Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) (17 page)

‘
A
lright
,’ said Gedge. ‘First, how did you actually get away from the gang? And how long ago was that?’

Martha composed herself. ‘I just told myself that although they had the pictures, I couldn’t let that stop me from getting away. I wrote to my uncle in Hastings. We hadn’t seen each other for years, but he agreed to take me in. He’s a grumpy old sod a lot of the time, but I thought that would be a good place to hide, right out in the sticks. One day, about six months ago, I just upped and left. I heard later that Mr DuPont was sent a couple of the pictures to discredit me, but I’d already let him know that I would have to pack in the job for “personal reasons”. I still hated the idea of him thinking I was some sort of tart, though. Other than that, I assumed I wasn’t that big a fish in their pond, and they didn’t go to much trouble to find me.’

‘They underestimated you,’ said Polly. ‘They thought that because of the pictures, you would always do just what they wanted. Probably a lot of girls from poor backgrounds would be trapped in that situation. Thank goodness you had a way out. Were all the girls able to come and go, like you?’

‘No. I’m sure some stayed in that house and never left. And there were one or two boys, as I said. I reckon they used drugs as well as drink to keep us obedient. He must have put something in my drink that first night.

‘By the way, you’re probably wondering why I’m here in Dungeness. This place actually belongs to a woman who runs a café in Hastings. She only uses it occasionally. One day I just got so worked up at the prospect of one of those evil bastards coming to find me, I decided to take up her offer and come and stay here for a while. And I couldn’t stand my uncle much longer, anyway. Three weeks was enough.’

‘It certainly seems to be remote from any danger,’ said Polly. ‘But aren’t you very lonely?’

‘Oh, I hate it now. You’re right, it’s so bleak.’

‘So,’ said Gedge, ‘when you left London six months ago, you thought all the trouble was coming to an end? It looks like it’s either started up again or it never really stopped.’

‘Yes. I’ve managed to exchange a couple of letters with my old friend Vic since I came down here. He reckons it’s started up again. Mostly I try not to think about it.’

Polly sighed. ‘We’re sorry to make you relive all of this, Martha. But there are two more questions we need to ask you.’

‘Go on.’

‘Firstly, the big house you were taken to. You said it was near Victoria Park. Can you be more exact? And could they still be using it?’

‘It was next to the Regent’s Canal, just across from the park. At the junction of Sewardstone Road and Bandon Road.’

‘Ah, that rings a bell. That big chest hospital’s just round the corner, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. The house was owned by some bloke with a double-barrelled name. The story was that the gang had something on him. He was more or less forced to let them use it. I can’t believe they’d still be using the same place.’

‘Martha, this is very important,’ said Gedge. ‘Can you remember the house-owner’s name?’

‘Fox-something. I remember the first part because I love foxes. I sometimes used to see one wandering along our road. The second part of his name… something quite common… Williams! That’s right. Fox-Williams.’

Gedge smiled. ‘Well done, Martha. We should be able to find out something with that information, even if they’ve moved somewhere else. Just one last thing. Vic said there was another man, someone who was in some way “above the police”. He said that you know who he is. He was a man who dealt with the clients, the people who preyed on the girls. Including you.’

She nodded, and looked down at her lap. ‘I don’t know his name, but he was horrible. He walked with a limp, and he was Irish. Didn’t see him much, but when I did, he always seemed to be skulking about, with this sarcastic smile on his face. To think that he was encouraging those toffs to do whatever they wanted with us…’

‘But what about this “above the police” stuff?’ said Gedge. ‘Was he or wasn’t he a policeman?’

‘Not really. But that’s what I meant. He was more important, it seemed, than the usual coppers. Plain clothes. Secretive. He was part of the special something-or-other.’

Gedge sat up. ‘Was it Special
Branch?’

‘Yes. Have you heard of them?’

‘I have. And do you remember, Polly, your father telling us that there are some Special Branch officers stationed at Leman Street?’

She nodded. ‘Inspector Cross told him that.’

‘Coincidences do happen, but I suspect not in this case. We can check with Cross whether that description fits any of his unwelcome house guests.’

Polly turned back to Martha. ‘You’ve been a huge help. You can’t appreciate how much. We may finally be able to return to London and sort this mess out. It’s too late for us to get back there tonight. If it’s alright with you, can we sleep on the floor here? At least it will be company for you.’

‘Oh, yes. I’d appreciate the company. Or you could try to sleep in the chairs.’

‘That’s settled then. And tomorrow, I’d like you to think about coming back with us, and staying with my father and myself in Spitalfields. I know it’s near to the danger, but we can keep you safer than if you were on your own here or in Hastings.’

Martha looked worried at the prospect, but was too tired to protest. She pulled out spare blankets from a cupboard, and Gedge and Polly settled down for an uncomfortable night.

J
ust before nine
the next morning, Gedge stepped out of Hope Cottage and stood on the wooden walkway. For a change, there was a hint of brightness in the sky, a welcome relief after the grey monotony of the last couple of weeks. Gulls wheeled in the air above. He stretched and touched his toes, trying to assuage the aches he felt after a fitful night in an uncomfortable chair.

He stared out to sea. Had this trip provided the breakthrough they needed? It was certainly possible. But now they had to get back to London, and take the fight to the enemy.

Right on time, he thought he could just about make out their wagonette, still a speck, heading towards them along the road from the north.

G
edge
, Polly and Martha arrived back at Victoria railway station in the middle of the afternoon, and took a hansom to Spitalfields. It was now nearly six days since Hannah had been taken.

At 14 White Lion Street, Martha found herself smothered by Rondeau’s concern. He insisted that Darius prepare the guest bedroom immediately, and Martha retreated for some rest and privacy. A little later, Polly went up to check and found her sound asleep, curled on her newly made bed. Polly and Gedge took the opportunity to retell Martha’s story, for the benefit of Rondeau and Darius.

‘Clearly, two important pieces of information have emerged,’ said Rondeau. ‘One, the house that was the centre of their operations when Martha was involved; and two, the confirmation that this Special Branch officer is a key figure. If he can be apprehended, both the gang and their clients will face justice.’

‘If he talks,’ said Gedge.

‘That, I think, will be the responsibility of the police to ensure. And on the subject of the forces of law and order, I must hasten to Jack Cross with this news. He will be able to put a name to the limping figure. But, regarding Mr Fox-Williams, I believe we should investigate immediately. Ourselves.’

‘But how?’ said Gedge. ‘Search the house agents to check whether Fox-Williams still owns it? Or can we find the man himself directly?’

‘Fortunately, the latter. You see, when you mentioned that name, I recognised it. I could not for the life of me think why, but then I realised there was a connection with the Grenadier Guards, Ackerman’s former regiment.’

Rondeau paused to take a sip of water, and Gedge noticed Polly smiling. She was no doubt used to observing her father’s brain moving through the gears; starting slowly, but plucking facts out of what seemed like thin air, and connecting the pieces into a web of information that made perfect sense.

‘The connection is from a scandal that happened last year. You will not have heard about it, because none of the usual papers carried the story. They were either scared to do so, or warned off, because the affair involved some of the highest officials in the land. Or so it is claimed. The only paper that did feature it was
The North London Press
, a radical weekly that I happen to subscribe to.’

‘Imagine!’ said Polly, with a mischievous grin. ‘You being interested in radical matters, father.’

Rondeau ignored her and continued. ‘In essence, a male brothel at Cleveland Street in Marylebone was using telegraph messenger boys to lure customers. Of course, homosexual acts and related procurement are illegal and punishable by prison sentences and possibly hard labour. The high and mighty who were implicated were desperate to avoid these measures, and several of them escaped to the continent. One of these was a certain Jonathan Fox-Williams, twenty-two years of age at the time. He was one of the less prominent visitors to Cleveland Street, but
The North London Press
had found out a lot about him, including the fact that his father Arthur had fought for the Grenadiers, winning medals for gallantry twenty years ago.’

Gedge gave a little clap. ‘Thank goodness for your memory, Claude. So, it’s likely that Ackerman knew, or at least had heard of Fox-Williams, from their shared military background, and then somehow used his knowledge of his son’s disgrace against him, in order to use the property near Victoria Park.’

‘That is a fair summation. I imagine Ackerman must have some form of extra leverage than mere knowledge of the affair. Our more immediate concern is contacting Arthur Fox-Williams. I do not know where he lives now, but he is a member of the Military Club, on Albemarle Street. If all goes well, I should be able to find out more this afternoon. Now I really must get going. It is a pity that you were out in the wilds, otherwise a letter or telegram would have allowed us to act earlier.’

With that, Rondeau swept up his coat and hurried out to the hansom prepared by Darius, pausing only to suggest Gedge and Polly get some rest, because they would probably need it for the conclusion of their adventure.

R
ondeau was gone
for two hours. When he returned, his mood was mixed. Jack Cross had not been at the station, and would be working away overnight. They wouldn’t tell him where, and Rondeau did not trust anybody else with the enquiry about the limping Special Branch man, so it would have to wait until tomorrow.

He had then changed tack and asked Darius to take them into the centre of the city. He was a good actor when the occasion demanded, and after a long and agreeable conversation with the doorman at the Military Club, he gleaned the information that Fox-Williams (who had attained the lofty rank of Brigadier in his career with the Grenadiers) would be dining there that very evening.

A
t 8.30pm that evening
, Mr Arthur Fox-Williams stepped out of the club and hailed a hansom—black-painted and pulled by a dappled grey horse—that had been waiting a few yards away. Fox-Williams raised an eyebrow as he noted the driver had his coat collar pulled up and hat pulled down, revealing little more than his eyes, even though the weather was still unseasonably mild.

As he climbed aboard, he ordered the driver to take him to his home address. A second after he had sat down and closed the hansom’s door, Gedge, who had been lurking near the club’s entrance, whipped it open again, climbed in and sat down facing the former Guardsman. The cab started into motion.

‘What is the meaning of this? This is my cab!’ blustered Fox-Williams, his face turning red under his top hat.

‘Calm down, Brigadier. My name is Lucas Gedge, and we’re going on a little detour before taking you home.’

‘My god! Driver! What are you doing?’

‘Don’t waste your breath. Darius, the driver, is an associate of mine. And don’t try crying out for help, or I’ll be forced to silence you. I’m asking you to be reasonable. There won’t be any unpleasantness if you just answer a few questions.’

‘Unpleasantness? I’ve experienced enough unpleasantness to last me a lifetime. I don’t know what you think you can threaten me with.’

‘Point taken. I will start by putting this to you. I believe you have come under the influence of one Roland Ackerman, another Grenadier Guards veteran. I think he bribed you to let him use the house you own, or owned, near Victoria Park in the East End.’

The Brigadier’s face went pale, but then he set himself again.

‘What business is it of yours to whom I let my own property?’

‘You don’t deny it, then? I’ll tell you why I need to find out what you know. Ackerman has been involved in a number of murders, as well as being a leading figure in a sex and people-trafficking racket, using the house he rented from you for prostitution, and worse. More specifically, he has abducted my own daughter. Now, I am not the police, although they will have to be involved at some point, but I’m appealing to your better nature to help me with this.’

Fox-Williams shook his head and looked out of the cab’s window as it trundled past crowds of milling pedestrians. His bravado had already melted away.

‘I suppose in my shame at the lunacy my son got himself involved in, I have become inward-looking and selfish. I have simply tried not to think about the evil capabilities of Ackerman.’ He turned back to Gedge, and looked him straight in the eye. ‘I will do what I can to help you.’

‘Thank you. Firstly, what exactly does Ackerman have over you? It must be more than the basics of the scandal as reported by that radical rag a year ago.’

‘Yes, it is. My son was fortunate to be able to escape to the continent to avoid a prison sentence or worse. But Ackerman, who had heard of me through the Guards, as you would have surmised, came to me and said that he knew where Jonathan was in hiding. And he had proof, which he showed me. He said if I didn’t help him and his operation, he would get his “rough boys”, as he called them, to bring Jonathan back to England to face the music, and dredge up that whole sorry affair again. Either that, or kill him. I may have wished my son dead on a few occasions over the past year, but I could not let that ogre harm him. So I agreed. I already felt so much shame that a little more didn’t seem to matter very much.

‘As you have said, what he wanted was the use of my house on Sewardstone Road. It used to be the family home until the scandal. I sold it and moved to a modest flat in North London. He signed the letting papers for it, but in fact paid nothing at all. You must believe that I do not know the details of what went on there. Obviously I was aware their activities would not be legal, but prostitution, murder… That’s incredible! His gang no longer use the house. He said it would be a mistake to tempt fate for too long. And in fact I sold the property a few months ago.’

‘Damn! I thought it must be too good to be true. I had visions of getting my daughter back from there tomorrow.’

‘Don’t give up hope just yet. Ackerman and friends are now using another of my properties.’

‘What? How many places do you own, Brigadier?’

‘Just my flat and this other house. It’s on Leonard Street, just off the Whitechapel Road. But Mr Gedge, there’s a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘They are moving out the day after tomorrow. I don’t know any details, but Ackerman’s comments to me make it clear that their whole operation is going to come to a head in some sort of event after they've left. I'm sorry, but I don't know where.'

Gedge placed his hand on Fox-Williams’ arm. ‘Thank you for helping me. You may have saved lives. Obviously, we need to take action tomorrow. Now we will take you on to your home.’

‘No. Please. You need as much time as possible to plan whatever it is that you are going to do. Drop me here. There is another cab rank nearby. I wish you the best of luck.’

‘Thank you again, then. But before we part, I just need some details about the house and how best to access it.’