The Last Watchman

by Kevin Partner

  Scotland Yard

  We found her in a dark room behind The King's Head.

  “You are late, Grimes,” she said as the door swung open and she retreated into the gloom.

  Grimes followed her to a small table beside the grubby window and sat down. “I had to be sure I wasn't being followed. Dangerous times, my dear.”

  “Are you well, Valentina?” I said as I stood unregarded behind Grimes.

  “I see you didn't have the sense to flee, Mr Makepeace,” she said, glancing up at me. “Well, you are now part of this, I suppose, for good or ill. Draw up a chair.”

  I found a small stool in the corner and brushed the dust from it before sitting down.

  “So, what's the situation on your side?” Grimes asked.

  “Dire enough. It seems that you and your associates weren't the only targets. Many of my people now lie dead, killed by their own kind. And by others.”

  “Others?”

  Valentina shrugged. “Perhaps I am being paranoid, but I suspect our enemies have allied themselves with rogue elements among the minorities.”

  “What are minorities?” I asked.

  “We don't have time for lessons,” Valentina snapped without taking her gaze from Grimes' face. “Suffice it to say that we vampires—we Nostri—are not the only race humanity has warred against over the eons.”

  Grimes snorted. “No, mankind has managed to cheese off just about everyone. Makes you wonder whether it's worth saving, doesn't it?”

  This was ridiculous. Here we sat, two humans and a vampire, discussing whether my species was worth saving.

  “Tell me what happened when you went back to the hospital,” Grimes said.

  With a sigh, Valentina leaned back and looked out of the window. “All would have been well if it weren't for the fact that so many of my colleagues were, at the moment I sent out the call for aid, either dead themselves or fighting for their lives. I was forced to call in support from the police.”

  “A code red? Good grief, we really are looking over the edge of the abyss.”

  “Fortunately, Mr Pitt is a competent man and managed to conceal the true nature of the detainees from his officers. I imagine it helped that it was an asylum they were securing.”

  It was now the turn of Grimes to stare at the filthy window as if exploring the pathways of his memory. “Pitt is a good one, for sure. How many did he manage to round up?”

  With a single movement, Valentina struck a match with one hand and lifted her cigarette holder with the other. “Peregrine was gone, of course, and it has been difficult to calculate how many remained after your fire show, but I estimate that he has at least two or three accomplices.”

  “Judging by this morning's papers, that's a certainty,” Grimes said. “I guess I'd better go after him, though it's pretty difficult to hunt when you're expecting a dagger in your back at any moment.”

  Valentina nodded. “You must be careful, Grimes. You are the thread on which peace hangs.”

  “You also, old friend.”

  “Me? Oh, I can be replaced,” she said, shrugging. “You, on the other hand, cannot. I am somewhat comforted that you have Mr Makepeace here to protect you.”

  My temper got the better of me. “Oh, I must say! This is outrageous!”

  I shivered as her hand brushed my arm. “Peace, John,” she said. “I only meant it partly in jest. You will make a fine accomplice for this old villain, and it is your job to ensure you survive long enough to become useful.”

  “You must go into hiding,” Grimes said to Valentina when she'd settled back and was dragging on her cigarette. “We can't afford to lose you, either.”

  She shook her head. “I think not. Unless we stem the flow of blood on the streets of London, we are facing the war to end all wars. Someone wants the peace to be shattered—someone with connections at a high level.”

  “McBride is investigating.”

  “Your faith in that pompous ass is greater than mine.”

  Grimes got to his feet. “And in the meantime, John and I have some vampires to hunt.”

  I saw a flicker—just a flicker—pass across Valentina's face, but then it was gone and she was rising too. “I wish you both success. You know how to contact me when you need my assistance. Do not attempt to deal with this alone—the matter is too important for stupid male pride to govern your decisions.”

  She passed me with a brief smile, and I felt my male pride swell despite her entreaty. Pausing at the door, she checked the corridor outside before flitting away silently.

  “Be careful, John,” Grimes said, his hand on my shoulder.

  I didn't bother to deny it. I had fought alcohol for long enough to know that I was in the most danger when I believed I was in control. And when it came to Valentina, I knew I was utterly lost.

  “I knew things must be pretty serious if you asked to see me, Mr Grimes.”

  We were in the office of Inspector Pitt of Scotland Yard. A young lady had left a pot of tea which the policeman was now pouring into three cups.

  Pitt was a relatively young man for such a rank—he was in his mid thirties at the time—of a wiry build and with a mobile face that suggested keen intelligence. Most striking were his eyes which were large, widely set, and of a piercing blue so that, when he turned his attention on me, I felt as though I were a specimen at the wrong end of a microscope.

  “It's about the other night,” Grimes said, reaching for his tea.

  “Ah, the asylum.” Pitt leaned forward a little and lowered his voice. “I thought so. That was certainly difficult to manage.”

  “How many did you detain?”

  Pitt reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. “Fourteen. Nine males and five females. We also identified the bodies of five others in the entrance-way. It seems they were consumed when the fire started. Do you have any information for me about that, Mr Grimes? The insurers are pressing me for an explanation.”

  “This tea is pretty awful,” Grimes said in response. “Can't the force afford better?”

  “So, you're not going to tell me. Well, my instructions are to co-operate fully, so I shall do exactly that.”

  Grimes smiled. “Where are they now?”

  “Newgate, for now. It was the only place that had room for them.”

  “Then you'd better hope the gaolers there can keep them under lock and key. By God, if they get loose in the prison, it'll be a bloodbath.”

  “They know their business, Mr Grimes,” Pitt said with a touch of asperity, “you may rest assured that they are safe.”

  Giving a doubtful grunt, Grimes took another sip of his tea as if gathering his thoughts. “How many of these... special... inmates were on the books at Grove?”

  “Twenty-six,” Pitt said after referring to his notebook again.

  “So that leaves seven unaccounted for.”

  Pitt gave a non-committal bob of the head. “Well, it is likely that we weren't able to find all the bodies in the foyer, it was quite the conflagration you know. Although why it took place and what exactly happened remains a mystery.”

  “I think we must assume that Peregrine now has seven associates,” Grimes said with a sigh. “That is bad, very bad. It's the makings of a gang, I'd say.”

  “We don't tolerate gangs on our streets, Mr Grimes. We will track them down and apprehend them, don’t you worry about that.”

  Shaking his head, Grimes said, “I'd call your men off if I were you, Inspector, unless you want to live with their fate on your conscience.”

  The inspector gasped and his face flushed. “I can assure you, Mr Grimes, that my men are highly trained professionals and quite capable of dealing with this matter!”

  Grimes got to his feet. “Well, you can't say I didn't warn you. Now, could you let me have the investigative report on this latest so-called Ripper murder? My friend and I have some work to do.”

  Grimes pulled a small box from beneath his bed. “Here, have this.”

  �
�A service revolver?” I said, marvelling at the weight in my hand.

  He sat at the table beside the window and looked out onto the grey London street. The spire of Bow Church could barely be seen in the mist. From outside our door came the thump, thump of boots going up and down the stairs as Derricks decamped his family to the ground floor.

  “It has seen action in Afghanistan and India,” he said, “and London, of course.”

  “Do you not need it?”

  He turned away from the window to face me, a look of surprise on his face. “Me? No, my dear fellow, I have never needed a gun.” Noticing the confusion in my expression, he continued. “It has had many masters, and now it belongs to you. There's some ammunition on the bed.

  I had, of course, handled weapons during my brief time in the army, though all my training had been with the Martini-Henry rifle. “Is it easy to use?”

  “Just point and squeeze—you're not likely to use it at long range. In fact, it's a weapon of last resort, as firing it gives away your position instantly. I tend to prefer murder by stealth.”

  “Grimes!” I cried. “You must not talk of killing that way.”

  He gave a laugh and shook his head. “You are right, of course. So many years, so much death, has made me quite unsuitable for polite company. Now, take a look at this.”

  Grimes handed me an open manila folder. “It's the coroner's report. What do you make of it?”

  I scanned the papers. “It makes for gruesome reading, does it not?”

  “Indeed, but we must gird ourselves and look for the data within.”

  Moving over to the window to take advantage of what little light this grey London afternoon afforded, I read the account carefully and, as far as I could, dispassionately. “The throat was cut,” I said, “as with the Whitechapel Murderer. And it appears that the victim was a woman of the night.”

  “Go on.”

  I became a little flustered as I felt he was toying with me. “I don't know, Grimes! She looks like a Ripper victim to me.”

  He shook his head slowly and returned his gaze to the window. “She has too many parts.”

  “What?”

  “The Whitechapel Murderer delighted in removing the organs of his victims, particularly the uterus.”

  I returned to the bed and sat down, the folder on my lap. “Ah, I see.”

  “Your mind recoils from such details, John, but it must not. You must shut down your emotions and focus on the facts or you will miss them entirely.”

  I forced myself to read the report again and this time I could see what he meant. The victim's throat had been slashed, but no organs had been removed. “Perhaps the attacker was disturbed?”

  Grimes nodded solemnly. “That's better. Now you're thinking rationally. Yes, that is a possibility, though the balance of likelihood suggests that this is not so.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because there appears to be no evidence that the attacker hurried in any way. Nothing was dropped at the scene, there were no half-made incisions and, as the report said, the body was quite drained of blood.”

  I said nothing and we sat there—he in his chair, me on the bed- as we listened to the slow thudding of Derricks and the other tenants he'd no doubt roped in to help him move.

  “Why did you insist on the landlord moving his family out of the top floor?” I asked.

  “What? Oh, because I—we—need somewhere we can make absolutely safe and that means having a substantial door at the top of the stairs with only two keys. And we need more space to plan. You must understand, John, that we are all that's left to keep the peace. We are the most deniable of unofficial policemen, and we have been betrayed by someone from our own side. So, we must regroup, bring our trusted allies closer to us and keep our enemies away.”

  I looked around the bleak interior of his grubby bedroom. “But why here? I have seen that you have access to considerable wealth, you could set yourself up anywhere in London.”

  “Baker Street, perhaps?” he said with a smile. “No, I have good reasons for being in this exact spot.”

  Though I don't think he realised what he was doing, I noticed his gaze flit over to the church across the road.

  But any opportunity to press him on this was lost as the steady footsteps outside were suddenly replaced by cries of anger and, moments later, a rapid thump on the door.

  “Your revolver, John,” Grimes said as he stood up, thrusting apart the curtains and opening the window. A dagger appeared in his hand. “Open the door, if you please, but carefully.”

  I hefted the pistol and cocked it. With my back to the door, I took hold of the handle and twisted it. The door swung open and there stood Inspector Pitt, his face white.

  “Mr Grimes, it has happened again.”

  Grimes relaxed a little and gestured the man to come in.

  I shut the door and he slumped onto the bed. “I should have listened to you and called my men off, or at least cautioned them. But, because of my pride two of them are now dead, their throats ripped open and their bodies left in a London alleyway.”

  The False Ripper

  The body of the policeman lay where it had been found. Grimes and I had ridden with Inspector Pitt in a police brougham which was now parked at the far end of the alley, with officers guarding each end.

  Evening had given way to another drizzly night, and orange light played over Grimes' craggy features as he examined the body in the light of the portable gas lamp held by Pitt. It was a man in, I estimated, his early forties with vacant eyes that stared up into the drizzly night. He had been a stocky man with close-cropped greying hair and he wore the dark uniform of a police constable. His helmet lay next to his arm as if he was attacked as he took it off, and in his other hand he gripped a truncheon.

  “By God,” Grimes whispered, “he's been cut almost to the spine. The only mercy is that it would have been quick. Poor devil.” He lifted his face to look beyond the gas light to Pitt. “What was his name?”

  Pitt's lips barely moved as he replied, “Jenkins. A father of three. A good man.”

  “But no match for our enemy, especially when he is one against their many.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  Grimes pulled down the policeman's collar and pointed at the white neck with its gruesome wound. “Bite marks,” he said. “Three sets, each from a different individual.”

  “They fed on him?”

  Standing up, Grimes' gaze swept the alley from one end to the other. “I suspect he was lured here. Perhaps he thought he was following a lead. He was one of your detective constables, was he not, Pitt? Yes? I presume he worked with a colleague?”

  “Yes,” Pitt sighed. “His partner was Williams—both from Wales so they tended to stick together.”

  “And you have no idea where Williams is, I presume?”

  Pitt shook his head. “I have teams out looking for him.”

  The change in Grimes was instant. “Are you mad? Call them off now, unless you want more blood on your hands.”

  “But it's standard procedure—we can't have a man lost and not do anything about it.”

  Grimes wagged an accusatory finger at the Inspector. “These are not standard times, Pitt. Call them off and we will look for him.”

  “That will be quite impossible. How would I explain it?”

  By this point, Grimes was back on his haunches examining the body.

  I said, “Can I suggest planting a false trail? Concentrate their search in a single location and it's less likely they'll stumble upon anything.”

  Pitt held my gaze for a moment. It was as if he hadn't registered my presence until that moment and was now deciding whether I was worth his attention. He gave a brief nod. “I shall do that, Mr Makepeace. I shall send them on a wild goose hunt. I only hope that you have more of an idea of where to find Williams than I do.”

  We left Pitt in the alley as he arranged for the official investigators to examine the body before it was
to be removed.

  “Do we know where to look?” I asked Grimes as we emerged onto the wet street.

  Grimes held up his hand and opened it to reveal a creased slip of paper, then nodded away from the crouching investigators so we could talk in peace.

  “It's a theatre bill,” I said. “A production of Twelfth Night at The White Rose. That's just around the corner.”

  “It was in Jenkins' pocket and I guess it's the lead he was following up—this alley is on a direct line from the station to the theatre. They'd probably been shadowing him through the streets until they could come upon him where he couldn't summon help. Didn't even have time to whistle, poor blighter.”

  I turned the piece of paper over in my hands. “But how do you know this was what led him to his death? It's just a flyer.”

  Grimes took the paper from my hands and smoothed it out. “How many coppers do you know who go around with theatre bills in their pockets?”

  “He might have been a cultured man,” I protested weakly.

  Grimes snorted and then raised the paper so that it was in the direct light of the street lamp at the end of the alley.

  “A blood stain,” I said.

  “More than that. Look closer.”

  I took the paper from him and squinted at the pattern. As I tilted the bill to and fro in the dim light, I caught a thin reflection within. “Is that a pencil mark?”

  “It is indeed. Well spotted.”

  I chose to assume his reply wasn't as sarcastic as it sounded. “E V A? What does that mean?”

  “I suspect we might find that Eva is the name of our poor unfortunate policeman's wife, or possibly his daughter. I ask you this, my friend—what would be more likely to make you abandon caution and run across night-time London without even the sense to call for reinforcements?”

  I gave the paper back to him as we stepped into the misty street. “Especially if this weren't the only clue he'd received.”

  To my surprise, Grimes thumped me on the back. “Well done, my friend. Yes, I suspect Jenkins and his partner were sniffing around a little too close for comfort and so Peregrine decided to eliminate them. Unfortunate indeed for the constable, but lucky for us.”