by Alex Grecian
“You should leave now,” the nurse said. “Any exertion at all will speed the process of that man’s death.”
“Please forgive how plain this must sound,” Day said, “but what does it matter if he’ll die today anyway? Let us talk to him now. We’ll be easy on him, but he may be able to lead us to a murderer, someone who has killed before and who we believe will kill again. Don’t you think he’d want to help us with that? To help us find the man who murdered him?”
“Every moment of life is sacred. Let him spend his last moments in peace.”
“Every moment of life should be spent accomplishing something,” Hammersmith said. “Could someone get this poor man some water?”
He pointed to the man in the bed who was still screaming for a drink.
“He’s just had a drink of water. He wants attention, that’s all.”
“Then perhaps someone should pay attention to him.”
Hammersmith fetched a pitcher from a nearby cart and poured a small amount of it into a shallow bowl. He stepped around Day and lifted the crying patient’s head, held the bowl to his lips. The man grew quiet and sipped at the bowl of water.
The nurse stomped away and Day saw her talking to a doctor at the far end of the room, pointing back at them. The doctor broke free of her and waved his hand at the nurse to stay where she was. He had dark pouches under his eyes and his tie was askew. This wasn’t a man who was accustomed to sleeping well. When he approached them, Hammersmith handed him the empty water bowl. The doctor took it and nodded.
“There’s too many of them,” he said. “We do what we can for them, but the men in this ward are just waiting to die. We’re not cruel, but we haven’t the time.”
“I’m not asking for your time, sir,” Day said. “I apologize if we’ve distressed anyone. I am a friend of Dr Bernard Kingsley, who works here in the hospital, if you’d like to inquire about my discretion and habits.”
“I know Dr Kingsley. I’m sure it won’t be necessary to trouble him. What is it we can do for you?”
“You have a patient. Also a surgeon. Dr Charles Shaw.”
“I don’t recognize the name. Does he work here?”
“I don’t know, sir. But he’s lying in that bed, with a wounded throat.”
“Oh, my. Yes. I wasn’t aware he was a doctor. I’ve done what I can for him, but I’m afraid there’s no hope. All we can do at this point is pray.”
“We’ve no use for idle praying,” Hammersmith said. “We need information from this man.”
“I’m afraid he can’t talk to you. By that I mean he’s incapable of any speech at all.”
“Then could we have a notebook and a pencil?” Day said. “He may be able to write something down that could help us.”
“I don’t see any harm in that, if he’s awake. But he won’t be able to sit up.”
The doctor snapped his fingers to get the nurse’s attention and made a scribbling gesture in the air. She nodded and hurried from the room. The doctor shook their hands, made sure they were satisfied, and returned to his futile rounds. The nurse came back a moment later with a small brown cardboard-covered notebook and a wooden pencil, sharpened at both ends. Day took them and thanked her. She nodded curtly, spun on her heel, and retreated to the far side of the room.
“I don’t believe we’re making friends here, Constable,” Day said.
“Were we here to make friends?”
Day raised his eyebrows. “No. But I’ve found that the more friends I have, the easier my life seems to be.”
Hammersmith nodded, but didn’t speak.
“I don’t know about you, but I became a policeman because I care about people. We’re under a lot of pressure and you’ve suffered a horrible loss,” Day said. “But you can’t let it change you or you’ll be no better than that hard-hearted nurse over there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”
Day turned away. He wasn’t accustomed to being called sir and had no idea how to respond. He didn’t like it much and realized he had now created a certain formal distance between himself and the constable. He resolved to bridge that gap later. For now, he led the way to Dr Shaw’s bed, where Blacker had kept vigil. Blacker shook his head at them as they approached. Shaw was asleep. The sound of his breath as it echoed up through the copper tube was irregular and wet.
“He’s been in and out of sleep,” Blacker said. “I don’t think he has long.”
“We heard that from the doctor as well,” Day said. “Perhaps one of us should stay here and monitor him. When he wakes, he may be able to write something for us.”
“If he wakes,” Blacker said.
Hammersmith reached out and jabbed Shaw in the side. Day and Blacker looked at him, their eyes wide, but Shaw started awake and a deep rasping sound vibrated the copper tube. Day leaned over the dying man and held out the notebook.
“Can you hear me, sir?”
Shaw blinked twice at the three police.
“We’re sorry to intrude upon you, but we’d like to find the man who did this. Do you have the strength to write?”
Shaw tried to shake his head from side to side, but the effort appeared to cause him pain and they stood for a long moment, letting him recover. Finally he took the notebook and pencil from Day’s hands. He laid the pad flat on his stomach. Even moving his hand was clearly an effort, and Shaw didn’t lift the tip of the pencil from the paper as he wrote. Day watched him scrawl curlicues across the paper. Since Shaw couldn’t see what he was writing, the strokes didn’t link up properly, and the continuous line made unintended connections between letters. When Shaw finished, Day took the notebook from him and held it out so that Blacker and Hammersmith could help decipher what was written.
“No,” Blacker said. “This first word is no.”
“What’s this next bit, then?”
“Turtles? I think it says turtles.”
Day sneaked a glance at Shaw. He seemed frustrated, but it was hard to read an expression on his blood-caked face. The tray under his neck was brimming with fluid.
“It’s definitely two words,” Hammersmith said.
“Yes, I think you’re right,” Blacker said. “Maybe the first word is two?”
“Does it actually say two words?”
“No, that second word has an h in it.”
“Whores.”
Hammersmith said this last word too loudly and the nurse at the end of the row of beds looked up and glared at them.
“Two whores? Is that what you mean to say?”
Shaw blinked rapidly and Day put the paper and pencil back in his hands. He wrote again. Yes.
“So it wasn’t a man who did this to you? It was two women?”
Yes again.
“But how were you overpowered by women? Even two of them?”
This time Shaw didn’t write on the pad. Day saw Blacker and Hammersmith look away from the bed. They seemed uncomfortable.
“Did they first render you unconscious?” Day said.
After a moment of hesitation, Shaw wrote again. Yes.
“I see.”
“Why did they accost you, sir, do you know?”
No.
Another furious bout of writing and Shaw handed the pad to Day. Shaw’s hand fell back against the bed and he seemed to collapse in on himself, exhausted. His eyes closed and he was instantly asleep again.
“What does it say?”
“I can’t … This first word may be flow.”
“Let me see,” Blacker said. He took the pad from Day. “I think it says ploughing tool. But that makes no sense.”
“Let’s wake him and ask,” Hammersmith said. He reached out to poke Shaw again, but Day grabbed his hand.
“Show some mercy. He’s done in. I don’t think there’s anything else he can tell us this way.”
Hammersmith stared down at Shaw. “Maybe Kingsley will be able to tell us more once he gets hold of this.”
Day understood what Hammersmith meant. When Shaw
died, his body would be transported to the basement of the hospital, and Kingsley would take him apart. If there were physical clues to be found, they would only come to light upon Shaw’s death.
“You act as if you hate this man,” Blacker said.
“I don’t hate anyone,” Hammersmith said. “But this creature isn’t among my favorites.”
“What did he ever do to you?”
“Yesterday he nearly had me killed.”
“You jest.”
“He had me poisoned. And he used a good woman whose only mistake was in marrying him.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“It had no bearing on the case.”
“I think I’d better be the one to determine that.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Clearly,” Day said, “there are a great many things going on at once, and it might be a good idea for the three of us to talk.”
“Agreed,” Blacker said.
They stood at Shaw’s bedside until he drew a last rattling breath and passed away. None of them made any move to try to resuscitate him, and when they left they did not inform the nurse that she had one less patient to care for.
70
I hardly know what to say.”
Colonel Sir Edward Bradford stared at Patrick Gilchrist’s empty desk as if it were a coffin. He didn’t look up at the assembled Murder Squad, but kept his eyes on the stark desktop. His voice, when he spoke again, was soft and low and thoughtful.
“You all know by now that we have lost another fine officer,” he said. “Many of you knew and worked with Constable Pringle. I did not get a chance to know him well. I regret that.”
He paused and no one interrupted him. The detectives found themselves looking down at Gilchrist’s desk as well, though none of them knew why.
“It would appear that someone is targeting the police. The morale of London has not been good for some time now. The police are out of favor. Now someone is killing you.” He took a deep breath. “I will not lose another policeman. You must be able to perform your duties without fear and without violence done to you. You are the hope of this city. I believe that.”
He cleared his throat and looked up. He regarded each of his men in turn before he began to talk again.
“Mr Day and Mr Blacker have been working together on this case and they remain unharmed, despite being most at risk. So I would like all of you to work in pairs for the foreseeable future. Not only is it safer for you men, but it’s possible that each of you brings a different perspective to the same situation. Perhaps it will help us to solve crimes more quickly. Speed is of the essence. And so is your safety. When you leave this building, unless you are going home, you will partner with someone else, another detective, a sergeant, a constable, I don’t care who. But there will be no exceptions. If you cannot find someone to accompany you, tell Sergeant Kett and he’ll find someone.”
He nodded and looked at Inspector Day. “Catch this villain, Mr Day. And do it today if you can.”
“Sir,” Day said. “I will.”
“There will be a service for Mr Pringle the day after tomorrow. Before that I expect to see you all at Inspector Little’s funeral tomorrow. Let these be the last two funerals I ever have to attend for my police. Mr Day, I would like to see you in my office now. Please bring the others involved in this with you. That includes Constable Hammersmith.”
He turned and went into his office and gently shut the door. The click of the latch echoed like a thunderclap through the silent squad room.
71
Sir Edward sat behind his desk, the tiger glaring down from its post on the wall above his head.
“Where is Mr Blacker?” Sir Edward said.
“He seemed to think you only wanted to speak to the two of us.”
“I asked for those of you involved in the investigation of Mr Little’s murder, and that includes Detective Blacker.”
Sir Edward pulled a cord that ran along the top edge of the wainscoting and out of the office through a small hole near the door. A moment later, the door opened and Sergeant Kett stuck his head in the room.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please find Mr Blacker.”
“Unless I’m mistaken, sir, I just saw Mr Blacker leavin’ by the back hall.”
“You are rarely mistaken, Sergeant. Do you think you can catch him?”
Kett smiled. “I’ll get ’im in here straightaway, sir.”
The door closed again. Sir Edward busied himself with the paperwork on his desk while Hammersmith and Day stood at awkward attention. Long minutes went by before they heard a knock at the office door. Sir Edward looked up from his papers.
“Yes?”
“Detective Blacker here, sir,” Blacker said. His voice was muffled by the closed door.
“Open the door, Mr Blacker. I’d like to be able to see you when you talk to me.”
The door cracked open and slowly swung on its hinges until there was enough room for Blacker to squeeze through. He moved sideways into the office as if he were being pulled along, a tired fish on a line. Sir Edward put on a patient face until Blacker had completely entered the room.
“I hope you move more swiftly in pursuit of your cases, Mr Blacker. Please close the door behind you and join your colleagues.”
Blacker did as ordered. He kept his eyes on the floor.
“Detective Blacker,” Sir Edward said, “do you know why I’m always right?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I never meant—”
“It’s because I have no left.”
Hammersmith averted his eyes from Sir Edward’s empty left sleeve. He looked at Day, but Day was staring at a spot near the ceiling, seemingly oblivious to what was happening. Hammersmith fixed his gaze upon the same spot.
“There was no disrespect intended, sir,” Blacker said.
“I still have both of my ears, Mr Blacker, and if you insist on circulating jokes about me, I will hear them.”
“Of course, sir.”
“So you knew that I would hear them?”
“I—I understand it now, sir.”
“You understand? So you must have imagined that the loss of my arm was a richly humorous affair for me.”
“No, sir.”
“You may relax, Mr Blacker. I do have a sense of humor, and it’s unlikely that you’ll invent a joke that I haven’t already heard.”
“Of course, sir.”
“In the future, if you insist on risking your career, at least come up with better jokes. Here’s what you’ll do: The next time you believe you’ve formulated a wonderful bon mot about me or about my missing arm, I want you to come to me immediately. You come straight here and tell it to me, and I’ll help you decide whether it’s funny enough or not. There’s no sense spreading a joke until you’ve refined it. We’ll work on these jokes together, you and I. Does that sound agreeable?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
“Of course you are. From all I’ve seen, you’re a good detective. Don’t let your personality get in the way of that.”
Blacker nodded at the floor.
“I hope you fully understand what I’m saying to you, Constable Blacker.”
Blacker looked up, his eyes wide, his mouth open. Sir Edward shook his head.
“What did I say? Did I call you Constable Blacker? My mistake, Inspector. Perhaps I was imagining a future conversation. I hope that conversation never happens.”
“It won’t, sir.”
“See that it doesn’t. Now, with that out of the way, let us discuss something more serious. How does the Little murder case progress?”
Hammersmith looked at Day, who was already looking at him. It was clear that neither wanted to be the first to speak. Hammersmith wasn’t easily embarrassed, but he felt some of Blacker’s humiliation and couldn’t figure out why Sir Edward had reprimanded Blacker in front of them. Surely Blacker would now feel uncomfortable around them, knowing what they had seen and heard. Of course, Blacker’s jokes abo
ut the one-armed police commissioner had been told behind Sir Edward’s back, in public. Perhaps Sir Edward had simply given shame for shame, making Blacker’s humiliation nearly as public as his own. He had spent years outside of England and away from the social norms that governed proper Victorian society. It was possible, Hammersmith thought, that the ways of Indian society were more direct.
“If none of you is willing to talk, I could select someone.”
Day cleared his throat and stepped forward.
“Sir, we do have some clues. You saw for yourself the demonstration of Dr Kingsley’s finger marks, and he discovered a great many of them on the trunks and the weapons that may have been used.”
“Yes. But that was yesterday and another police officer has been murdered since Dr Kingsley was in this office.” Sir Edward turned his attention from Day to Hammersmith. “I’ll be addressing the entire squad momentarily, but I wanted to talk to you three first. And especially you, Mr Hammersmith. I understand Colin Pringle was an especially close friend to you.”
“Yes, sir. We joined the force together.”
“If you need the day off…”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Keep your head in the game, then.”
“I will, sir.”
“Should I enquire about your appearance?”
Hammersmith looked down at his ensemble of dirt and sweat and blood and tattered fabric. He had fallen into bed the previous night and then rushed out upon hearing the news of Pringle’s death without taking the opportunity to change his uniform.
“Sir, I would prefer that you let me bathe and change my clothes first.”
“Very good. Now then, what of this Charles Shaw fellow? Was he involved somehow?”
“We don’t think so,” Day said.