‘I can see it’s a damn crucifix, man, but what on God’s green earth is it doing carved into that woman’s chest?’ Dray yelled. ‘What is this, witchcraft or something? It’s obscene!’
Berry shrugged. ‘Neither Lily Clapcott nor May Deeley looked as bad as this, especially with such…religious significance. There was so much blood it was difficult to ascertain cause of death.’
‘Cause of death?’ blurted Dray. ‘Are you insane, Horace? The woman’s got a bloody big gaping hole in her guts—that’s the cause of death!’
‘You might think so at first glance, but the victim was actually killed by a single knife wound to the heart. The crucifix was cut into her body post-mortem.’
Dray palmed his eyes. ‘After? Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir,’ confirmed Berry. ‘You can tell when you look at the state of her arteries. The heart stopped pumping the blood, you see—’
‘If I wanted a bloody pathology lecture, Horace, I’d go see Dr Finch!’ Dray snapped. ‘And what about this devil you’ve got locked up? This…abomination of a man…what’s he had to say for himself?’
Sergeant Berry looked back blankly. ‘Haven’t you heard, sir? The man’s a mute! It’s pointless to try and communicate with him—he just sits there and stares at the wall with those big gaping eyes of his, like he’s a hunk of beef, or something.’
‘Oh, and you think Whitehall will be satisfied with that, Horace? “He can’t actually speak, but take my word for it, Minister; he’s as guilty as sin!”’ mimicked Dray. ‘They’ll want a bloody confession, man, nothing less.’
‘Commissioner, we’ve as much chance of getting a confession out of him as we have of a full day’s work from Jennings.’
‘Well, Horace…you’d better start getting creative, hadn’t you. It’s not the first time we’ve had to assist a prisoner with his confession, and it won’t be the last!’ Dray rubbed at his wrinkled forehead. ‘You mark my words…the bloke’s probably escaped from some mental asylum somewhere, and then run off the join the bloody circus. Send a couple of men to Bethlem Hospital out Lambeth way; see what they can tell us about any escapees, especially ones with fixations for crosses. That should keep the brass off my back.’
‘There’s more, Commissioner. You really need to have a read of this.’ Berry searched his pockets, and passed Dray a letter. ‘It’s what I was hinting at earlier.’
‘What’s this, Horace, your resignation?’ Dray said with a smirk, removing a pair of thin wire spectacles from his breast pocket, perching them on the end of his nose. He cleared his throat, squinting at the spidery scrawls upon the letter, and read aloud:
Miller,
So, you have come to London at last, I see. That’s right…I’m watching you.
You can’t make a move in this city without me knowing about it. Travelling with a circus was a stupid idea…you may as well have taken out an advertisement for your whereabouts in the London Gazette.
You wronged me in the past, but that will not go unpunished for much longer. I have cultivated, nurtured and fed this desire for revenge for so very long. Once, you cut out my heart, and now I will cut out yours. I will destroy everyone you love…I will unleash a terror unlike any seen before, and the corpses of your loved ones will litter the streets.
This is inevitable, Miller. I will not give you the luxury of death; you will suffer a torment as I have done these past years. You will live with the pain that you have given me—and I will be stood right there enjoying every moment.
Dray looked up from the note. ‘What’s all this is rubbish about, Horace? It sounds like the ramblings of a madman. Where did you get this letter from?’
‘It was next to the last victim’s body, sir. I thought it’d fallen from her pocket at first, but then, after I checked the prisoner’s charge sheet with Marsh, I discovered something interesting.’
‘I thought the dead girl was called Argyle or something. Who’s this “Miller” character then, the one it’s addressed to?’ Dray mumbled, waving the letter at Sergeant Berry.
‘That’s my point, sir, that’s why it’s so interesting,’ said Berry, a grim look whitening his face. ‘We managed to get some details out of the giant not long ago, just the basics, name, age and that. Just stuff we got him to write down.’ Berry inhaled sharply. ‘It seems he’s originally from Ireland…and his name is Aiden…Aiden J. Miller. The man the letter is addressed to! This whole case worries me, sir…it has since I first found him by the body. I knew there was something fishy about him, and this note adds a whole new way of thinking to this. It’s too convenient, too simple.’
Dray waved him away. ‘Simple is right, Berry. Simple mathematics. One dead girl, plus one unconscious murderer, equals we’ve got our man, case closed!’
‘No, sir, I don’t agree,’ appealed Berry. ‘Now we’ve got this note, everything’s changed. The giant may well have been unconscious when we found him at the scene—but I don’t think we can just assume that he’s the killer. If he’s managed to kill twice before and get away with it, why would he be stupid enough to stick around and get caught? And how come he was unconscious when we found him?’
Dray didn’t budge. ‘It resolves nothing and complicates everything, is what that note does, Berry! We’ve got three dead women on our hands, and the only man who knows what happened to at least one of them is in our custody. Now what do you want me to do? Let him go? All because of some damned note? For all we know, the bloody giant wrote it himself.’
‘You’d be happy to imprison an innocent man, would you? Without proof? Surely you don’t want that on your conscience?’
‘One more thing won’t kill me,’ muttered Dray. ‘There’s already a lot of talk floating around town about these killings, Horace. Sooner or later, it’s going to reach the Yard’s ears and when it does, it’ll be your head on the block if you’re wrong about him.’
‘But if I’m right, there’s a killer loose out there on our streets, and we’ve got an innocent man locked up!’ Berry gritted his teeth to contain his anger. His superior was possibly the most stubborn man he had ever met, but this trait of his had never gotten to the point where it clouded his perception of justice before. Dray was being swayed by his anger, and his concern about being made a scapegoat, and it seemed to be up to Berry to be the voice of reason. ‘Commissioner…Oliver…we need to be a hundred per cent sure that the man in our custody is the killer. This won’t just dry up and go away, you know, these things never do. I’ve got a really a nasty feeling in my water about this case. I just know that things are going to get a damn sight worse!’
Dray poured the remnants of his whisky down his neck. ‘Something will come up, Berry…something that ties all these loose ends up. We just need to be patient. An answer will present itself to us in time.’
CHAPTER XIV
The Meeting of Minds
BY A QUARTER to ten the next morning it had become a bright, if slightly chilly day, and as Cornelius Quaint threw open the doors of Crawditch police station, the idle sunlight illuminated him with an aura of misplaced serenity. The man was anything but serene. Accompanied by Madame Destine, he was of a mind to see the captive Prometheus again—and he would not take no for an answer. Quaint walked determinedly towards the enquiries desk, and his hardened expression softened slightly as he recognised the familiar face of Constable Tucker at the podium.
‘Constable!’ he said cheerily. ‘Don’t you ever go home, man?’ Tucker cracked a brief smile. ‘You’ve been speaking to my wife. Well, I can’t fault your timekeeping, sir, the Commissioner is already here. He’s in his office right now with Sergeant Berry, and he’s been told to expect you.’ Tucker pointed to a large set of mahogany doors behind him. ‘Straight ahead, through them there doors. The Commissioner’s office will be right in front of you.’
Quaint and Destine nodded politely, and bustled through a small, knee-high wooden gate into the police station, past a variety of uniformed men busily writing reports and filing pap
erwork, flitting around like bees during springtime. Quaint raised his knuckles to knock on the Commissioner’s door, when suddenly Destine’s hand darted from nowhere and gripped his wrist.
‘Wait, Cornelius,’ she said softly. ‘This friend of yours…can we trust him?’
‘Need I remind you this was your idea? It’s a little late for cold feet,’ Quaint said. ‘Stop worrying and come on. He’s a police commissioner, for goodness sake. If anyone can ensure Prometheus gets a fair hearing—it’s him.’
‘It’s just that…’ Destine paused, ‘after my vision yesterday, I am feeling a trifle nervous all of a sudden. It is probably nothing.’
‘Nervous? The vision from my past, you mean? Surely, you can’t mean Oliver. A police commissioner? Come on, Madame, if we can’t trust a policeman—whom can we trust? Oliver and I were friends a long time ago. Admittedly, we haven’t set eyes on each other since, but he’s certainly got no quarrel with me.’
‘Oh really?’ questioned Destine. ‘What about that business you mentioned with his father? Did he not once threaten to kill you?’
‘Ah…well, yes, but that was over twenty years ago. I’m sure that’s all water under the bridge by now.’ Quaint said, knocking twice on the Commissioner’s door. Not waiting for an answer from inside the room, he turned the knob, and strode inside.
As he entered the Commissioner’s office, Quaint scanned the two men’s faces in the room. One was unknown to him, and one looked familiar, but decidedly older than the one he recalled from his memory.
‘Oliver!’ Quaint said, grasping the somewhat bemused Commissioner’s hand firmly. ‘How marvellous it is to see you again, old chap.’
‘And who the bloody hell might you be?’ barked Dray. ‘Who let you in here? Hang on a mo…wait…is that…Quaint? Cornelius Quaint, is that you? What on earth are you doing here?’
‘Just a bit of business, Oliver. What’s it been? Eighteen? Nineteen years? I swear you haven’t aged a single day, you old Scottish dog.’
‘I wish I could say the same for you, Cornelius! What a bedraggled mess you are,’ Dray said, flicking at Quaint’s greying curls. ‘Look at that mop of hair!’
‘And what of your own hair, hmm?’ replied Quaint. ‘I trust you have your best men out searching for what’s left of it?’
‘Aye, and if they come across your fashion sense, I’ll let you know. Look at yourself. Never have such fine clothes been so sorely wasted on a body,’ Dray said, looking Quaint up and down. ‘A cloak and velvet smoking jacket at this time of day? You look like you’re off to the bloody opera!’
‘A gentleman can never take too much pride in his appearance, Oliver, no matter what the time of day,’ Quaint parried. ‘But then, I suppose you wouldn’t know anything about that.’
‘Cornelius, if I may?’ interrupted Madame Destine. ‘Perhaps you two could postpone your verbal swordplay for another time, or do I need to remind you that we are here on most urgent business?’
‘Ah!’ Quaint chewed at his lip and nodded. ‘Quite right as ever, Madame. My apologies to you. I forget myself…and my manners.’
‘I suppose introductions are in order, eh?’ Dray said, nudging Berry’s shoulder. ‘This fellow here, Horace, is none other than Cornelius Quaint, an old…friend of mine from a misspent youth. Cornelius, this is Sergeant Horace Berry, the best beat copper on the force, bar none.’
‘Sergeant Berry, I’m pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Quaint turned on his heel and glanced at Destine, ‘And this is Madame Destine, my personal advisor. Madame, this fellow is Oliver Dray, commissioner of police, no less.’ Quaint cleared his face of all expression and focused his eyes upon Commissioner Dray. ‘And now that’s out of the way, gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I would like a word. Oliver, you currently have one of my employees locked up in your cells, charged with murder. It is imperative that I speak with him urgently.’
‘Your employee? You’re the giant’s boss? The one we found with that dead girl?’ scoffed Commissioner Dray, slapping his forehead with his palms as if it were the most amusing thing he had ever heard. ‘Oh, this is ripe! Cornelius Quaint? Owning a circus, of all things? Ha! Bloody typical, that is—I knew you could never go respectable, it’s not in your nature.’
‘Yes, well, it’s obviously in yours,’ Quaint said, poking at Dray’s crooked tie. ‘I won the circus in a game of chance with two Prussian fellows. Fair and square, I might add, and it’s a marvellous experience, trekking from one place to the next entertaining folk. You really get to see the spark of the human spirit in full illumination. There is nothing like it on earth.’ Quaint’s expression suddenly darkened, and the light faded from his eyes. ‘Of course…when something like this nasty business transpires…well, it does tend to stick in my craw somewhat. I do not like my circus getting involved in local matters, Oliver.’
Dray snorted indignantly. ‘Local matters? You make it sound so clear cut,’ he said. ‘Murder is never clear cut, and thanks to your bloody circus lot, this one appears muddier than most. Actually, Horace and I were just discussing it. We’ve got three murders on our hands here in Crawditch, and murders that began just as your circus crew arrived. So what are you going to do about it, Cornelius?’ asked Dray.
‘Shouldn’t I be asking you that question, Oliver?’ enquired Quaint. ‘You do have a vicious murderer at large in this district; after all…I am not at all sure I wish to risk any more of my people. Perhaps we should postpone our show in Hyde Park.’
‘That would certainly deflect the blame from your circus, eh?’
‘It sounds to me, Oliver, as if you have already closed this investigation, when in my eyes it is still very much open. My people aren’t in the habit of going around slaughtering innocent people, and might I remind you that one of our own has also been killed. With my strongman wrongly incarcerated at the moment, my circus is feeling double the pain right now.’
‘Only you—a man who deals with the strange and fanciful on a daily basis—could be tied up in all this nonsense,’ Dray rubbed fiercely at his thinning scalp. ‘A great ox of a mute, a slain dwarf with a bizarre cross carved into her chest, and now a note from someone who says he’s going to exact his revenge upon the giant!’
‘Did you say a note?’ Quaint’s black eyes widened. ‘What note?’
CHAPTER XV
The Strange and the Fanciful
QUAINT LOOKED FROM the note to Dray’s face. ‘I assume that you’ve read this letter, Oliver. It is quite clearly a threat, and yet you still believe that Prometheus is guilty? The damn letter is addressed to him, for God’s sake!’
‘I’ve only got your word that this Miller fellow—“Prometheus” as you call him—is innocent and, believe it or not, your word won’t stand up in court. Look at it from my perspective,’ Dray said. ‘Maybe your man had a dark side that you knew nothing about. Maybe he and this Argyle woman had some kind of argument and he did away with her, I don’t know.’
‘What, and perhaps she wrote the letter? Look, Oliver…as I’ve said; Prometheus is no killer. Now, I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on in this little town of yours, but one of my best people is stuck right in the middle of it. This letter only perplexes me further.’
‘This is a triple murder investigation, Cornelius, not someone caught scrumping apples! We do take this stuff seriously, you know. So far I’ve managed to keep a lid on it and keep Scotland Yard out of the equation, but I can only hold them off so long. Otherwise we’d have Yard inspectors crawling all over my patch day and night! Do you know how that would make me look?’
‘You’d rather wait for the real killer to strike again, whilst you tell everyone in Crawditch that you’ve got the man apprehended, and they’re all safe? Come on, Oliver—surely it will make you look far worse when that’s proved false! You’ve got a man locked up for a crime with no witnesses and no evidence beyond circumstantial. Is that just so it looks like you’re in control when the Yard starts poking its nose in?’ barked Quaint. ‘You�
��re a chip off the old block, all right.’
‘Cornelius,’ growled Dray. ‘Mind your tongue now. That’s territory you really don’t want to tread.’
‘I remember.’ Quaint clapped his hands together loudly. ‘Look…all I’m trying to do is give my opinion about someone who’s mixed up in all this, and need not be! You boys don’t know him from Adam—but I have known him for years, and would vouch for his innocence until my dying day. He’s not guilty—and if you just give me some time alone with him, I may just be able to prove it!’
‘Cornelius…you know I can’t do that,’ said Dray. ‘I just don’t think—’
‘And that’s the point here, isn’t it? You don’t think! You never did have the capacity to think beyond the pack mentality, did you?’ Quaint stared at Dray, their eyes meeting across the red haze of rage that filled the room. Although neither man spoke, there seemed to be plenty communicated in the silence.
Dray took a deep lungful of breath, and threw himself down into his chair.
‘I don’t have the time for this right now, Cornelius,’ he said.
‘Then make time, Oliver—this is important!’ snapped Quaint, trying to get over his point and still keep the tinge of anger from his words. He was not doing a spectacular job so far. ‘I am not your enemy here, Oliver, and nor do I wish to be. Even as we speak, the real foe stalks Crawditch’s streets, and I want the bastard hunted down and caught so I can put things back to normal, and concentrate on what my circus is in London for!’
‘This isn’t just about you and your bloody circus, man,’ Dray said. ‘When your lot pack up and move on, this will still be my district, and I want this mess straightened out just as much as you do, believe me. So…you want to speak to this Prometheus fellow of yours, right? Berry tells me he’s deaf and dumb. What possible help can he be to this investigation?’
The Equivoque Principle Page 7