by James Allen
"I will come with you," he said and before I could object, added, "I do not find graveyards as distressful as you might think. I suppose the majority of souls laid to rest are truly at rest."
I wasn't convinced, but I could keep an eye on him so I decided not to worry about it. If I'd known how far the cemetery was from our neck of the woods, I would have vetoed the idea altogether. By the time we arrived, the funeral was finished, the place deserted like only a cemetery can be. In the hazy afternoon light, we found an open grave and six feet down, an austere wooden casket only partially covered with dirt. The grave-diggers were nowhere in sight. "Think she scared them off?"
"Quite possibly," he said seriously. "If there was something here she wanted us to see."
"Is she around now?"
"I'm not certain."
I heard the tension in his voice and looked across the pit at him. "You okay?"
"There's an--agitation."
"Not feeling too welcome, huh?"
"No. No, it's all right. We're in greater danger from the rain, I think."
A brisk wind had rounded up more rain clouds and I suspected the diggers would be back soon to finish up their work before they were stuck shoveling mud instead of dirt. In the soft earth around the grave were a number of fresh prints and I circumnavigated the pit to get a look at them. "At least she had a good crowd," I noted. The sun broke through the clouds and I saw the flash of something metallic atop the casket. "What's that?"
Ezra leaned over to look. "A penny, I believe."
"Yeah? Is that some sort of custom?" I hopped down into the grave and ignoring Ezra's uneasy protest, brushed away some of the dirt on the casket with my coat sleeve. A penny it was and not just one. I found four all together and bagged them. Ezra had gone quiet and I glanced up to see him at the edge of the pit, his attention drawn to some spot beyond my view. "Ez? What is it?"
"Something's disturbing them," Ezra said, looking pretty disturbed himself.
"Them?" I repeated. I didn't like the idea of a mob I couldn't see. Maybe they viewed my poking around as a desecration. Did the dead look after the dead? I pocketed the coins and moved to the foot of the pit. "Give me a hand up."
Nothing among the moss-covered headstones hinted of ghostly activity, apart from the stark anxiety in Ezra's face. "When have you been in a cemetery before?" I asked as we climbed to our feet.
"A cousin's funeral," he ventured. "And my mother's."
"Okay, so basically cemeteries where most of the inhabitants died of old age or sudden illness. Not one where a portion of the dead got that way by violent means."
The realization that dawned in his face confirmed it. I prodded him in the direction of the gates. He wasn't reliving his experience at St. Andrews if I could help it. "Let's go."
I thought he was about to argue for the sake of the investigation, but then he went a shade paler and let me grab his hand to pull him along. Unnerved by his expression, I kept him moving. I couldn't look back myself. I knew I wouldn't see anything, but then again, I was half-afraid I might. The wind rattled the trees and dead leaves swept down like impatient hands ushering us on our way. "Don't these people know we're on their side?" I was way too old to be spooked by shit like this and it was pissing me off.
"They want us to go. Just to go." he chanted the word with soft urgency, arm upraised to shield himself against the onslaught. Tree roots tripped him up and as I turned to help him, he shrank back against the trunk and covered his head with his arms.
Goddamn it, I wasn't putting up with this. Planting myself in front of him, I drew my gun and swung it in a wide arc. "Back off!" I hoped I sounded damned threatening because I knew the gun sure as hell wasn't any kind of a threat except, if we were lucky, psychological.
Ezra clutched at my shoulders and I heard something between a gasp and a laugh. "Just whom are you intending to shoot?"
"Hey, sometimes the threat is enough. Can you run?"
He nodded and we left as requested, not slowing to a fast walk until we reached the street. Then we kept going until Ezra, upon looking back, could report that our pursuers had given up. Whether they were protecting their territory or had just exhausted their energies, I didn't know. I was just relieved to be free of them. And I wasn't the only one. Ezra slumped against the door of a closed shop and exhaled a grateful breath. "Thank you, Morgan. They would not be reasoned with."
"Mob mentality. Not a whole lot you can do, unless you can get your hands on a fire hose. Not that it would have done us any good in this instance. You think he might have shown up? And set them off somehow?"
"Perhaps. She was there but they were around her, shielding her."
I sighed. "If she couldn't give us his name, an accurate description would be good. Even some unique physical detail. Everything we've got so far, it's too vague. Tall, brown-haired, moustache, more or less respectable appearance..." I shook my head. "That covers almost every guy walking the street."
"Sidney," Ezra said.
"Yeah, Sid, and Jem if you slapped a moustache on him. Hell, even I fit the description to a degree--"
Ezra grasped my arm, to shut me up I figured, then gestured down the street to the corner where a familiar figure was climbing into a cab. He was dressed even more soberly than we'd seen him at the Ten Bells, right down to a black armband and an uncharacteristically glum expression. "He gets around, doesn't he? You think he knew Liz, too..." I trailed off as a possibility that had never occurred to me swept into existence so rapidly I could hardly catch my breath. Sidney Dasset. Shallow, simpering, harmless Sid. I might be able to believe all that was an act, but sleeping with men wasn't part of the act--was it? No, Sid was gay. I was sure of that. But the inescapable fact that gay serial killers virtually never killed women gave way to a gut feeling that demanded investigation.
Ezra seemed to have reached the same epiphany by a different route. He clutched at my arm, wide-eyed and breathless with shock. "They weren't chasing us away. They were hurrying us!"
"Goddamn. Come on."
Unfortunately, the way was hampered by a line of black draped carriages heading past. By the time we reached the corner, Sid's cab was deep in traffic. "Ez, you got any money?"
He looked surprised but got out his wallet and shuffled through a few bills and coins. "Twelve, eight and--"
I plucked a five pound note out of his hand. "That'll do." I flagged the closest cab and motioned Ezra into it. Hopping on after him, I waved the note at the driver. "The cab ahead of us, the one driven by your colleague in the red shawl? There's a fiver in it if you stick with him to his destination, no questions asked."
Ezra grabbed a handful of my coat. "Dear God, Morgan, don't--"
He got no further as our cabbie gave an unintelligible shout to the horse, snapped the reins, and took off like a shot, leaving me to hang onto the cab roof for dear life. Ezra dragged me down beside him--which became on top of him as the cab careened around a corner. We hung onto each other as the cabbie sped around other traffic to catch up to Sid's cab. Only then did he slow down and stick to a relatively sane pace, at least until the traffic threatened to take the other cab out of sight. Then he took off in a fashion that would leave New York cab drivers in awe.
Sid appeared to have haunts all over town. The dizzying ride came to an end in a quiet street lined with middle-class homes. Climbing out, I looked around to get my bearings and saw the dome of St. Paul's in the distance. We were still a ways from home but the environs had improved. Ezra looked a little motion sick as he climbed down and rested a hand on my shoulder while he caught his breath. I grinned. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"We're still alive. I shall count that a success and hope you've learned the folly of overpaying cabbies."
He'd be loads of fun on a rollercoaster. "Hey, it was worth it. There's our boy." Several yards down the street, Sid emerged from his cab and ascended to the door of a house. We were halfway across the road when Ezra grabbed my arm to keep me from proceeding another step
toward the house. At my questioning glance, he shook his head emphatically. "You don't want to go in there. Nor do I. Let us wait until he comes back out."
"Why? You know who lives here?" The uncomfortable twist of his mouth piqued my curiosity. "This isn't some deep, dark secret from your past I haven't heard about yet?"
"Dear fellow, I beg of you. There's a cafe down the street where we can wait." He tried to hold onto me as I wriggled out of his grasp and moved closer to the house. It looked the same as all the others on the street, but for the closed drapes keeping out what little late afternoon sun still shone.
Then it hit me. The drapes weren't closed to keep out the sun. "It's a brothel?"
He seemed to realize he wasn't protecting me from anything I hadn't seen before. "It does provide that sort of accommodation, yes. You intend to go in?"
"Well, I don't want to wait for him to come out. God knows how long that'll be."
Ezra, after a moment's hesitation, agreed to go with me. My knock at the door was answered by white-haired gentleman in a coat, tie, and gloves who mildly gave us the once-over, then let us in with a short bow. As dusky as it had been getting outside, it was a whole lot darker inside, the gas turned so low that we had to stand a minute in the foyer to adjust. The butler showed us to the parlor, where most of the inhabitants were lounging around what was probably a perpetual get-acquainted tea.
Most of the guests appeared well past the stage of acquaintance. Two men slumped comfortably in front of the fire exchanging lazy kisses. Two others sat at the piano, plinking out a halting rendition of a now-familiar waltz, something in the top ten of 1888, I guessed. A heavyset man with a prim smile almost hidden under a salt and pepper beard introduced himself as the lord of the manor, Mr. Bernsey, and invited us to make ourselves at home. I waved Ezra ahead of me to the sofa and suppressed a laugh as he eased past the smooching couple to perch uncomfortably on a nest of flounced and ruffled pillows which put Kathleen's to shame.
About to join him, I saw Sid bounce into the room, arm slung across the shoulders of a younger guy with a yellow thatch of hair and a bashful grin. Catching sight of me, Sid's face lit up and he tossed the smaller fish back, baiting his hook for something a little more challenging.
"My dear fellow! Have you run out of respectable sights to see already?"
I tolerated the hug, taking amused note of the annoyance in Ezra's face as Sid drew back and looked me up and down with marked interest. "You're a feast for the eyes." He leaned in. "A feast altogether I should say. Decent of Ezra not to keep you all to himself. Come. Have a cup of tea."
We squeezed in between the smoochers and Ezra, who was studiously ignoring the come hither smirks of a fellow sitting across from him. "Something stronger than tea is called for," he murmured as I sat beside him.
I offered a wordless apology with a bump of my knee against his, which brought a reluctant smile to his lips. I intended to get us both out of here as quickly as possible and Sid's natural aggression only helped in that regard. He handed me a cup of tea and as I took it, brushed his fingers over my wrist. His eyes stayed intent on my face and though he wasn't unattractive, it wasn't easy to hold the stare. It was too--ravenous. Lustful looks were one thing; Sid's eyes burned with a primitive hunger too disturbing for my taste. I'd seen it before, guys who were a little too in touch with their inner caveman. The damage came when they couldn't keep him under control.
Sid knew better than to pounce on me, though. He just watched me through heavy-lidded eyes as he weighed what it would take to get me into bed.
"You don't know how to play hard to get, do you?"
"Not a game I care to learn," he murmured, dancing fingertips along my coat sleeve. "I have a talent for several others, however."
"Yeah? Pick them up from Jem?"
The smile faltered, then flared back to life. "Jem Montague has nothing to teach me. You, on the other hand..."
"I suspect I couldn't show you anything new."
"Care to try?"
"Upstairs?" I suggested, putting down my cup.
Sid's eyes widened. He hadn't expected to land me so easily. "Indeed yes," he said with relish and flung an arm around my shoulders. "Let us away."
I threw a quick look around at a worried Ezra and felt guilty for leaving him among the wolves. "Give me a few minutes," I whispered to him as Sid all but lifted me bodily from the sofa and headed for the stairs in triumph.
The bedrooms were simpler than I expected, iron bedsteads with a curtain hung around for additional privacy, a wash basin with towels, and pegs along one wall for our clothes. I decided to keep mine on as Sid removed his coat and sprawled on the bed. "Charming, isn't it? Like home."
He patted the quilt, an invitation to me to sit. I sat, as far out of reach as was possible, with my back against the bedpost. "Home for you is Whitechapel, isn't it? Where you got your start selling yourself for a living?"
"So brutally direct," he murmured, leaning up on his elbows. "I do like that about you."
"Can you be as direct?"
"What do you want to know?"
"I want to know if there's a real Sid behind this voracious, preening thing you present to the world."
He laughed aloud and with sudden energy rose onto his knees and got into my face with a devilish smile. "And why do you bloody care if there is?" he whispered with the hint of his native accent. "Think you'd fancy him better?"
Gripping the post above my head for balance, he moved in to kiss me. I shoved him flat on his back and kept him there with an iron hold on his wrists. "I warned you about that, Sid, old boy."
He didn't resist, just smiled as if we were still playing his game. "What a delightful creature you are. So rough and tumble, so fearless."
"Gentle doesn't really suit you, does it?" If his tone hadn't told me, the solid bulge pressing into my leg would have.
He closed his eyes with a soft sigh as I shifted away from that contact. "When I was a lad, I didn't care for cod liver oil." Lashes lifted to give me a glimpse of laconic amusement. "I grew accustomed to the taste."
"You saying you got started young?"
"Didn't you?"
"Depends on whether you consider sixteen young."
He chuckled softly. "What would you consider half that?"
The blood chilled in my veins. "You were eight?"
"Perhaps seven. Who can recall? Oh, but I was the manly little fellow. Mother had the gentleman convinced I was older and he found me most delectable. He did as he pleased, after he'd paid his fourpence, of course, and we were properly introduced."
The gentleman won't hurt you much...
The memory of that cajoling voice in my ear slid as cleanly and coldly into my mind as the gleaming knife had moved toward my throat. I remembered now, Jack had whispered to me in the moments before he meant to kill me, tenderly as a mother calming a frightened little boy. Goddamn. I sucked in a breath, conscious of Sid's steady gaze, the smile on his lips that couldn't persuade me what had happened to him was anything but a nightmare. He certainly didn't linger over it. Extricating one hand from my loosened grip, he unbuttoned the top button of my waistcoat. "Dear Mother, she knew I'd already presented my soul to the devil on a silver platter..." There was a sly glint in his eyes as the second button parted from its hole. "Now that we're past introductions, what is there for us but to revel in our basest sin?"
Less a revel and more a compulsive reliving of the only kind of sex he understood. Prostituted at eight, he'd never had a goddamned chance. It brought fresh to mind a kidnapping case I'd handled; six years after his rescue, the kid was still in therapy and likely to be for years to come. But there was no therapy for Sid, except that he'd created in the darkest, most desperate corner of his mind. "Mind if I ask you something else?"
He studied me with a detached, almost bored air. "Do you interrogate Ezra in such a manner before you kiss that sweet smiling mouth?" he murmured, tugging at my tie. "I am not so familiar with the way Americans play at love, bu
t it seems rather tiresome. You must try even Ezra's patient soul."
"Leave him out of this--" Aware of a growing commotion downstairs, I paused and heard, amid a stampede of boots on the stairs, Ezra calling my name. At the same instant, a fist slammed into my jaw, throwing me against the bedpost. The post snapped off and I fell with it to the floor. Half-blinded by the pain shooting through my head, I started to reach for my gun. A hand mussed my hair and I heard Sid, soft and teasing.
"Another time, dear boy?"
Then he was gone and I struggled to my feet to follow. A look over the rail showed me Ezra heading up at a run, three grim and determined guys hot on his heels.
"Ez!" My warning came too late. The three men, bouncers I guessed, grabbed him and began hauling him back down the stairs. Sid pushed past all of them and kept going. I sped down, cussing under my breath as the front door slammed.
"Mind the glass," Mr. Bernsey snapped from the parlor, but Sid was gone. Bernsey refocused his wrath on us as we reached the bottom of the stairs. "This is not a public house, sir, nor a common lodging. We expect a certain level of decorum, as do the gentlemen who frequent this establishment..."
More thunder on the stairs cut him off. Said gentlemen in various states of undress scurried past us, some demanding a cab, others a refund, all of them under the impression the place was being raided. I took advantage of the chaos to grab hold of Ezra and pull him out the door. As I expected, Sid was nowhere in sight. Ezra looked sick with regret. "He's escaped."
"For the moment. Ez--"
"I'm going with you. It's because of me that he's gotten away." He paused, noticing my unbuttoned waistcoat, and seemed to lose his train of thought. Then I realized where that train was heading.
"I was questioning him. That's all."
"You need not explain," he said quietly, buttoning me back up. "No promises have been exchanged."
"Maybe not in so many words, no. But I wouldn't do that to you." I wrapped my hands around his wrists. "I don't work that way. Okay?"
He met my eyes and smiled, embarrassed. "I do apologize. I should have realized I was a bit wide of the mark. It's only that I don't know how it's done in your time. I thought perhaps it was acceptable--"