'Right you are, Sarge,' said Constable Jennings, and he sprinted off amid the throng of onlookers and workers, surrounding the docks in the early morning light.
'Come on, folks, move on back. Go about your business now, g'wan,' the sergeant said, as he glared at the assembling crowds. 'Isn't it too early for you ghouls?'
The night sky was lazily making way for the day, and a cold November breeze rattled into Crawditch, lifting clouds of mist up into spiralling swirls in its wake. Sergeant Berry pulled out his pocket-watch and cursed. It was coming up to seven in the morning, and he'd only just come on shift half-an-hour ago. Berry had been hoping for a hot brew before he had to get his hands dirty. Sliding his helmet further back on his head, he mopped at his brow with a white handkerchief.
In his late forties, Berry had been with the Metropolitan Police since its inception over twenty years before, and had been a paid constable for ten years prior to that. In all that time, he thought he had witnessed the gamut of human criminality and depravity, but this was something different; he could feel it. One grisly murder was bad enough, two were a dreadful shame, but three? Three dead women in as many days meant that they were looking at something that would not easily dry up overnight. The paperwork alone could take a month. He stared down at the giant's face, inches from it, as if he were trying to read the man's thoughts as to what could possibly have occurred the previous night.
Suddenly, a tiny spark of consciousness lit within Miller's mind as he heard muffled voices around him. He tried to piece together his surroundings. His cheek was touching cold, damp, stone cobbles, and there was a weight upon his lower back. Miller cautiously flicked one eye open, then the next, and his bleary eyes came face to face with the eyes of a very shocked Sergeant Berry.
'What-What's all this?' Berry stammered, as his legs gave way beneath him, and he fell to the ground unceremoniously onto his backside. He kicked away from Miller as fast as he could against the damp cobbles. 'Hold it!' he yelled, scrambling to his feet. 'Don't you bloody move!'
Miller ignored Berry, desperately seeking sight of his beloved Twinkle. He half-turned his head, and noticed the shock of curly blonde hair, matted and caked in dark-red blood lying across his shoulder blades. He knew it was her instantly. If he were not already a mute, the pain in his heart would surely have stolen his words. Miller closed his eyes, trying to exclude the awful truth.
'Oi! I'm talkin' to you!' said Sergeant Berry, pacing up and down like a caged tiger. 'I asked you a question, mate. What's gone on here?'
Miller was in no position to be questioned. The policeman's words barely even penetrated his ears. He buried his head in his large hands and wept heavily and loudly, his gargantuan frame quivering as he sobbed uncontrollably. No matter how much strength his massive body was capable of, it failed him now. Every bone, every muscle, and every fibre of his being was mourning. The giant was broken.
'What happened here, eh? Did you do this?' Berry demanded with a fiery rage in his voice. He prodded Miller in the guts with his truncheon, and the giant twitched, whimpering like a cowering child. Twinkle's lifeless corpse slipped from his body, and rolled onto its back, its arms flapping open. Sergeant Berry stared at it and gagged. 'Of all the unholy…'
Twinkle's tiny, fragile body was horrifically disfigured, removing all semblance of the dwarf's personality, leaving behind a mere husk. Her dress had been sliced open down the middle, tearing through the material and gouging deeply through her undergarments, and into her chest beneath them. A bizarre death-mask adorned her face, transfixed into a grimacing, frozen scream. Blood was dried everywhere about her body, filling every crease of her clothes like a roadmap.
Sergeant Berry mopped at the corners of his mouth with a handkerchief. 'Look, I don't know who you are, or who she is…but you're coming with me to the station to sort this out, mister.' Berry turned as he heard a loud rattling noise coming closer to him, and was relieved to see three of his men approaching; pushing what looked like long wooden wheelbarrows. Each one stopped and gasped as they saw the scene before them.
'Bloody hell!' one of them said. 'You weren't joking, Jennings. What a mess.'
'You, men, get over here! Apprehend this…man immediately. A few hours locked in the cells should loosen his tongue,' Berry said, as he bravely squatted down next to Miller's tear-stained face, catching a flicker of light in the giant's eyes. 'You're going to pay for what you done, make no mistake about that! We don't take kindly to folk who murder little children here in Crawditch. You'll be hanging by your neck by suppertime!'
As Berry watched his men handcuff the giant and place Twinkle's corpse upon a body-carrier, something caught his eye down in the gutter. It was a small, crumpled piece of notepaper. Berry's natural detective instincts kicked in, and he picked it up. His grey eyes skirted from side to side across the paper, and he traced his fingers across the lines. 'What's all this then?' he said quietly under his breath. ' "I will unleash a terror unlike any seen before, and the corpses of your loved ones will litter the streets."' Berry cursed, and folded the note into his pocket. 'Oh, the Commissioner is just going to be cock-a-hoop about this!'
CHAPTER IV
The Quaint Introduction
AT CRAWDITCH POLICE station, circus proprietor Cornelius Quaint pushed hard on the double doors with intended force and they parted easily, crashing against the stout wooden frame. The man's flowing black cloak was cast behind him like a shadow, billowing open to reveal a dark, velvet three-quarter length jacket over a white ruffled shirt. Well into his sixth decade, Quaint's face was hardened and well-lined, proudly displaying every year of his adventurous life, as well as a few more besides. Beneath the brim of an indigo felt top-hat, Quaint's obsidian-black eyes drove into focus under the woollen mass of grey-brown curly hair that surrounded them.
Following in the man's wake was a diminutive Inuit dressed in a long, oilskin anorak. His dark-skinned face peered cautiously from beneath a fur-lined hood, swathes of rich black hair poked out in tufts onto his forehead, and he walked cautiously a few paces behind Quaint, more because his tiny legs could not keep pace with the locomotive of the man than as a sign of servitude. The men's arrival demanded instant attention, and the policeman who manned the enquiries podium just inside the station had little choice but to stop what he was doing and simply gawp open-mouthed as they approached him.
'Good day, Constable…Tucker,' Quaint proclaimed loudly, spying the small name plaque on the policeman's desk. 'I am Cornelius Quaint, conjuror and proprietor of Dr Marvello's Travelling Circus, currently situated over the river in Hyde Park. My companion here is my deputy manager and squire, Butter.'
The Inuit peered from behind Quaint's cloak and doffed an imaginary cap.
'Um…hullo to you,' said the policeman, as he looked with interest at the two unorthodox men standing in front of him. One was a barrel-chested mule of a man, with broad shoulders and a steely temperament, and the other was an unobtrusive fellow who looked like he had just stepped off a ship from the Arctic Regions. A strange couple, to be sure, and Constable Tucker found himself wondering what on earth these two could be doing mixing in the same circles. 'That's an odd name, isn't it? Butter? What is he…some sort of farmer or something?'
'Hardly, Constable-the fellow comes from Greenland. He's an Eskimo. His body is gifted with a remarkable immunity to the cold, and he's a marvellous secretary. No one can juggle the books like Butter here. His real name is virtually unpronounceable, so I won't embarrass him by trying to say it. Folk just call him "Butter"…as in, "Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth."' Quaint grinned. 'Which, of course…it wouldn't.'
Constable Tucker was still agog, the explanation not serving to elucidate him. 'Right, well, there you go then. So, what can the Metropolitan Police do for you two gents this morning?'
'I am searching for a couple of my employees, Constable; a mute, bearded, seven-foot-tall giant of a man and a dwarf female with a shock of blonde hair. This borough was their last known location.
Neither arrived for work this morning, and…if I know Prometheus, in these circumstances he is nearly always incarcerated by the local constabulary-quite mistakenly, of course,' Quaint sang, his voice shifting melodic gears from soft and caressing words, to severe commanding tones. 'Are you aware of such a man currently under your charge?'
'We don't tend to get many mute, bearded, seven-foot-tall giants nor dwarf females in Crawditch, sir, so they do stick out in the memory,' said Tucker. 'I'm not sure of the female's whereabouts, but I'm afraid that your gargantuan friend is currently in our custody. Our men brought him in early this morning.'
'Excellent! Then please contact your superior, if you would be so kind. I am here to secure his release,' said Quaint with a disarming smile.
'Um, I don't think that's going to be possible, sir…you see, your mate's being held for murder, so he won't be going anywhere for a while. Nobody's to see him until the Commissioner gets here, and that's that.'
'He's being held for-what did you say? Murder?' Quaint vented, stepping closer to Tucker's podium. 'What utter nonsense, Prometheus is no killer!'
'Well, with all due respect, sir, you would say that, wouldn't you? You may not have heard, but we've had a few of these murders recently. One a night, as it goes, over the past three nights -last night being the third. There's a lot of concern amongst the locals, and obviously the Commissioner is keen to question your friend, what with him being found unconscious at the scene of the crime, and all that. So, sorry to tell you, until I get the say-so from my superior-you're out of luck.'
Quaint shot a look to Butter, who merely shrugged, and so the tall, elegantly dressed man returned his cold stare to the policeman. 'I can see that you're unlikely to budge, Constable, but I should categorically state that my man had nothing to do with any slayings. My circus and I only arrived two days past. We're entertainers, and it's hardly sensible to go around murdering the paying audience, is it? We shall take our leave for the time being, but return soon. What is your Commissioner's name, may I ask?'
'Mr Dray,' the policeman answered obediently.
'Dray? Not…Sir George Dray by any chance?' asked Quaint.
'No, sir. His son. Oliver Dray.'
Quaint threw back his head and rocked with laughter. 'Oliver? Can it be true, after all these years? Don't tell me they made daffy old Ollie a commissioner? Now, this I just have to see. I've not set eyes upon the chap since our travels in Peru back in the thirties. It will be great to see the old Scottish terrier again, Constable. Tell me, when does the Commissioner arrive?'
'He's due in at ten o'clock,' the policeman answered.
Quaint checked his pocket-watch. 'Splendid!' It was nine forty-five.
'Tomorrow,' said Tucker. 'Ten o'clock tomorrow. If you want to see the Commissioner, or your friend, you'll have to come back then, I'm afraid.'
Quaint exhaled slowly and purposely noisily in Tucker's direction. 'But my man is being held for murder, Constable! You mean to tell me that he's to be locked up for a whole day without anyone being able to see him? Aren't you even slightly interested in his side of the story?'
'Listen, I'm just following the Commissioner's orders, right?' said Tucker. 'Two days ago the mutilated body of a woman named Lily Clapcott was found off of Montague Street, near the disused bakery. A day later, a rose seller called May Deeley was found dead, also horrifically mutilated. Last night…it's another one. Now, we ain't got no other witnesses apart from your Prometheus fellow, so he stays put until Mr Dray gets here to find out what he knows about it all. So far, he has clammed up tighter than my wife's legs on a Friday night, so he ain't exactly doing himself any favours. If you've got a quarrel with that, Mr Quaint, then I suggest you take it up with the Commissioner himself.'
'Constable, I am taking it up with you! Try and inject this with a modicum of common sense,' said Quaint curtly. 'Prometheus is a mute, for God's sake! He couldn't utter a single bloody word if he tried; did that ever occur to you? He's not being evasive purposefully.' Quaint shook his head, grinding his teeth to quell his anger. 'Tell me, how is he to vouch for himself? Smoke signals and blinking?'
'There's no need to be rude, sir. I'm just doing my job. I can't give you special privileges just because you're old mates with the boss, can I?' said Tucker, holding up his hands. 'That's for the Commissioner to decide.'
'Now see here, Constable Tucker, I am not a famous man, by any means, but I am well travelled, and command a fair degree of familiarity in many countries and provinces across the world. If you were to visit Peru, the Indigo Coast, Africa or even the Orient, you would meet folk who know and respect the name Cornelius Quaint.'
The policeman blinked hard, uncertain what he was to do with this news.
'I'm very pleased for you, sir. And what's your point?'
'My point, Constable, is that in all of those countries-I guarantee that you won't find anyone who knows of me as a patient man.' Quaint jabbed his finger repeatedly on Tucker's podium. 'I have an employee of mine currently indisposed at Her Majesty's pleasure, I have no way of speaking with said employee, and I've got a circus to put on within the week! I simply do not have the time to sit on my hands and do nothing.'
'I've already told you, sir,' began Tucker. 'The Commissioner-'
'Bah!' Quaint snorted, and waved Tucker away with his hand. 'Did I happen to mention that my employee is the circus's resident strongman? You're lucky he hasn't ripped the bars from his cell and used them to grill your kidneys by now!'
Butter stepped out from behind Quaint and rested his hand on his employer's arm to dispel his temper. 'Mr Quaint…please. The constable just do his job. Not his fault, and to shout will not help Prometheus's current situation…nor our own.'
Quaint blazed his black eyes into the constable's, staring into him as if he was drilling directly into his skull, and the younger man lowered his gaze. 'Look…I understand what you're saying, Mr Quaint, and I wish I could help you, but my hands are tied,' Tucker said. 'There is a proper procedure for this, and that's why I've said you'll have to wait until the Commissioner gets here.'
One of Constable Tucker's colleagues had heard the raised voices, and came over to investigate their source. Tucker spun around to the policeman standing next to him.
'Marsh, do me a favour, will you? This chap here wants to go visit the giant in the cells, and he says it can't wait until tomorrow when the Commissioner gets in. He says the giant's a friend of his.'
'Oh, does he now?' Constable Marsh eyed Quaint suspiciously. 'The one we found at the docks with that girl?'
'Unless you are imprisoning more than one giant currently?' asked Quaint.
Constable Marsh sipped on a mug of steaming tea, and eyed Quaint up and down. 'And what would a gentleman like yourself want with a murderer, mate?' he asked.
'How many more times?' asked Quaint. 'Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?'
'It usually goes out the window once we find a bloke unconscious at the scene with the victim's blood all over him,' answered Marsh.
Quaint ruffled his hair. 'The man has been in my employ for many years and has exemplary conduct, I can assure you. This is all some unfortunate misunderstanding, one that I am attempting to resolve, if you two gents will allow me. Believe me; my friend doesn't have it in him to kill.'
'Maybe he does now, sir. It seems he's graduated from middle-aged women to young girls now. Your friend is quite the monster,' said Marsh.
'Young girls?' quizzed Quaint.
Marsh nodded. 'I was there myself. This morning when we found him, he had the body of a young child lying dead at his side, her body all cut to ribbons. Sweet little thing an' all, she was. Lovely blonde hair.'
'This is insanity,' growled Quaint. 'Child? What child?'
Butter tugged on Quaint's cloak. 'Boss…remember Miss Twinkle did not arrive for work this morning…her hair is blonde…' he said in a quiet voice. 'I am thinking something terrible has happened.'
Cornelius Quaint's face turned ash-grey
, his voice suddenly vague and hollow, and the spark of fire in his eyes gradually died. 'Please God, no. Don't let it be her,' he whispered. 'Constable, the victim's body…I wish to see it immediately!'
CHAPTER V
The Extinguished Spark
TWINKLE'S CORPSE WAS laid out on the simple mortuary table amidst the labyrinth of rooms in the basement beneath Crawditch police station. Cornelius Quaint and Butter stared at the small sheet-clad shape before them as if it were something of alien origin. Of all of Quaint's charges, she was the most angelic, the most innocent. Her death would surely send a shock-wave throughout the whole circus. Quaint removed his top hat in respect, sensing a gnawing pain kicking at his insides like the mother of all indigestions. He didn't need to pull away the sheet to know the awful truth. He needed no confirmation other than that which his heart was telling him. As if he were being coerced at gunpoint, he carefully held the corner of the sheet, and steeled himself to reveal what was underneath.
Constable Marsh suddenly placed his hand upon Quaint's arm. 'Mr Quaint…are you sure about this? You must understand…the lass was disfigured quite badly. Are you sure you want to see that? Perhaps…perhaps it would be best to remember her as she once was. Do you understand what I'm saying?'
'Constable Marsh, I thank you for your sensitivity, but she was under my care, so I must see her…one last time. I owe her that much at least, man.' Quaint slowly pulled the white sheet away from Twinkle's body. No amount of focus prepared him for what he saw.
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