The Thieves' Labyrinth (Albert Newsome 3)

by McCreet, James

  There on the corner of Betts-street was a man whose entire demeanour showed him to be engaged in a surreptitious pursuit. He loitered without waiting, looked without seeing into shop windows, and moved with a feline grace that showed him ready to pause, turn and vanish at a moment’s notice. It was a masterly performance, made all the more fascinating by the detail of the man’s hat, which, though it mostly concealed the long dark hair beneath, did not hide a gold earring.

  The Italian?

  Noah instinctively felt for his dagger in its leather sheath. The Italian had not noticed him, but was rather occupied with some other target out of Noah’s line of vision.

  Walking along the opposite side of the street with his gaze focused intently upon the reflections in the windows, Noah affected an aimless saunter to mask his steel-spring alertness. Within seconds he would be able to peer around the corner and observe whoever or whatever was being watched so intently by the Italian.

  If Noah had seen Inspector Newsome going about his investigations under that Mediterranean gaze, it would have been no great surprise. Had the target been Mr Williamson, at least a precedent had been set for that mode of surveillance. Whatever the identity of the pursued, it would surely provide some advantageous perspective on the Gordian knot of the Aurora’s disappearance.

  In fact, the object of the Italian’s gaze was a gentleman standing on the street corner and engaging a cabstand waterman in conversation. He was clearly not a difficult man to follow on account of his russet cap and garish tweed suit.

  And suddenly there were even more questions.

  EIGHTEEN

  Mr Williamson looked up from his notes for the countless time and stared, unseeing, out of the window. It was not the chattering clatter of the coffee house that distracted him so. Nor was it the incessant hooves and wheels and busman’s cries of broad Pall Mall stretching before him.

  People outside walked by in unending procession, oblivious to their observer’s gaze. It was a veritable catalogue of evening-time London: earnest men with appointments, laughing ladies with none, shuffling tomb-bound beggars, the sprightly costermonger with his barrow . . . and, of course, the street girls – the street girls with their silk and lace, their flashing ankles, their dark eyes seeking the merest flicker of appreciation from a male gaze.

  He clenched his jaw and returned his eyes by force of will to the notebook. There, in his neat, small writing was all he knew (and did not know):

  William Barton – Custom House tidewaiter murdered on Waterloo-bridge with blank unloading warrants in his possession (most likely for smuggling). The registered tidewaiter of the Aurora. Why killed, and why in such an outrageous manner?

  Barton’s murderers – Most likely skilled seamen to climb and navigate so in a fog. A harpooner also? In whose employ? Who might know them? Did Barton?

  Barton’s last utterance – Could his ‘Orrr’ be a strangulated attempt at ‘Aurora’? What of ‘ffff’? A name? A place? A time?

  The Aurora – What of the charred name plaque? Is the entire ship thus consumed, or merely its identity? How did the board find its way to that part of the Thames, and from where?

  Josiah Timbs – Owner of the vanished brig: murdered in the furnace of London Dock seemingly following a threat from the purloiners of his vessel. Again, why so conspicuous? Why this location above others? Did the murderer(s) leave any clue?

  The seamen in barrels – Presumably those who remained aboard the fateful ship. How did their bodies get into barrels and into the spirit vault? Again, why such a curious – almost theatrical – act of discovery? Planned to coincide with the discovery of Timbs? Who were the coopers responsible? Mr Cullen to ask about the docks for any intelligence . . .

  Eldritch Batchem – Who is he? What is his true role in all of this? Is he watching? Was his piece in the Monitor motivated by something other than competition? Why did he not attend the discoveries at the dock? Where is he now and what is he investigating?

  The Italian – spy of Eldritch Batchem? His interest in me? How long has he been following? What does he know?

  The missing cargo – Fine French silk. Benjamin and Noah to investigate receivers . . .

  Mr Williamson again looked up, this time catching his own reflection in the plate glass. He avoided its eyes.

  Noah Dyson – this man who had once risked his life in pursuit of the truth behind the death of Mr Williamson’s wife, Katherine; this man who had sacrificed his own private anonymity to investigate where Mr Williamson could not; this man who was said to be an escaped transportee and thief . . . this man who now stood arbiter between his friend’s return to the authority and respect of the Detective Force or a life chasing pickpockets and begging-letter fraudsters.

  A large clock in the coffee house began to chime above the human noise. Mr Williamson took out his pocket watch to verify it. He closed his notebook and returned it to his coat. There was an appointment to keep – one to which he went with conflicting hope and desolation.

  ‘Please take a seat, George. I appreciate your coming to see me.’

  Sir Richard Mayne had been sitting contemplatively by the fire in his office at Scotland Yard but stood now to shake his visiter’s hand.

  ‘Take a seat, George. May I ask the clerk to bring you tea?’

  ‘No thank you, Sir Richard,’ said Mr Williamson, resting his top hat on the table between them. ‘I assume that whatever it is you have to tell me will also be communicated to Inspector Newsome – if it has not been already.’

  ‘That is correct, George. I do not deal in favourites. An expedient solution to this mystery is all I seek. Recent experience suggests that it is simply more peaceable to discuss matters separately with the two of you.’

  ‘Hmm. Have you any further intelligence on the murders at London Dock?’

  ‘The Detective Force has made a thorough investigation, but I am afraid there is little to show. As we thought, the body is indeed that of Josiah Timbs. The furnace was almost certainly accessed with a duplicate key during the absence of the furnace-master. It being night, there were few available witnesses, and the watchmen follow a rather imperfect system that seems to place a regular cup of tea above their attention to duty. In short, nobody saw anything and there were no probative discoveries made in or near the furnace.’

  ‘That is perhaps the greatest clue in these deaths,’ said Mr Williamson, taking out his notebook to append his existing thoughts. ‘Whether or not there was wider collusion in their commission, the villains evidently knew enough about the nocturnal workings of the docks to plan their activities carefully. The more I see of this case, the more I am convinced it stretches far beyond what is visible.’

  ‘You are more correct than you realize, but we will come to that in a moment. The bodies in the barrels were indeed the missing crew of the Aurora. No attempt had been made to empty their pockets or otherwise disguise their identities and the master of the vessel was able to identify all of them by a combination of clothing labels and direct recognition. Poor man – he was quite nauseous in the surgery where we examined his erstwhile crew.’

  ‘Hmm. What was the cause of death?’

  ‘All were struck fatally on the back of the head with a blunt instrument – a hammer perhaps. It seems they may have been made drunk first, however, as each had a quantity of brandy in their stomachs. It was not in their lungs, so we deduce they were embarrelled post mortem.’

  ‘Have all of the mariners now been accounted for?’

  ‘All but one. Investigations among the marine districts have turned up a handful of the crew who claim that seven seamen and the master left the vessel by lighter prior to its disappearance. Remaining on board were the three mates and three older sailors. I am told the older men like to remain on board.’

  ‘So – we are to account for six bodies. There were only five barrels.’

  ‘Indeed. The first mate is the only one unaccounted for, but it seems the inspector may have something to say about that.’
/>
  ‘Mr Newsome? Why is that?’

  ‘The ship’s master has since told me that an unnamed officer of the Thames Police came to his door on that day you both signed the contract and showed him a pencil likeness of the first mate before fleeing without explanation. I rather suspect that the hasty policeman was our Inspector Newsome and that the body he pulled out of the river prior to Mr Timbs’s challenge was the first mate.’

  ‘I presume he has not mentioned that avenue of investigation to you?’

  ‘I am sure it is merely an oversight.’ Sir Richard’s expression was rather one of faith than certainty.

  ‘Hmm. What of the manner of interment? How did the bodies get into the barrels and the barrels into the spirit vault?’

  ‘It is another tale of general ignorance. What seems clear, however, is that five of the original consignment were replaced with the fatal casks some time between the Aurora’s disappearance and the discovery of the bodies. The new barrels were identical in size but evidently fashioned from a different kind of oak. A cooper noticed the detail once the barrels were examined in daylight.’

  ‘Were there any other differences in the barrels? These could be highly informative.’

  ‘Let me see . . . there were some minor . . .’ Sir Richard looked through a sheaf of papers beside him. ‘Yes – the five new barrels showed evidence of both muscovado sugar and tobacco about their girths. It seems they were rolled from, or through, other warehouses at some point. Of course, we have no idea if this was before or after the bodies were put inside – or whether it was at the London Dock itself. Our investigators looked into the sugar warehouses there, but there was no evidence to suggest anything untoward had occurred. Even if it had, why roll the barrels through the tobacco warehouse for no reason? It is nowhere near the spirit vault.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  ‘George – I am sure you have given some further thought as to why these murders were carried out in such a shocking manner and arranged so conspicuously. Have you reached any conclusions?’

  ‘You have said it yourself, Sir Richard: nobody saw anything. Nobody knows anything. I can only imagine that the very audaciousness of the crimes was intended as a warning to all that assisting the police, or resisting the criminals, was inadvisable.’

  ‘Whom do you mean by “all”? And what might they be offering resistance against?’

  ‘That is where my knowledge ends, Sir Richard. It seems clear that the disappearance of an entire vessel must touch upon many other points: the Custom House, riverworkers, dockworkers, warehousemen, merchants . . . Some may be paid to stay quiet; others have nothing to lose but their pride. But it takes only one weak link in the chain of corruption to destroy the whole endeavour. Was that link a greedy William Barton? Was it a heedless Josiah Timbs? Was it a crew that would not be bribed to look away? We will likely never know – all are dead. Examples have been set. More information is needed if we are to progress.’

  ‘Have you any such information to supply, George?’

  ‘I have been pursuing my own investigation. I would tell you what I have discovered, but I fear you would be bound to reveal whatever I know to Mr Newsome, would you not?’

  ‘I must be fair in all things. At the same time, I can tell him only what I have been told. It is more important to me that the case is solved rather than that all parties have equal information.’

  ‘Very well, Sir Richard. In that case, perhaps you can tell me more. You alluded earlier to the broad reach of this case – have you further intelligence on that matter?’

  ‘Indeed. On the day after the Waterloo-bridge incident, I exchanged words with Inspector General Jackson of the Custom House and I established a number of my clerks there to examine recent records for signs of irregularity. That report arrived before me this morning and its findings are . . . well, they offer more complication than clarification.’

  ‘Sir Richard – before you continue, did your men experience any difficulties or obstructions in their duties?’

  ‘Yes, I follow your line of thought. The men of the Custom House were as helpful as they could be, but each of my clerks received anonymous threats similar to the one sent to Josiah Timbs. One of them was attacked after dark and injured about the head . . . though naturally no concrete connection with the Aurora case can be made.’

  ‘I trust that you have ensured their safety? Recent events have shown the need for caution.’

  ‘Yes. The men are currently removed from the city.’

  ‘Hmm. Does your report reveal anything more about the missing brig itself?’

  ‘Very little. There is no record of ballast being issued to a ship of that name, suggesting either that it was not unloaded at all and left the Port of London as it was, or that it was unloaded and departed under a different name.’

  ‘The most likely explanation,’ said Mr Williamson.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘But if that were the case, there would surely be a discrepancy of an “extra” ship leaving port – one that had not entered. Does the Custom House record such aberrations?’

  ‘Not as a matter of course; they are simply too busy to do so. However, a careful tabulation and cross-referencing of inward- and outward-bound ships reveals irregularities where they exist. It is laborious work, which is perhaps why nobody sought to disguise or amend the ledgers.’

  ‘How widespread is the phenomenon?’

  ‘As an illustration, the ledgers show that there are currently three ships in port which, however, do not occupy their allotted berths. That is, they appear to have arrived some weeks ago, but cannot be located and have not left under their original names. For all intents, they exist only as documentation. The vessels may never have physically entered London at all.’

  ‘What is the listed cargo of these ships?’

  ‘As one might expect: cargo with high duties. I have men seeking the merchants, owners and mariners of these vessels, but . . . you know what the process involves, and how reluctant people are to speak.’

  ‘Hmm. Has no merchant reported his vessel missing as Mr Timbs did?’

  ‘There was apparently an instance similar to the disappearance of the Aurora some six months ago. Heated questions were asked in the Long Room at the Custom House, but the owner suddenly took his insurance and sought no further information. He has declined to be interviewed by the police.’

  ‘I imagine we know why. What of departing ships? Presumably some leave the port without appearing to have entered?’

  ‘Oddly enough, we located no such instances. It means nothing, of course. Only a ship loaded with dutiable cargo is registered outgoing. We could check about the ballast with Trinity House, but . . .’

  ‘Yes . . . a laborious process. The Aurora is the case at hand.’

  Mr Williamson looked through his pages of notes, hoping to see a single thread of sense emerging. ‘It seems safe to assume that all of these irregularities are connected – that we are observing the visible elements of a much larger invisible organization.’

  ‘I concur, though there is nothing more to suggest it than the necessity of some higher supervisory or authoritative element. As you say, it is an enterprise that touches on so many other functions. There must be a single head to which the tentacles lead. Who could that be? What manner of criminal could so orchestrate the endeavour?’

  ‘Sir Richard – I am almost afraid to consider it. This is a man, or a group of men, who thinks nothing of committing murder – someone with allies across every aspect of our marine commerce. The Port of London is a city within the city: numberless warehouses, ships, men, cargoes, Customs officials, merchants . . . it is task beyond even the Metropolitan Police to see everything and know everyone.’

  ‘That is precisely the reasoning of the criminals behind the Aurora’s disappearance, Mr Williamson. It will not do. The Detective Force exists to demonstrate that higher intelligence, diligence and honour will always vanquish criminality.’

  ‘But I am no longer a m
ember of the Detective Force.’

  ‘Indeed you are not, George – but you were once its most stalwart investigator. Do you not reflect upon those years with satisfaction and pride? Do you not long to return to your rightful place at the heart of justice?’

  ‘You have read the piece in the London Monitor. Is that truly the calibre of man you seek? All that was written was . . . is true.’

  ‘Do not think, George, that I am ignorant of the world here in my Whitehall offices. Inspector Newsome has already made such an assumption to his detriment. I am quite aware of that unfortunate business at Giltspur-street gaol. Why do you think I accepted your precipitous “resignation” without question? It was the honourable thing to do . . . and I am not so naïve that I do not appreciate how much Mr Newsome benefited from it. But every man has the capacity for repentance, George. Every man may be cleansed of his sins and reclaim his faith . . . if only he can find it within himself to do so – to eradicate evil and follow instead the path of righteousness. I hope I have given you the opportunity to follow that path . . .’

  ‘Sir . . . you have certainly done as much.’

  ‘Very well. I trust you will do what is right. Let us speak no more of such things. There is one final matter I hoped to ask about: you said at the London Dock that you had evidence concerning the Waterloo-bridge incident. Are you able to share it with me without compromising your own private investigation? I ask merely because it would be of the greatest benefit to me to refute Eldritch Batchem’s original “solution” publicly and to approach the Bridge Company with the true series of events.’

  ‘It is quite simple, although admittedly somewhat incredible. The murderer ascended the bridge from the river using a grappling iron and a rope. Once upon the span, he murdered William Barton and descended the same way he had come.’