Shadow of the Dolocher

by European P. Douglas

  "Yes, Sir."

  "Did he say anything to you?" The boy shook his head. "Did he give you a message for me?"

  "No Sir."

  "This paint, was it on his clothes?"

  "No sir, he had it on his face."

  "His face?" James wasn't expecting this answer.

  "It was all red."

  "Red?" What was this supposed to say to him James thought? Was it something to do with the blood of the victims, or perhaps a reference to the Devil? "Where did he give it to you?"

  "On the Quays."

  "And he told you where to go?"

  "He brought me to this street and pointed at the house."

  "When was this?" the Alderman was shocked that the killer could have been right outside his door only moments before.

  "Last night, he told me not to come until this morning." What relief there was left a sour taste in his mouth as he pictured this boy and the killer standing across the road and maybe even watching him as he came home.

  James went to the window and looked out in the hope that this man would be watching them now, waiting for a reaction to his letter. Though there were a few people about none of them seemed to look towards the house in any significant way.

  "How tall was the man?"

  "About the same as you sir."

  "Did you see his eye colour?"

  "No, it was dark."

  "What was his voice like?" When no answer came, James turned and looked at the boy, and he seemed not to understand the question. "Was he Irish?"

  "I think so, Sir."

  "What was he wearing?"

  "He was in a big cloak that covered all of his other clothes, and there was a hood on it. When he had the hood up, you couldn't even see his face."

  "Do you think he was a rich man?"

  "Oh yes, sir. He gave me this." The boy held out a large coin, and James looked at it. It was a large sum for a small job but not something a poor man couldn't rustle up if he wanted to impress someone or throw the Alderman off his scent.

  "Give my man here your name and address young man," and then to the Butler, "See that he gets something to eat and maybe something to bring home to his family."

  When he was alone, James sat down at his desk and looked over the envelope. He held it in different positions for different light to see if he could see anything on the paper but to no avail. He used a letter opener to carefully open the side, and then he eased out the paper with thumb and forefinger slowly. He looked inside the envelope, but there was nothing there this time, no object and no drawing.

  He moved his attention to the paper now. There were two sheets this time, folded one inside the other and in tryptych. He could see one of them was a sketch by the shading in the corner visible to him so he decided that he would look at this one second and see what the other had on it. As suspected, it was a letter.

  Dear Alderman, greetings once more. I can assume by now that you know that the wounds on the last body were made by an animal and not by human endeavour. I have enclosed with this a sketch of my new pet. I think he may escape soon as sometimes I forget to lock his cage.

  Don't be too concerned that I know where you live or that I have been outside of your house. If I wanted you dead Alderman, there have been any number of opportunities I could have taken.

  The next murder could happen anywhere. It will depend on the wind, the smell of human flesh as it wafts to the nose of the beast. It will be in the next few nights.

  Yours,

  The Dolocher

  James put the letter down and with trembling hands, he opened up the other sheet. On it was drawn a large shouldered grey wolf from the side profile, its face to the viewer and meat hanging from its jagged teeth. It had the effect of blood dripping to the ground. The eyes were malevolent and seemed to study James’ own eyes as he looked upon it.

  Before the cursed soul of Thomas Olocher was blamed for the murders there had been a theory that a wolf may have been responsible for the attacks and James wondered if this killer knew this? Or was this just another twist of the game he was playing to cause the havoc he so craved, havoc James was glad to say had not fully materialised as yet. He put this down to the murders being carried out away from where the bodies were found and the long gaps between them. People quickly forgot, letting their own little lives dominate. Though the Dolocher killings were a terrible shock to the people here, it made it easier for people to resort to murder; it was no longer something so reviled and feared in the way that it once was when it didn't happen so much.

  James couldn't dwell on this, he had to think of what was happening now. What should he do? Sending out a general alert about a wolf in the city could cause panic, but if he let the army and the parish watch know so they could keep an eye out for it, it would only be a matter of time before one of them let it spill, and everyone knew.

  That would surely spread panic, and the secrecy would be another reason for the panic. He looked over the sketch of the wolf one more time and sighed. The way to go this time was to let everyone know, let people have a chance to defend themselves until the army had tracked it down and killed it. But then, he thought, what if that is what he wants me to do, and there is no wolf? This was, of course, possible; this was all a game to this killer. James decided he couldn't afford to take the chance. This killer had some kind of animal under his command, something that could kill a man and tear off his flesh.

  He put the killer's words and drawing aside and crafted a letter to be sent to the barracks and he prepared to go around to the parish watch in the various areas and get them to spread the word officially.

  Chapter 48

  The news of the wolf spread faster than even the jaded Alderman could have ever imagined. The general response, however, was one of excitement and not of dread. Everywhere people talked in excited tones about the wolf who stalked the streets at night and had killed a man. Reports of sightings and near misses and daring escapes from the creature spread all over every shop and tavern and parlour room. No one seemed to be particularly afraid of running into the beast, and people came out at night without giving it a second thought. Children ran to parents with stories of the wolf walking past the top of the lane or chasing them home.

  The parish watch and the soldiers who were keeping an eye out for it seemed to be the only ones who never saw it. A pig was killed one night, and the squeal could be heard for miles around. Closer to the scene people spoke of the sound of the wolf as it growled and bellowed at the pig. No one was brave enough to go see the scene until morning when the pig was found with a large chunk from its flank missing and claw and bite marks on its hind legs and rump. The stories of this spread and for whatever reason this was what started to let fear seep into the collective consciousness of the people.

  This fear gripped fast and refused to let go. People began to question the efficiency of the army and the parish watch. They demanded that the streets be made safe. The taverns filled with talk of hunting the wolf down, like they had with the pigs a few years before. And this was where the route of the fear lay; it had been the slaying of the pig and the blood and gore that this produced that was seared into the thought processes of all the people of the Liberties as being associated with the time of the Dolocher. The change was sudden as sudden as the change in weather that brought the winter crashing down with a force that November of 1791.

  Snow blanketed the earth, and this was yet another omen, a reminder of the night of the slaying of the pigs, when the blood splashed all over the city and yet not a drop remained the following morning when all was white and covered and pristine. To many, it suddenly felt as if history was repeating itself and this was more than most could bear.

  Chapter 49

  Edwards sat in Thomas Tavern on Ward Hill and looked over the collected clientele of the place. He had been here only a few times in his life and had never liked it much. The customers were local and boorish and drank themselves into oblivion on slops most nights of the week. He saw the boy w
ho carried drinks to and fro and beckoned him over.

  "Yes Sir?" the boy asked.

  "Get me the finest brandy you have, from the tavern keepers own cabinet," he said.

  "Yes Sir, I'll ask,"

  "Before you go, did you tell your colleague what I said?"

  "Yes Sir, he didn't like it one bit, just like you said," the boy smiled at him as a child who has been up to mischief.

  "Is he here tonight?"

  "No Sir, but he will be."

  "Soon?"

  "Yes."

  "Get my drink," Edwards ended the conversation, and the boy went off to fetch his brandy.

  It wasn't long after that Edwards saw Mary Sommers' boyfriend walk in through the side door and go in behind the bar before disappearing down into the cellar. Edwards got up and went to the bar.

  "You don't mind if I go down and talk to your boy, do you?" he said to the barman.

  "John?"

  "Yes, thank you," Edwards said, and he came behind the bar without getting permission. The barman didn't know what to do so he just let the gentleman pass, and he looked on as Edwards went down the stairs to the cellar.

  When he got down, Edwards could hear the grunting of the lad and the wooden shuffling of a barrel being tilted and rolled on its rim. The boy stopped when he saw Edwards.

  "Hello John," Edwards said with a friendly tone.

  "Hello," John said, wary and trying to place Edwards.

  "You're seeing Mary Sommers," Edwards stated, and John nodded, eyeing Edwards more suspiciously now.

  "Are you the painter?" John asked.

  "No, but I've come here to warn you about him."

  "Warn me?"

  "If I were you, I wouldn't let Mary go to his house for these painting sessions," Edwards said with an affected concerned voice.

  "And why is that?" John's tone was defiant, and Edwards smiled, happy to put this little runt in his place.

  "He boasts of sleeping with every woman who has ever sat for him," he smirked.

  "Mary wouldn't do that!"

  "What choice would she have if he really desired it?" This shut him up, and Edwards was filled with glee at the anger he could see he was rousing in the boy. "I want you to come with me."

  "Where?"

  "I want to show you something, something I think you will want to see."

  "I can't go anywhere, I'm working now."

  "I'll sort that out with the barman," Edwards waved his protestations away. "Besides, you'll only be gone a very short time. It's only a few streets away."

  "What is it you want me to see?" he seemed very unsure, and his eyes flicked to the stairs back up to the bar.

  "I think it will be better if you see first and then I tell you what you are seeing," Edwards smiled and then before John could say anything more, "Come on, it wont take long," and Edwards turned and went back up the stairs.

  "John will be coming with me for a short time," Edward said throwing down a note on the bar, "This will no doubt cover his absence." And then he walked outside.

  A few moments later John came sheepishly out, and without a word, Edwards began to walk waving for John to follow him. John hurried after and soon caught up.

  "Did you know that Mary used to work in the same place you do now?" Edwards asked.

  "Yes, she told me that when I told her I worked there." They walked on across New Market and down Fordam Alley and then on to Ash Street.

  Edwards stopped abruptly at a junction on this road, and he looked at John who also stopped.

  "Do you know where Mary was attacked?"

  "No, I've never asked her about that, and she hasn't said anything." Edwards walked a little into the road and said,

  "This is the exact spot!" John looked around, and he seemed to go pale, he walked out to where Edwards was, and he looked up the alleyway on either side and saw how quiet a place this was.

  "Are you sure?" he asked.

  "Of course, I was investigating the case with the Alderman, I have been to all the sites of the Dolocher attacks and this new killer too," Edwards boasted. "Anyway, enough with this; this is not what I wanted to show you, I just thought I'd point it out seeing as we were here." Edwards went on and walked down Garden Lane towards Francis Street. John followed, but he kept looking back to where Mary had been attacked as though he expected to see it happening any second.

  Edwards cut through a back yard and into the back of the Hellfire Club house on Francis Street, and John followed without question. Edwards knew he had the boy on edge now; that he would be afraid of his own shadow and wouldn't want to be left alone.

  They came into the house, and Edwards lit some candles.

  "Wait here," he said, and he went into the room he had set up earlier and lit all the candles in this room. By the time he was finished, it looked like the middle of a bright summer’s day in the square furniture-less room. He went to the door and beckoned John to come in.

  John came into the room, and immediately his jaw dropped, and he looked out over the many paintings that adorned the walls, all lit up and garish. Naked flesh and hands roving over it covered the walls, men kissed women's bare necks and in others, women lay draped over couches or beds, everything in the vivid colours of life. Edwards watched John’s face redden in embarrassment and waited for the moment when it would change to anger. He knew that all of this would have a terrific effect on a young man and would almost blind him to anything else at that first moment of seeing.

  John’s eyes dropped to the floor when he finally came back to himself, his Christian shame rising to the fore.

  "Why did you bring me here?" he asked angrily, and Edwards laughed at this reaction.

  "You know why, young man, what do you think you are looking at?"

  "All of them?" John asked with an incredulous look on his face.

  "Every last one, and every last one a real woman who if I had the time I could show you all," Edwards peered greedily at John's face as the shock wore away and the anger began to seethe. "There will be one of Mary in this very room soon if you don't put a stop to it."

  John ran from the room without saying a word, and Edwards laughed loudly as he did, hoping that John would hear it and the echo of the laugh would follow him out into the night and all the way back to work.

  He wondered what route the boy would take to stop Mary. It was unlikely that he'd go to Spencer and have it out with him, it was much more probable that he would go and order Mary to stop. He would have to wait and see, and this was often Edwards’s favourite part of any endeavour he undertook. It was at these moments of devilish wickedness that he felt most alive. Now all he had to do was wait and watch the pieces fall from this latest move. Then all that wold soon be left would be for him to go to the killer and let him know he was found out. Edwards could already see his surprised face, and he laughed at the image it brought to mind.

  Chapter 50

  Kate and Sarah chatted and warmed their hands with cups of tea; their bodies wrapped in blankets as they huddled close to the fire. Mary came in unexpectedly.

  "What has you home so early?" Sarah said, a look of concern on her face.

  "He didn't come," Mary said, her voice was sad to the point of breaking, but she held off from crying.

  "Oh dear!" Kate said standing up and going over to her to take her into a hug. This is what put Mary over the edge, and she began to sob.

  "Come over to the fire, Mary, you must be chilled to the bone," Sarah said getting up and offering her warm place. Kate guided Mary over, and she slumped down.

  "He must have been held up somewhere," Kate offered, as a reason for John's not showing up.

  "He's gone off me, I know it!" Mary said, her voice higher than normal in her sorrow.

  "No, no," Sarah said. "Did you have a fight the last time you saw him?" Sarah said. Mary nodded.

  "You did?" Kate said, her tone of surprise unmasked. Mary would always tell them what was going on with her; if she had a fight with John, it was unusual that she
wouldn't have at least told Sarah about it when it happened. Kate exchanged a glance with Sarah and knew by her face that she didn't know about this either.

  "What was it about dear?" Sarah asked, handing Mary a hot cup. She took it with trembling hands and sipped at the hot liquid.

  "He didn't want me to go to the Colonel's house for the painting anymore."

  "Did you tell him that it was a proper painting, nothing scandalous?" Kate asked

  "I told him it was nothing," Mary said. "The first time he brought it up he seemed fine when I told him. But I think someone where he works has been putting ideas in his head, and he got upset and said that if I continued going there, he would have nothing more to do with me." She spoke in stuttered sentences between sobs and the two women waited patiently for her to finish,

  "And how did he leave you last time?" Sarah asked.

  "I told him that I'd stop going and we left on good terms."

  "Maybe he found out that you haven't stopped going?" Kate surmised.

  "Who would tell him?" Mary asked.

  "Probably the same person who's filling his head with ideas about the painting in the first place," Sarah said.

  "Do you know who it is?" Kate asked.

  "I think he said it was another young lad who worked with him."

  They were all quiet for a moment. Kate wondered if there was any way they could find out who was talking to John and to get them to shut up. Her thoughts went to Tim and perhaps asking him to pay a visit to the tavern, but she knew she couldn't do this, perhaps earlier in their relationship but not now, after he had spent time in the prison all this would seem so frivolous to him. The shame of what she had done with Edwards to secure Tim's release swarmed her senses, and she felt nauseous for a moment.

  "I'm sure it will be fine Mary, he'll come to you at the market tomorrow, or on the street and tell you why he hadn't been able to make it," Kate said with forced joviality as she hugged Mary in tight to her. Mary looked at her and nodded bravely, holding back the last tears that were trying to fall from her fire reflecting eyes.