The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3)
Page 17
A familiar voice came from the crowd: Mr Williamson.
‘Hmm. Might I also suggest that the ship-owner Josiah Timbs, or his master, casts an eye over these spoiled faces. Identification may thus be expedited.’
‘A capital suggestion, Mr Williamson,’ said Richard with the merest flash of personal acknowledgement. ‘We will do just that.’
Inspector Newsome scowled. ‘If these men do indeed prove to be the missing mariners of the brig Aurora – which I am sure we are all thinking – my suggestion is to check once again whether (and if) their wages have been collected. That way a timeline of their deaths might be reconstructed.’
‘Another fine point,’ conceded Sir Richard. ‘It will be done.’
The name of the Aurora had sent a thrill of recognition through those gathered in the vault, and now a greater murmur animated the space. Could it be true? Were these the lost souls of that bewitched vessel, washed up here on a tide of spiritous liquor? The story would be in a hundred public houses by dusk.
‘Very well!’ said Sir Richard, sensing that the congregation threatened to expand still further, ‘let us have everyone out of the vault but myself and the constables here. This is now a scene of investigation . . . Mr Newsome, Mr Williamson – I refer to you also. This is now a matter for the Detective Force, who will no doubt soon arrive to take up the case. You must both leave.’
The crowd began reluctantly to exit the vault, looking back that they might drink in one final glance at the bodies. Among them, Noah also did his best to commit the entire scene to memory.
But even as the people left, a clamour erupted elsewhere in the dock and cries could be heard coming closer to the spirit vault. Those departing made way for a young man approaching with an expression of the greatest agitation.
‘Police! Police! There is another one – another body at the Pipe!’
‘What? What is this?’ Sir Richard held up a hand to the onrushing youth. ‘Becalm yourself, boy. Breathe, and tell us what this is about.’
‘Come quick, sir. They have found a dead man in the Pipe!’
‘The Pipe . . . ? I . . .’
‘The Queen’s Pipe, sir . . . what we call the furnace . . . won’t you come quick?’
‘Very well. Constables – you stay here and see that these bodies are not disturbed; I will go to secure the other scene. Lead the way, boy . . .’
And as Sir Richard (with the sundry other interested investigators) was pursued by an ever-growing retinue upwards and outwards towards the colossal chimney towering over London Dock, perhaps a brief illustrative interlude upon the subject of the ‘Pipe’ will permit them time to arrive there.
The simple fact is this: any commodity warehoused in the dock may be released only on full payment of the duties owed according to the rates of the time. Should these monies not be paid, the cargo is destroyed. Whereas the other docks see fit to bury what cannot be used, London Dock takes a more complete approach and sends it all up the ‘Queen’s Pipe’ – so called because Her Majesty’s duties have not been paid. No matter whether it is Havanah cigars, New Zealand mutton, French silk gloves, pocket watches of Germany or African ivory, all is fed to the fire. (Only tea, which has been known to set the chimney ablaze, is exempted and reserved for interment.)
As for the ashes scraped from the great conical chamber of that fiery beast, they are sold by the tonne and variously prized by a number of eager buyers. The blacksmith prizes its sifted iron nuggets as the finest and hardest metal available; the soap manufactory reckons tobacco ash to be the ne plus ultra of its kind; the farmer is pleased to scatter the destruction of nations upon his fields; and the treasure-seeker makes sly reference to the droplets of pure silver and gold to be garnered from the grey masses. In such ways is annihilation turned to profit.
The visiter approaches, as did Sir Richard and the pursuing throng, through the tobacco warehouse towards a door with the royal crest and ‘V.R.’ marked upon it. Beyond that, one enters a space of quite furious heat, where the iron mouth of the furnace is fed and where sacks of doomed produce lie all around.
The heat was not the only sensation. A distinct smell of cooked flesh also filled the room – something indefinable whose nearest animal comparison was perhaps pork. Its origin was not difficult to detect.
Two human legs, detached at the knee joint, lay below the open iron shutter of the furnace. Each one wore a shoe, stockings and the charred remains of trousers that had partially bunched about the ankles. The rest of the body, evidently, had gone inside the furnace and now revealed itself as a charred and twisted form whose thigh bones protruded in their pinkly roasted state from the frame.
All present made the obvious deduction: the legs had cooked until so tender that the lower legs had literally dropped from the knees. A sound of vomiting came from the back of the crowd around the door.
‘My G—!’ said Sir Richard.
‘I found ’im just like that,’ said the furnace-master, standing by the huge brickwork cone. ‘Came in this mornin’ and there ’e was.’
‘So this incident occurred overnight,’ said Inspector Newsome, again at the forefront of the bustle attending the scene. ‘During what hours is the furnace unmanned, and who has access to it during those hours?’
‘The fire burns twenty-four hours, sir, but I needn’t be ’ere for all that time,’ said the furnace-master. ‘I loads it up and lets it work. Durin’ the night, I let it burn itself low, then starts again next day. This must of ’appened durin’ that time, though quite ’ow, I ’ave no idea. I locks the door when I’m not ’ere lest someone pilfers the goods to be destroyed.’
‘The door has not been forced,’ said Mr Williamson from the back of the accumulated group. ‘Are there duplicate keys?’
‘Of course, sir,’ said the furnace-master. ‘The watchmen ’ave ’em, and the tobacco warehouse foreman also . . . in case the chimney starts afire.’
‘Good. I require a list of all who have keys,’ said Sir Richard. He indicated the legs on the floor: ‘Do we know who this gentleman might be? Is he perhaps an employee of the docks? Is anybody thought to be missing?’
‘It is nobody known to me,’ said the furnace-master. ‘As far as I can tell.’
Noah – who had thus far been maintaining an inconspicuous profile in Sir Richard’s presence – whispered something to Mr Williamson, who looked at the disembodied legs and nodded his agreement.
‘Hmm. Hmm. I believe I may know the identity of our unfortunate victim.’
The crowd hushed accordingly.
‘You have our attention, Mr Williamson,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Proceed.’
‘I have seen those shoes before. The chase-work on the buckles is quite distinctive, and the heel is worn slightly more on the left shoe. I noticed these points when I last saw them four days ago. At that time, they were on the feet of Mr Josiah Timbs, owner of the missing brig Aurora.’
This intelligence again set the audience a-buzz. The bodies in the barrels . . . the body in the furnace . . . the missing vessel. It had the makings of a delicious scandal.
‘Right – I want everybody out of this room,’ said Sir Richard with a determined gesture. ‘Everyone back into the tobacco warehouse. This also is a crime scene. Mr Williamson and Mr Newsome – you may remain momentarily . . .’
The eager observers (Noah included) were pushed back from the furnace chamber and the door closed so that Sir Richard remained closeted with the two other gentlemen (and the semi-clothed legs mocking them from below the ‘Queen’s Pipe’). The men looked at each other in silence for a moment, perhaps not knowing where to begin.
‘This is . . . this is quite ridiculous,’ said Sir Richard. ‘What on earth is happening? The bodies in the barrels and now . . . this. Gentlemen – I want it to end as quickly as possible. Your thoughts please – and let us not worry about revealing anything to “competitors”. The reputation of the Metropolitan Police may be at stake.’
‘If this is Timbs,’ said Mr
Newsome, ‘I rather suspect his killers were more serious about their warning than he was. They might have killed him anywhere, and in secret. This is a declaration of intent: they are not to be underestimated or ignored.’
‘I fear you are correct, Inspector,’ said Sir Richard. ‘To bring the body here and leave it thus is an outrageous act. But who are they and who are they communicating with? Surely they do not expect the police to cease the investigation through any such coarse terror as this?’
‘Hmm. I believe the murders discovered here today are for the benefit of the police only tangentially,’ said Mr Williamson. ‘The bodies may have been left anywhere in London for us to find. Why the London Dock, and why in such a manner? The men in the barrels make for a particularly gruesome exhibition – one that will be told by sailors and river folk for years to come. As such, it is a fine illustration of what can happen to those who do not collaborate. Was the murder of William Barton on Waterloo-bridge a similar case, I wonder: a highly conspicuous murder where an invisible drowning would have done just as well?’
‘Murder?’ said Mr Newsome. ‘There is no evidence that Barton—’
‘On the contrary – there is more than sufficient evidence he was murdered, and very likely by somebody he knew.’
‘Whom do you suspect?’ said Sir Richard.
‘I cannot be certain, but my findings thus far, combined with today’s discoveries, can suggest nothing more than some connection with river trade and smuggling. Beyond that, I cannot offer anything more coherent.’
‘Sir – if I may take custody of the bodies and examine them . . .’ began Inspector Newsome.
‘You may not. This is a matter for the Detective Force, as you know. They will discern whether the bodies in the barrels are the remaining crew of the Aurora and, if so, how they found their way into the spirit vault. Likewise, they will investigate the identity of these disembodied legs. I trust that you gentlemen will find avenues of your own to pursue.’
Mr Williamson and Mr Newsome exchanged glances.
‘In the meantime,’ continued Sir Richard with a stern expression, ‘may I enquire about that article in the London Monitor? You can imagine what embarrassment it has caused me. I will not tolerate disrespect of that sort to stand, and you may be sure redress is being sought via the appropriate legal channels. Who is the writer? What have you found?’
‘Eldritch Batchem,’ said Mr Newsome. ‘It can only be he.’
‘Are you certain of that, Inspector?’ said Sir Richard.
‘I cannot prove it, but he seems to be its greatest beneficiary, and he is the only investigator in the piece not to be pilloried. If he did not place it, he knew of it and paid to have his name kept out.’
‘Very well. Your reputation was not enhanced by it, and you know what calibre of men I want in my Detective Force. As for you, Mr Williamson, I trust that the accusations about you are out of date.’
‘In fact, Noah Dyson was here today in the crowd,’ said Mr Newsome with a smirk. ‘I believe he whispered something to Mr Williamson.’
‘I saw him, Inspector,’ said Sir Richard, ‘so there is no reason for you to play the over-eager pupil. In fact, I am inclined against my better judgement to consider it an unfortunate coincidence that will not be permitted to occur again.’
Mr Williamson caught the unblinking gaze of the police commissioner and returned it with an assurance sorely infected by doubt.
‘Every man deserves the benefit of a second chance,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Even you, Inspector.’
‘Sir,’ began Mr Newsome, ‘if I am not to investigate the scenes of these crimes, how am I to pursue the investigation with any rigour?’
‘By using your ingenuity, Inspector – as any detective does on a difficult case. You will also stay within the remit of your duties with the Thames Police. Now – I must ask both of you to leave. The constables will secure this room and the men of the Detective Force will take over.’
Sir Richard opened the door and allowed the gentlemen to exit, whereupon Mr Newsome veered immediately into the tobacco warehouse and Mr Williamson made his way outside and towards the dock gates.
‘George! George! Wait a moment,’ came a voice from among the cargo. It was Noah, running to meet him.
Mr Williamson did not slow his pace. ‘I am sorry, Noah. There is something urgent I must do. I cannot stop.’
‘George – has it not occurred to you how strange it is that we were all here today? All except Eldritch Batchem? Where was he? Why did he not deign to visit this most important occurrence in the case of the Aurora? George – will you not stop for a moment? What is so pressing? We have much to discuss.’
‘I am sorry, Noah . . . I must . . .’
And Mr Williamson strode on without looking back, leaving Noah standing both perplexed and concerned in his wake.
SIXTEEN
If Inspector Newsome seemed in a hurry as he bustled about the tobacco warehouse, it was perhaps because he saw an advantage to be exploited. The men of the Detective Force had not yet arrived to scatter accusation and to fatigue everyone with their questions, so there was a brief opportunity for untainted interrogation.
It had taken mere moments to learn from sundry labourers that both the tobacco warehouse and the spirit vault were securely locked during the hours of darkness (the furnace-master being the only one with access to the former). Indeed, the sole employees permitted to enter the stores at night were the five watchmen, whose job it was to ensure that no fire – not even a pipe or cigar – could spark into life amid so many millions of pounds worth of precious stock.
Accordingly, the fellow responsible for guarding the tobacco warehouse soon received a visit from Mr Newsome in the watchmen’s private sleeping quarters. A healthy fire was burning in the kitchen grate and a broad dining table was as tidy as one might imagine in a residence inhabited by five unmarried men.
‘I am grievously tired, sir,’ said the gentleman in question, one Herbert Ball. ‘I am accustomed to sleeping once my duty is finished, but the dock master told me the police would be along.’
‘And here I am,’ said Mr Newsome. ‘I presume you are going to tell me you saw nothing at all last night.’
‘That is right. There was nothing of which to be suspicious.’
‘Describe your rounds to me – in detail if you please.’
‘Well, I have my supper here in the watchmen’s residence, then I take my lamp and I take a stroll about the wharfs to look for smoke – the sailors are terrible ones with their pipes . . .’
‘Sailors reside on board their vessels, is that right?’
‘Only some of them, sir – usually the older ones. The younger men stay in the city. None is allowed to smoke inside the dock.’
‘Fine. Proceed.’
‘After my general rounds, I enter the tobacco warehouse and walk about each floor looking for any flame or sign of crime, and I have never seen anything in all my time here, sir. Thereafter, I come back to the residence for a cup of tea and then start all over again around fifteen minutes later. The other men each patrol a different warehouse: spirits, wines and the rest.’
‘I see. So there are five of you continuously walking about the dock at night.’
‘That is right, sir. It is most secure.’
‘And I suppose it never occurs that you five watchmen time your rounds so that you might meet back here together for your tea, leaving the entire dock momentarily open for dubious activity? I observe five cups together there at the table . . . and also a deck of playing cards dealt out into five hands . . .’
‘I . . . the rounds are coordinated . . . there are always—’
‘Mr Ball – I am not interested in the rules; only the reality interests me. You are not facing any prosecution. Simply confirm if my assumption is correct.’
Mr Ball nodded glumly, his eyes upon the floor.
‘There seems to be no sign of damage to the door of the Queen’s Pipe. How might that be explained?’
‘I fear somebody will find himself thus inconvenienced. In summary, it seems you are telling me that the tobacco warehouse and the furnace were left unobserved for a period perhaps between thirty minutes and one hour, depending on the duration of your route around the dock. Is that correct?’
‘Well . . . it is quite common . . .’
‘Is that correct?’
‘Yes, sir . . . or rather . . . in fact, there may be one other man who saw something.’
‘Who? Somebody else who patrols the dock? Another watchman?’
‘Not exactly, sir. He is . . . well, he is not officially tasked with doing a round, but I suppose he is the one man who might be anywhere in the dock during the night hours. He is allowed access to every area, above and below ground.’
‘Who is this man? I need to speak to him.’
Mr Ball’s face underwent a curious transition from amusement to doubt and then distaste.
‘Well?’ said Mr Newsome. ‘I do not have time to wait upon your answer. Who is he and where do I find him?’
‘He is called Baudrons: the cat master. You might find him in the low building between the south-west corner of the main dock and the basin.’
‘The cat master?’
‘I will not attempt to describe him, sir. Better that you go and see for yourself.’
‘I will do that. Thank you for your time, Mr Ball. And may I suggest taking more responsibility over your work in future.’
‘Yes, sir. What about the other watchmen? Will you not question them also?’
‘Other policemen will be along shortly to conduct that task. I suggest you make some coffee in preparation for their visit. In the meantime, I bid you good day . . .’