by Bob Bidecant
6.4
Jacobson sat in his favourite chair, staring at the open fire. He had become withdrawn and had not spoken much for days. The visit from the two housing associate delegates had angered him and witnessing a man murdered in front of him had a strange effect. For years, he had instigated assassinations and funded killings without a single doubt in his mind that he was doing the right thing, but he was so far removed from the real world of murder; it had never occurred to him what it was like. In his mind, he replayed the knife entering the man’s face repeatedly. He tried to convince himself that the Russian had deserved it; he had hated that man for many years, but his stomach turned into a knot when he thought about the knife running along the man’s throat. He never wanted to see anything like that again. He did not hear the maid enter; he was startled, dropping his Whiskey.
‘Sorry Sir. I made you jump. I did knock, maybe you didn’t hear me.’ She took a cloth from her apron and mopped up the spill.
‘It’s nothing, I am fine. Just clumsy’
‘Lord Jacobson. Detective Kelly is here to see you.’
Kelly had followed her in and stood by the door waiting.‘The police? Send him in and bring some tea, please.’ Detective Kelly entered again quietly and sat down without waiting to be asked.
‘What can I do for you Detective?’Kelly handed him a piece of paper. Jacobson read it and handed it back to him.
‘What of it? He asked. Detective Kelly read it out.
“Need to meet the Circassian. Any time, any place of your choosing. I have work for him. J”
‘Who is the Circassian?’ He asked.
‘No idea.’ Replied Jacobson.
‘Then this isn’t your note then, Sir?’
‘It is on my headed notepaper, so of course it is,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Maybe one of my staff was looking for hired help. Why is it so important?’The maid brought in tea and served them both. Kelly waited until she had left the room before he continued.
‘Because it was in the belongings of a woman who was found dead this morning, Sir. Her body had been mutilated like the others that we have found in the last few weeks around the East End.’
‘What, dead. Good God.’ Jacobson was shocked. Kelly held up a second piece of paper and then said.
‘We also found a second note on her Sir, but you probably won’t know anything about this one either, so I won’t take up any more of your time. Good day Sir.’ He replaced the paper in his pocket and stood up to leave. Jacobson’s complete demeanour changed.
‘I apologise for being rude, Detective. I am still in shock after the murder last week. If there is any way I can be of help, I will. Please let me read it.’
‘Of course you are Sir.’ Kelly handed over the paper for Jacobson to read. He shrugged and handed it back.‘I wish I could be of more help but unfortunately I have no idea what it means.’ They spoke for another fifteen minutes and Kelly stood up and left. Gur Lavi entered. Jacobson was busy writing something down on paper.
‘What is going on, why were the police here?’
‘The maid we passed the note to is dead.’ Jacobson replied.
‘The Russians?’
‘It must be, who else? They must have worked out the same as me that she knew the Circassians and let them in.’ Jacobson handed over the note.
‘What is this?’
‘The police found a second note the maid had on her; it had this written on it. Maybe she was on her way to deliver it to us?’Gur Lavi read it aloud. “The blind flower maid sits next to the blind beggar.”
‘What does it mean?’
‘I am not sure, it may mean the name of a pub, ask Levi to check out. Tell him to look around for a flower seller nearby, especially a blind one.’
Gur Lavi left.