by Jim Eldridge
‘What is, sir?’ asked Feather.
‘This story in the Telegraph about Chapman and the threatening letters. Have you read it?’
Feather frowned. ‘Yes, sir. I thought it was pretty accurate, sir. For a newspaper, anyway.’
‘Yes, but where’s my name!’
‘With respect, sir, you said you didn’t want to be involved in the arrest.’
‘That’s irrelevant! I’m the superintendent in charge! Did you even tell this reporter’ – he searched for the byline – ‘this Joe Dalton, that?’
‘Of course, sir. I stressed that everything that happened on this case is directed by you.’
‘You’re mentioned. And so are Wilson and the Fenton woman, God blast them!’
‘I don’t think they can be blamed, sir. Dalton was given the facts of the case—’
‘And he chose deliberately not to mention that I’m in charge of it! Well, I want to see this Dalton character and put him straight about a few things. Wilson is no longer part of this department, and as far as I’m concerned he’s not part of this investigation!’
‘Is that wise, sir?’ asked Feather warily.
‘Why not?’ demanded Armstrong. ‘You obviously didn’t make the case for my name to be included strongly enough, so it’s up to me to straighten him out.’
‘If you recall, sir, you did have a confrontation with Dalton before.’
Armstrong frowned. ‘When?’
‘The robbery at the jeweller’s in Piccadilly a year ago. The one where we arrested the manager of the store, following your orders …’
‘Was that Dalton?!’ shouted Armstrong, furious. ‘I couldn’t remember his name, just that he was disrespectful in the extreme towards me!’
‘The manager was innocent,’ pointed out Feather.
‘I was acting on information received,’ snarled Armstrong.
‘From the real culprit,’ said Feather.
‘What are you getting at, Inspector?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘I’m just saying that you were misled, sir. But unfortunately, the manager of the jeweller’s was a cousin of Dalton’s …’
‘Exactly! He got personal to get back at me! He humiliated me!’
‘I’m just saying, sir, that in view of that, it might be advisable not to confront Dalton about the fact he didn’t include your name in his report about this matter. He might not take it well.’
‘I know how to deal with the press, Inspector!’ snapped Armstrong.
They were interrupted by the door opening and a uniformed messenger stumbling in, causing Armstrong to turn and shout angrily at the man, ‘What do you mean by bursting in like that without knocking?!’
‘I’m sorry, sir,’ apologised the messenger, ‘but I’ve got an urgent message for Inspector Feather.’
Feather held out his hand and the messenger handed him a note. Feather read it, then handed it to the superintendent.
‘Looks like we’ve found her,’ he said.
Armstrong read the brief note: Missing girl Elsie Bowler with mudlarks. Observation being kept north bank by Waterloo Bridge. Danl Verity. PC 49.
The superintendent gave a smile of grim satisfaction. ‘Right! Let’s go and get her! Then we’ll see what Mr Joe Dalton and the other so-called reporters will be forced to put in their papers.’ He gave Feather a wolfish smile. ‘They won’t be able to ignore me now!’
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The address they’d been given for Daisy Rennie was just a short walk along East Ferry Road from the railway station. A knock at the door was answered by an elderly woman wearing an apron splashed with flour.
‘Excuse the mess,’ she said, ‘but today’s my day for making bread.’
‘Daisy Rennie?’ asked Daniel.
‘That’s me. Who might you be?’
‘My name’s Daniel Wilson and this is Miss Abigail Fenton.’
The woman sniffed warily at them. ‘You’re not coming round bringing the Word of God, are you?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘Only you look like the same as the ones we had round here yesterday. Like I say, today’s my day for bread-making and I ain’t got time to be saved.’
‘No,’ Daniel assured her. ‘We’ve been sent here by Kathleen Purvis, Peg Jedding’s neighbour in Balfe Street, with a message for her. Is she available?’
Daisy Rennie shook her head. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘She was, but she took off. Said seeing all the activity round here at the docks, and especially all the water, made her think of poor William.’ She looked at them suspiciously again and asked, ‘You know what I’m talking about?’
‘Sadly, we do,’ said Daniel. ‘Where did she take off to, do you know?’
‘Southend,’ said Daisy. ‘She said she wanted to be far away from everyone. She’s got an old friend of hers who lives there.’
‘Do you know the name and address of this friend?’
Daisy Rennie frowned, giving it thought. ‘Her first name’s Rose, but I don’t recall her second name. All Peg said was she’s got a shop that sells lace on the front near the pier.’
Daniel doffed his hat. ‘Thank you,’ he said.
As he and Abigail walked away, she asked, ‘So, what next? Southend?’
‘No,’ said Daniel. ‘We’re being given the runaround. They’re protecting her.’
‘What do we do?’ asked Abigail.
‘When we came up against something like this when I was on the force, we’d get heavy,’ said Daniel. ‘Send in uniforms to start rousting people, and sooner or later people would talk. But we can’t do that, and Armstrong won’t support anything like that, not while he’s got this bee in his bonnet about Elsie Bowler. No, our next port of call is a return visit to Billy Flood, the rag-and-bone man. We’ve been led a dance for my two shillings, and I’m a man who likes to get value for his money.’
Feather and Armstrong arrived at Waterloo Bridge to find Constable Verity waiting for them.
‘Where is she, Constable?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘Along the riverbank, sir,’ Verity replied, gesturing along the Embankment.
‘You left her unobserved?’ growled Armstrong angrily.
‘No, sir. Constable Wickford is keeping an eye on her.’
‘Good thinking, Constable,’ said Feather. He turned to Armstrong. ‘I suggest we move forward carefully, sir. Too many of us at once might scare her into running off.’
‘She’s on a muddy riverbank, where can she go?’ demanded Armstrong.
‘She could throw herself into the river,’ said Feather. ‘Or run into one of the sewer openings. The mudlarks tend to operate near where the sewers empty into the Thames because that’s where the richest pickings are.’
Armstrong hesitated, then nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘You and I will go forward, Inspector. We’re in plain clothes so that shouldn’t scare her. We’re just two gentlemen out for a walk, taking in the sights of the river.’ He turned to Constable Verity and ordered, ‘I want you ready to get down and grab her when I give the shout.’
‘In the mud, sir?’ asked Verity doubtfully.
‘Of course in the mud,’ snapped Armstrong. ‘That’s where she is.’
‘But I could get stuck,’ Verity pointed out. ‘The kids don’t sink down deep because they’re small and light.’
‘This girl is a murderer, Constable,’ said Armstrong sternly. ‘And you won’t be alone. There’ll be other constables to pull you out once we’ve got her.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Verity, still obviously unhappy at the prospect of getting caught in the mud.
Armstrong and Feather set off along the Embankment towards where Constable Wickford was waiting.
‘Constable Verity’s got a point, sir,’ said Feather. ‘He is rather heavy, and Thames mud is notorious. In parts it’s like quicksand, pulling people down and holding them so it’s difficult to get out of.’
‘All that matters is laying hands on that girl,’ said Armstrong curtly.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Fe
ather.
Feather and Armstrong arrived beside Constable Wickford, who saluted smartly.
‘Don’t salute, you fool!’ hissed Armstrong. ‘We don’t want to alarm her.’
‘Sorry, sir,’ said Wickford.
Armstrong leant on the granite wall and looked down. With the tide out, an area of mud had been exposed and about ten children of different ages were scavenging, the level of mud halfway between their ankles and their knees as they dug with their hands, searching for anything of value. The youngest looked about six, the oldest, seventeen. They scavenged for coins that had been thrown in the river, old nails and other bits of metal, items of clothing, even lumps of coal, washed up after falling from a barge. Everything they found went into a sack to be sorted out later, the money to be kept, the metal and coal sold on to a rag-and-bone man. And, indeed, there were bones, mostly of small animals, but there were human bones, too, as the corpses of people who’d fallen – or thrown themselves – into the river broke down and their bones were washed along with the rest of the river’s detritus.
‘Which one is she?’ asked Armstrong.
The constable gestured towards a thin girl who was taller than most of the other children. She was pale, and her clothes were smeared with mud, which also matted her long hair and streaked her face.
‘That’s her, sir,’ he whispered.
‘How can you be sure?’ demanded Armstrong. ‘She could be anybody.’
‘Constable Verity says so. He knows one of the rag-and-bone men who buys the stuff the kids collect. His name’s Sammy and he’s got an old van in the Adelphi and it was Sammy who found out who the girl was.’
‘How?’
‘One of the kids found out her name and told Sammy. Sammy likes to know who’s who. Sometimes it’s worth money if he finds a runaway who someone’s looking for.’
Armstrong looked down at the girl, who seemed too intent on clawing her hands through the thick mud to take heed that she was being watched. He turned to Feather and said, ‘Right, go and tell Verity to get down there with the other constables and bring her in. And remind them she’s dangerous. She might still have that knife on her.’
Feather nodded and returned to where Verity was waiting with two other constables, still looking miserable at the prospect of going onto the mud.
‘Alright, Constable. Down you go and bring her in. And watch out, she had a knife on her.’
Verity nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
He jerked his hands towards the steps beside the bridge, and the other two constables followed him down them as he made his way to the muddy riverbank below. As the constables slowly began to walk along the mud, sinking up to their ankles at each step, Feather returned to where Armstrong and Constable Wickford were standing, looking down at the children. Suddenly one of the small boys spotted the three police constables making their way unsteadily towards them.
‘Coppers!’ he shouted.
Immediately, the other children scooped up the sacks containing their meagre findings and began to flee in the opposite direction.
‘Get to the other steps!’ Armstrong yelled at Wickford, and the constable broke into a run, heading towards the next set of steps.
‘They’re heading for the sewer outlet!’ shouted Feather.
Verity and the other two constables were still some distance from the children and getting more bogged down in the mud. One of the constables had sunk in up to his knees.
‘Stop her!’ screamed Armstrong frantically.
The children were making their way as fast as they could, but still sinking in the mud as they moved, and were now directly beneath where Feather and Armstrong were standing. Elsie Bowler suddenly abandoned the sack she was carrying and began to head out towards where the water was deeper.
She’s going to drown herself! Feather realised with a shock.
He threw off his overcoat, slung a leg over the thick balustrade and then launched himself down, reaching out his hands as he did so. He crashed into the mud, sinking into the stinking ooze, but one of his hands managed to grab hold of Elsie’s skirt. She turned and lashed out at him, but he clung on desperately.
CHAPTER FORTY
There were problems with the trains on their journey back to central London, so their return took a lot longer than their outward trip.
‘And all for nothing.’ Abigail sighed as they walked from Gospel Oak railway station down Camden Street towards their house in Plender Street.
‘Yes and no,’ said Daniel. ‘The fact that everyone is protecting Peg Jedding suggests she knows something, so it’s important we get hold of her.’
‘What might she know?’
‘I’m not sure. Maybe she’s got papers that William Jedding wrote which might give us the name of whoever was closest to him when he was writing his book on Ambrosius. Because I’m sure that whoever killed Whetstone did it in revenge for what happened to Jedding. We need to find that name.’
‘Could it be Peg Jedding herself?’
‘Possibly. You’ve met her. Would you think she’s a likely suspect for a murderer?’
‘It’s hard to say,’ admitted Abigail. ‘She was certainly seriously upset when I saw her, but that was only for a few seconds before she shut the door on me.’
They turned into Plender Street and Abigail stopped suddenly.
‘Not again!’ she groaned.
Daniel saw what had brought her to an abrupt halt: a man was waiting outside their house. Then his face broke into a grin.
‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘It’s not Carson. It’s John Feather.’ As they headed towards the detective, Daniel added, puzzled, ‘But it’s very rare for him to call like this. Something must have happened.’
Daniel greeted the inspector. ‘John! This is rare! I hope you haven’t been waiting long.’
‘No, I just got here,’ said Feather. He gestured to the house. ‘Can we talk inside?’
‘Of course.’ Daniel unlocked the door and they went in.
‘I’ll fix us a pot of tea,’ said Abigail. ‘You look as if you could use one, John, and so could we.’
‘That’ll be perfect,’ said Feather.
They went through to the kitchen, and Feather sat down while Abigail set to work making up the fire in the range and filling a kettle with water.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Daniel. ‘It’s got to be important to bring you here.’
‘I’ve come to alert you about a story that’s going to appear in the papers first thing tomorrow. The killer has been caught.’
Daniel frowned. ‘When?’ he asked. ‘Who? And how?’
‘Elsie Bowler,’ replied Feather. ‘She was nabbed working among the mudlarks by the Embankment.’
‘But she didn’t kill Whetstone!’ said Daniel. ‘And I’m not sure she killed Pickering.’
‘That’s not how the superintendent sees it,’ said Feather. ‘Three stabbings. We know she stabbed Tudder. We know she was angry at Pickering for the way he treated her mother. So, according to Armstrong, that’s enough. He’s giving a speech about it to the gentlemen of the press at Scotland Yard as we speak.’
‘It won’t wash at her trial,’ insisted Daniel.
‘It won’t come to trial,’ said Feather. ‘She’s unfit to plead. And that part is true, because I sat in with Armstrong when we interviewed her. Her mind’s gone. She rambles about nothing.’
‘Where is she?’
‘She’s been taken to the Royal Bethlem Hospital for the Insane. And she’s going to be there for life, by the look of it.’
‘So, Armstrong gets his result. A killer arrested on his watch. Praise all round. And no trial.’
‘That’s about the size of it,’ said Feather.
‘Do you think she’s guilty, John?’
‘Of stabbing Tudder, absolutely. Of the murders, no. But it doesn’t matter what I think.’
‘It means the murderer is still out there.’
‘Not according to Superintendent Armstrong.’
‘Do you think they press will believe him?’
‘There may be a few dissenting voices, but I think they’ll accept what he says. “Murderer Caught” makes a better headline than “Murderer Still At Large”.’
‘You’re not attending this press conference?’ asked Abigail.
‘No,’ said Feather. ‘I had to go home and change my clothes. I was the one who jumped into the mud and caught her, so the superintendent said he’d look after it.’
‘He doesn’t want to share the glory,’ said Abigail disapprovingly.
‘Frankly, there’s not a lot of glory here,’ said Feather. ‘If he’s right, we’ve caught some poor brain-addled girl. If he’s wrong, the murderer’s still out there.’
‘Can we go to see Elsie Bowler at Bethlem?’ asked Daniel.
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Feather. ‘Armstrong hasn’t said you can’t. In fact, I get the impression he’d be pleased for you to see her just to rub your nose in the fact that it was he who got her and solved the crime, not you.’
Daniel sighed. ‘All in all, it seems a disappointing day for all of us.’
‘Why? What happened to you?’
‘We went all the way to the Isle of Dogs in search for Mrs Jedding, and she wasn’t there.’
‘What made you think she might be?’ asked Feather.
‘It’s a long and annoying story,’ said Daniel. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No,’ said Feather. ‘And there won’t be anything at home, either,’ he added gloomily. ‘Ellen and the kids are at her sister’s this evening.’
‘I’m not starting to cook a meal now,’ said Abigail firmly. ‘It’s too late.’
‘I wasn’t going to suggest you do,’ said Daniel.
‘Even if you do it, it’ll still take a while before we get to eat,’ pointed out Abigail.
‘I know,’ said Daniel. He turned to Feather. ‘Do you like pie and mash?’
‘With parsley sauce?’
‘Of course! It wouldn’t be the same without it.’
Feather beamed. ‘I love pie and mash!’
Daniel looked at Abigail, who gave a sigh of defeat.