'You'd be happy to imprison an innocent man, would you? Without proof? Surely you don't want that on your conscience?'
'One more thing won't kill me,' muttered Dray. 'There's already a lot of talk floating around town about these killings, Horace. Sooner or later, it's going to reach the Yard's ears and when it does, it'll be your head on the block if you're wrong about him.'
'But if I'm right, there's a killer loose out there on our streets, and we've got an innocent man locked up!' Berry gritted his teeth to contain his anger. His superior was possibly the most stubborn man he had ever met, but this trait of his had never gotten to the point where it clouded his perception of justice before. Dray was being swayed by his anger, and his concern about being made a scapegoat, and it seemed to be up to Berry to be the voice of reason. 'Commissioner…Oliver…we need to be a hundred per cent sure that the man in our custody is the killer. This won't just dry up and go away, you know, these things never do. I've got a really a nasty feeling in my water about this case. I just know that things are going to get a damn sight worse!'
Dray poured the remnants of his whisky down his neck. 'Something will come up, Berry…something that ties all these loose ends up. We just need to be patient. An answer will present itself to us in time.'
CHAPTER XIV
The Meeting of Minds
BY A QUARTER to ten the next morning it had become a bright, if slightly chilly day, and as Cornelius Quaint threw open the doors of Crawditch police station, the idle sunlight illuminated him with an aura of misplaced serenity. The man was anything but serene. Accompanied by Madame Destine, he was of a mind to see the captive Prometheus again-and he would not take no for an answer. Quaint walked determinedly towards the enquiries desk, and his hardened expression softened slightly as he recognised the familiar face of Constable Tucker at the podium.
'Constable!' he said cheerily. 'Don't you ever go home, man?' Tucker cracked a brief smile. 'You've been speaking to my wife. Well, I can't fault your timekeeping, sir, the Commissioner is already here. He's in his office right now with Sergeant Berry, and he's been told to expect you.' Tucker pointed to a large set of mahogany doors behind him. 'Straight ahead, through them there doors. The Commissioner's office will be right in front of you.'
Quaint and Destine nodded politely, and bustled through a small, knee-high wooden gate into the police station, past a variety of uniformed men busily writing reports and filing paperwork, flitting around like bees during springtime. Quaint raised his knuckles to knock on the Commissioner's door, when suddenly Destine's hand darted from nowhere and gripped his wrist.
'Wait, Cornelius,' she said softly. 'This friend of yours…can we trust him?'
'Need I remind you this was your idea? It's a little late for cold feet,' Quaint said. 'Stop worrying and come on. He's a police commissioner, for goodness sake. If anyone can ensure Prometheus gets a fair hearing-it's him.'
'It's just that…' Destine paused, 'after my vision yesterday, I am feeling a trifle nervous all of a sudden. It is probably nothing.'
'Nervous? The vision from my past, you mean? Surely, you can't mean Oliver. A police commissioner? Come on, Madame, if we can't trust a policeman-whom can we trust? Oliver and I were friends a long time ago. Admittedly, we haven't set eyes on each other since, but he's certainly got no quarrel with me.'
'Oh really?' questioned Destine. 'What about that business you mentioned with his father? Did he not once threaten to kill you?'
'Ah…well, yes, but that was over twenty years ago. I'm sure that's all water under the bridge by now.' Quaint said, knocking twice on the Commissioner's door. Not waiting for an answer from inside the room, he turned the knob, and strode inside.
As he entered the Commissioner's office, Quaint scanned the two men's faces in the room. One was unknown to him, and one looked familiar, but decidedly older than the one he recalled from his memory.
'Oliver!' Quaint said, grasping the somewhat bemused Commissioner's hand firmly. 'How marvellous it is to see you again, old chap.'
'And who the bloody hell might you be?' barked Dray. 'Who let you in here? Hang on a mo…wait…is that…Quaint? Cornelius Quaint, is that you? What on earth are you doing here?'
'Just a bit of business, Oliver. What's it been? Eighteen? Nineteen years? I swear you haven't aged a single day, you old Scottish dog.'
'I wish I could say the same for you, Cornelius! What a bedraggled mess you are,' Dray said, flicking at Quaint's greying curls. 'Look at that mop of hair!'
'And what of your own hair, hmm?' replied Quaint. 'I trust you have your best men out searching for what's left of it?'
'Aye, and if they come across your fashion sense, I'll let you know. Look at yourself. Never have such fine clothes been so sorely wasted on a body,' Dray said, looking Quaint up and down. 'A cloak and velvet smoking jacket at this time of day? You look like you're off to the bloody opera!'
'A gentleman can never take too much pride in his appearance, Oliver, no matter what the time of day,' Quaint parried. 'But then, I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that.'
'Cornelius, if I may?' interrupted Madame Destine. 'Perhaps you two could postpone your verbal swordplay for another time, or do I need to remind you that we are here on most urgent business?'
'Ah!' Quaint chewed at his lip and nodded. 'Quite right as ever, Madame. My apologies to you. I forget myself…and my manners.'
'I suppose introductions are in order, eh?' Dray said, nudging Berry's shoulder. 'This fellow here, Horace, is none other than Cornelius Quaint, an old…friend of mine from a misspent youth. Cornelius, this is Sergeant Horace Berry, the best beat copper on the force, bar none.'
'Sergeant Berry, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance,' Quaint turned on his heel and glanced at Destine, 'And this is Madame Destine, my personal advisor. Madame, this fellow is Oliver Dray, commissioner of police, no less.' Quaint cleared his face of all expression and focused his eyes upon Commissioner Dray. 'And now that's out of the way, gentlemen, if you don't mind, I would like a word. Oliver, you currently have one of my employees locked up in your cells, charged with murder. It is imperative that I speak with him urgently.'
'Your employee? You're the giant's boss? The one we found with that dead girl?' scoffed Commissioner Dray, slapping his forehead with his palms as if it were the most amusing thing he had ever heard. 'Oh, this is ripe! Cornelius Quaint? Owning a circus, of all things? Ha! Bloody typical, that is-I knew you could never go respectable, it's not in your nature.'
'Yes, well, it's obviously in yours,' Quaint said, poking at Dray's crooked tie. 'I won the circus in a game of chance with two Prussian fellows. Fair and square, I might add, and it's a marvellous experience, trekking from one place to the next entertaining folk. You really get to see the spark of the human spirit in full illumination. There is nothing like it on earth.' Quaint's expression suddenly darkened, and the light faded from his eyes. 'Of course…when something like this nasty business transpires…well, it does tend to stick in my craw somewhat. I do not like my circus getting involved in local matters, Oliver.'
Dray snorted indignantly. 'Local matters? You make it sound so clear cut,' he said. 'Murder is never clear cut, and thanks to your bloody circus lot, this one appears muddier than most. Actually, Horace and I were just discussing it. We've got three murders on our hands here in Crawditch, and murders that began just as your circus crew arrived. So what are you going to do about it, Cornelius?' asked Dray.
'Shouldn't I be asking you that question, Oliver?' enquired Quaint. 'You do have a vicious murderer at large in this district; after all…I am not at all sure I wish to risk any more of my people. Perhaps we should postpone our show in Hyde Park.'
'That would certainly deflect the blame from your circus, eh?'
'It sounds to me, Oliver, as if you have already closed this investigation, when in my eyes it is still very much open. My people aren't in the habit of going around slaughtering innocent people, and might I remind you that one of our
own has also been killed. With my strongman wrongly incarcerated at the moment, my circus is feeling double the pain right now.'
'Only you-a man who deals with the strange and fanciful on a daily basis-could be tied up in all this nonsense,' Dray rubbed fiercely at his thinning scalp. 'A great ox of a mute, a slain dwarf with a bizarre cross carved into her chest, and now a note from someone who says he's going to exact his revenge upon the giant!'
'Did you say a note?' Quaint's black eyes widened. 'What note?'
CHAPTER XV
The Strange and the Fanciful
QUAINT LOOKED FROM the note to Dray's face. 'I assume that you've read this letter, Oliver. It is quite clearly a threat, and yet you still believe that Prometheus is guilty? The damn letter is addressed to him, for God's sake!'
'I've only got your word that this Miller fellow-"Prometheus" as you call him-is innocent and, believe it or not, your word won't stand up in court. Look at it from my perspective,' Dray said. 'Maybe your man had a dark side that you knew nothing about. Maybe he and this Argyle woman had some kind of argument and he did away with her, I don't know.'
'What, and perhaps she wrote the letter? Look, Oliver…as I've said; Prometheus is no killer. Now, I don't have a clue as to what's going on in this little town of yours, but one of my best people is stuck right in the middle of it. This letter only perplexes me further.'
'This is a triple murder investigation, Cornelius, not someone caught scrumping apples! We do take this stuff seriously, you know. So far I've managed to keep a lid on it and keep Scotland Yard out of the equation, but I can only hold them off so long. Otherwise we'd have Yard inspectors crawling all over my patch day and night! Do you know how that would make me look?'
'You'd rather wait for the real killer to strike again, whilst you tell everyone in Crawditch that you've got the man apprehended, and they're all safe? Come on, Oliver-surely it will make you look far worse when that's proved false! You've got a man locked up for a crime with no witnesses and no evidence beyond circumstantial. Is that just so it looks like you're in control when the Yard starts poking its nose in?' barked Quaint. 'You're a chip off the old block, all right.'
'Cornelius,' growled Dray. 'Mind your tongue now. That's territory you really don't want to tread.'
'I remember.' Quaint clapped his hands together loudly. 'Look…all I'm trying to do is give my opinion about someone who's mixed up in all this, and need not be! You boys don't know him from Adam-but I have known him for years, and would vouch for his innocence until my dying day. He's not guilty-and if you just give me some time alone with him, I may just be able to prove it!'
'Cornelius…you know I can't do that,' said Dray. 'I just don't think-'
'And that's the point here, isn't it? You don't think! You never did have the capacity to think beyond the pack mentality, did you?' Quaint stared at Dray, their eyes meeting across the red haze of rage that filled the room. Although neither man spoke, there seemed to be plenty communicated in the silence.
Dray took a deep lungful of breath, and threw himself down into his chair.
'I don't have the time for this right now, Cornelius,' he said.
'Then make time, Oliver-this is important!' snapped Quaint, trying to get over his point and still keep the tinge of anger from his words. He was not doing a spectacular job so far. 'I am not your enemy here, Oliver, and nor do I wish to be. Even as we speak, the real foe stalks Crawditch's streets, and I want the bastard hunted down and caught so I can put things back to normal, and concentrate on what my circus is in London for!'
'This isn't just about you and your bloody circus, man,' Dray said. 'When your lot pack up and move on, this will still be my district, and I want this mess straightened out just as much as you do, believe me. So…you want to speak to this Prometheus fellow of yours, right? Berry tells me he's deaf and dumb. What possible help can he be to this investigation?'
'He's not deaf and dumb, Oliver, he's a mute! He can hear perfectly well, and he can still write down what he knows, or what he's seen,' Quaint said determinedly, ensuring that he kept his previous visit with Prometheus secret. He had no wish to get Constable Marsh into any hot water. 'My crew have already gleaned quite a bit of information about what occurred on the night that Twinkle was murdered, but I need Prometheus to fill in the gaps.'
Dray stroked at his temples. 'Well, why don't you start by telling me what you do know? Stuff you can prove, I mean…not just your opinion.'
Quaint nodded resolutely: 'Very well. Last night my colleagues and I visited The Black Sheep public house not far from this very station. If you check with the landlord he will confirm that on the night of the murder, my circus strongman was drinking with his lover-the female dwarf who now lies in your mortuary.'
'A concise recap for the latecomers,' Dray grunted. 'What else?'
'The landlord told me that on the night of Twinkle's murder, an Irish gentleman by the name of "Hawkspear" paid him to give my circus strongman a bottle of whisky. The whisky contained a drug that would have probably killed a smaller man. As it goes; it merely rendered him unconscious.' Quaint paused, watching Dray's expression closely. 'Surely that is enough information to prove that Prometheus wouldn't have been in a fit state to do anything- especially murder the woman he loved. Arthur Peach's admission will surely absolve my employee, and I urge you to trigger a manhunt for this Hawkspear fellow, at least.'
'Arthur Peach…yes, I know of the man. A sly one up to his neck in smuggled tobacco and cheap whores,' said Dray with a nod. 'All right…if what you say can be substantiated, and Peach will talk to us…maybe I'm prepared to delve a little bit into this-but on my terms, Cornelius. I won't have you influencing this investigation. You stay well away from now on. Just let us do our jobs. I'll have someone go to the Sheep and look into what you say. But if Peach denies everything, what are you going to do then, eh?'
'He won't deny it, Oliver,' said Quaint assuredly. 'I believe I made a convincing argument for him to peddle his honesty to you.'
'We'll see, won't we?' Dray said, shuffling distractedly with some files on his desk. 'But until then, your mate stays locked up in our cells and no one sees him unless I'm satisfied.'
'Well, you might not get very satisfied without me. Look, just let me speak to Prometheus for five minutes, Oliver, please…I can help.'
'You can get involved, you mean,' Dray snapped. 'It's just like the old days, eh? I've not set eyes on you for twenty years, and you haven't changed a bit. You're still poking your nose into matters that don't concern you. I've told you-I don't want you anywhere near this investigation, and that's my final word. Now, Sergeant Berry will escort you out.'
'Commissioner Dray, if you please,' Madame Destine interrupted. 'Surely you are more concerned with justice than arguing with a man you have not seen for twenty years,' she said. Each word was energised with a devilish whiplash and Dray suddenly fell silent. 'Now, admittedly…Cornelius may be as stubborn as a mule, but he speaks the truth. He can help you solve this case. More importantly, he can help our friend Prometheus. By allowing us audience with him, we may just learn something that can shed more light on this unfortunate affair. Would that not be a more preferable outcome than what you currently have?'
Dray was sizzling in his seat, his face beetroot red. Horace Berry looked over at the man, almost expecting to see steam rising from his collar, but somehow Destine's words seemed to penetrate his hard exterior, and the blustering Scot's temper waned.
'Commissioner,' said Sergeant Berry, raising his hand. 'Perhaps we should let Mr Quaint and Miss Destine see their friend, just in case a friendly face will make the man share a bit more information,' he said cautiously, like a man disturbing a grizzly bear's hibernation with a sharp stick. 'Lord knows our constables aren't having much joy. It can't do any harm, can it?'
Dray folded his arms tight against his chest. 'I knew if I ever set eyes on you again things would go potty, Cornelius. I don't know how much information you can expect to glean fro
m a man who can't utter a word, but I have to admit…I haven't the foggiest where else to begin. I think it's high time your employee told us the whole story, don't you?'
'Yes, Commissioner,' agreed Quaint. 'I rather think it is.'
A few minutes later, Commissioner Dray grabbed the cell block keys, and strode down the long corridor that led from his office to the cells. Quaint and Madame Destine walked behind him in silent thought, and Sergeant Berry brought up the rear.
'You can have ten minutes with your mate and no more, Cornelius, and you can thank Horace here for that,' Dray said quietly into Quaint's ear. 'My job's going to be well and truly shot if this goes any further than this district, and if your monster has jeopardised my career-he'll hang for it, I swear.'
'Always an open mind, eh, Oliver?' Quaint said, as he clamped his hand firmly on Dray's shoulder, making the Scotsman's heart miss a beat. 'You're going to have to start entertaining the fact that maybe you're wrong on this one-and you're going to have to start thinking like that pretty damn soon. Your ignorance is your greatest weakness.'
'And your stubbornness is yours,' parried Dray.
Quaint grinned. 'Well, you know what I'm like.'
'I'd forgotten,' said Dray, rolling his eyes.
'I admit, perhaps sometimes my mouth gallops ahead of my brain.'
'I'll say! Every time you speak it's like a ten-gun salute. You've only got two settings, Cornelius-explosive and bombastic! You don't know subtlety. It's not in your blood is it?'
'Maybe so,' said Quaint, as he drew a breath through clenched teeth. 'But then, neither is giving up on a friend of mine when he's in trouble.'
The equivoque principle cq-1 Page 7