“I think you’ll find you’re the one making a mistake,” said Wilderspin. “A big one.”
Fleet Street had been closed to traffic. The road surface had been swept and scattered with a mixture of sand and sawdust. The bells of St Bride tolled eleven o’clock. Across the City at the Guildhall, the Silent Ceremony would be starting.
Waithman Street – named after another former Lord Mayor, a draper who did well for himself – was the first turning on the right in Pilgrim Street. Johnny emerged from Bride Court – the shopping arcade decked with bunting – and headed for the bridge directly opposite that would take him under the railway.
He spotted Matt straightaway. He was talking to Tanfield – and Simkins.
“Too late, Steadman. Timmy’s got all the juicy details.”
“When did you two get so palsy-walsy?”
Simkins laughed. “Wouldn’t you like to know! What kept you?”
“Wait and see,” said Johnny. “I suggest you invest in a copy of the News.”
“Timmy?” Simkins’s ebullience was waning.
Tanfield looked as if he was about to say something but thought better of it and shrugged instead. Johnny, Simkins and Matt – who was enjoying the situation – said nothing.
Tanfield reddened. “What? Johnny never tells me anything.”
“You know that’s not true. For instance, I told you never to trust Simkins. It’s not my fault if you’ve ignored my advice. Been comparing notes, have you?”
“They had no choice,” said Matt. “Neither of them has been admitted to the scene.”
“Have you knocked on everyone’s door?”
Tanfield nodded and glanced at Simkins.
“Not at the same time I hope,” said Johnny.
“Of course not,” said Simkins. “That’s why we were sharing information. Now, if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have someone to see.”
He blew Tanfield a kiss then strode off towards Union Street. The scent of sandalwood faded.
Johnny waited, savouring Tanfield’s discomfort.
“So what have you learned?”
Tanfield raised his chin defiantly. “The victim’s name begins with an aitch.”
For a moment Johnny feared that Hollom had been exposed – and executed.
“Out with it!”
“Hext. Steven Hext.”
“Any further details?”
Johnny glanced at Matt. His eyes were burning blue.
“Not many,” said Tanfield, consulting his notebook. “Ran a stall in Finsbury Market, apparently. Fruit and veg. Unmarried, early twenties.”
“Has he been mutilated like the others?”
“DS Turner refused to confirm the rumour.”
“I’m confirming it now,” said Matt. “You’d do a lot better by yourself, young man.”
“I take it, Detective Constable, that you’re not a fan of Henry Simkins.”
“You could say that.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Shouldn’t you be getting back to the office?” said Johnny. “You’re in danger of missing the noon deadline.”
Tanfield checked his watch.
“Crikey! You’re right. D’you want to see the copy before I file it?”
“No. There isn’t time – but don’t make a big deal of the location. Trains haven’t been stopping here for ten years. The killer must have come by pushbike.”
Tanfield hesitated.
“Yes,” said Johnny. “I’m pulling your leg. Now shift yourself.”
Matt gave Johnny the once-over.
“What a difference a day makes. What happened? Strained your greens?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Only to me. Anyone I know?”
He could have made some flippant remark about Lizzie but didn’t. It wouldn’t have been fair to her or Matt.
“Rebecca Taylor. Her given name was Schneider.”
“That’s interesting. Seeing her again?”
“Hope so. I really like her.”
A police photographer came out of the house and began packing his gear into a van.
“Let’s go up,” said Matt.
He nodded to the constable on the door. They began climbing the stairs.
“Heard from Lizzie?”
“Not in person. She’s been hiding out at her parents. Swore them to secrecy. She went back to Bexleyheath last night.”
“Why her sudden departure?”
“No idea. I must have done something wrong.”
That must be it. Lizzie couldn’t possibly have found out about the bribe. She must have been giving him a taste of what would happen if he ever were to be unfaithful.
“You can’t have been that naughty,” said Johnny. “If she was intent on leaving you she wouldn’t have returned home so soon …”
Hext had slept on a single bed in a tiny room under the eaves. He’d either been extremely untidy or someone had rummaged through his belongings. Had they been searching for the membership list too?
Matt pulled back the sheet. Nowadays it took a lot to shock Johnny – he felt he’d heard and seen everything – but he couldn’t help recoiling.
“You might have warned me!”
There was blood everywhere. Not only below the waist but all over the body and the bed as well.
“He must have been conscious,” said Matt. “Looks as if he fought like hell.”
The hands and feet were grotesquely swollen, the ties that bound them cutting into the mottled flesh like cheese-wire.
“The killer’s sliced off more this time – the cock and balls.”
“I had noticed.” The congealing gore turned Johnny’s stomach. “They’re losing control. It’s as if they were in a hurry.”
“Aren’t we all?” said Matt. “Who d’you think Simkins was in such a rush to meet?”
“Zick?”
“Who else? I’ve discovered where he’s set up shop. Hanging Sword Alley.”
In spite of the dead man between them they couldn’t help giggling.
“The nerve of the bastard,” said Johnny. “Talk about rubbing our noses in it.”
Thanks to Dickens, he knew exactly where the alley was in Fleet Street. Jerry Cruncher, bodysnatcher and porter for Tellsun’s Bank, had a bolt-hole there in A Tale of Two Cities. Zick was something of a resurrection man too.
Matt checked nobody was eavesdropping, then confided, “It gets better. The establishment is called Cockaigne – with a K – Corner.”
“Sounds right,” said Johnny. “The land of lost content.”
“At least we know where to find him now – should it be necessary.”
“It’s certainly convenient for Simkins.”
“Too convenient,” said Matt. “I had a brief word with him when he arrived. I got the impression he’s as much under Zick’s thumb as we are. He actually had the effrontery to thank me for my cooperation.”
“What about mine?”
“For some reason he’s still not sure about you.”
“Splendid.”
Johnny walked over to the open window. There was a magnificent view of St Paul’s. The baroque cathedral soared above the soot and grime, the people and pigeonshit which surrounded it. Such beauty amid such squalor! There was more than one city in London.
Five floors below an alley cut through to Broadway.
“The door was open when we got here,” said Matt.
“We?”
“I was with DI Tyser. He’s dashed off to Old Jewry to brief Inskip.”
“Because there’s now a connection between the murders and the attacks on Adler.”
“In more ways than one,” said Matt. “It was Hollom who found the body.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lizzie got off the train at Farringdon and walked through Hatton Garden. It was strange being back. She was no longer the woman who had worked on the perfume counter in Gamages, the department store at the end of the road. The old Lizzie had been single, full of independent
spirit, determined to make something of herself. Lila Mae had certainly sprung from her loins – well, the forceps had helped – but, in those days, a child was not what she’d had in mind.
Her parents doted on their first grandchild, but the unspoken belief that she had sold herself short still hung in the air between them. Running back to them had been necessary but impolitic – it reinforced their suspicion that her marriage had been a mistake. It wasn’t. Matt was a good man. Then so was Johnny. She hadn’t been pregnant, she hadn’t been forced into the union. She had made her choice and now she had to live with it – and Matt.
She’d been given precise directions and located Ye Olde Mitre Tavern with surprising ease, even though it was hidden away. She had to take care that the pushchair didn’t scrape the sides of the alley. It was a charming building, like something out a children’s picture-book. A sweetshop under a toadstool.
She was not in the habit of entering public houses by herself. The landlord scowled when he saw Lila Mae – men came here to escape family life – but swallowed his words when Simkins appeared at her side and ushered her into the Bishop’s Room.
There was a bottle of champagne in an ice-bucket on the table.
“Care for a pick-me-up?”
“No, thank you. I don’t wish to be here a moment longer than necessary.”
“Suit yourself. Odd that we’ve never actually met before, isn’t it?”
He charged his glass, the silver bubbles threatening to boil over but, instead, merely bursting on the brim.
“Why? You’re not the sort of person with whom I would choose to consort.”
Lila, staring at the curious man, began to whimper.
“And yet we have so much in common,” said Simkins. “Johnny, after all, is our mutual friend.”
“He’s not why I’m here.”
Lizzie bent down to comfort Lila and extracted the envelope. She tossed it on to the table.
“Keep it,” said Simkins. “There are copies. Your husband is magnificent tout nu, isn’t he?”
“I’m glad you think so. You seem unaware, though, that I’ve seen the photograph before.”
Simkins, the saucer in his hand halfway to his mouth, froze. “That’s not possible.”
“I admit I was deeply shocked the first time – it must be two years ago now – but why would you want me to see it? You don’t appear to need money.”
“Haven’t you spoken to your husband?”
“No.”
“Why contact me then?”
“To explain that your blackmail attempt won’t work. There are no secrets between us.”
“Oh really? How touching.”
He slid another envelope across the table.
“Your husband told you about this, did he?”
Lizzie, suddenly afraid, withdrew the contents. The photograph was of Johnny, stark-naked, in a similar pose to Matt. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. She’d often imagined what he’d look like without any clothes. Now she knew.
Simkins watched the colour spread across her cheeks.
“They make a pretty pair, don’t they? Like to see some more? How about one of them together?”
He was bluffing. No such photograph had ever been taken.
Lizzie sat down. Lila, sensing the hostility in the room, started to cry. Her mother let her.
“Why are you doing this?”
“He has no choice.”
She screamed in surprise. A hidden door in the wainscoting – that led to an upstairs chamber – opened to reveal her former abductor. Lila was now screaming too. Lizzie took her out of the pushchair and held her – to reassure herself as much as the baby.
Zick swept up both pictures and put them back in their envelopes.
“Don’t be afraid, Mrs Turner. Once again, I have cause to regret my good nature. I never learn: it seems if you want anything doing properly, you must do it yourself.”
“I say! That’s a bit off,” said Simkins.
“Pipe down, Henry. Give me some of that fizz. It’s not spiked, is it?”
Simkins shook his head.
“Sure you won’t have a glass, Mrs Turner. You look as if you need it.”
He poured a glass and placed it in front of her. Lizzie sat down again. She knocked back the alcohol in one gulp.
Zick refilled her saucer and sat down opposite her at the table.
“A thousand apologies for my sudden entrance. I was hoping it wouldn’t be necessary but – as usual – Simkins here is making a hash of things. I don’t think he was expecting to see a child. He likes children very much, you see. Especially boys. Boys with scarcely a hair on their bodies …”
Simkins stood up. His head was only an inch from the low ceiling.
“Stay where you are,” said Zick. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”
“Well, I’m finished with you. Get someone else to do your dirty work.”
“Do as you’re told and sit,” said Zick. “What are you going to do, call the cops?”
“Something like that.”
“There’s no need. I’m sure we can work this out to our mutual satisfaction. Don’t you think so, Mrs Turner?”
There was a knock on the door. The landlord stuck his balding head in.
“Everything hunky-dory? Thought I heard a scream.”
“It was only the baby,” said Zick. “Since you’re here, Jubb, you might as well send in another bottle.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closed.
“Is there anyone you’re not blackmailing?” Lizzie wiped Lila’s tears away with her hanky.
“I haven’t come to an arrangement with you – yet,” said Zick. “Although I’m sure you wouldn’t like people to know that your husband and his best friend have been at it behind your back.”
Lizzie glanced at Simkins. He maintained a Sphinx-like silence. His only movement was a single blink.
“What was this odious man supposed to make me do?”
“Nothing,” said Zick. “I simply asked him to ensure that your husband and friend would not interfere with the running of my business.”
“And if they did?”
“The photographs would be released to the press. They would, of course, never be printed but the damage would be done. Their careers would be over. I never told Simkins to send you the photograph.”
He turned to his accomplice. “Why did you, Henry?”
“I panicked. I don’t trust Steadman. It was meant to be a bit of extra insurance. If he couldn’t persuade Turner to keep his mouth shut, then I was sure his wife could.”
“There was no need,” said Zick. “I’d made other plans. The Commander kindly suggested that Mrs Turner make herself scarce for twenty-four hours to remind her husband what could happen if he didn’t toe the line.”
“Toe the line?” Lizzie, starting at his unusually small feet, looked Zick up and down.
“Do nothing. That’s all. Not too much to ask was it?”
“You always ask too much.” Simkins, furious at being outwitted, was almost snarling. Zick ignored him.
“I wonder how Steadman will feel when he finds out he saved the life of a complete degenerate. Henry does so love a mystery.”
Lizzie looked puzzled.
Zick smiled. “Such innocence! I’m not talking about detective stories – although the police are involved. In certain low quarters a mystery is what they call a young prostitute.”
“He has footage of me with young boys,” said Simkins.
“Then you deserve everything you get,” said Lizzie.
“Are you prepared to destroy your husband in the process?” Zick shook his head slowly. “If I know anything about Henry, it’s that he won’t go quietly. So you see, my dear, everything depends on your silence. My business, Henry’s liberty, the well-being of you and your husband – even your lover’s job – all of them depend on saying nothing.”
Lizzie looked even more puzzled. “Johnny’s not my lover! Who told you t
hat? A minute ago you were implying he was my husband’s lover. Neither slur is true. You’ve been misinformed.”
“Henry,” said Zick. “I was under the impression you were a journalist. Didn’t you check your facts?”
“One of Steadman’s colleagues told me.”
“Told you what?”
“That he’d seen her with Steadman.”
“Doing what?”
“Yes,” said Lizzie. “What were we doing?”
“Walking arm-in-arm – like a couple. There’s no smoke without fire.”
Someone rapped on the door.
“That’ll be the champagne,” said Zick.
He was wrong. It was Matt.
Alex, ignoring the queue, charged into Lockharts. The workers wanted to fill their bellies before fulfilling their roles as loyal citizens, freezing their balls off to cheer a fat cat who had got the cream.
There was no sign of her. He grabbed another waitress.
“Where is she?”
“Get your paws off me. Who the blazes d’you think you are?”
“A man in love. You know full well who I’m after. You spied on us enough.”
“How dare you!”
She tried to slap his face but he caught her arm.
“Tell me or I’ll ram my fist down your throat.”
“She didn’t turn up this morning. That’s all I know. Probably gone down with something.”
“Then why didn’t you say so?”
The manager, noticing the contretemps, was heading their way. Loaded forks, dripping gravy, were poised in mid-air. Aware of the audience, Alex relinquished his grip and ran out of the restaurant.
If she was ill he needed to be at her side.
All they’d had to do was cross New Bridge Street – already blocked by diverted traffic – and a minute later they were outside Cockaigne Corner. If there was anyone home they were not answering the door. The windows were shuttered. No light escaped through the cracks.
Matt wasn’t surprised.
“There’s too much activity, too many cops about. Zick hasn’t survived this long without knowing when to lie low.”
“Let’s break down the door then,” said Johnny.
“On what grounds? How could we justify it?”
“Let me count the ways: prostitution, extortion, corruption.”
“Nothing new there. Besides, Inskip would be less than pleased.”
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