“Listen.” William closed his eyes to focus all his attention on the sounds emanating from the distant shadows. Hidden within the darkness a noise sounded. It resembled the sound of a heavy sack being dragged across the floor. William opened his eyes and moved forward with more determination. They needed to quicken the pace, but still remain as silent as possible, not an easy task with the fragments scattering the disused factory floor. Apart from the numerous items of debris, there were various machines resembling medieval torture apparatus standing ready to snatch at an ill-placed limb. With the lack of light, it was perhaps only a matter of time before a collision took place. William heard a slight thump and then Jack whisper a plethora of swear words. William pressed on, adding his own curses to the overwhelming darkness.
Twenty paces further, two figures could be seen dragging a third, emerging into a patch of lamp light. William stopped in his tracks. The body being dragged, which had been the source of the noise as it had been dragged along, gave a shake of its head. Then, William realised its eyes were open and he recognised it to be Simms. The forlorn figure’s desperation was etched into his sorrowful stare. William wanted to tell the prisoner not to make a sound, but before he could give the man a warning, he let out a plea.
“Help me please,” he beseeched.
The two men who held Tobias Simms stopped, turned, and then stared at William and his comrades. For just a moment the world stopped; no clock sounded the tick of passing time. Even the lamplight held the flicker of its flame in perfect stillness. Then high in the rafters a bird flapped its wings. Time accelerated, and the insular world of the factory descended headlong into chaos.
One of the men drew a curved blade. William stepped forward and called out for him to stop, but was powerless to prevent the blade seeking out flesh. Tobias Simms groaned as the knife entered his side, then his body lost its rigidity.
“Bastard!” screamed William and then charged forward. The two men dropped their victim to the floor and fled. “Gossup, stay with Simms. Come on Jack - by God they aren’t going to get away.”
The killers mounted a flight of stairs with William and Jack in close pursuit. Taking two steps at a time soon made William’s old thigh wound yell its discomfort. Just above him the two men were now racing along a long but narrow gangway. It stretched towards the far wall before making a sharp right turn. However, at the point it came closest to the perimeter wall of the factory a huge grime covered window allowed limited moonlight to dance across the gangway. The first of the killers skidded around the corner almost losing his footing and any chance of escape. The hand rail came to his salvation. A moment later, he was once again racing at full speed across the narrow gangway. The second would-be assassin made no attempt to stay on the gangway, in one movement, he leapt through the window using the hand rail as extra leverage to propel him forward. Wood splintered and glass shattered as the figure smashed through the feeble barrier. William watched as the figure disappeared from view.
“He’s mine,” Jack called out. William nodded although he knew that Jack was unlikely to see the gesture. However, he could not wait to ensure understanding as he skidded around the sharp right turn and then headed off in pursuit of his quarry.
Jack came to an abrupt stop at the rail in front of the window. He kicked out, knocking a number of jagged pieces of glass into the street below. He then clambered over the gangway rail and carefully lowered himself into the street below. It was virtually empty. In the distance, a figure was running. Jack could tell by the way it favoured its right leg that his prey had sustained an injury as it leapt recklessly through the window. Jack burst into a run; he had an opportunity to bring the man to justice, and he wasn’t going to let him get away if he could help it.
∞∞∞
Within the factory, William could hear the footsteps of the man he pursued. Every now and then, he would catch a glimpse of the man as the flickering lamplight outlined his frame. William estimated they had travelled half the length of the factory, when the sound of the echoing footsteps changed in tone. The killer was obviously descending another stairwell. William tried to increase his speed but felt a burning pain in his thigh. He knew if he allowed his prey to reach the open streets of the city then a successful capture was remote. William reached the stairwell and didn’t hesitate as he descended. He cleared the steps and continued towards the front of the factory. Suddenly, he became aware that he could only hear one set of footsteps, his own. Either the killer had decided to rest, or lay in wait for his pursuer. William slowed to a cautious walk. He reached inside the breast of his jacket. As he was about to grasp the comforting pepperbox pistol, he sensed movement to his side. He threw himself instinctively to one side just as a figure rushed from the darkness. William felt a tug at his clothing; it was as if the point of a knife had snagged on his jacket’s fabric. He spun around, his pistol freed from its constraints. The killer, however, once more slipped into the shadows.
William cursed; he hated this kind of battle. He would prefer a multitude of enemy, as long as they were in front of him, and within plain sight. He continued on his anxious journey, weaving his way through the factory machinery. Twenty paces away one of the lamps picked out the image of three large crates. One crate rested on top the other two, its weight distributed equally amongst its supporting containers. William decided that, with his back to the crates, he would afford himself a little protection and a moment’s rest.
Taking a moment to check the pepperbox was actually loaded, he could see his hands were shaking. The pistol, of course, was loaded, as he knew it would be, but danger often made the mind second guess certainties. He searched the darkness for any movement and listened intently for a misplaced step.
William was suddenly aware of how loud his breathing was in comparison to the deadly silence of the factory. He took a deeper breath and then prevented the exhale, listening. The briefest confusion was replaced by a realisation that he was not the only one breathing hard. William dived forward, hoping to catch the killer unaware. He turned in mid-air and at the same time brought the deadly pepperbox to bear. He heard the growl of the killer and saw a dark figure hurtling down toward him from the top of the crates. The pepperbox belched its fury; as all four barrels exploded in fire and smoke. Blinded by the glare of his weapon, William knew he could not fight his attacker. The weight of the attacker crashed into him sending him sprawling to the floor, the killer’s heavy frame landed on top of him. William felt panic as he prepared to fight an enemy he could not see but soon noticed that his foe was unmoving.
William, struggled, but managed to heave the body from him and as he did so, he cried out in pain. “Shite!” For the first, time felt a searing pain in his shoulder. The killer had obviously struck out as he dived. As William tried to move, he heard the rattle of a blade as it clanked on the solid factory floor. He made to stand, but the pain was immense, and he decided to remain still. He suddenly felt exhausted. Damn, but I am too old for this, he thought. The chase had highlighted that his body had suffered too much in recent years. Firearms, fists, and blades had all left their mark on both body and mind.
He remained still for at least ten minutes before a flickering light shone in the distance, and then crept closer.
“William,” a voice cried out.
“Over here, Goss.” In response to William’s reply, the lamplight danced with more vigour as it drew closer.
“Are you injured?” The concerned face of Gossup swam into view.
“Nothing to be concerned about - how is Tobias Simms?”
“Dead. I tried to stop the bleeding, but they stuck him good. I expect as he sits in the next world regretting the merry dance, he led us on.”
“And Jack?”
“Haven’t seen him.” Gossup raised the lamp to observe the killer. “Bloody hell, remind me never to step in front of that pepperbox. I doubt we will learn his identity.”
For the first-time, William turned to look at the man he had pursued. Pulp,
sinew, and broken skull replaced where his face had once been. “I think I would like to move now.”
∞∞∞
Jack had thrown caution to the wind. He knew the assassin would be armed with a blade, but he also was aware of his injury. Jack would back his talent with his fist against any injured opponent. The distance between the two men had decreased by half. As Jack turned on to Blackfriars Bridge, he was certain he would catch the man before he reached the far side. Then, quite abruptly, the man stopped. With his back to the bridge’s barrier, he turned to look at Jack. The killer looked in both directions as if deciding which direction to run. Jack slowed his progress wondering what the killer had in mind. Then the reason became apparent, as two constables came into view. Jack smiled. The man he hunted was trapped. The constables may have been unaware of what had happened, but all he had to do was raise his voice. However, Jack’s smile ended as the killer climbed the stone barrier and leapt into the murky depths of the Thames.
Jack burst into a sprint. He glanced over the side of the bridge and was only partly aware that the constables had also raced toward the scene. Each of them grasped Jack by an arm.
“What the hell? Get off.”
“He looked like he was trying to get away from you. Owe you tin, did he?”
“He’s a bloody killer. I work with William Harkness.” Jack struggled. He was desperate to search the waters of the Thames.
“Never heard of him,” one of the constables replied.
“Frederick Abberline – I work with Frederick Abberline. The man who went over the side just committed murder at Simms Linen factory, and I was trying to prevent his escape.” The arms which had held him tight seemed to relax, and Jack broke free. Once again, he looked to the dark waters of the Thames. The killer was unlikely to survive the fall. Jack turned and without attempting to hide his annoyance, said, “You fellows need to accompany me to meet Mr Harkness. You may be of some use after all.”
Chapter 20
William decided to return to Slaughter Yard. It was difficult to see their mission as anything other than a complete failure. The constables were left to secure the factory, send word to Tobias Simms’ family, and arrange for the body to be collected by Dr Fitzgerald. William was in no mood to face the scalpel-like tongue that she so often used with great skill to dissect his attempts at catching the Ripper. They decided to walk the relatively short distance back to the Yard. William needed to understand what had transpired that night. His body ached, and the cut to his shoulder needed attention, but his roots were in the British infantry and walking helped clear the mist from his mind.
“Did Simms say anything, Goss?”
“Mostly, he mumbled about his family… he knew he was dying. Just before the end he did repeat the name ‘Smith’ three or four times.”
“Smith?” William was remembering the powerfully built reporter who dressed like a dandy. The newspaper man had dogged William’s footsteps. He had appeared at a murder, his home, and as he walked the street. William took an instant dislike to the man’s arrogance. He could not help feeling a little excited about the prospect of asking the reporter a few pressing questions.
“You think it’s that newspaper man. There are a lot of people called Smith, William,” Jack pointed out. “Perhaps it is not even a person, but a trade. Hell, William it could be his pet dog.”
“You could be right Jack. I try not to second guess anything regarding this city. However, I must admit, my guts tell me the prancing peacock is involved. I do not know how, but he is involved in this mess up to his bloody neck. We need to find him and persuade him to talk.”
“I’ve seen you determined to get answers in the Afghan,” Gossup interrupted. “I almost pity the poor bastard.” He crossed himself to add weight to his words.
“That is something I would like to see,” Jack added, a devilish-like smile on his face.
“Oh, I am like a fumbling infant compared to the skill your brother possessed, Jack. The man could have gotten the angels to admit to carrying out the devil’s work.”
“Really?” Jack looked amazed. “I could not imagine that the brother I knew being anything more than a blunt instrument. I remember a man who was both honest and hardworking, but in truth, he was also a little dull.”
“Do you remember Faqir?” Gossup asked and then let out a great belly laugh. William joined in the laughter. Jack could not help smiling at his friends’ obvious amusement.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You tell him, William.”
William began to speak, trying his best to keep the sniggering at bay. “Six months before the battle of Maiwand our regiment was stationed just outside a small Afghan village called Mamud. Our armoury was raided, and a couple of the guards were injured. Around sixty rifles were stolen, but we did manage to capture two of the raiders in the attack. It did not take much persuasion for them to give up their leader, a man named Faqir. Usually, we would have just kicked in his door and used certain methods to ensure the rifles were returned. Faqir, however, posed us with a problem. He was the son of an influential chieftain and one of the few that supported our forces. I took your brother along with me to call on the chieftain. Understandably, he was horrified at his son’s actions but not surprised. Faqir had been a thorn in his father’s side for some time. The chieftain wanted to help us retrieve the weapons, but did not want his son harmed. Your brother suggested that there was another way, without the use of violence, but it would need the chieftain’s cooperation.
So that night we staged a raid. Faqir was dragged from his bed half asleep and naked. As we escorted him from the family home we made sure he saw the household’s guards slumped on the floor; their throats cut from ear to ear.” Seeing Jack’s shock, William felt the need to explain. “It was all a ruse, men loyal to the chieftain and a little sheep’s blood. It would not have passed close inspection, but to a man half asleep and terrified, it worked like a charm. Anyway, we get Faqir back to our compound and tie his arms to a beam above his head. I asked him where the weapons had been hidden and to his credit, he was not so easily scared. After he had run out of the many creative insults he shouted at me, I simply smiled, and called for the butcher.
In walks your brother dressed in an orderly's white coat, which we had adorned with a little extra blood. Your brother did not even look at the prisoner, he simply moved a chair so that he was positioned just a few inches from Faqir’s cock. He slowly reached up and pulled a knife from one pocket and a six-inch part of a branch from another pocket. Then as calm as you like, again without looking at the prisoner, he says ‘I will ask five questions; there will not be a sixth. He holds the branch up next to Faqir’s cock, and simply says, where are the weapons? Faqir a little less assured still shouted abuse. Your brother takes his knife and peels a slither from the branch. He asked the same question and received the same reply. The questions continued, and the answers became less abusive and poor Faqir was sweating more and more as each slither dropped to the floor. Your brother is about to ask the fifth question when he places the branch onto the floor and actually grabs Faqir’s cock. He places the knife at the base and asks where the rifles were being hidden.”
“Good God.” Jack couldn’t believe his brother could do something so devious.
“The rifles were recovered before the night was at an end,” William laughed.
“And Faqir?”
“He was a lot less trouble for his father. More importantly, the stolen rifles were not used to kill our men.”
As William stopped speaking the three men were just entering the street which was home to Slaughter Yard. A call from behind made each of them turn and witness John and Tom hurrying to be at their side.
“What is it?” William asked.
“Isaac asked us to tell you that Mrs. Holbrook was dead. He intended to investigate with Inspector Faraday and then meet you – well meet you back here. Sorry, William, we have been searching for you for most of the day.”
“Not your fault, John, we have been led on a merry dance this day. Come on let’s see what news Isaac has for us.”
∞∞∞
As the five men entered the courtyard of Slaughter Yard, they were met with a vision of utter chaos. At least six constables were milling here and there, and a large wagon stood, containing the unmistakable shapes of two figures covered by a cloth. William feared his promise to Alfie had been broken. He entered the interior of Slaughter Yard and ignored Isaac and Faraday as they attempted to engage him in conversation. He continued through the building until he came to the closed door which barred entrance to Alfie’s room. Stopping abruptly at the barrier he took in an anxiety-filled breath. He feared what vision lay beyond the door. He knew that the killers were devoid of compassion. Robbing a child of his life would not cause them the slightest hesitation or remorse. His hand rose slowly and grasped the handle. As he exhaled, he applied the pressure that forced the door to open.
The room appeared almost identical to what he had experienced on his last visit. The only difference was the absence of Alfie. He took in every aspect, each minuscule detail, in the search for a clue on Alfie’s fate. There was no blood splatter or broken furniture. The book the young man had been reading lay on the bed as if he’d simply left the room.
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