by Andy Emery
Polly smiled. ‘You mustn’t give up on those sorts of dreams.’
‘Really? Look what you see here in this bed. My ambition now is simply to be cured and get away from here, then live the rest of my days in whatever peace and tranquillity I can find.’
‘But to go back to that awful night, why on earth did Sally attack my father in such a frenzied manner?’
Levitt paused and looked away. ‘Miss, I saw an evil gleam in her eye, even sitting on the floor of that old building. There’s something wicked about her. I think anybody in that position, anybody who appeared to be blocking her route to freedom, would have felt her blade.’
Gedge glanced at Fraser, then back at Levitt. ‘You said you both talked about the future?’
‘Yes. She was certainly optimistic. She reckoned this would be her big opportunity. There’s an Irish gang. According to her they’re taking over the whole East End. She said they’d jump at the chance of employing her, that she’d fit right in.’
‘Was it the Flynn gang? Otherwise known as the Banshees?’
‘Yes! That’s exactly what she said. She seemed to have quite the career planned out with them, in her own mind at least.’
Polly nodded. ‘So, the two of you eventually managed to get away from that old house?’
‘By the early hours of the next morning, things had calmed down outside. Police and ambulances had stopped coming and going, and it was still too early for most people to be going to work. Sally suggested we go our separate ways, so she walked east, towards Bethnal Green. She lived out that way. I went west, in the direction of Holborn. But my luck had run out. A few minutes after I left her, I got picked up by two more bobbies on their way to the incident at Clerkenwell. I should have blagged my way out of it, but I blurted something out that made them suspicious, and I was done for. A few hours later, in the cells, I admitted having gone to that underground hell hole as a guest of that villain they called Ackerman.’
Gedge frowned. ‘But that doesn’t explain why you were moved here.’
‘Oh, no. That’s more to do with the opium, you see. I started taking it a year or so ago. Found I couldn’t stop. It’s difficult to explain. It gives you a sort of heightened understanding of the world. You experience things in a way you can’t otherwise.’
‘Yes,’ said Gedge. ‘But the experience isn’t all good, is it?’
‘No. There are the lows that come after. But I believed I had the power to control them. Just a sufficient dosage, you see. After this affair, after getting arrested, and even though I clearly had no access to the drug while in custody, I started getting these dreadful hallucinations, related in some abstract way to the events at Clerkenwell, to the dreadful things they planned to do with those girls, and to the grisly murder of your father.’ He looked directly at Polly. Levitt had begun to sound rather breathless, and Gedge could sense Fraser was preparing to intervene again.
Polly stepped closer to him. ‘Mr Levitt? Sally. Do you know her address in Bethnal Green?’
‘I’m sorry, Miss Rondeau. I don’t.’
‘And another question, if I may. This sect of yours. Where did you meet?’
Levitt’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body seemed to go tense and rigid, his fingers curling into fists.
Fraser lunged in front of Gedge, almost pushing Polly out of the way. ‘Right! That’s it. Ye two wait outside and I’ll take ye out of here in a minute.’
Polly backed away. ‘What the devil’s happening to him?’
‘Ye’ve pressed him too much. I warned ye. He goes like this when he’s put under stress. Sykes! The sedative!’
Another warder ran into the room with a hypodermic syringe. Fraser inserted the needle into Levitt’s neck. Within a few seconds, the patient’s muscles had relaxed and he subsided back onto his bed.
‘There. Sleeping like a baby. He’ll be like that for hours now. I’m afraid yer visit is over. I’ll show ye out.’
Outside, Polly looked at Gedge. ‘We made some progress there, didn’t we?’
‘Yes. But there must be more Mr Levitt can tell us. We’ll need to come back. Not that I relish dealing with the oleaginous Demeter again.’
Polly shuddered. ‘It seems we have two strands to our investigation now. Looking into this cult, and finding Sally. I was hoping she was also a member of their weird group.’
‘So we could have killed two birds with one stone, you mean? Yes, that would have been convenient. I wonder if Sally has managed to hook up with the Banshees as she was hoping. Cotter’s had dealings with them. He doesn’t say much about it, but I think he knows more about them than he’s letting on. I’ll have a quiet word with him. See if there’s been any mention of new blood.’
‘From what your daughter said about her incarceration at Clerkenwell, Sally certainly seems to be the sort of spiteful, deceitful bitch who would do well in a criminal mob.’
Gedge nodded. ‘As for the cult, we do need to find out where they hold their meetings. We can quietly check the local halls to ask which organisations have hired them recently, but there are probably dozens of such places across the East End. It would be much better to get that information from the horse’s mouth. Let’s give it a day and then see if we can exert some pressure to get in to see Mr Levitt again. We’d only need to see him briefly.’
‘She’s bound to be on the cult’s mailing list. We need to get back and check it. That’s most likely to give us her latest address.’
21
Herbert Greatorex never did like the countryside; altogether too great a chance of getting filthy. He’d been laughed at as a junior archaeologist, because of his lack of appetite for the actual digging, and he avoided going to the excavation sites whenever possible. Why had they never understood that his skills lay in analysing the relics back in the laboratory, and carrying out book research?
Good lord, they hadn’t even arrived yet and he’d already been picking the smuts from the train off his clothing. But at least the service from the Liverpool Street terminus had been fairly comfortable. Now, the brougham they’d hailed at Romford station was bumping over the rutted track en route to their destination in rural Essex, and he was being regularly shoved up against his fellow passengers. There was no space inside; the two folding seats were set up so that four people could be squeezed in, and the fifth member of their party was having to sit alongside the driver on the box seat in front. He couldn’t even stretch his legs out, as the bags containing their costumes and other paraphernalia took up all the available floor space. Peering out into the dark, he glumly realised they’d already left the town of Hornchurch, so they’d soon be there.
To make matters worse, some of the other men in the cart seemed to be sniggering at him. He knew they were revelling in his distress at being away from the comforts of city living, but he couldn’t bring himself to challenge them about it. For all he knew, the coarse devils would beat him and leave him trussed up in the undergrowth or worse. Why could they not seek out a more convenient location in the city? A disused warehouse somewhere, for example? He’d have to try again to persuade the group.
His ruminations were cut short as the brougham came to a halt. Through the window, he could see the reeds, and beyond them, the trees.
Oh, God. We’ve arrived.
The other men leapt out as soon as the carriage’s door was opened, lugging out the bags and making for the woods, skirting the edge of the reed bed. Greatorex brought up the rear, struggling to keep up, despite not carrying any baggage.
Just after they entered tree cover, Greatorex suffered further indignity when he caught his foot on an exposed root and measured his length in the dirt. This provoked ribald laughter from his supposed companions, with no offers of help in getting to his feet. He trudged on, until the sound of low voices ahead signalled that they’d reached their objective: the clearing.
He limped into the opening in the trees, to see the other seven cult members, who had arrived by other means, already preparing
the area. Two men were clearing debris and marking out a circle. Two more were setting up a low table and populating it with offerings. The other three were talking: Charles Dexter, their leader and a senior civil servant within one of the larger departments of government; Howard Woakes, an employee of the London Corporation, and the only other cultist Greatorex could count as a friend; and a newcomer.
In the autumn, they’d lost two of their group when they’d become involved in some sort of dangerous criminal activity in Clerkenwell. One of them was dead, and the other was that mad boy, Levitt, who by all accounts had a soft spot for large quantities of laudanum, and was now in an asylum. Some of the other cultists thought new blood was needed, and by a strange coincidence, a foreigner had been showing interest, turning up at Adolphus Ackroyd’s esoteric bookshop in Limehouse and making enquiries. After checking his references, it was agreed to take this man, a German known as Captain Frei, as a new member.
It all sounded a bit too convenient.
On seeing his friend arrive, Woakes waved and said a few words to Dexter and Frei. He came over to Greatorex and shook his hand with great warmth. ‘Herbert, my dear friend. How the devil are you? After that business the other night, I mean?’
‘Oh, well it was concerning at the time, of course, but no lasting injuries were sustained. I have a surprisingly strong constitution, you know.’
Woakes nodded, but looked a little askance at Greatorex. ‘I’ve just been talking to the new man, Frei.’ He made a furtive gesture back in the direction of the German.
‘So I see. What do you make of him? Military background, wasn’t it?’
‘That’s right. Seems very martial, in fact. Cavalry officer. Laying it on a bit thick with tales of battles he’s fought and theatres he’s served in. Over our heads. But he bought his way out of the German army, and became some sort of adventurer, travelling about the Middle East and North Africa. And that’s where he developed a deep interest in Egyptian antiquity and mythology. Or so he says.’
Greatorex’s eyebrows rose. ‘You think there’s something fishy about him?’
Woakes furrowed his brow. ‘Nothing definite, and maybe it’s just the way these continentals go on, but the way he talks, it sounds a little as if he’s learnt that stuff off by rote, rather than actually experiencing it. And his accent seems to have more of Eastern Europe about it than is the case with most Germans I’ve met. I don’t know. It’s probably just me being a bit wary of new blood.’
‘No, I think we should keep an eye on him. What if he’s a spy for the authorities?’
‘Well, I’d always thought the authorities, as you call them, would have more important things to do than bother with our little group. And Dexter has taken a shine to the German. It would be pointless expressing our reservations to him at this point. Oh. Something else about Frei. His antiquarian studies included hieroglyphics. So that’s three of you, including yourself and Dexter, who can understand those little pictures.’
Greatorex felt uncomfortable. Was he being sidelined? He shuffled on the spot. Why couldn’t they just get on with the blasted ceremony? Get it over with.
‘Look, I need to speak to Dexter. He seems to be breaking away from the German.’ He waved and caught Dexter’s attention and beckoned him to the edge of the clearing.
Dexter spoke first. ‘I know what you’re going to ask.’
He didn’t want to play that game, so stayed silent, with a quizzical look. Dexter was a tall man, several inches over six feet. He was bald but with a luxuriant yellow moustache, a colour Greatorex attributed to the French cigarettes he affected. He was the type who always ended up in charge of things. Public school, then public service, but always on the lookout for number one. Despite his height, a prominent paunch had developed; the result of numerous stodgy meals at his club.
He lowered his voice. ‘About the grimoire? Well, this is hardly the venue, is it? As I told you, we’ll reveal it to the rest of them at the Rite. You just need to stay calm, and obviously keep quiet about the real nature of the robbery, until then.’
‘That’s all very well. I had some difficult questions to answer, not from the police as such, but from some do-gooders who seem to want to link the robbery with a tragedy that befell a relative of theirs.’
‘They sound like cranks. You’ve got to expect some inconvenience, man. A crime was committed, after all. And at your place of work. But think of the prize. You know how important the grimoire is to our plans. We are set to irrevocably change the nature of this world for the better. It’s no time to be taking fright at the first sign of trouble. You do follow, don’t you, Herbert?’
Greatorex looked down at his spats, momentarily angered by the mud spots that now adorned them. ‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Dexter. It’s partly that the Egyptian artefacts from the Soane were under my protection.’
‘Temporarily. All Egyptian relics are correctly the property of the gods, are they not? As such, any that are presently being held in museums in Europe and America are only there while the gods are dormant. When we have enacted the Rite… You know the rest. Now, are we clear?’
Greatorex swallowed. ‘Yes, Dexter. I’m sorry to bother you.’
‘Think nothing of it. These are dramatic times. And set to be momentous ones. And we, Herbert, are at the heart of those Earth-shaking events. It will be us who bring them about.’
Greatorex could feel Dexter’s eyes boring into him. ‘Yes, Dexter, of course.’ He shuffled away and joined the rest of the group as they donned their costumes.
He didn’t catch Dexter’s expression change to a worried frown.
22
Cotter was making his way back to the studio through an alley beside the brewery on Brick Lane, when a voice rang out. ‘I suppose you think you were quite fly at the warehouse last night?’
Cotter whirled around. Seamus Flynn emerged from the shadows, his stick tapping on the ground. Cotter’s eyes darted right and left.
Flynn held up his hand. ‘I’m alone, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ve not even got Storm with me. I’ve got to say, it showed balls to come into the lion’s den last night. Although from your days in the gang, there’s only a few left who might recognise you. And you were counting on that, of course, and on me not ratting you out. It’d stir up a proper can of worms for you, if it became known you ran with the Flynn gang, wouldn’t it now?’
‘It was ten years ago. And you gave your blessin’ to me leavin’.’
‘Only because your father was my trusted right hand. It was always his wish that you made a go of it on the right side of the law, and when he passed, I granted you the possibility of doing that. But the understanding was that we stayed out of each other’s worlds. You’ve broken that agreement. That changes the rules.’
‘I can’t be any threat to you. I don’t know any more than the man in the street about your activities.’
Flynn waggled his finger. ‘Not quite true. But I do know a bit about you, as well.’ Cotter raised his eyebrows. ‘You’re quite the up and coming boy in the world of photography, eh? Take on any sort of work, they say. Portraits of the more upstanding members of our community, newspaper work, right down to the less savoury side of the business. Not trying to keep too many plates in the air, I hope, Leonidas?’
Cotter winced at the use of his full first name. ‘I’m fine. Just doin’ what it takes to get on, to move up in the world.’
‘That’s heart-warming. It’s good for you, and, I dare say, in the future it could be good for us, too.’
‘What are you on about?’
‘Leo, you used to be quicker on the uptake. Think about it. As you “move up in the world”, as your star rises, I fully expect you to move in more influential circles. You’ll make all sorts of important contacts, get to know a lot of interesting people. And that police work you’ve been doing is very intriguing.’
‘You’re implyin’ I’ll pass you information.’
Flynn smiled. ‘I’m just sugge
sting that, as time goes on, we might be of use to each other. A partnership of sorts. After all, any businessman worth his salt knows that his contacts and the information they can provide are the cornerstones of his success.’
‘But in this case, that information might include, just for example, the details of police investigations, so the gang can evade ’em, or gossip about when some knob is on his holidays so you can relieve ’im of the contents of his house. That sort of thing. Am I right?’
Flynn waved his hand. ‘Oh, we don’t need to get into specifics. Far too early for that. But you’re cottoning on.’
Cotter balled his fists. ‘You’ve taken a risk, haven’t you, meeting me alone?’
‘Murderous thoughts occurring to you, are they? I don’t think so. You wouldn’t be so stupid. We’re just talking, lad. No need to get in a strop. It’s just something to bear in mind. And don’t worry about the girl. Ruby, is it? Mr O’Neill will take good care of her. She’ll be fine. And now, I must be going.’
Flynn smiled and limped past Cotter, who stood and stared after him. He wasn’t reassured in the slightest by Flynn’s comments about Ruby. O’Neill would treat her as he saw fit.
Later, as Cotter lay in bed with Ruby, he told her about the meeting with Flynn, but left out the detail on the abduction and rescue of Avi Cohen. She was being particularly affectionate, perhaps wanting release from her worries about the gang, and before long he found himself telling her about his previous life as a teenager running with the Flynns, and his father Gregor’s key role in it, before he died when Cotter was fifteen.
It was a warm night, and they were covered only by a thin sheet. Ruby pondered for a while, then turned to him. ‘It doesn’t sound much to hold over you. The fact you were in the gang a decade ago. Does anyone really care?’