Pyke had no such confidence, but that was because, unlike Wells, he had first-hand experience of what it was like to chase someone through the lanes and alleys of one of the poorer districts.
He told Wells and Young that he wanted to reconnoitre the area and that he would meet them back at the carriages in about an hour. At first Wells insisted on accompanying him but Pyke put him off, saying he preferred to work alone. Thrusting a rattle into his hand, Wells told him to use it, either if he saw the suspect or if he ran into trouble with any of the ‘natives’.
If anything the rain had become heavier and more persistent and every item of Pyke’s clothing was sodden. In the deep pocket of his greatcoat, he touched the smooth wooden handle of the pistol which, as an inspector, he was permitted to carry, as he made his way along John Street to the north side of the railway line.
In the distance Pyke heard the sound of glass breaking. Something moved ahead of him and instinctively he stiffened; a stray dog darted out of the shadows and slipped into an alley on the other side of the street.
John Street petered out a few blocks later and Pyke cut through one of the open courts to Hare Street, where the main search was taking place. He showed his warrant card to one of the uniformed officers and was ushered through the checkpoint. Ahead was the church Wells had mentioned. St Matthew’s. It looked horribly out of place among the slums; its gleaming façade towering over every edifice in the area.
At the far end of Hare Street, near the Windmill and George pubs, Pyke could see that a sizeable crowd had now formed. He heard chants and glasses being smashed. A little later, a small group of men overwhelmed the police barricade, and they were followed by others, bellowing and waving whatever they’d been able to find: chair legs, tankards, knives and sticks. The policemen who’d been conducting searches of the houses spilled out on to the street, truncheons drawn, and then it was hard to tell who was hitting who, a mass of arms and bodies flailing in the dark. Pyke, who was at the far end of the street, opted to avoid the fighting. Instead, he crossed another yard and found himself on derelict land at the back of St Matthew’s. He paused and looked around him. The rain and the wind had eased and the air around him smelled of wet leaves. In the distance, he thought he saw someone or something move, and he shouted. Whoever it was looked up, dropped something, and bolted. Pyke followed the man around the church and over boggy ground as far as the Bethnal Green Road. The fleeing man had a limp and Pyke caught up with him easily.
Drawing his pistol, Pyke held it steady and said, ‘Get down on to your knees and hold your hands above your head.’
The man’s appearance was dishevelled and his clothes were filthy; if Pyke had to guess, he would have said he was a tosher or mudlark, even though they were a good half a mile from the river.
‘Don’t shoot, mister. I ain’t done nothing.’
Everything in Pyke screamed that this wasn’t their man.
It was midnight by the time Pyke made it back to St Botolph’s on Aldgate High Street. He showed his warrant card to the constable manning the entrance to the yard and was told that the body had been moved into the church itself. Earlier, he had learned that their suspect hadn’t yet been apprehended but they weren’t abandoning their search. Three constables had suffered cuts and bruises in the melee on Hare Street and a number of arrests had been made. Pyke found Walter Wells in the church’s nave, talking to one of the wardens. When he saw Pyke, Wells excused himself and came over to join him.
‘So it would seem the man who did this has managed to slip through our fingers.’ The blood was vivid in Wells’s neck and cheeks.
‘What exactly did he do?’
‘I’ll show you the corpse in a moment. I’m afraid it’s not a pleasant sight.’
‘They never are.’ Pyke looked around the church and yawned. He had hoped to be home by now. Felix would be expecting him and the lad had already spent too much time at Godfrey’s bedside since the old man’s heart attack. Being at work distracted Pyke from what was going on at home and at times he welcomed this respite; the chance to forget, if only temporarily, that his uncle was dying. But he also knew that his absence placed too much of a burden on Felix, and that his son had started to resent the lack of time he spent with them.
‘You have a name?’ Pyke asked.
‘The rector,’ Wells said. ‘Isaac Guppy.’ Even though they were out of the cold, Pyke could still see Wells’s breath in front of his mouth.
‘The superintendent from Stepney said he’d been attacked with a heavy implement of some kind.’
‘A hammer, we think. One was found next to the body.’
The body had been laid out in one of aisles and covered with a white dustsheet. Wells bent over and drew it back.
There was hardly anything left of the man’s face, and what remained was a grotesque amalgam of broken bones, dried blood and torn, bruised flesh. Nothing else, apart from the man’s face, had been affected: the rector’s body was pale, fleshy and unremarkable. They didn’t need a doctor to tell them how he had died: his skull had been shattered by repeated blows of a hammer.
The implement in question was retrieved by one of the constables.
‘Did this constable actually see the attack taking place?’ Pyke asked.
‘No, but he did see a man standing over the body. You can interview him yourself. I’m told he can provide a fairly detailed description. He shouted at the man not to move but the man ran. He followed him as far as Bethnal Green but then lost him.’
‘What did the churchwarden have to say?’ Pyke could see from the gleam in Wells’s eyes that he had additional information, either about the victim or the suspect.
‘The description of our suspect matches someone who works here and at the rectory. Francis Hiley. The warden let it slip that he already has a criminal conviction.’
‘For what?’
‘The warden didn’t know. Apparently Hiley slept rough in the church. There’s no sign of him, of course.’
Pyke understood that Wells had already made up his mind: Hiley was their man. It didn’t matter that there was no physical evidence to underscore this belief. The man was an ex-felon and he had run away from the scene of a crime. But what did this actually prove?
Wells, however, was in no mood to be put off. In his mind, the murderer was as good as caught and his entire demeanour reeked of self-congratulation.
‘We can visit the rectory any time we want. Guppy’s wife and his household are expecting us.’
Pyke looked at him and licked his lips. ‘I’ve sent word to Jack Whicher to meet me at the rectory.’
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. Wells’s face reddened slightly and his jaw tightened. His responsibilities, as they both knew, were primarily administrative. ‘Very well, sir. If you have no further call for my services . . .’
‘Walter.’ Pyke reached out and touched his arm. ‘Your good work tonight hasn’t gone unnoticed. Perhaps you could be persuaded to remain here for a while longer and talk to the coroner when he arrives?’
Wells seemed satisfied with this and even managed a wry smile.
The rectory was a good five-minute walk from the church and it wouldn’t have looked out of place in the manicured grounds of a country house. It was a gabled brick-and-flint building with stone dressing and mullion windows. As well as having a drawing room, library, study, ballroom and numerous living areas on the ground floor, there was enough room upstairs for Guppy and his wife, his three children, and an annexe for five servants, a gardener and two stable boys.
It wasn’t long before Whicher joined Pyke in the drawing room. Upstairs he could hear the children sobbing. He had been met by the same warden he’d seen in the church and shown into the drawing room. Whicher was now conferring with the parish beadle, a rotund, punctilious man called Tobias Nutt. In spite of the lateness of the hour, they were, Nutt informed them, awaiting a visit by the archdeacon himself, who had been told the terrible news.
Perhaps there wa
s nothing out of the ordinary about the archdeacon’s visit. After all, one of his flock had just been murdered. And perhaps it was the archdeacon’s particular duty to deal with this kind of occurrence, though Pyke was reasonably sure that a man of the cloth had not been killed for a good number of years. But it reminded Pyke of his fractious visit to the man’s home earlier in the year and the objects that had been stolen from his safe; objects including the Saviour’s Cross, which still hadn’t been recovered.
Presently they were joined by Guppy’s widow Matilda, a frail creature whose otherwise plain face was lifted by dark, liquid eyes. Her nose and cheeks were mottled from her tears, and after she had blown her nose a couple of times and wiped her eyes, she described, in halting tones, how her husband liked to take the air at night, especially after dinner, to think about what he might say in his Sunday sermons. She told them that she had been sewing in the living room when Fricker - the churchwarden - had brought her the awful news. He’d come straight from the churchyard, she explained, where he’d heard the constable’s shouts. At this point, she burst into tears, and Fricker reiterated what she’d just told them; that he had heard the policeman’s shouts and rushed into the yard, only to find the rector already dead. He concluded with a perfunctory remark, perhaps for the widow’s sake, that Guppy was a very generous man.
Nutt, the beadle, nodded vigorously. ‘I think it’d be fair to say the rector was universally loved by his parishioners.’
Clearly not by everyone, Pyke thought. He exchanged a quick glance with Whicher and asked who had last seen the rector alive.
‘That would be me,’ Nutt said. ‘I was doing my rounds when I happened to spot the goodly man perambulatin’ in the church grounds. We conversed about the chill in the air and I enquired after Mrs Guppy’s health. He assured me Mrs Guppy was quite well and we went our separate ways.’ Anticipating Pyke’s next question, he added, ‘This would have been at approximately eight o’clock. I remember the bells chiming shortly afterwards.’ He smiled to reveal teeth that were yellow and black at the roots.
Beadles were a throwback to a system when the parish had assumed responsibility for policing; they were untrained, poorly paid and universally derided. Despite the new policing provisions, some parishes had decided to retain their beadles, perhaps out of personal loyalty, but their work was now largely pastoral.
‘Did you notice anything unusual? Did he seem anxious, for example?’
‘A little anxious, maybe. He did seem keen to go about his business, now that you mention it. But other than that, he was perfectly normal. He was wearing his surplice; he said he was preparing his sermon and wearing the surplice always helped put him in the right frame of mind.’
‘A surplice?’ Pyke had already conferred with Fricker inside the church, and no mention had been made of such a garment.
The churchwarden confirmed that Guppy hadn’t been wearing his surplice when he’d come across the rector’s battered corpse and explained that the garment itself was rather unusual in that it had strips of rabbit fur lining the shoulders. Pyke made a mental note to go back to the churchyard, once he had finished at the rectory. The fact that the garment appeared to be missing added a new dimension to the situation. When he asked whether anything else had been taken, Fricker shook his head and added that there were a few coins in Guppy’s pocket and his gold wedding ring was still on his finger.
At the mention of Guppy’s ring, the wife broke down in tears again. ‘Did your husband perhaps mention that he’d arranged to meet someone at the church?’ Pyke asked, when her crying had stopped.
She stared at him through weary eyes, seemingly perplexed. ‘If my husband had intended to meet someone, why would he have not invited them to the rectory?’
A little later, while tea was being served in the drawing room, Nutt took him aside and ushered him into the hallway. ‘I hear Fricker has already told you about this chap, Francis Hiley. The rector called him his odd-job man, and seemed fond of him, although I couldn’t see what the fuss was about.’
Pyke stared into the beadle’s podgy face. ‘You didn’t like him, then?’
‘It’s not that I disliked him.’ Nutt lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘But he was a strange fellow, if truth be told. He never said very much but he was always around, looking, keeping an eye on things.’
‘How did he come to be working here?’
‘He was recommended by the Reverend Martin Jakes from one of our sister churches, St Matthew’s in Bethnal Green.’
Pyke’s thoughts turned immediately to the search earlier that evening, which had been focused on the area around St Matthew’s. He thought, too, about the scavenger he’d arrested and then let go, when it became clear that the man knew nothing about the murder.
The picture that Nutt sought to paint of the rector was one of a generous and selfless man who had given food and shelter to a lowly ex-convict, but he couldn’t really say what Guppy had hired Hiley to do, except tend the graves and keep the yard tidy, which, Nutt admitted, was also the duty of the gardener. Nutt told Pyke that he’d heard Hiley had spent time in Coldbath Fields, possibly for killing his wife, but his information was sketchy. Like Wells, he had already made up his mind that Hiley had killed the rector and was trying to push Pyke in this direction. Tapping his nose, Nutt explained that no one had seen Hiley since the murder and that they weren’t likely to. Nutt was rather less helpful in providing a motive: he told Pyke he had no idea why Hiley might have wanted to kill Guppy but suggested that some men were just predisposed towards violence.
Back in the drawing room, Pyke asked Whicher what he’d been able to find out. Whicher said that the police constable’s description of the man he’d seen in the yard matched Fricker’s description of Hiley.
‘No chance the two of them could have conferred?’ Pyke asked.
Whicher shook his head.
It was late, already well past one in the morning, but Pyke had insisted that all of the servants and household be summoned, so that he could question them about their dealings with Guppy.
Pyke conducted the interviews in the drawing room but no one had very much to add. All the servants, gardeners and stable-hands were polite but tight lipped about their employer, and none of them could give any reason why someone might have wanted to kill him. They were a little more forthcoming about Francis Hiley. None of them seemed to have liked him, and to a man - and woman - they backed up the beadle’s belief that Hiley was a little odd. A loner, someone said; a thief, another reckoned. When Pyke asked Matilda, the wife, about Hiley, she seized the chance to praise her husband’s philanthropy; the fact that he’d been willing to give a felon another chance when the rest of society had turned its back on him. The implication was clear: look how the scoundrel repaid his generosity. She clearly felt, as Nutt did, that Hiley had killed her husband.
How long had Hiley been employed by her husband? Pyke asked. She’d thought about it and said since April.
And had there been any indication that Hiley had a temper?
No, she conceded. He had always behaved in a respectful manner.
Later Pyke accompanied Whicher back to the church, where the body was waiting to be taken to the nearest public house for the inquest. To Pyke’s relief, Wells had already left.
Pyke had never liked churches, their cold, draughty interiors and the hard, functional pews that people, in some instances, had to pay to occupy. Their size was supposed to convey something of God’s majesty, but standing in the aisle, looking towards the altar, all Pyke could think about was how many men had been needed to build it and the pittance they’d doubtless been paid.
Candles had been lit and placed on the table in front of the altar, casting their flickering light upwards and illuminating the plain wooden crucifix that hung above it. It made Pyke think about the Saviour’s Cross and the three men who’d been killed in Cullen’s shop in the summer; even more so since the archdeacon himself was shortly expected at the rectory.
‘S
o what do you think, Jack?’ Pyke circled around the body, trying to keep warm. ‘Did Hiley kill him?’
‘People here certainly seem to think so. And I have to say, it doesn’t look good for him.’
Pyke nodded. It was a fair conclusion, even if the investigation was still at an early stage. Since the summer, he had come to rely on Whicher more and more, and now they both seemed to feel comfortable in each other’s presence. Pyke had started to treat him as an equal rather than a subordinate, and the others in the Detective Branch had noticed this. Increasingly, they had formed their own faction, from which Pyke and Whicher had been excluded. Whicher hadn’t expressed any real concern at this situation and, in actuality, it suited Pyke very well.
‘Doesn’t it strike you as odd that a rector should live in such comfort? Five servants, two gardeners.’ Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, ‘And yet he still needs to employ an odd-job man.’
The Detective Branch Page 9