by Emily Organ
“What happened when Mr Mawson arrived?” I asked.
“The young man suggested they walk for a short while outside because there was something he wished to speak to Mawson about.”
“Do you think Mr Mawson knew the man?”
“He didn’t seem to from what I could glean.”
“Chief Inspector Cullen tells me the man left a card with you, but he suspects that it bears a false name.”
“That’s correct. The card contains the name Edward Brown and there’s an address on it, too. I’ve no doubt police officers are visiting the address as we speak, but it may be false. A murderer is hardly likely to leave his personal details at the scene of a crime, is he?”
“Did you hear any of the conversation between the two men?”
“None whatsoever. My impression is that it was a professional conversation rather than a personal one. A short while after they walked through that door over there I heard a cry from outside. Usually it’s quite peaceful here, so I was quick to step outside and that’s when I saw the attacker landing the last of his blows and running away. Poor Mr Mawson was lying on the ground, and initially I thought he had been struck by the man’s fist. As I got closer I saw the blood and realised a weapon must have been used. Mr Mawson was still conscious at that time and I was torn between tending to him and chasing after the culprit.
“I called out for help and as soon as my colleague Mr Haynes joined me I ran out onto Charles Street. There was no sign of the man by then. He may have turned right and run into St James’s Park or left and out onto Whitehall. Either way would have been a decent escape route, and I regret that I was unable to catch him. I ran into the park first, surmising at the time that he would choose that path as it would offer him more places to hide. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him. He had either successfully hidden or made his getaway.
“I summoned the park keeper at his lodge on Birdcage Walk and he helped search for the man in the park, entreating a few other men to do the same. We summoned officers down at King Street police station as well as several inspectors at Scotland Yard. To think that this terrible attack took place only a short distance from the Yard! And there’s a police station just over the road!”
The mention of the Yard reminded me of James. I still hadn’t been able to ascertain where he was.
“Thank you, Mr Finch,” I said, “you’ve been most helpful. Please accept my condolences on the sad death of your colleague.”
“Thank you, Miss Green. I’ve worked here for twelve years and never have I encountered anything like this. It’s truly dreadful.”
I returned to the quadrant, where Mr Mawson’s body had been placed into a removal shell and was being loaded into a carriage to be taken away to the mortuary. I approached Chief Inspector Cullen, who was overseeing the proceedings.
“This is something to do with the murder of the Forsters, isn’t it?” I said. “And the murder of Mr Holland. James and I spoke to Mr Mawson just yesterday, and he admitted to knowing Mr Holland. In fact, I had wondered whether he was the murderer himself. Then Alfred Holland’s diaries were stolen last night and I was convinced Mr Mawson was behind that as well. Perhaps he was.”
Chief Inspector Cullen scowled. “Your mind runs along at a great pace, Miss Green. I can’t really keep track of what you’re saying.”
“But don’t you see how all of this links together?”
“I believe so, but I’ll need to have a proper read of the case file to understand the ins and outs of it all.”
“The burglary at the home of Alfred Holland’s sister Emma needs to be properly investigated,” I said. “It sounds as though the police at Holborn aren’t taking it seriously because they don’t understand the wider implications. The man or men who burgled her home must be linked to those who murdered her brother. Otherwise, why would they steal his diaries? Barely anyone knew she was in possession of them, so that will narrow down the suspects considerably.”
“You’ve lost me once again, Miss Green. I shall have to return to the Yard and read everything through before reaching any conclusions.”
“But it’s important to move quickly! Who knows when these men will strike again, Chief Inspector? I thought a number of them were already in custody as James was due to speak to them at Marylebone Lane station yesterday. Yet there has been a burglary and a murder since then! So who is behind this, and why?”
“It’s a complicated case, Miss Green,” the senior officer said, refusing to comment further as he lit his pipe.
We watched as the carriage left the quadrant and some members of staff from the India Office came out with buckets and mops to clean the ground.
“Where’s James?” I asked. “He should be here.”
“I don’t know. He’s clearly been detained with another aspect of the case. It’s quite frustrating, really, as we could have done with having him here.”
“Have you seen him at all today?”
“No.”
“It’s important that he’s told what has happened as soon as possible. As I’ve said, we met with Mr Mawson only yesterday and this turn of events changes everything. He must also be informed of the burglary.”
“I shall update him as soon as he returns to the Yard.”
As Chief Inspector Cullen puffed on his pipe again his lack of urgency concerned me. Beyond the walls of the government offices and the police cordon hundreds of people were clamouring for news of the murder. It was my job to return to the Morning Express offices and write the story for tomorrow’s edition, but instead I was detained here, trying to compel the man to act. It seemed an odd situation to find myself in. Did he really plan to update James when he returned? I felt sure he would, but his lackadaisical manner was cause for concern.
“You will tell James everything when he returns later, won’t you?” I asked. “I should be happy to do so myself. If I only knew where he was I’d go and find him this very instant.”
“Haven’t you a news article to write, Miss Green?”
“Yes, I have.”
“If I were you I’d go and get on with that.”
Chapter 46
The thick-set form of Inspector Bowles strode into the wood-panelled waiting room at Marylebone Lane police station.
“Hello again, Miss Green.”
I asked him about the gang and his left eye drifted over my shoulder as he told me he was confident all of its members had been arrested and would be up at Marylebone Police Court the following day.
“Did Inspector Blakely meet with them yesterday?” I asked.
“Yes, he assisted me with some of the interviews.”
“And today?”
“No, not today.”
“Have you seen him today?”
“I haven’t, no.”
I felt a cold sensation grip my heart. Something wasn’t right.
“I’ve been trying to make contact with Inspector Blakely all day and have been unable to find him,” I said shakily. “I assumed he was here with you.”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon.”
“Did he tell you what his plans were once you had concluded the interviews?”
“Not in any great detail. He explained to me about the chap who knew the Forsters and the unfortunate individual who was shot inside the opium den.”
“Did you realise that first chap was murdered today?”
“Was he indeed? I heard there had been a murder in Whitehall but I wasn’t aware of the fellow’s identity. Goodness! That’s rather perturbing.”
“I don’t know whether Inspector Blakely knows about it yet. He seems to have completely vanished.”
“He explained something to me about diaries. They belonged to the opium den fellow, is that right?”
“Yes, and they’ve been stolen, but I’m not sure Inspector Blakely knows about that yet either. So much has happened and he’s the only one who can pull all these strands together, but he’s nowhere to be found! I’m beginning to worry.�
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“I’m sure there’s no need, Miss Green.”
“But he received a threat! Did he not mention that to you?”
“No, he didn’t, but a threat isn’t unusual in our line of work.”
“This one was… Perhaps he’ll tell you more about it himself. These men you’ve arrested were hired by someone to burgle the Forsters’ home and then kill them, weren’t they?”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Who could it be?”
“They haven’t been forthcoming, but we’ll get it out of them before long.”
“For a short while I wondered whether it could have been Mr Mawson, but now that he’s been murdered I’m beginning to doubt it.”
“Perhaps it was and someone has exacted their revenge on him. We’ll get to the bottom of it, just you wait.”
“I hope so, but it’s difficult to see how at the moment. Your division is working on the murder of Mrs Forster, C Division is investigating Mr Forster’s murder, K Division is looking after the Holland investigation and A Division is now involved in the murder of Mr Mawson. Not to mention E Division, which is looking into the theft of Alfred Holland’s diaries. It’s becoming incredibly complicated!”
“You’re right when you say that we need Inspector Blakely to pull it all together.”
“And he’s nowhere to be found! These men you’re holding, do they have accomplices who may still be at large?”
“It’s highly likely they do, Miss Green.”
I shuddered. “Where are they from?”
“From?”
“Where do they live? Gangs usually have a territory.”
“I don’t believe it’s that sort of gang, Miss Green. This is simply a band of miscreants which commits burglaries and possibly far worse atrocities. Its members are not precious about territory.”
“But you must have taken down their names and addresses.”
“I have done, yes, and most of them are from the East End.”
“Specifically?”
“Spitalfields, mainly, and a few from Whitechapel.”
“Is that where you found them?”
“Whitechapel’s H Division found them there. They have been known to the police for some time. A description of the gang had been circulated to all divisions; I believe Inspector Blakely did that. H Division picked them up in and around Commercial Street.”
“Could they have sent a message to their accomplices after you had arrested them?”
“I would highly doubt it.”
“Who has visited them?”
“Their lawyers and a few family members.”
“They could have passed messages on to their accomplices using any of those people! Suppose they ordered someone to hunt down Inspector Blakely yesterday?”
“I consider it extremely unlikely.”
“Extremely unlikely, but not impossible.”
“It wouldn’t happen.”
“But it’s not impossible, is it?”
“I suppose it isn’t impossible, no.”
“So there’s a chance that a member of this gang you’ve arrested could have sent a message to an accomplice to take care of Inspector Blakely?”
“I’ve never known it happen before.”
“But it could have, couldn’t it?”
“Please stop worrying, Miss Green, I’m sure Inspector Blakely is absolutely fine.”
I left the police station and walked along Oxford Street toward Regent Circus in a despondent mood. Should I visit James’ home and check in on him? I desperately wanted to but feared another frosty reception from Charlotte and her mother.
Perhaps the reason for his absence was a personal one, I mused, feeling a brief glimmer of hope that the wedding had been called off and James had been facing the aftermath of that decision. Then I felt concerned that perhaps something had happened to a friend or relative and taken him away from London. I felt sure that James’ absence had to be personal, and that he would contact me as soon as he was able to. I took comfort from the fact that his colleagues didn’t seem a bit concerned about him.
I hailed an omnibus and began my journey home, reassuring myself that James couldn’t have possibly come to any harm. My mind returned to the puzzle of Mawson’s death. Who had wanted him dead, and why? Had he taken Alfred Holland’s diaries or had someone else done so?
“You have a visitor, Miss Green,” Mrs Garnett said as soon as I stepped in through the front door. “She’s been here a while and is waiting for you in the parlour.”
“Miss Holland?” I asked as we walked toward the back of the house. “Has something else happened?”
“No. Who’s she? What’s happened?”
“Forget that I mentioned her. Who is this visitor?”
“A lady by the name of Miss Jenkins.”
The name initially meant nothing to me. As we stepped through the door of the parlour I desperately tried to think of a connection between her and the Forsters, or with Alfred Holland.
A fair-haired woman with a wide, apple-cheeked face gave me a muted greeting as I entered the room.
It was James’ fiancée, Charlotte.
Chapter 47
Charlotte and I held each other’s gaze, the same question resting on our lips.
“Have you —?”
“No, have you?”
“No.”
“He’s been missing since yesterday evening!” cried Charlotte. “I just know that something terrible has happened to him!” She clutched a damp handkerchief in one hand.
I sat down at the table across from her. “I’m worried too, but there must be an explanation. I’ve been looking for him today, and if it’s any consolation his colleagues aren’t particularly concerned. They all seem to think he’s busy working on the case somewhere.”
“But he always gets in touch!”
“You’re right, he does. I was due to meet him this morning to visit the sister of one of the murder victims but heard nothing from him. I’m sure he’s all right, though.”
“How do you know that?”
“I wish to remain hopeful.” I thought of the severed finger and realised how unconvincing my words sounded.
“So what do we do?” asked Charlotte. “I’ve called at the police station closest to his home, but I’m not sure what they’ll do. James is the police!”
“I’m sure there must be something we can do.” I had no idea what, and found myself wondering why I was attempting to reassure Charlotte when I was just as worried about James myself.
“How does an officer of the law simply vanish?” asked Mrs Garnett. “Perhaps he has been kidnapped.”
Charlotte’s face crumpled.
“We don’t know, Mrs Garnett,” I said, “and we need to be careful about idle speculation. There’s no use in frightening ourselves with unlikely possibilities.”
“But she might be right!” said Charlotte.
“And she might be wrong,” I replied. “When did you last see James?”
“The day before yesterday. He was supposed to take the train down to Croydon yesterday evening to discuss our meeting with the vicar of St John the Baptist church, as we’re meeting him this Saturday. It’s only five weeks until our wedding!”
“Yes, I know. But he didn’t come down to Croydon?”
“No, he didn’t turn up! I assumed his work had detained him, but he always sends a telegram when that happens and we received nothing. I sent him one this morning and I must confess that it was rather a scolding note, which I bitterly regret because it now appears as though something has happened to him. I didn’t realise, you see. I thought he had forgotten all about our arrangement, but he never forgets things like that as a general rule.”
“Something has detained him, there’s no doubt about that,” I said. “But let’s not assume that it’s anything awful. Where have you looked for him today?”
“I called at his home and there was no answer. I spoke to his neighbours and they hadn’t seen him all day. I called at
the police station in St John’s Wood and then at Scotland Yard, but there wasn’t really anyone at the Yard to speak to. They were all involved with a murder that had happened close by, apparently.”
“That’s right, it was Charles Mawson. I managed to get to the murder scene, but James wasn’t there. I asked Chief Inspector Cullen if he had seen him but he hadn’t.”
“I’ve sent telegrams to all his family and friends,” said Charlotte, “and no one has heard anything from him.”
I felt a sickening turn in my stomach once again.
“And then I thought I’d come and see you,” continued Charlotte. “James had told me you lived in Milton Street, so I knocked on a good number of doors before I found you. I had hoped you would know something, but I see that you’re also worried about him and now I’m exceptionally concerned. Where is he? How can he have simply disappeared?”
“There must be an explanation,” I said, aware that I was stating the obvious. “And we will find him.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know yet, Miss Jenkins.”
“Don’t worry about formality at a time like this. Call me Charlotte.”
My mind turned over and over. I couldn’t think where to begin looking for James.
“Where do his parents live?” I asked.
“Wembley. They replied to my telegram saying they hadn’t heard from him, and now they’re also concerned about his whereabouts. I didn’t want to trouble them because I knew they would worry.”
“And you went to the police station?”
“Yes, the one on New Street near James’ home. They told me they’d look out for him, but we need more than that, don’t we? We need someone to search for him. What if he’s in the river?”
My stomach turned once more. “No, he couldn’t be. It’s impossible.”
“He could have fallen in, or perhaps someone pushed him! It would take days to find him if so. Perhaps he’ll be washed up at Wapping or Rotherhithe. He told me that’s where many of them end up, at the bend in the river.”