The sound of the smashing vase in the hallway crashed into his thoughts and the next moment he found himself watching as his father struggled with the man he now knew as the Scarred Man. He caught a brief glimpse of his features sideways on, but it was only when the two men were on the floor in the front room that he had got a sustained look at his face, the details of which remained in his memory to this day.
‘Was it like this, Jack?’ asked Mary. ‘Jack? Jack!’
‘Sorry Mary, my mind was elsewhere,’ replied Swann as he opened his eyes. Back in the present he now viewed the sketch on the small easel in front of him.
‘Is it a good likeness?’ asked Mary.
Swann did not answer as he was utterly entranced by the image in front of him. Mary turned to her brother.
‘Jack?’
‘That is him,’ he said. ‘That is the man I saw that murderous night.’
Mary gazed at her brother empathetically and stroked his arm. ‘Oh, Jack,’ she said quietly. ‘Perhaps I should not have done this for you after all.’
‘No Mary, thank you. You can not begin to imagine what you have given me.’ Swann stared at the sketch again. His sister’s ability to produce what had been inside Swann all these years was a true gift. If the artist was able to visualise the future, then Mary had been able to reconstruct the past and in doing so bring it alive for him. It was as if the man was in the room now and had been sitting for the portrait which his sister had sketched. Every time he looked at the likeness a shiver went down his spine. Mary had more than done her job, now it was up to the artist to do his.
‘Jack, I have to express what is on my mind,’ Mary said, gently but firmly. ‘What if the artist is a charlatan, if he has no gift and is only deceiving you?’
‘You did not see the other two portraits,’ replied Swann.
‘Yes, but they are of men as the artist believes they will become in the future and so they cannot be authenticated for years to come.’
Swann looked at his sister intently. ‘I am sure of this,’ he said. Somewhere deep inside of him he knew he had to seize this opportunity and had nothing to fear except disappointment. ‘I have no choice, Mary,’ he added. ‘Besides, as the portrait will be of a man as he is today, the artist’s authenticity can therefore be substantiated swiftly.’
Swann stood up.
‘I had better deliver this sketch to the artist,’ he said. ‘The quicker he receives it, the earlier he can begin his process. Thank you once again, my dear sister.’
Swann took the drawing and prepared to leave. As he opened the main door of the house, however, he recognised one of Fitzpatrick’s men standing on the front step, in the act of raising his hand to knock on the door.
‘Oh, Mr Swann, there you are. I hope it does not trouble you to be disturbed at home, sir, but I have already visited the White Hart Inn, as well as your rooms in Gay Street, in order to find you.’
‘Not at all,’ said Swann. ‘I assume Fitzpatrick requires my assistance again?’
‘I do not know, sir. I only know he has asked me to inform you that there has been another murder earlier today and they have since arrested a man.’
‘Ah, so they have located Johnson the typesetter?’ enquired Swann.
‘Once more, I do not know sir, but I am sure that Mr Fitzpatrick will enlighten you as to the full details of this matter if you care to come with me now.’
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
‘You have arrested the wrong man, Fitzpatrick!’ cried Swann, as he stood in the magistrate’s office. ‘Gregor-Smith did not commit this murder or any other, I would stake my reputation on it.’
‘As I have mentioned to you, Swann, Kirby was the arresting magistrate. My hands are tied in regard to this matter,’ insisted Fitzpatrick, ‘but regardless, I thought you should hear the news from myself, before you heard it from anyone else.’
Swann realised he could not pursue this line of action, as he knew his associate was right. Fitzpatrick was unable to be involved in the case. He would therefore visit Kirby later, to secure Gregor-Smith’s release, once he had visited the crime scene to gather evidence.
‘So outside which church was the reverend murdered?’ asked Swann.
‘How did you know the victim was a clergyman?’
‘It is the next killing in Gregor-Smith’s manuscript. The clergyman is guarding the freshly dug grave of the first victim, the girl, in order to protect her from the vampire, who he believes inflicted the wound and may return to claim her soul. So what marks were on the second victim’s body, Fitzpatrick?’
‘I do not know. Kirby ordered the body taken elsewhere, as he does not want the press to find out yet, and I have not been privy to its present whereabouts.’
‘So over which parish did the reverend administer?’
Fitzpatrick did not respond.
‘Were you not privy to that information either, Fitzpatrick?’
The magistrate looked slightly embarrassed.
‘What is it?’ enquired Swann.
‘Well, Kirby has said that he does not want you interfering any further in this case and is holding me responsible for ensuring that you do not. I would prefer not to have any confrontation with him, Swann.’
‘I understand, my friend, and do not worry, as far as Kirby is concerned, you will be seen to have upheld your responsibility. I would wish to look at the latest murder scene, however, before it becomes too disturbed.’
The magistrate remained silent.
‘Fitzpatrick please, you must tell me if you know where it is. An innocent man is being falsely accused of two murders. If he is found guilty, and I am certain Kirby will do everything in his power to make sure that he is, Gregor-Smith will hang for these crimes.’
‘But what makes you so convinced the writer is innocent?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
‘There are three reasons and the first is the murderer’s height. As I mentioned in your office yesterday, the man who killed Tozer’s niece – and he worked alone – was around five feet ten inches tall. Gregor-Smith is only five feet four inches and so is too short to be the perpetrator.’
‘If I am honest, Swann, I still do not quite understand how you arrived at such a precise piece of information,’ sighed Fitzpatrick.
‘It was a relatively simple technique to implement and consisted of measuring the distance between the height of the branch which snagged the girl’s dress as she was carried along the track and the depth of the murderer’s footprints within the snow on the ground.’
‘Your deductions never cease to astound me, Swann,’ said Fitzpatrick.
‘It is purely the ability to observe, to see what is in the clear sight of one’s vision. The second reason I believe Gregor-Smith’s innocence is from the cuts on the girl’s body, which suggested the murderer to be right-handed. When I observed Gregor-Smith drinking at his residence, he used his left hand.’
‘And your third reason?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
Swann hesitated momentarily. ‘It has yet to be ascertained, but I believe when Gregor-Smith’s footwear is checked his prints will not match any of those at the first murder scene.’
‘You did not check his boots when you questioned him?’ enquired Fitzpatrick.
‘I intended to do so at the end of my visit with him, but I am somewhat ashamed to admit I became distracted. And of course, there is also the fact that I assume Johnson is yet to return to his lodgings?’
Fitzpatrick’s nod confirmed this to be true.
‘I cannot help but believe we are somehow being deceived,’ Swann now said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It is similar to the old pea and cups game. Do you know it, Fitzpatrick?’
‘I think I have witnessed it being played,’ said the magistrate, trying to conceal his embarrassment at losing each of the four times he had participated in it.
‘In the game, a person is given the opportunity to bet on one of the cups, under which a pea has supposedly been placed, so giving a
one in three chance to win.’
Fitzpatrick nodded his understanding.
‘But the pea is actually never under any of the cups,’ continued Swann. ‘The person has no chance of ever winning. It is an illusion, as the owner of the game palms the pea before shuffling the cups. So therefore anyone gullible enough to bet on it is always bound to lose his money.’
‘Palming?’ enquired Fitzpatrick.
‘Yes, it is where a confidence trickster retains something in his palm, out of sight of anyone watching, until he is able to secure it away in a pocket.’
‘Why are we not able to see it?’ asked an annoyed Fitzpatrick, as he realised what had happened each time he had partaken of the game.
‘It is called distraction and is the foundation upon which all conmen ply their trade. The person being duped is told to concentrate on one thing, in this case the cups, while the performer is actually doing something else, in this particular situation, pocketing the pea.’
‘Where did you learn all this, Swann?’
Swann paused for a moment before he replied. ‘My father had an interest in it.’ He then said, ‘As I mentioned though, I cannot help but think we are perhaps ourselves in a similar game now.’
‘In what way do you mean?’ asked Fitzpatrick.
‘Well, we have three possible suspects and yet it could easily be none of them. Maybe we are being shown something other than what we should actually be concentrating on. I have not yet been able to fathom what exactly that is, but I am certain someone is trying to deceive us into thinking Gregor-Smith to be the murderer. They are weaving a story that they want us to believe as the truth and obviously Kirby has done just so, since he has arrested Gregor-Smith.’
Swann now looked at Fitzpatrick and said determinedly, ‘It is time to set an innocent man free, so I will ask you once more about the whereabouts of the murder scene.’
Thirty minutes later Swann entered the graveyard where the second murder had occurred. He had secured the location from Fitzpatrick and made his way there. This had also enabled Swann to visit the artist, as it was on the way to the crime scene, to give him the sketch drawn by Mary. From their brief interaction, the artist had said the sketch would suffice to allow him to undertake the process and assured Swann the portrait would be completed by the following afternoon. From the artist’s studio in Broad Quay, Swann had crossed the Old Bridge and headed to the outlying parish where the deceased reverend had presided over.
Swann now stood just inside the main entrance of the graveyard and observed the scene. The area was deserted and he was alone. It was obvious that Kirby did not feel a further need to search for potential clues as he had not left anyone to guard the evidence. As Swann usually did at the start of any investigation at a crime scene, he brought out his small pocketbook and sketched various elements. His drawing was not as accomplished as that of Mary, or otherwise he may have attempted to draw the portrait of the Scarred Man himself, but nevertheless it was competent enough to make a truthful record of what he saw in front of him. He outlined the border of the church and cemetery, filling in the rest of the details as he methodically made his way across the path leading from the gates to the entrance of the building.
If the murder had been carried out as outlined in Gregor-Smith’s tome, then the reverend was attacked near the main door. As Swann had earlier explained to Fitzpatrick, the second victim is watching over the grave of the first, in the book, to prevent the claiming of her soul by this most unnatural of beings, but the man is caught unaware from behind and his soul ends up in the same place as that of the girl he has been trying to protect.
However, the murder in the book had taken place at night, while from the little information Swann had been able to glean from Fitzpatrick, while in his office, it seemed this one had occurred during the day. Not that he needed to convince Fitzpatrick about this fact, he hoped, but given the murder had happened during daylight hours, it could be assumed the murderer was not an actual vampire, as he had been in Gregor-Smith’s writing.
Swann was now completely convinced the author was being set up. There was still no sighting of Johnson, who perhaps was hiding somewhere in the city, and emerging only to undertake the next killing, but if that was the case, then the killings should at least stop, as Gregor-Smith had been arrested and so possibly the murderer’s intention had been fulfilled.
Although much of the immediate area surrounding where the body must have lain was disturbed and any possible evidence therein destroyed, either through deliberate or unintentional action on the part of Kirby and his men, after careful observation, Swann discovered a footprint slightly beyond the back wall of the graveyard. He consulted his pocketbook and the sketches from the scene of the first murder. The footprint matched the last remaining set, next to which Swann had written the letter M. Not that Swann required any evidence to prove it in his own mind, but nevertheless here was proof that the same person had most likely carried out both of the murders. He quickly sketched his latest footprint.
Swann finished his investigation and prepared to leave the sanctified grounds. The afternoon sky had begun to turn dark, with a bank of cloud making its way from Bristol that looked as if it held rain. Hopefully, having come out without an umbrella, he would make it back to Great Pulteney Street before any downpour. Despite this, however, he turned and walked away in the opposite direction: he was not yet ready to return to the city.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
A few minutes after Swann had crossed the Old Bridge on his way out to the parish church to conduct his investigation, Wicks and Irish John had come across in the other direction. They had left Wicks’ warehouse on the far side of the river and were making their way into the Avon Street district, their destination was the Fountain Inn. Wicks wanted to know what was going on. It had begun a few days before, with a couple of nosey thief-takers asking questions in the Duke of York about a particular person Wicks did not appreciate any questions being asked about. The pair was no doubt in the pay of that troublemaker Swann and Wicks was anxious to find out what he wanted.
There were many things about Swann that Wicks did not understand. Why, for example, after the failed attempt on the man’s life, had the order been sent down from London to leave him unharmed? Wicks had not been happy about this to start with, but did not want to disrupt his newly-formed relationship with them. Besides, Swann had not been interfering in his money-making schemes since staying on in Bath, so Wicks was content to go along with this set-up for a while. He would have his revenge one day though, he told himself, and pay the man back for the death of Tyler.
Despite the restraint on an outright killing of the man, it did not stop Wicks from having Swann followed and since the night the thief-takers had been asking their questions, his men had taken it in turns to do just that. The previous evening Irish John had trailed Swann from his house in Great Pulteney Street, even though he had left by the rear entrance of the property and was in disguise, to the Fountain Inn, where he had met the two thief-takers. Wicks knew them both. They were irritants but small time. He could easily have them killed but they might prove useful in the future, as he might be able to use them for his own purposes, such as giving them false information so as to distract Swann from the truth regarding the man he was asking questions about. Wicks always held sway by the phrase ‘better the devil you know’. At the Fountain Inn, Swann and the thief-takers had discussed Mottram, or Lockhart, to use his other name and from what Irish John had learnt, he had carelessly allowed himself to be followed to Bristol and to be watched as he carried out his part in the scheme. Thankfully though, it seemed as if they were in the dark regarding its overall purpose.
Wicks was beginning to have doubts about Lockhart, especially given the fact he had almost messed up in London as well. He had been supposed to catch an earlier stagecoach the day before, along with the two women, but missed it and caught the Royal Mail coach instead. This had cost Wicks a lot of money, or would have if he had not recovere
d the ticket fare from someone else. What to do about Lockhart could wait until another day though, as the reason for their visit to the Fountain Inn was the other subject of Swann’s discussion with the thief-takers; that of a portrait which hung on the wall in the inn.
The landlord, Seth, was serving behind the bar of the snug when Wicks and Irish John entered the inn. His face dropped on seeing them. He knew them on sight and also the fact they were certainly not here to savour his ales or pass the time in idle conversation. Nevertheless, he quickly composed himself before they noticed.
‘A rare pleasure to see you in here, Mr Wicks,’ said Seth.
Wicks walked over to where the aged portrait of Seth hung on the wall.
‘So, is this your grandfather, then?’ he asked.
‘No, Mr Wicks, it is how I will look in the future,’ replied Seth.
Wicks stared at the decrepit and wrinkled face in the portrait.
‘I can’t see any difference from how you look now, if you ask me,’ said Wicks sarcastically. ‘Where did you get this done?’
‘I don’t know, Mr Wicks. Some of the regulars gave it to me.’
‘That’s not the answer I want to hear now is it?’
‘They found a painter who does them. He lived down by the river, I think, but I don’t know any more than that. It’s the truth, Mr Wicks.’
Wicks came to the bar and brought his face only inches away from Seth’s.
‘I know it’s the truth, because I know you know what will happen if it isn’t.’
Wicks then gestured to Irish John, who stepped forward and took the portrait off the wall.
‘I’ll bring it back when I’ve finished with it,’ said Wicks.
‘Of course, Mr Wicks; you keep it for as long as you want.’
After the two men had left, Seth and the patrons who were seated in the snug remained silent for a while, until the first mumblings began once more and the atmosphere returned to as normal as one could get after a visit from Wicks.
The Regency Detective Page 21