pierce was on his feet. ‘We don’t know for certain that Hogarth was crucified and in any case, Detective Inspector Pyke has found no hard evidence linking these murders with the events of five years ago.’
Mayne looked at Pierce. ‘Sit down please, Benedict,’ he muttered.
‘We’re not simply dealing with murder here,’ Pyke said, raising his voice a little. ‘What we have is a wilful attempt to conceal the actual cause of Hogarth’s death. The question we should be asking is why? My guess, for what it’s worth, is that someone didn’t want us to make a connection between Guppy and Hogarth. In other words, if we find how they’re linked, we’ll find out why they were killed. It also stands to reason that whoever wanted to keep Hogarth’s murder a secret has sufficient authority to influence the coroner’s decision.’ Pyke hesitated and said, ‘And perhaps a police investigation.’
That was too much for Pierce. He turned to Mayne and exploded, ‘This man is pursuing a personal vendetta against me and the men who carried out that investigation.’
‘
I’m
not,’ Pyke said, ‘but it’s clear enough to me that the man who killed Guppy and Hogarth certainly is. What I’m proposing to do is to open up that investigation. To find out once and for all what took place and why someone feels sufficiently motivated to take out their anger on Guppy and Hogarth. Who knows? Perhaps there are others. Perhaps this man hasn’t finished.’
Mayne slammed his fist down on his desk. ‘Enough.’ It was the first time Pyke had ever heard him raise his voice. He held up the document and said to Pierce, ‘Can you explain this to me, Superintendent?’
Pierce tried to find something to say but the words wouldn’t come. Mayne went on, ‘Then it would seem I have no choice but to support Detective Inspector Pyke’s preferred plan of action.’ He swivelled in his chair and turned to Pyke. ‘But woe betide you, Detective Inspector, if you should choose to comment on this matter in public, at least until you’ve been able to ascertain exactly what happened. Do you understand? You’ve told your men. That’s fine. But you’re not to say a word about this to anyone else. And by that, I do mean
anyone
. If word gets out I’ll have someone bring me your head on a platter. I don’t think I’ll have to look hard for volunteers.’ With that, Mayne brushed the front of his hair with the palm of his hand and added, ‘That will be all for today, gentlemen.’
Pyke caught up with Benedict Pierce at the bottom of the stairs.
‘You got the wrong man five years ago and I think you know it. I think you’ve known it all along.’
Pierce smiled almost imperceptibly. ‘Excuse me, Pyke. I have a division to run.’
Thrown by the man’s nonchalance, Pyke said, quietly, ‘In the past I thought you were just self-interested, the kind of man who’d do anything to ingratiate himself with his superiors. Now I think you’re wilfully corrupt.’
As Pyke stood aside, Pierce leaned into him, so close Pyke could smell his breath, and whispered, ‘I’m going to break you.’
EIGHTEEN
A
cold mist had descended on Islington by the time a hackney coach had left Pyke outside his house, its stagnant breath clinging to the pavements and the bare trees, so that you couldn’t see for more than a few yards. Perhaps this was why he didn’t notice her, at least until his key was in the front door. She called out his name and as he spun around, she removed the scarf from her head, long curls of black hair falling around her face as she did so.
‘How did you . . .?’
Sarah Scott stepped into the light produced by the porch gas-lamp and smiled. ‘You’re not the only one capable of finding people.’ She was wearing a long black velveteen coat over what looked like an old smock.
‘Come in, please,’ Pyke said, turning back towards the front door, but her gloved hand caught him by the wrist and gently pulled him back.
‘Can we just take a walk to the end of the street?’
Pyke looked at her smooth, dark skin, her plump, sensuous lips and her thick eyelashes. Ever since his trip to Suffolk, he’d tried, and failed, to visualise her. Now those memories came flooding back; the feel of her skin, the sharpness of her cheekbone, the brown flecks in her otherwise blue eyes.
‘How
did
you find me?’ he asked, joining her on the pavement. She was looking up at the house.
‘I followed you from Scotland Yard.’ She smiled breezily. ‘This is rather a grand home for a police officer, isn’t it?’
Pyke decided to ignore the question. He started to walk and she fell in at his side. ‘What brings you to the metropolis?’
‘I was thinking about something you said to me when you visited the colony.’
‘Oh?’
For a moment, Sarah stopped and toyed with the silver pendant attached to her necklace. ‘You said that if I believed Ebenezer Druitt was in some way responsible for the murder you told me about, the rector, then I should speak up.’
‘I also said I didn’t want to force you to do anything you weren’t ready to do.’
‘I know and it was sweet of you.’ As she spoke, he could see the air condense in front of her. ‘Come on, let’s keep walking. Otherwise we’ll turn into blocks of ice.’
‘After I visited you in Suffolk, I went to talk to Druitt in his cell at the Model Prison,’ Pyke continued.
‘I hope for your sake you escaped unscathed. That man has a way of infecting one’s thoughts.’
Pyke took a deep breath. He didn’t want to say what he was about to, but he didn’t feel he had a choice. ‘Druitt intimated that you and he had been close . . .’
He thought he saw her suck in her cheeks.
‘Before I knew him, I found him tolerable company. Most people did. As I said, he could be quite charming when he wanted to be.’
‘No more than that?’
This time she turned and faced him, the anger in her expression almost palpable.
‘He
would
make you think that. It’s how he operates. Plants an idea in someone’s mind and lets it mushroom. It’s one of the reasons I parted with Brendan. Druitt managed to convince Brendan that he and I were lovers. The green-eyed monster did the rest.’
‘I take it he was lying?’
Sarah glanced at Pyke, scowling. ‘Do you really need me to answer that?’
Pyke walked on for a few yards. The light from the gas-lamp had been swamped by the mist. On one side of the street was a row of terraced houses, but now Pyke couldn’t even see their front doors. On the other side was an open field, but it had become a wall of darkness.
‘Tell me something,’ Pyke said, staring straight ahead. ‘When you were living at number twenty-eight Broad Street, did you ever come across a man called Morris Keate?’
‘Keate?’
‘He was a night-soil man. He was also fascinated by the Devil, I believe. He might have gone to see Brendan Malloy, to be exorcised.’
‘No, I don’t think I ever met anyone by that name.’
‘And you don’t remember Malloy mentioning him?’
Sarah shook her head. Briefly Pyke told her about the two boys who’d been killed five years earlier. She told him she remembered the murders and asked why they were of concern to him now.
‘Morris Keate was tried and executed for killing those boys.’
‘And you don’t think he did it?’ Sarah asked.
‘One of the boys, Stephen Clough, was found nailed to the door of a stable that Malloy used as a venue for mass.’ Pyke hesitated and then told her that a City alderman had been crucified a couple of weeks earlier, on exactly the same date that Clough had died, and that Guppy had been murdered in the same manner, and on the same date, as the first boy.
‘I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with either Brendan or Druitt,’ Sarah said, when Pyke had finished.
‘Maybe nothing, but Malloy went to see the rector earlier this year, to warn him that Druitt had foreseen his death. And don’t forget that the surplice the rector was wearing on the night he was killed turned up at number twenty-eight Broad Street. When I questioned Druitt about all of this, he professed ignorance at first but then, as I was leaving, he told me I should pay attention to the date of the rector’s death.’
Sarah paused for a moment. ‘So you think Druitt knows who killed the rector?’
‘I’d say he wants me to believe there’s a connection between Guppy’s death and the murder of the boys.’
‘But why?’
‘I have no idea.’ Pyke shook his head. ‘Part of me thinks he’s just trying to cause mischief.’
‘That sounds like him.’ Sarah pulled her coat a little tighter around her shoulders. ‘And the other part?’
‘Like I said, I don’t really know what his interest is. But one thing is certain: if I’m to unravel any of this, I need to find and talk to Brendan Malloy.’
‘I thought you said you’d arrested him?’
‘They let him go while I was in Suffolk and now I can’t find him. He moved out of the room he was renting in Soho.’
A faint smile spread across Sarah’s lips. ‘So there is something I can do, then.’
‘Yes . . . I suppose so.’
A loose strand of hair fell down into Sarah’s face and she tucked it behind her ear. ‘I did live with him for more than a year. I might have a better chance of finding him than you, Detective Inspector.’
‘Call me Pyke. Please.’
When Pyke proposed they turn around and head back towards the house, Sarah Scott didn’t object. There was a gas-lamp outside Pyke’s house and they stopped under it. ‘Will you come in, for a hot drink or a bite to eat?’ He waited and added, ‘If you need a bed for the night, we have a spare room . . .’
In the gaslight, her soft skin was the colour of butter. ‘That’s very kind of you but I have a place to stay.’
‘Perhaps you’d like to meet my son,’ Pyke said, looking up at Felix’s bedroom window. A candle was burning behind the drawn curtains.
‘Another time, maybe,’ she said apologetically. ‘At the moment, I don’t think it’s such a good idea.’
‘How will I know where to contact you?’
Sarah pulled up her scarf and tied it around her head. ‘I’ll contact you when I’ve found Brendan.’
Pyke moved quickly to grab her hand and dragged her into an embrace. Her lips were cold and soft but she didn’t push him away. In fact they parted just a little and she gave him a short, breathy kiss that was both passionate and withheld, as though she hadn’t quite decided what to do. He slid his arm around her back and pulled her in tighter, but just when he felt her begin to yield, she pushed him away, a startled look on her face, her eyes unreadable.
‘Not yet,’ she mouthed. ‘Not like this.’ She pulled the scarf back over her head and hurried off down the street.
Felix was in the living room, curled up on the sofa, reading a book. Copper was asleep at his feet. This time, Felix did not attempt to conceal the book when Pyke entered the room. Instead he held it up and said, ‘
The Confessions of St Augustine
. Martin gave it to me.’ It took Pyke a few moments to work out he was referring to Jakes.
‘Did you go to St Matthew’s after school again today?’
Felix didn’t bother looking up. ‘Martin said it would be all right. I helped out around the place. He said he was glad to have me.’ The way Felix said it made it seem like a barbed remark. ‘By the way, the pigs were out again. Mr Leech came here to report it. He was angry. One of them, Alice, I think, had turned his lawn into a quagmire.’
‘How could they get out? I’ve just fixed the sty.’
‘You know there’s not enough room for them all.’
Sighing, Pyke went over to the window and peered into the darkness. ‘I’ll go out there and rescue Alice, then . . .’
‘We already did,’ Felix said, gesturing down at Copper.
Pyke sat down at the other end of the sofa and patted Copper on the head. The ageing mastiff looked up and wagged his tail. His formerly black muzzle had turned white. It was a strange life, the one he had made for Felix, Pyke supposed: the fact that it was just the two of them now, that the boy didn’t have a mother, someone to nurture him, nor any brothers and sisters. It was one of Pyke’s many regrets, both for himself and for Felix, that he hadn’t had more children.