The Button Man: A Hugo Marston Novel

by Pryor, Mark

  The pub door opened and Hugo glanced over, then stood as the familiar face of Clive Upton peered in.

  “I meant to tell you,” Cooper said, smiling wickedly, “a couple of friends are on their way.”

  Upton, dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy pants, stepped into the pub and Hugo grinned when he saw who was behind him. Merlyn stood in the doorway, her hands on her hips, shooting him her dirtiest look. Then she smiled and skipped past Upton, ignoring Hugo’s outstretched hand to give him a bear hug. When she finally released him, Merlyn stood on tiptoe and whispered into his ear. “Didn’t bother chasing me up to Edinburgh, huh? I’ll get you for that.”

  Hugo smiled and directed her to the chair next to him. “I knew you were safe,” he said. “But I’ll buy you a drink to make up for it.”

  “My round,” said a voice behind him. Hugo turned and saw Constable Agarwal in a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, but still wearing the erect posture of the policeman on duty. Agarwal shook his hand. “Mr. Marston, how are you, sir?”

  “It’s Hugo. And I’m fine, how’re you, Constable Agarwal?”

  “You can call me Sandy now, sir.”

  “Oh?” Hugo turned to Upton. “Someone get promoted to sergeant?”

  Upton shook Hugo’s hand and grinned. “The chief constable couldn’t very well take all the credit for snagging Walton, she had to share a little.”

  “Which means you’re now a superintendent?” Hugo asked.

  “It means I got a pat on the back and wasn’t fired for letting you steal my car.”

  Hugo and Agarwal swapped quick looks, then Agarwal excused himself and headed for the bar.

  Hugo took his seat beside Merlyn, who reached into her bag and handed him a book. “I believe this is yours,” she said. “Clive told me you left it at the pub the other day when you were off chasing Walton. And not me.” She flashed her teeth to show she wasn’t really mad, and Hugo took the book. It was Hidden Horror, the book he’d bought from the bouquiniste named Max, in Paris.

  “Thanks,” Hugo said, tapping the book with his fingertips. “I’d almost forgotten.”

  “You don’t get enough of that in the real world?” Upton asked.

  Cooper raised his glass. “Amen to that. The man is obsessive. Tell them about your little lady in the alley, off Gable Street.”

  Hugo smiled and picked up the book. “I bought this because it may help me with that.”

  “You have a new case?” Merlyn chipped in.

  “No, an old one,” Hugo said. “Very old. A woman killed in that alley a hundred years ago, right about the time of the Ripper. But,” he held up a finger, “not killed by the Ripper. You know, in the back of my mind I wondered if there was a connection between her death, the Ripper, and a serial killer who stalked my hometown, Austin, at about the same time. Not that I was the first to theorize a connection, of course; other people have written about those deaths and how the killer might be one and the same.”

  “The Servant Girl Annihilator, isn’t that what they called him?” asked Upton.

  “Yes, you know about that case?” Hugo was surprised. “Anyway, over the years I’ve wondered about that connection and even looked to see if there was any evidence. I never found any, so I looked for other transatlantic possibilities but never came up with any of those, either. But I was always looking for serial killers, cases where there was some kind of overt sexual motive. Then Harry Walton came along and that made me wonder. Motives differ and some killers don’t get classified as serial killers, or didn’t in years gone by, if their motives were more concrete.”

  “Like politics?” Upton asked.

  “Right.” Hugo paused as Agarwal arrived with a tray of beers, apparently noticing the rapt expressions on the faces of Upton, Cooper, and Merlyn. He laid the tray on a neighboring table, sat down, and quietly passed out the pints. “Revenge, too,” Hugo said. He waved the book. “And then I was flicking through this and read about a mysterious killer known as the Axeman of New Orleans.”

  “I’m from there,” Cooper said. “And I hate to dash your theory, but the Axeman used to sneak into people’s houses and attack them in bed. Your gal was found in an alley and you, of all people, should respect the MO of a serial killer.”

  “Fair point,” said Hugo. “But remember, my victim was found half-naked and without shoes. Her house was nearby, unlocked, and blood was found on her bed. It’s possible that the killer got into her house, attacked her without killing her, and when she fled, he chased her into the alleyway and finished her off. That would explain the blood and her attire—and it’s consistent with the way he killed and the time period.”

  “But what is the New Orleans–to–London connection?” Cooper asked. “Any evidence of that?”

  Hugo smiled. “Not yet. It’s just a theory, and now that this little bit of fun is over, it’s one I can explore.”

  “Where was this woman killed?” asked Merlyn. “You said Gable Street?”

  “Right,” said Hugo. “You know it? It’s close to where Ginny Ferro died, near the Whitechapel cemetery.”

  “Can we go look?” Merlyn asked. “That case sounds interesting, but I’d also like to pay my respects to Ginny, in the place she died.”

  Hugo looked up at Chief Constable Blazey. She was wrapping up the press conference, taking a few last questions, her face serious as she told the BBC reporter that she had no idea if there was going to be a Harry Walton exhibit at Madame Tussauds—he’d have to ask the museum that question.

  “Sure,” Hugo said. “It’s a nice afternoon for a walk. Would you gents excuse us?”

  Agarwal, Upton, and Cooper all stood as Merlyn worked herself out from behind the table. Hugo nodded his thanks and turned to Cooper. “Need me back at work this week, or am I still on vacation?”

  Cooper grinned. “In exchange for your untouched beer, you may return to work.”

  “Deal,” said Hugo. He shook hands with Agarwal and Upton, then waved to Al and the girls behind the bar before following Merlyn out the door into the bright, and warm, afternoon sun.

  The traffic was starting to build around them, coughing up its gray exhaust into the atmosphere, so Hugo led them on a less-direct route though the quieter, narrower streets. They walked in silence for a while, a comfortable silence, Merlyn with her head down, apparently deep in thought. As they turned the corner onto Gable Street, she looked up.

  “Do you think it will come out? The stuff they were into?” she asked.

  “Ginny and Dayton?” Hugo frowned. “I honestly don’t know. The press here are pretty relentless, but the focus of their story is Walton. He’s their bad guy, and once they start painting Ginny and Dayton as victims, well, let’s hope they don’t want to make themselves look dumb by then portraying them as perverts.”

  “You don’t think they’re perverts, do you?”

  “Me?” Hugo stopped and looked at her. “No. As far as I’m concerned, people can do what they want with each other, as long as both parties consent. Why should I care?”

  She shrugged. “People do, though. People like to judge.”

  “I have plenty of other people to judge,” Hugo smiled. “Real bad guys. I don’t have time to be puritanical.”

  When they started walking again, Merlyn wrapped her arm around Hugo’s. “Do you mind?” she asked, her voice soft.

  “No, of course not. You doing OK?”

  “I think so. Pretty tired. I was thinking about writing a book about all that’s happened.”

  “Is this an interview then?”

  Merlyn laughed. “No, we’ll do that in a more appropriate location, not wandering the streets of London.”

  “Such as?”

  “My apartment?” Her eyes were wide, hopeful and teasing at the same time.

  “Still married, Merlyn. And still a few years older than you.”

  “I don’t care about the age thing,” she said. “And your marriage sucks.”

  “Says who?”

  �
�Am I wrong?”

  Hugo ignored the question. “Apart from the book, what’s next for you?”

  “Couple of things. I’m thinking of going pro.”

  “Pro? As in . . . ?”

  “Pro domming. Being a dominatrix. Good money, and fun. Only part-time, though and, on the vanilla side, I’ve always been interested in history, so I may try and get a degree in that. I’ve always wanted to look into genealogy. It’s fascinating, don’t you think?”

  “Sure. Lots of people in the States like to trace their family histories.”

  “That’s what I’d heard. I could help them, maybe make some money while I’m at it.”

  “You should do that. Start a business like that.” He slowed and pointed with his free arm to the alley’s entrance. They started down it and stopped where Meg Prescott had taken her last breath. “Here,” Hugo said. “This is where they found her.”

  They stood quietly for a minute but, as ever, there was nothing to see. The menace that lurked in the alley on dark nights when the clouds hung low or when fog clung to this part of the city was absent today, and with no atmosphere to hold them, Hugo and Merlyn turned to leave.

  They walked alongside the brick wall of the cemetery as Hugo described where he’d found Ginny Ferro. At the gates, Merlyn stopped.

  “Can I tell you a secret, Hugo?”

  “Sure.” He smiled. “I think I know most of them though.”

  “You do.” A slight smile played on her lips. “But this one will blow your mind.”

  “Fire away.”

  “OK then.” She cocked her head, appraising him. “So, all that stuff that goes on at Braxton Hall. Do you feel like you understand it?”

  Hugo sighed. “Merlyn, I don’t judge you. How many times do I have to say that? I don’t know why it matters what I think, but I don’t care what you do. I don’t care how you or anyone else get their kicks.”

  She surprised him by smiling. “I just wanted you to know,” she said, “that I’m a virgin. That’s all.”

  Hugo felt his mouth fall open and saw Merlyn’s grin as he quickly closed it. Her green eyes sparkled and she squeezed his arm.

  She looked over her shoulder into the cemetery. “Do you mind if I go in alone?” she said. “Ginny was the only other person I told that to. And I’ve got some other things I want to tell her, stuff that you don’t get to hear about. Not yet, anyway.”

  “Sure, take your time, I’ll be right here.”

  “Thanks.” She flashed another smile, turned, and leaned on the iron gate. It stuck for a second, then swung open with a welcoming squeal.

  Hugo watched as she strolled up the gravel path before angling off between the crooked gravestones, her fingertips casually brushing the tops of a few older stones. Her slim figure moved with an easy grace, a natural sway of the hips and a lightness that defied the horrors she’d lived through, flouted the solemnity and gloom that lay over the graveyard like a fog. She seemed, Hugo thought, almost childlike from this distance.

  He turned his back to the cemetery, giving Merlyn her privacy, and smiled to himself as he perched on the low stone wall to wait.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As ever, I send my thanks to the kind people who took time to read the manuscript and point out its flaws and flourishes: Jennifer Schubert and Theresa Holland, your feedback was invaluable. I thank you.

  I should also thank the real-world people who were so excited about becoming characters: Dayna Blazey, Chris Collings, James Booher, Jeremy Sylestine, and Bart Denum. I kept you safe in this book, but who knows what’ll happen in the next!

  Also my thanks go to Inspector Peter Knight of the Hertfordshire Constabulary, who provided quick and helpful responses about police weapons and vehicles, and Liz Edwards at Madame Tussauds for her help on matters waxy. Also to Simon and Margaret Armitage for their input with regard to Weston Church.

  Again and ever to Scott Montgomery and the fine people at Book People here in Austin, who continue to press my books into the hands of eager readers with faith that my stories will entertain. In fact, to booksellers everywhere: you rock.

  Penultimately, to the professionals in my life: Dan, Jill, Meghan, and everyone else at Seventh Street Books, and my agents, Ann Collette and Taryn Fagerness, thank you for all you do!

  Finally, to the precious ones in my life: Sarah, Natalie, Henry, and Nicola (this one’s for you!), I love you all so much and couldn’t do this without you.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Mark Pryor is the author of The Bookseller, The Crypt Thief, and The Blood Promise, the first three Hugo Marston novels, as well as the true-crime book As She Lay Sleeping. An assistant district attorney with the Travis County District Attorney’s Office in Austin, Texas, he is the creator of the true-crime blog D.A. Confidential. He has appeared on CBS News’s 48 Hours and Discovery Channel’s Discovery ID: Cold Blood. Visit him online at www.markpryorbooks.com, www.facebook.com/pages/Mark-Pryor-Author, and http://DAConfidential.com.