‘What?’ demanded Sir Edward incredulously.
‘I said . . .’
‘Three dead,’ repeated Sir Edward, cutting Quinn off sharply. ‘And you talk to me of parrots and monkeys!’
Quinn decided that the wisest course was to keep silent until Sir Edward’s rage was spent.
‘This was the first day of your investigation and we have . . .’ Sir Edward picked up the paper, only to throw it across the desk at Quinn. It fell short, which only seemed to add to Sir Edward’s fury. ‘Three dead!’
Quinn flinched. ‘The crowd . . . the crowd was possessed, sir. Like the swine. In the Bible, sir.’
‘I take it that by that you are referring to Luke, chapter eight, verse thirty-three. “Then went the devils out of the man, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the lake, and were choked.”’
‘Yes. That’s the passage I was thinking of.’
‘So that’s your explanation? The crowd was demonically possessed?’
‘Not literally, sir. Obviously. But something took hold of them. If you remember, sir, there was a fire at Blackley’s once before. In which several people, and animals, lost their lives. I imagine that memories of that fuelled the panic. In all honesty, sir, having seen the behaviour of the crowd, I am surprised that the number of dead is so low. It was horrific in there. I have never seen anything like it.’
Sir Edward rubbed his palms against his face wearily. ‘Where do we go from here, Quinn?’
Quinn frowned, unsure what was expected of him. ‘With all respect, what happened has no bearing on the case, sir. The investigation must continue.’
‘Yes, of course. That’s not at issue. What is at issue is your role in the investigation.’
‘I am making progress. I have made
good
progress today.’
‘You think this has been . . . a
good
day? A day on which you can use the word
good
in any context? In any sense?’
‘As far as the case is concerned . . .’
‘You are quite something, Quinn.’ Sir Edward winced, as if at a stab of sharp physical pain.
‘Your wound troubling you, sir?’
‘Never you mind about that.’
The two men were silent for some moments, one simmering in rage, the other in a sense of injustice. ‘I cannot be blamed for this,’ said Quinn at last, quietly. He paused before continuing: ‘I have always believed you to be a fair man, Sir Edward. I remember how you spoke on behalf of your assailant.’
‘There’s no need to bring that up again.’
‘You were able to look with sympathy upon a man who tried to kill you. It’s undeniable that Alfred Bowes was guilty. And yet, here am I, not guilty of anything, at least in respect of these tragic deaths. Not even charged with them. On no evidence whatsoever, purely on the basis that I was there, you have decided that this terrible disaster is my fault. You have already judged me. What happened to
Judge not, that ye be not judged
?’
Heat came to Sir Edward’s cheeks. He was evidently embarrassed by the reminder of the biblical quote.
‘You forget, I was there,’ continued Quinn. ‘I saw the baby separated from its mother. I saw the perambulator tip up. I saw the mother’s face as the crowd surged over the spot where her mite had fallen. If I thought for one moment that I was in any way responsible for that, if I believed that any act of mine had led to that child’s death, do you not think that I would take my revolver and blow out my brains? Straight away. Do you think I would be able to live with myself?’
‘I am quite aware of your morbid inclinations, Quinn. And have often thought that your antics can be explained by a desire to draw the angel of death towards yourself. You rather mope after death, like . . . well, like an unrequited lover. So, yes, I do believe you. It would take far less provocation than this to have you . . . do something regrettable.’ Sir Edward shook his head impatiently. ‘It is just so confoundedly inconvenient, Quinn.’
‘You don’t need to tell me that, sir.’
‘I am thankful to you for reminding me of the verse.’
Quinn bowed his head. He could risk a gesture of meekness and surrender now; he had the sense that the crisis had passed.
He was wrong.
‘Unfortunately there are those above us both who do not seem capable of following that lesson. It has again been suggested to me, Quinn, that you should be removed from your command. There is no logic to it, of course. But we both know that the powers that be are not always guided by logic. I myself accept that you cannot be blamed for this terrible tragedy. My masters are keen to blame someone. And I am afraid that your previous behaviour has not done you any favours here. Your handling of the last case in particular is being held against you.’
‘Sir Michael Esslyn is behind this, is he not?’
‘What? Eh? Let’s leave the Home Office out of this, shall we? I’m afraid the general feeling is that you can no longer be trusted to run the department. However, I have managed to persuade them that you should be kept on the case, for the time being at least.’
‘Thank you, Sir Edward.’
Sir Edward waved a hand in demurral. ‘However, you will conduct the case under supervision from now on.’
‘I see. Who, sir?’
‘Who?’
‘Who will you be placing over me?’
‘I need to think about that, Quinn. You shall know my decision in the morning.’
‘Very well, sir. Will that be all?’
‘The important thing now is that you solve the case. As quickly as possible, and without further mishap. Is that understood?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will share everything, all your discoveries, and any theories you have been pursuing, with the officer I appoint to oversee the case – whoever that may be. And you will follow his direction in terms of the future conduct of the case.’
Sir Edward pursed his lips and gave a terse nod to dismiss Quinn. But he had one more thing to say. ‘What lesson have we learnt from all this, Quinn?’
‘Lesson?’ Quinn’s voice betrayed his apprehension that Sir Edward was about to subject him to another biblical homily.
‘Events, Quinn. We are all the victims of events.’
For once, he did not want her to look at him. He knew she was there, at her desk. He could hear the clatter of her typewriter. He recognized her angry energy in the rapid tap-tap-tap. More than that, he could sense her awareness of him.
He did not flatter himself. Her interest was wholly hostile.
What he wanted most from a human being now was a sympathetic glance. An encouraging word, even. But these were things he knew he could not expect from her. She hated him; it was as simple as that.
No, he did not want her to look at him. And he would not be so weak as to look at her.
Except, how could he prevent himself?
He stood over Miss Latterly’s desk until she stopped typing and looked up at him. ‘Yes?’ Her voice was charged with its usual antagonism.
A stab of disappointment twisted itself into Quinn’s misery. He shook his head and moved on.
‘I heard what happened,’ she called after him.
He stopped and half-turned back. Something in her voice, not quite softness, but a relenting, delayed him.
‘At the House of Blackley.’
Quinn waited for the words of bitterness and accusation that would inevitably follow.
They did not come. Only: ‘You were there, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘It must have been terrible.’
Quinn nodded acknowledgement of her concern.
‘I heard a baby died.’ Her voice was suddenly very fragile and then, in almost the same moment, broken. Her face all at once tear-soaked. Quinn was shocked by the convulsive force rippling in her throat, shaking out bawling sobs of pain.
He rushed to her, knelt and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. He pulled her hot face into his chest.
She pulled away from him abruptly with a stifled cry of repugnance. Quinn backed away too, averting his eyes from her distress, allowing her to compose herself.
He thought he sensed her usual stiffness return, as she struggled to regain control of her emotions. ‘I am sorry.’
His nervous glance caught her dabbing at her eyes. Her face was flushed with colour. He was taken aback by the sudden realization of her beauty.
‘I don’t know how you bear it,’ she continued. ‘You must have to confront so much tragedy.’
‘We all have our own ways of dealing with it,’ said Quinn automatically.
‘And what is yours?’
Quinn hesitated, forced to consider the pat formula he had uttered without thought. He was not sure he knew the answer to her question. ‘In truth, I have never had to deal with anything like this before. I would say, usually, I deal with . . . tragedy . . . with death, violent death . . . I deal with it by setting myself against those responsible, and not resting until I have brought them to book. In this case, however, it is impossible to say who was responsible. There is no one for me to set myself against. I cannot round up everyone who was in the House of Blackley today.’
‘It was an accident, a terrible accident.’
‘Was it? Something took over the crowd – something malevolent, unruly, evil. It was almost as if those who died were sacrificed to it. And the spirit that possessed them seemed to exult.’
‘You’re frightening me.’
‘I’m sorry. Forgive me. I didn’t mean it. They were just people. People panicking.’
‘But people can do these things. People can do such horrible things.’
‘And it is my job – the job of men like me – to stop them.’ Quinn smiled and nodded reassuringly. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ Miss Latterly smiled bravely. ‘And here was I, trying to . . .’ She broke off and dipped her head shyly.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I was trying to . . . I hoped I might . . .’ Miss Latterly looked up, her eyes wide and unblinking as she stared into his. ‘I could see your unhappiness. How miserable you were. How upset you really were by this. I thought it might help you if you were able to talk about it. But I can’t . . . I’m not strong enough . . . I don’t want to know about these things.’
‘There’s no reason why you should.’
‘But it’s cruel of me. I realize that I have been cruel to you.’
‘No.’
‘Oh, yes. And the worst of it is I can’t help it. I can’t be any other way. I can’t help you.’
‘You have helped me.’
‘I want you to know the pain, the horror, the suffering . . .
And I want you to keep it a long way away from me!
’ It was almost a command. Her words were steeled with a forbidding despair.
Quinn rose to his feet and bowed. He had glimpsed the depth of feeling of which she was capable, only to have it snatched away from him.
Miss Latterly pushed out both hands, as if he was still in front of her and she was driving him away. ‘I can’t ever,
ever
love you!’
What was most extraordinary – and most devastating – about this statement was the acknowledgement that she had considered the possibility.
T
he sun was setting as Quinn darted out of New Scotland Yard. He had his head down, scanning the pavement of Victoria Embankment as if for scraps of comfort, shunning the mindless beauty of the evening. As he came out he had carelessly caught a glimpse of it: the sky igniting in streaks of copper fire. It stirred him to revulsion.
Mindless
, yes, that was the word for it. Mindless and heartless and mocking. An empty spectacle. Gaudy and in poor taste. If this was Sir Edward’s God attempting to make amends for the horror of the afternoon, then Quinn rejected Him with contempt.
He could not be bought off, like a child with a treat.
He fled north towards Piccadilly, half in a trance, numbed by the day’s events.
A different contempt drove him to avoid the faces of the pedestrians who crossed his path. They were the guilty ones. And their God, who had allowed it, was complicit.
But there was something unacknowledged at the heart of his misery. Oh, it was true enough – as he had avowed to Sir Edward – that he could not be held responsible for what had happened. But there was more to it than that. There was something he had to confront. And it was harder to face than the easy glory above his head.
Quinn passed the newspaper vendor outside Piccadilly Circus tube station without buying a paper. The placard the man was wearing put him off: THREE MORE DEAD AT BLACKLEY’S.
He entered the booking hall. The tube was not his preferred mode of transport. Normally he liked to sit on the open deck of an omnibus, looking down on the streets it was his duty to protect. Occasionally he would extend his journey, taking circuitous routes so that he could take in more of the city. He’d even do so in the rain, exulting in the privilege of isolation while other passengers huddled inside. On such days it was possible to believe that the city belonged to him alone.
This evening some instinct drove him underground. He had had all privileges revoked, he felt. Even that of sitting on the upper deck of an omnibus.
Was he mad? To go into the bowels of the underground railway system, into a crowded and confined place, after what he had experienced at Blackley’s?
Or was he simply punishing himself? It couldn’t be discounted.
He showed his warrant card to the guard at the ticket barrier.
The stairs descended in a dizzying spiral. With each step he felt himself coming closer to the confrontation he dreaded. The weight of an unacknowledged guilt pulled him down. If this turned out to be the stairway to hell he would not have complained.
He had shared their excitement. He had understood their glee. If he had not been there to investigate Amélie’s murder, he could well have gone out of the same ghoulish curiosity as everyone else; out of the same primitive urge to place himself close to death, in order to prove himself stronger than it.
And if he had been there as a member of the crowd it was perfectly conceivable, when the mood had changed and panic had taken hold, that he could have been the one who trampled the baby.
There but for the grace of God . . .
Was that the point of God, then? As a recipient of our pathetic gratitude for having once again escaped the fate of some other pitiable wretch?