Ghostly Images

by Peter Townsend

  Percy didn’t need any convincing that the police were so fearful about the snakes that they’d never stepped a foot inside his house. It was Hood’s murderer that did this.

  The only things that appeared untouched were the tanks containing the snakes on the two sideboards. Then Percy noticed that one of the tanks was missing—the tank containing the Chief Constable. Percy trembled in fright. “Where’s the Chief Constable?”

  “Bloody hell,” blurted Jasper.

  The men nervously scoured the front room and then the kitchen for several minutes. “We’re safe,” continued Jasper. “Someone’s taken the snake and tank. No need to panic.”

  Percy picked up a ripped draught’s board from the floor. “Hood and me had many a game on this board.”

  “We all did, mate,” said Jasper.

  “But you lot usually lost,” said Percy triumphantly.

  “I was the best at that game,” added Graham.

  Uriah came and stood next to Alan and looked up. “I’ll give you a game.”

  Alan shook his head. “I don’t think so Tiny Man.”

  “Frightened I’ll beat you?” Uriah jeered.

  “It’s ripped to bits, you barmy idiot,” snapped Alan, who slyly took a bottle of beer from Uriah’s bag.

  “Give it back! Get one from your bag!”

  “Sit down, you two,” ordered Percy, irritated by their bickering.

  “Where?” queried Alan as he gazed around the room at the smashed up chairs. “Did Melvin Shank or Gordon Deakin wreck the place? Had Hood given them that rotten ’baccy mixed with sawdust?”

  Percy shook his head vehemently. In truth, he and Hood sold a lot of contraband and stolen tobacco, which they had adulterated with sawdust and other fillers to beef up their profits. It had made them a few enemies. But they had always been careful to ensure that Melvin Shank got the very best and purest of their wares, usually free of charge. However, Percy recollected that Hood regretted not being on better terms with Gordon Deakin and thought it was only a question of time before he might exact some terrible retribution on Hood.

  “Sit,” said Percy who took the lead by sitting on the floor, and the others followed suit. He clinked two bottles of beer together sharply to gain their full attention. “To Hood! We miss you, mate.”

  “Here’s to you, Hood,” added Jasper, raising his bottle of beer in the air and draining its contents in a long gulp.

  “Do you think the bloke who messed up Hood’s place might have murdered him?” asked Uriah.

  “Of course he did, you dim prat,” replied Alan.

  Uriah threw a bottle top at Alan. “Could that toothless man have done Hood in?” he asked. “He did threaten to kill him.”

  Percy sniffed. “A spineless coward like Jack Sheldon couldn’t kill a spider.”

  Graham took a swig from his bottle. “Hood was going to teach me how to read and write, like he did for Percy.”

  Percy swallowed on hearing this. He was in awe of Hood but felt like his slave at times, given pennies when his master made a great deal of money that he foolishly gave away. He never understood that. The few years in which Hood taught him to read and write were not just miserable. It was hell. He didn’t want to learn to read and write, but Hood was insistent. It was essential for business he had said. Despite all of his misgivings, Hood was his best friend. His only friend.

  “It only seems like yesterday when we’d be going up to order crate loads of drinks to bring back here to sup,” said Alan.

  Jasper tossed the now-empty bottle of beer on the floor at the side of him. “Yes, but it was always us paying for drinks, not you, you mean bastard.”

  “You’re a bastard,” snapped Alan.

  Percy banged a bottle on the floor to gain their attention. “Stop bickering, ladies!”

  An angry frown clouded Alan’s face. “I always get my round in. Ask anyone round here.”

  “You haven’t even brought any bottles with you. You’re always cadging beer and ’baccy off us,” responded Jasper, spitting in Alan’s direction but falling short in his aim. Alan smirked at the feeble effort.

  “Hood had no stomach for bickering!” reminded Percy. “Let’s have no more of this. He’s gone, and if this goes on, we’ll lose the rest of our group. Is that what you want, Jasper?”

  Jasper lowered his head apologetically. “No. I’m sorry, Alan.”

  Alan grinned. “That’s fine, on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” asked Jasper.

  “Chuck us over a couple of your bottles.”

  Jasper shrugged and then laughed. He took two bottles from his bag and tossed them over to Alan.

  “Can’t you make it three bottles, mate?”

  “What?” shouted Jasper.

  Alan laughed. “I’m just joking.”

  Percy gazed at the broken tables and chairs and piles of litter on the floor. “Crikey Moses! I’ll get the bastard who did this and killed Hood.”

  Jasper nodded. “After a hard day, I always looked forward to coming here for a game of cards and to get bladdered.”

  “At least Hood will be with his wife in heaven,” said Percy.

  “He might have gone to Hell,” Alan said, pointing to the floor.

  Percy shook his head defiantly. “With all the help he’s given local people over the last twenty-plus years, the only fitting place for him would be heaven.”

  “Why was he digging up graves? Was he drunk as usual?” asked Alan.

  Percy was quick to answer. “He must have seen the grave robber in action and tried to stop him, but the man must have killed him. That’s what I’ve told Sergeant Philpott.”

  “But why was he in the graveyard so late at night?” persisted Alan. “Why would a grave robber want to trash Hood’s home? I keep telling you, it has to be Shank or Deakin that’s behind all of this.”

  “You sound like Len Tanner, Alan. Are you sure you’re not a copper, or worse...a copper’s nark?” said Jasper.

  Alan angrily flicked some beer at Jasper. “That’s not funny.”

  Percy frowned. He went to the kitchen and removed four journals from under a flagstone, placed them on the kitchen table, and sat on a chair. He could hear the men’s lively banter but paid little notice of it. He couldn’t take over Hood’s role as the leader of the gang. Percy could take orders, not give them. David and John had nothing to fear from him. Nobody did, except the man who murdered his best friend.

  Percy had stabbed Raymond Hogg in the back for being responsible for the death of his son and had thrown the knife into the sea. Now he realized he should not have thrown it away so prematurely. He would need a weapon to kill the man who murdered Hood. As a mark of respect to Hood, Percy also aimed to make life uncomfortable for Tanner. He’d take his time and plan something that would have made Hood proud.

  Percy flicked through one of the journals and noticed a piece of paper inside with his name on it. He picked it up and read it out to himself:

  “Dear Percy. I was not sure about Patrick Tate’s camera, but if you are reading this note, I want you to look at the photograph hanging in the tavern. The marks on my head in the print foretold my death. Please deliver my journals to the reporter Lucy Shaw at The Whitby Herald. I hope she will have the decency to write a suitable obituary after reading them. As Plato once said, ‘Death is not the worst that can happen to man.’ Do not be sad. I will now be finally at peace with Claire by my side in the beautiful Isles of the Blest.

  “‘I know that you sprayed perfume in my bedroom late at night to cure me of my melancholia. I could hear your footsteps on the floorboards. But Claire truly did visit me, and I could smell her fragrance, a sweeter and more delicate blend than the one you used.

  “‘My final instructions and dying wish is for you, with the assistance of Jasper, Uriah, Graham, and Alan, to steal my body and give me a Viking funeral. Put me in a small boat just outside the entrance to the harbour and set it alight.’”

  Percy returned to the
room carrying the journals in his arms. “Hood’s left us instructions. We’re to steal his body and give him a Viking funeral. He says—”

  The sound of heavy footsteps came from the doorway.

  “This is the police! Who is in there?” A young police officer came into the living room. “Why have you disobeyed the order to keep out?”

  The men were silent. The police officer cautiously walked through the debris on the floor. “I’ll have to arrest all of you for breaking and entering,” the officer said, his eyes darted anxiously around all corners of the room.

  “We’re not doing any harm,” Jasper said. “We’re just having few drinks to remember Hood.”

  Alan burped and took another swig of beer.

  Graham passed out.

  “I’ll add drunk and disorderly to the charge,” said the officer frostily.

  Percy tried to keep control of his tongue, but he snapped. “You should be out catching the bastard who murdered Hood and not wasting your bloody time here!”

  “We’re still making inquiries about that,” said the officer.

  Nervously, Jasper stepped forward. “We don’t want any trouble. Some bugger has wrecked the place. It must be the same person who killed Hood.”

  “Come on, Joseph, we’ve got work to do.”

  Percy bristled at the sound of Len Tanner’s voice, and the man soon appeared from outside.

  “This lot shouldn’t be here,” insisted Joseph. “We had the place boarded up to keep people out.”

  “They’re not doing any harm. None of you have any stolen goods, do you?”

  “No,” said Alan meekly, hiding his bag behind his back.

  Tanner approached Alan and grabbed the bag from him. He glanced inside but said nothing and gave the bag back.

  “I have to keep coming here to make sure Hood’s snakes are alright,” said Percy.

  “No harm’s done, then.” Percy couldn’t believe his eyes. Len Tanner actually smiled at him. “Are any of Hood’s snakes missing?”

  “Just one,” said Percy.

  “Is it a deadly cobra?” asked Tanner.

  “Yes.” Percy didn’t know what to say next but figured he might as well. “Hood called it Chief Constable.”

  “I killed it.”

  Jasper chuckled. “The chief constable killed the Chief Constable!”

  “I don’t want one of these dangerous snakes getting out of the tank and killing anyone else,” said Tanner.

  Percy gulped. “I thought a bash on the head killed him.”

  Tanner looked at the snakes wriggling in their tanks. “That will be in the official report, unless the post-mortem tomorrow afternoon can establish proof that he died from a snake bite. What about the snakes in the tanks? …Black Death…Doom Viper?”

  Alan darted forward and opened the sliding panel of The Black Death snake and placed it in his hands. It wriggled on his wrist and went under his sleeve. He grinned. “It’s harmless.” He screwed up his eyes. “It’s bitten me! I’m as good as dead now!” Alan collapsed theatrically to the floor and Jasper and Uriah started laughing. Alan stood, removed the snake from under his sleeve, and put it back in the tank.

  “The snakes are all harmless,” said Percy. He reached into the Doom Viper tank and brought out the black snake. It trembled in his hands. “It’s an American Kingsnake and totally harmless. Hood said it should be dead very soon now; it’s got the shakes. Do you want me to put my hands in the other tanks?”

  “No. That won’t be necessary.”

  Percy returned the Doom Viper to its tank.

  “Do any of you know anything about the theft from the Foster Museum in York? Did Hood say anything about it?”

  “No,” said Percy. The other men in the room shook their heads.

  “I’ll need to search the house, Percy. You can continue your wake while we do.”

  Percy watched as the officers went into the kitchen. He continued drinking along with the other men, hardly bothering to pause when the police officers returned to search in the room before going upstairs. Percy could hear the officers banging their boots on the floorboards in the bedroom, looking for any hidden or stolen goods. Then he heard more muted sounds. They were in the attic. But Percy didn’t relax, even when the officers came into the living room several minutes later empty-handed.

  Tanner tugged at his chin strap. “I was searching for several items from the museum that would be difficult to easily hide in a house. They’re obviously not here.”

  Percy relaxed.

  Tanner beckoned Alan over. He came forward hesitantly.

  “Let me have the two pewter tankards, and I’ll return them to The Queens’s Head. I’ll tell them that an anonymous, but fine, upstanding member of the community found them and handed them in.”

  Dumbfounded, Alan quickly put the bag containing the two tankards in the chief constable’s hands.

  Tanner smiled. “I’ll leave you gentlemen in peace now. Please be assured that I will do my very best to find out who murdered Hood.”

  The men looked at one another in a bemused silence after Tanner had left with the young officer. Jasper raised his eyebrows and then took a gulp of beer. The drinking resumed.

  Percy slipped away and rushed to the attic. He reached for an old table, covered in dust and placed it under one of the thick, blackened roof beams. Next, he grabbed a stool to put on top of the table. Percy climbed the structure and reached up until he was able to grab the beam. He grunted as he stretched to poke into the hollows on the top that had been carved out fifteen years earlier. Percy smiled when he touched the cool surface of a row of bottles. He moved the table and the stool several times as he went from one end of the beam to the other. All the whisky bottles were there and the sixty pounds in notes. Percy stuffed the money in his two pockets and returned downstairs.

  Jasper looked squarely at Percy. “Alan thinks Tanner’s a smashing bloke.”

  Alan folded his arms. “I didn’t say that Scalp-Head.”

  “You did,” added Graham who had woken up from his stupor.

  “I didn’t say that! All I said was that he wasn’t that bad.” Alan grinned and pointed to his chest. “He said I was a fine, upstanding member of the community.”

  “Tanner is still a bastard,” grumbled Percy. “He’s done you a favour, Alan. He’ll want something in return.”

  Jasper stroked his chin. “Percy’s right. It’s clever copper tactics.”

  Graham adjusted his eye patch. “Even a mate having a drink and a laugh could turn out to be a copper’s nark.”

  Uriah chuckled. “They’ll find your chopped-up body in river.”

  “Tanner is a bastard, and so are you lot,” Alan shouted.

  “At least Tanner’s not a miserable, stinking rat like you,” sniggered Uriah.

  “Alan’s the only bloke in Whitby never to have the decency to get a round in,” added Jasper.”

  Percy was on the point of shouting at the men when he put his hands in his pockets and touched the silky surface of the pound notes. His irritation instantly faded. Besides, they had an important and difficult mission to fulfil later that night. “Do you think you’ll be able to climb into the mortuary and let us in, Uriah?”

  “It’ll be dead easy,” the tiny man scoffed.

  Percy nodded. “We’ll all meet at the mortuary at two in the morning. We’ll hide Hood’s body, and then give him his Viking funeral tomorrow afternoon around six.”

  Chapter 35

  Saturday 15th September 1894

  DAVID STOOD WITH HIS HANDS ON THE RAILINGS at the side of the swing bridge, waiting for Lucy to arrive. He looked down at the waters deep in thought, still angry with John for taking a photograph of Daniel Milner with the Tate camera.

  David heard a familiar tapping sound behind him. It grew louder in volume as it advanced. He closed his eyes in terror and froze. He couldn’t even turn around. Then, the tapping sound stopped, and he thought he felt the point of the cane pressing between his should
er blades, harder and harder. He groaned in pain.

  He now bent heavily over the railings. There was a fifteen-foot drop to the murky waters. David tightened his grip, but his fingers began to slide on the smooth metal. The relentless pressure on his back showed no sign of abating.

  “Stop it!” he shouted. The pressure of the cane suddenly ceased.

  David pulled himself up and turned around to see Percy clutching Hood’s cane, and staring down on him from a lofty height was a grim-faced Toby. He was tugging hard at Percy’s bushy beard.

  “Ouch!” he cried as the cane slipped from his grasp to the ground.

  “Why were you trying to push David over the side?” asked Toby, easing his grip on Percy. He grinned and brushed his beard.

  “I was just teasing the lad. Amusing meself, that’s all.” He picked up the cane from the ground. “The coppers have given me Hood’s cane.”

  David glared at Percy. “I’m finished with spirit photography, so don’t think I’m going to work for you.”

  Percy stroked the cane fondly, twisted the handle, and revealed a few inches of the sword. David swallowed. “You have nothing to fear from me,” teased the old man, snapping the ivory case back over the sword. “The sword and its rightful master are going for a little sea journey later this afternoon.”

  Percy tapped the cane sharply on the ground and walked away, whistling. Toby frowned at the retreating figure of Percy and said, “There is a rumour going round that Hood is to have a Viking funeral.”

  David turned to Toby. “I was lucky you were passing.”

  “I wasn’t. Lucy asked me to meet her here.”

  David had been looking forward to having Lucy’s exclusive company this afternoon. He was going to ask why Lucy had asked him to be here, but Toby spoke first.

  “Ominous trouble is brewing in Whitby, and you and the Tate camera have to take some blame for it. Do you know what you should do?”

  “No.” David sighed. “What should I do?”

  “People do not need to be convinced there is an afterlife by seeing a bright flash of light on a photograph. Nor that they see strange marks or a noose. This is wrong, and it is very dangerous.” Toby expanded his arms to indicate the world around him. “Look around us. See the sky, the sea, folk that are passing us. This is God’s work. We do not need any further proof…Destroy the camera.”