Domini Mortum

by Paul Holbrook

  ‘I like it a lot, of course,’ he said, allowing himself the smallest of smiles. ‘He committed crimes; he was seen coming out of the Dolorian Club as it burnt to the ground; he did not hide his face from the many witnesses. However, I still do not believe that he killed his father or brother, nor that he murdered and ate children. How is Miss Bethany Finnan, by the bye?’

  I froze. ‘You know that I have visited her?’

  ‘I do. In fact, I know a lot of those whom you have seen regarding your little investigation. I understand that you enjoyed a little visit to Kent. Lovely part of the world, such beautiful countryside, and fine pubs too by all accounts.’ His words, although soft and friendly, came from a hardened face. ‘You see, Mr Weaver, you are ruffling feathers with your blundering, feathers that should remain untouched. I did not lie when I told you that I was concerned for your welfare. I cannot impress on you heavily enough how dangerous this path is. Leave it now and no harm will come to you – or your house guests for that matter.’

  I sat forwards.

  ‘Are you threatening me, Inspector?’

  ‘Please, not Inspector any more, I am afraid; I have left that life behind now. Just plain Mr Draper will do.’

  ‘Are you threatening me, Mister Draper?’

  ‘Why no, Mr Weaver, I would not do such a thing. I would like you to think of me as a messenger and friend; a kind face delivering a warning. Understand what I am saying to you: this will not end well if you continue.’ He lifted his cup to his lips a final time and drained the contents before standing. ‘I’m afraid I must leave. Think on what I have said. There are those that care for you, Mr Weaver. You have Alice and that sweet young boy to look after. I will see myself out.’

  He walked towards the door. As he turned the handle, I called over to him.

  ‘Inspector? Mr Draper? One last thing before you leave – something Bethany said to me that I did not understand. What is Surma?’

  He paused for a second before replying.

  ‘Surma? Yes, it was spoken to me by Sibelius Darke himself. He told me that, in Finnish folklore, there is an underworld – a place where all souls go when they pass from this life. They call it Tuonela, I think. Anyway, at the gateway to Tuonela stands a beast called Surma, a vile creation tasked with preventing anyone from returning from the underworld. Nobody knows fully what this beast is supposed to look like as it devours anyone attempting to pass back to our world. Darke believed that this beast had been summoned to stalk the streets, committing the very murders of which he stood accused. Now, I am a practical man. I believe in the truth of science and fact and only in what I see before me; but there were things at work back then which, even now, I am wary of… and you should be too. We will not meet again. Goodbye, Mr Weaver.’

  He closed the door gently behind him as he left.

  ***

  In the short time between Draper leaving and Alice and Benjamin returning with supplies for that evening’s dinner, I managed to scribble down as much as I could regarding my conversation with the elusive ex-inspector. As I worked I thought about his visit; was it a friendly call from a companion of Abe Thomas’s, genuinely worried about my welfare and that of those I held dear, or was this man in some way connected with the mysterious and shadowed gentry behind the Dolorian Club? Whatever the answer, I had finally come face to face with the last of those who had played a key part in the latter days of the killer who occupied so much of my mind and time.

  My smile was broad as I poured myself a large glass of brandy to celebrate. Details of a meeting with Inspector Frederick Draper, a man who had eluded the public and press for over six years, would surely be the final twist of the arm that I needed to persuade George Purkess to let me write my article. I could even envisage being given the power to take full control over the piece, even expanding my work into a book on the Darke murders.

  When Alice and Benjamin came through the door, I could not contain myself from rushing towards them and sweeping Alice off her feet in joy, even chancing a peck upon her cheek, while little Benjamin stood in open-mouthed bewilderment at my happy actions. My good humour was infectious enough, as we set about laughing together and dancing around my small rooms. Benjamin, of course, did not dare to ask me the reason for my joyful nature, but Alice pressed for answers. I would not tell her the full details of the story, though, and managed to restrict my answer to just a few words.

  ‘My fortune has come to me – it has found me out!’ I cried. ‘Just you see, the pair of you, just you see how my name will soon be known and my pedigree savoured.’

  We sat down for a happy meal at the table in my kitchen, the three of us, and I can honestly say that I had known no happier repast in all of my days, humble and plain though our dinner was. I found myself talking merrily with Benjamin, who suddenly, as if by some stroke of magic, had found his tongue. It gave me such happiness to see this child, who I had only witnessed being solemn and shy of face, turn into such a larkish youth in the blink of an eye. Alice too shared my relief at Benjamin’s transformation and I am sure that there was a tear in her eye at the sight of her young brother seemingly returned to her at last from the torpor of misery and worry.

  Draper had been correct about the boy; he was obsessively interested in my work and my involvement with murder cases and the like. I lost count of the questions that he asked of me. Indeed it was a glowing and happy lad that was put to bed by his sister that night and the memory of his face, smiling as he slept, is one that has always stayed with me.

  ‘I cannot remember the last time I saw him so content,’ Alice said as she returned to the kitchen and began to wash the dishes from dinner. ‘You have lit a spark in him that has not been there for a very long time; I am grateful for that.’

  There was a comfortable silence in the room and I settled back in my chair with my glass. I looked on Alice at the sink and the warmth I felt was like a long-forgotten associate, returned by chance and a stranger to the senses, but gratefully welcomed.

  ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you in all of the excitement of the evening,’ Alice said, drawing a plate from the sink and placing it on the side to drain. ‘I was offered some regular work today. There’s a new agency opened up in offices on the Marylebone Road; a friend of mine, Ellen, got taken on two weeks ago and does well out of them. They arrange temporary service work in some of the big houses in town. Nothing major of course, just some scullery work, laundry and the like. The man at the office, Mr Tandry, says that someone from my background and upbringing will most certainly get offered a proper job sooner or later; he said I had great potential. I start in two days’ time.’ She turned to look at me and gave a nervous smile.

  ‘That is wonderful news, Alice. I knew that it would not be long until you found your feet.’

  ‘Yes, well. Of course it means that Benjamin and I should be moving on once I get my money. That will make you happy, I’m sure.’ Her eyes searched mine for a reaction; I placed my drink on the table, stood and stepped over to her.

  ‘Alice,’ I said, my voice low. ‘I am happy that you have found this work, but really, there is no need for you to be leaving here in a hurry – in fact, there is no need for you to be leaving here at all.’ I reached forwards and took her hands in my own. They were soft and her fingers moved in response, taking mine.

  ‘Are you sure? I mean, I thought we were a burden to you.’

  ‘My rooms would feel too large without the pair of you,’ I said, looking down into her eyes. ‘I think I would feel a little lost, in fact.’

  Her lower lip trembled a touch and she smiled at me then, throwing her arms around me as I drew her close. It felt good to be close to her at last – it felt right, in fact, and I moved to kiss her.

  At that moment there was a loud knocking at the door.

  ‘It seems you are a man wanted by others as well,’ Alice said, giving me the briefest of kisses before pulling away to answer the door. ‘Maybe it is another long-lost friend come to give you good news?’
>
  Behind the door stood a young lad holding a note in his hand, and I knew immediately what the message would be. There had been another murder and Abe Thomas was indeed being a loyal friend.

  ‘I will not be long, Alice!’ I called, grabbing my coat and satchel. ‘We have lots to talk about!’ And leaving her smiling softly at me in the kitchen doorway, I left.

  ***

  I hailed a cab from the end of Amberley Road and told the driver to take me to the address given by Abe. The messenger boy had provided no other instruction and the note was written in Abe’s usual sparse and curt tone; simply an address and his initials. I felt gladdened to have received it, as I had wondered whether I would hear from the man again following my article in The Illustrated Police News about the Boston Place deaths and the more recent murders of the young girls. I stepped out of the cab at Hanover Gate and saw that there were policemen stationed at the entrance to Regent’s Park, the inside of which was consumed by fog. Two constables stood on watch at the gate, preventing any members of the growing crowd from entering. As I approached, they stood a little taller, one of them holding out his hand to bar my entrance.

  ‘No one but police past this gate,’ he said.

  I was about to start my argument with the man, an argument that would start with the name Inspector Thomas, when I felt a sharp tug at my elbow. I turned to see Sergeant Eastwood, a policeman who worked at Abe’s station; he leant in close and whispered in my ear, ‘This is not the entrance for you, Sam. Follow me up the road a little. The Inspector is waiting for you.’

  Without speaking, I followed his instruction and walked at a quickened pace behind him towards Portland Place, where another entrance to the park lay.

  There were two constables in attendance. However, just behind them stood the large figure of Abe Thomas, who beckoned me in as I approached.

  ‘You haven’t been here, Sam, right?’ he hissed, throwing his arm around my shoulders and leading me in. ‘My head would be on a spike outside Scotland Yard if it became known that I had told you of this.’

  We hurried into the dark. The dank chill of the late September evening hung in the air and the fog gave Regent’s Park a hazy and sinister appeal, the trees and bushes of the park lit only by the lantern that Abe carried. In the distance, I could see other torches dancing in the blackness; there was obviously a lot of activity here this evening, which hinted to me that it would be a scene well worth attending.

  ‘Is it another murder, Abe?’ I asked as he rushed me along the path. He nodded.

  ‘The call came in not one hour ago. A gentleman travelling home from his club by carriage spotted an altercation between a tall cloaked figure and a young girl on Park Road, near Clarence Gate. The gentleman called out of his carriage and the figure took flight, dragging the girl away. By the time he got the carriage to stop, they had disappeared from sight. He made off after them, telling his driver to alert the police. By the time we arrived, it appeared he must have caught up with them at Hanover Gate. His body was shredded, almost unrecognisable. I cannot take you to him; it would be too obvious. He is a well-known figure apparently, a friend of the Chief Inspector.’

  ‘Why have you called me, Abe? Why risk yourself for this?’ I said.

  ‘There’s something not right about this whole mucky business,’ he snarled. ‘Someone up top has got the wind up their jacksie. My men have all been put on the gates of the park; they’ve been barred from entering. It’s the city police that are inside, so don’t worry, they won’t recognise you. If this continues though, then soon it will be just like it was before…’

  ‘Before?’

  ‘Back in Whitechapel, back when Darke was on his rampage. It was the same then; the powers-that-be tightening up everything and overriding the officers on the scene. I would never be able to live with myself if I let it happen again.’ He pulled us to a stop and dragged me in front of him so that he could stare into my eyes. ‘I want you to record it, Sam. I want you to record it and make sure that it doesn’t disappear, that it doesn’t get forgotten as just a few unimportant deaths of girls that no one cares about! I care about them, Sam. I care and others should too!’

  His eyes were bloodshot, his normally ruddy face a pale grey colour as it glowered down on me, lit by his lantern. It was clear that he had been caught unawares by this incident and had not had the benefit of his sobering walk before being called.

  ‘I will take it to Mr Purkess, I promise you, Abe,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, right. Well, you should know that the cordons of the park were sealed pretty quickly. I am sure that our man is long gone but there is a chance that he still lurks in the shadows.’ He paused for a second to watch my face blanch. ‘The first we found was just up here,’ he said, charging off ahead of me.

  ‘Are they linked to the others? I asked. ‘Have you found a spike?’

  He snorted at me then. ‘Spikes, Sam? If it’s spikes you want then you won’t be disappointed.’ A lone constable stood at a tree ahead of us. At our approach, he raised his lantern and shouted over. The Inspector called out his name and introduced me as a police artist; the constable looked a little suspicious but said nothing, stepping out of the way so that we could see the tree.

  There was indeed a spike; just the one, though. It had been driven into the tree with great force, pinning a single left hand to it. The hand was small – a woman’s – and had been severed at the wrist; the large spike was nailed through its soft, white palm.

  I sketched it quickly; all the while Abe Thomas stood at my shoulder hurrying me on, telling me to move on to the next tree. The next scene was not twenty yards ahead and manned also. Abe went through the introductory rigmarole once more and another hand – the right – was revealed to me.

  ‘I don’t need to sketch this, Abe,’ I said. ‘It is in my memory and I will do it later. Is there another?’

  A sad smile crossed his face as he ushered me onwards. ‘Another?’ he said. ‘We haven’t got started yet.’

  A large lump surged upwards from my stomach as I began to realise the enormity of what I was witnessing. The next two trees wore the forearms of the poor victim and then we moved onwards to the upper arms. Each body part, each piece of now useless dead meat, had been perfectly and precisely cut. Although my mood became low as we trudged onwards through the dark and misty park, I still had – at the back of my mind and developing by the second – a vision of how the final drawing would look on the cover of George’s newspaper in the coming week. I imagined a clock face, each number represented by a picture of a body part nailed to a tree, and in the centre a picture of the victim’s face, whenever we finally came across it.

  From the hands and arms we moved onto the feet and legs, and I wondered at the mind of the murderer. What strength and willpower would drive a person to behave in this way? What purpose was there in the slicing apart of such innocence, merely to display them thus?

  My mind was sick and my heart weak with sorrow by the time we came to the torso; for here the killer had dedicated the most time and effort in their work.

  They had chosen a large tree, and it was needed: the torso had been secured by a large spike through the top of the spine, the chest opened and emptied. Each of the poor girl’s internal organs had been nailed to the branches around it, with the exception of the intestines, which had been draped over them, garlands on some satanic Christmas tree. I retched and vomited immediately.

  Abe patted me on the back and bade me to recover myself so that I could draw it. I had the feeling then that this was some bizarre form of cleansing for me; that someone somewhere had devised this murder scene so that I would be forced to draw it, eyes held open to witness the horror, in order to purge me. I did as he asked; I slumped to the ground in front of the tree and drew it, although my eyes smarted with tears at what had been placed before me.

  ‘Can I have a moment, Abe?’ I asked. ‘There is… much to draw here and I would work better if not observed.’

  He agreed an
d led away the sickly looking constable who had been given the task of guarding the tree. I shone Abe’s lantern up into the tree and began to sketch this abomination. I worked quickly, but with great detail; I thought it best to record more than was required and tone it down for the audience at Mr Purkess’s behest for publication. It took me about ten minutes, no more, and, as I lifted the lantern from the ground and was about to call for Abe to return, I spotted something up high in the branches – a movement.

  I pushed myself to my feet, raising the lantern’s light higher into the air. The movement had been quick and fleeting, probably a squirrel or roosting bird. As the light hit the branches they shook, more violently this time as if something up there in the blackness was trying to avoid the lantern’s glare. The leaves rustled and there was a loud creak as it moved once more. Surely no squirrel could cause this much noise?

  ‘Abe!’ I called, as loudly as I dared, wondering if my voice would be heard over the hammering of my beating heart, whose pounding now filled my ears. ‘Abe! I have finished, would you come back? I think it is time that we moved on.’

  The Inspector and the young constable made slow progress in returning to me and all the while I did not take my wide eyes from the branches above me.

  ‘Move on?’ said Abe. ‘There is nowhere to move on to now, lad, apart from home to our beds, for we have not yet discovered the head. Although I know a place where we can get a late drink to wash this all awa…’

  He saw the look in my eyes as he approached. ‘Sam?’ he said. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Above,’ I breathed, with all of the effort that I could muster from my strangulated throat. ‘There is something abo…’