City of Darkness (City of Mystery) (17 page)

"Good day, Robert.  We’ve
all made our reports, so what brings you down to the Yard?" asked Davy,
shaking Spicer’s hand.  Trevor was eager to observe Davy's
interviewing skills but he didn't want to listen in too obviously and thus make
the boy nervous, so he pretended to be absorbed in his nonexistent Hoppy notes.

"Well Davy, something occurred
to me last night, but in all the excitement I neglected to put it in the report. 
It may be important to the case and it may not." answered Spicer, adjusting
himself in the chair.

"In this case, we'll take all
the information we can gather.  What’s it about?"

"Late in the
evening yesterday I was making my rounds just off Commercial Street when I
came upon Rosy Matters, one of the local girls, and she was sitting on a
dustbin having a laugh with a gentleman.  What I thought queer was he was
really a gentleman.  I mean, here was this well-dressed, well-bred sort just
sitting in a dark alley, late at night, with old Rosy.  I noticed Rosy had
a few coins in her hand, and she was jostling them up and down in her palm,
like..."

"Like she'd just been
paid?" Davy prompted.

"Or like she was stating her
fee.  I asked them what they were doing in the alley, and Rosy told me to
mind my own business.  I could tell she was drunk and could easily have
been taken advantage of.  So for her safety, and with this trouble about,
I asked the man in for questioning."

"Questioning about what?"
Davy asked, surprised.

"Well it is a crime to solicit a
streetwalker, albeit a crime that isn't much pressed." 

"Indeed.  Go on."

"I took the gentleman to the
station house.  He was very courteous for a man being arrested, did not
even argue.  He told Inspector Bradley he was a doctor, and he had given
Rosy the two shillings so she wouldn't have to sleep outside for the night."

"What was this gentleman's name,
Robert?  Do you remember?"

"No, because the Inspector spoke
with him in a private room.  After a short while he released the man and
said since he saw no reason to detain him."

"And you don't remember his
name," Davy sighed, glancing toward Trevor.  "Would your
Inspector remember him?  Was he entered into the jail registry as an
arrest?"

"I would doubt it.  He was
there only briefly.  I know I made no report on him."

"Where might we find your
Inspector Bradley?" Trevor broke in.

"He's on duty at night, but most
of the time you'll find him at the Boar's Head Tavern.  He likes his
whiskey.”

"Thank you, Robert.  We
will definitely check the man out.  And if there is any credence to the story,
we’ll make sure you get the credit,” Davy said, offering his hand once more. 
“What do you think of it, Sir?” he asked, when Spicer was out the door. “Worth
anything?”

“Possibly.  I know a doctor who
treats women in the East End without charge so I suppose these souls do exist.  To
think an inspector wouldn’t have the presence of mind to take down every name
at a time like this…”

Trevor’s words were scarcely out of
his mouth when the door flew open and in marched Rayley Abrams.  He went
straight to Trevor, whispered something in his ear and Trevor rose to his
feet.  “Davy, take your next witness.  With such a late start we’ll have to
keep moving steadily if we’re to get all the statements today.”

“Of course, Sir,” Davy said
matter-of-factly as Trevor followed Abrams out the door. Trevor thought with
some satisfaction that it was as if the boy had been doing the job for years.

Once away from the mob in the
hallway, Abrams turned to Trevor.  “Someone downstairs I thought you might want
to see.  Name Micha Banasik.  A Pole, brought into Bishopsgate early this
morning for roughing up a prostitute.  And he works in a slaughterhouse.”

“What time did they bring him in?”

“Between three and four, and he can’t
account for where he was before that.  He says he was drinking at a pub, but
doesn’t remember where or for how long.”

“I appreciate this, especially under
the circumstances,” Trevor said.  But Abrams looked straight ahead as he walked
and Trevor decided that to thank him more profusely might be taken as insult.  The
man had never been jovial, was accused of being too intent upon his work to
have time for a joke with the other boys.  But in truth the same criticism had
often been made of Trevor.

The two men marched steadily down the
stairs to where the prisoners were kept, descending deeper and deeper into the
damp basement of Scotland Yard.  The lighting was poor as they approached the
holding cell where a virtual giant was circling steadily, not pacing as a man
would, but rather moving in small, tight circles in the manner of a caged cat. 
Trevor stopped a few yards back from the cell and stood in the darkness, both
to give his eyes time to adjust to the gloom but also because he wanted to
watch the man for a minute or two.  Banasik kept his huge hands clasped behind
him.  He was certainly strong enough and he seemed to have the temper.

“Is he what you pictured the Ripper
to look like?” Abrams asked.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been able to
really form an image of the man.  To me he’s like a dark hole.  Faceless.”

Abrams nodded.  “Part of his appeal,
is it not?”

“His appeal?”

Abrams looked at Trevor curiously. 
“You don’t feel it? I should think your obsession with the Ripper - a feeling I
can sympathize with, by the way - would have grown out of some sort of
identification with him.  He’s no man, he’s every man.  He’s faceless, just as
you say.”

“It’s part of his intrigue…”

“Precisely.”

“But I wouldn’t call it part of his
appeal.”

Abrams shrugged.  “Have it your way,
Welles.  Would you like to talk to the Pole alone?” Trevor nodded and stepped
out of the shadows.  At the sound of his footfall, the man turned in alarm.

“Are you Micha Banasik?” Trevor
asked, looking the man square in the eyes.

“Yes.  Why you have ‘rested me?”

“You know why you’re here.  Assault
on a woman.”

A bit of a smile played around the
thick lips.  “She tell me she not press charge.”

“Perhaps she didn’t, but that doesn’t
mean you’re off the hook.  You know that phrase, Micha, ‘off the hook.’  But of
course you do, you’re a butcher.”

“If woman not press charge, you must let
man go.”

“It’s not surprising you’re familiar
with the laws concerning assault.  I see from your file this is the third time
you’ve been brought in for just that reason.  Broke a woman’s wrist last
spring, didn’t you?”

“They trying to take too much money
from me, because they think I don’t know English.”

“So you beat them?”

“Would you not if you being robbed?”       

“No, Micha, I would not.  Where were
you last night at 1 am?”

 “I no remember.   Drinking.”

“Drinking where?”

“I sometimes frequent the Pony Pub,”
he said, with sudden formality.  “I may was there.”

“And this is where you met the woman
that you struck?”

“I no know.  Why you ask?”

“Last night two women were butchered
in the East End.  Do you know of this crime?”

Again the dignity, the pulling back
of the shoulders.  “I not aware.”

“Did you see those women too?  Did
they try to cheat you of your money?  Did you become angry with them?”

“No!  And I am not Ripper!”

Gad, even the sewage in the street knew
the name.  Trevor looked around for Abrams, but the other detective remained in
the shadows, leaving the questioning to the man who, rightly or wrongly, was
the official head of the case.  “Well Micha, we must detain you until we can
check your alibi at the Pony Pub,” Trevor said.  Surely such a large and
brutal-looking man would stand out in someone’s memory if he had indeed been
there.

“Make it fast, I not afford to lose
job.”

Trevor and Abrams turned away and
started for the stairwell.

“What do you think, Welles?”

“We’ll need to check out the pub before
we think anything.  People should remember his accent and his size.  We have a
good time line, thanks to Phillips.  If someone at this Pony Pub can alibi him
for the period between 12:30 and two, we’ll have to let him go.”

“Ninety minutes?  Now, that is
something.”  Abrams paused at the top of the stairs and jerked his head in the
direction of the cells below.  “What’s your instinct?”

“Not our man.”

“I don’t think so either, but there
was something …worth interrupting you, I hope.”

“Oh absolutely.  Good form, Abrams.” 
Trevor dreaded the next question, but felt he should ask it.   “Where have they
put you now?”

“Spitalfields,” Abrams said shortly. 
It was the Jewish ghetto, an area known for tailor’s shops, kosher butchers,
and virtually no crime.   “I shall be keeping the peace in Petticoat Lane.”

“If Barasik does by chance lead to
something, I’ll see you get credit,” Trevor said.

“Credit?  I don’t care if it’s the
Queen herself that finds him, I just want this bastard caught and hanged,”
Abrams said, pulling on his coat.  “Speaking of which, I suppose you’ve heard
the latest rumor?”

“Which one? Oh, let me guess.  The
Duke of Clarence.”

Abrams nodded.  The Duke, known to
the family as Eddy, was not only Queen Victoria’s grandson, but the eldest son
of her eldest son and thus in direct line of succession.  A less compelling
case of the future of the monarchy could hardly be found – the young man was in
his twenties and a great dandy about town but rumored to be slow-witted,
bisexual, partially deaf, and riddled with syphilis.  His escapades were
gossiped about in the best parlors of the city and even the papers made
thinly-veiled references to the various scandals in which Eddy had been
embroiled.  Never naming him, of course, just referring to him as “Collar and Cuffs,”
a nickname that Trevor could only hope was meant to mock the Duke’s penchant
for ostentatious clothing.

“He’s an easy enough target, I
suppose,” Trevor said.  “Been accused of everything short of stealing the crown
jewels.”

“Known to frequent the East End,”
Abrams said amiably.  “In search of certain pleasures.”

“Are you suggesting he could really -
?”

Abrams held up a palm.  “No, no, not
suggesting anything of the sort. Besides, I already checked and he has alibis. 
Infallible ones.  In training with his cavalry unit for the first two, with his
formidable Grandmama for the second two.  I just wanted to make sure you
understand how frenzied the speculation is becoming.”

“You requested an alibi for a member
of the Royal family?” Trevor said, stunned but more than a little impressed. 
“However did you manage?”

“By checking the whereabouts of all
bloody forty-seven of them,” Abrams said, pushing open the door. “And
pretending it was a matter of their personal security.  City in a panic, you know,
that sort of thing.  Don’t worry Welles, the Queen’s private guard thanked me
for it, said it showed great thoroughness on the part of the Yard.  No feathers
ruffled.”

“Good man,” Trevor said softly, as
Abrams stepped out in the street.

Davy was on his ninth interview and was
developing a bit of a rhythm.  Trevor came in with another witness but he
seated her at Davy’s desk, not his, then sat down in his own chair, pulled out
his notebook and began scribbling notes.  Davy looked over for some sort of
sign from Trevor about the surprise visit from Abrams, but Trevor gave none. 
So Davy turned his attention back to this new witness, figuring that Trevor
would fill him in later.

“Now you say you saw a man last night
with Elizabeth Stride?” Davy asked the old woman seated beside him.

“Yes I did.  A looker he was.  A
handsome dark moustache, a real respectable appearance.  I looked him over as I
passed Lizzy and him on the corner of Turnbull Street.”

“Could you describe him?”

“About twenty-eight, five feet eight
inches tall, with a dark complexion.  A foreigner maybe.”

Davy sat back in surprise. Most of
the previous witnesses had been able to give only sketchy descriptions at best
of men who had been seen with Catherine or Liz, but this woman was very sure of
herself.  “Why would you say foreign?  Did he have an accent?”

“I couldn’t hear what he was saying,
but he sure made Lizzy giggle.  But dark skin, you know, like a Turk or a
Greek.”

“What was he wearing?”

“He had on a hard felt hat and a
black coat.  Pretty he was.”

“Was he carrying anything in his
hands? A parcel?”

“Couldn’t see his hands.  But he
might have had something under his coat.  It was big.  Poor Lizzy, she was such
a sweet girl too.”