Constable & Toop (30 page)

Lapsewood turned to Ether Dust and left in search of Nell. She would be able to help him track down Tanner. However, after several hours, there was still no sign of her. In fact there were far fewer ghosts on the streets than the last time he had visited. Several hours of fruitless searching later he eventually found a spirit lying in a doorway. He was hitched up on one elbow, with a half-drunk bottle of spirit ale in one hand, mumbling quietly to himself.

‘Grunt?' said Lapsewood. ‘What are you doing here?'

‘Lying down,' replied Grunt, sounding worse for wear. ‘And drinking. You want some?' He offered up the bottle.

‘No, thank you,' replied Lapsewood. ‘What happened to you?'

‘You were right. Getting out of that place did me the world of good. I'm much happier now.' To prove it, Grunt let out a loud sob and took another swig of ale.

‘You're drunk.'

‘Yep,' agreed Grunt. ‘It's not the same, you know, getting drunk with spirit ale. Do you remember what it was like getting drunk when you were alive?'

‘I was never a drinker,' said Lapsewood.

‘When you're alive, it numbs the pain. After I found my wife dead, the first thing I did was find myself a bottle. Our pain, though, it's different, isn't it? Memory, Lapsewood. That's our pain. It takes something stronger than spirit ale to take that away.'

‘Yes.' Lapsewood noticed how the ale had turned the grey goo that leaked out of Grunt's neck an alarming shade of purple.

‘I think people should be ghosts first,' said Grunt. ‘If we were dead before we were alive we'd appreciate it more, wouldn't we?'

‘Perhaps we are,' said Lapsewood. ‘Maybe a new life lies on the other side of the Unseen Door.'

Grunt emitted a snort of unamused laughter at the notion.

‘Did you find Tanner?' asked Lapsewood. ‘Did you give him the message?'

More laughter. ‘I gave him the message, all right. Haven't you heard?'

‘Heard what?'

‘Your boy has got someone murdering people.'

‘Murdering?' said Lapsewood, thinking he must have misheard him.

‘Yep. For their ghosts,' slurred Grunt. ‘They call him the Kitchen Killer.'

‘I . . . I . . .' Lapsewood was lost for words.

‘What with Tanner's killer terrorising the living and this black demon hound that roams the city feeding on the souls of ghosts, there's very little hope left in London. Haven't you noticed how few Rogues there are around? Us ghosts are a dying breed.' He laughed so much that the fluid bubbled up through the gap in his neck.

‘I have to speak to Tanner,' said Lapsewood. ‘I'm sure he can't have meant to . . . I mean, I never said . . .'

‘Whatever means necessary. Those were your exact words.'

‘I have to put this right,' said Lapsewood determinedly.

‘That's what I tried to do. I tried to put things right.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘I haunted him, Lapsewood.'

‘Who? Tanner?' said Lapsewood, confused by how one could haunt a ghost.

‘No.' Grunt spat. ‘That villain who killed my wife. I haunted him good and proper. I didn't have a licence either, and I don't care. They can throw me in the Vault if they want. It can't be any worse than this.'

‘What did you do?'

Grunt took a big swig from the bottle and Lapsewood watched as half of it oozed back through the neck scarf. ‘I threw a cup at him,' he said.

‘A cup?'

Grunt nodded. ‘A tin cup.'

‘The man who killed your wife, whose crime you were hanged for? You threw a tin cup at him?'

‘The strange thing is that it didn't make me feel any better.'

‘No,' replied Lapsewood flatly.

‘He was terrified, scared out of his wits, and yet even then I wished I could swap places with him. I'd rather feel fear than nothing, but the next day in the pub, he was there telling it like it was a funny story. That's when I realised there's nothing we can do, us ghosts. Nothing. Working at the Bureau makes us feel like we're making a difference, but we're not. With all our licences, forms and permissions, what difference does it make? None that I can see. That's when I found this bottle. Are you sure you won't have a drink?'

‘Thank you, but no,' said Lapsewood. ‘I
can
do something. I can put right that which I've made wrong.'

‘I'll drink to that,' said Grunt. ‘Good luck, Lapsewood.'

‘Good luck, Grunt.'

Clara had spent all morning waiting for the knock on the door. Today she would finally communicate with a ghost. Not just any ghost either. Her ghost. She was excited to see Sam again too. With his mournful eyes and quiet disposition, he was easily the most interesting person she had ever met.

But when the knock finally came, just after eleven o'clock, Clara was alone in the house and felt unsure what to do. Her father was at work, her mother was visiting a shop to discuss furnishings for the new house and Hopkins had asked permission to accompany Mrs Preston to the shop, seeing as she was so nervous about leaving the house these days.

Even Clara understood it would not be right for her and Sam to be alone in the house. She resolved to ask him to wait outside until Hopkins and Mrs Preston returned.

However, when she opened the door, it wasn't Sam who was stood on the doorstep.

‘Hello, my dear,' said Reverend Fallowfield.

‘What do you want?' she asked, as rudely as possible.

‘You ruined my show,' he replied.

‘You said it wasn't a show.'

‘I was there to
show
people what I do.'

‘Go away. There's no one else here,' she replied.

‘Oh yes, there is.' Reverend Fallowfield pushed past her and stepped inside. He sniffed the air like a bloodhound picking up the scent of its prey. ‘You have a new one. A fresh demon.'

‘Get out,' she exclaimed.

‘He's working against me, this Kitchen Killer, filling the holes I make. But I will rid this house of its new tenent as easily as I rid it of the previous one.'

‘No!' shouted Clara.

‘You would defy me?' he pronounced. ‘I am on a mission from God.'

‘You're mad.'

‘I have been touched by the Almighty, not madness. Those hypocrites in the church call me heretic. It's a word used by those who do not understand the true gift I have.'

‘Get out of my house.' Clara felt panicked.

Reverend Fallowfield pushed her away. ‘I must clean this lair of Satan. I must cleanse the world of those who dare defy God's natural order. Earth is for the living. The dead must go to almighty heaven or damnable hell.' He raised his hands. ‘Spirit, show yourself.'

‘No!' screamed Clara. ‘No!'

Fallowfield grabbed one of Clara's wrists and squeezed hard, twisting her arm behind her back, causing her to bend over in pain. He strong-armed her into the drawing room, slammed the door shut and turned the key, locking her on the other side.

‘Let me out! Get out of my house!' Clara screamed at the top of her voice. On the other side of the door she could hear Reverend Fallowfield muttering incantations, but there was nothing she could do to stop him. ‘Please,' she sobbed. ‘Leave her alone.'

Mr Reeve had always valued Jack Toop above the other thieves who worked for him. Jack was the closest thing he had to family, but when he had got ideas above his station Mr Reeve had curtailed his ability to operate in the city. He had chased him out, so he was surprised when Jack Toop stepped into his office. While Mr Reeve's face gave away nothing, his right hand, unseen by Jack, reached into a drawer in the desk and extracted a knife, which he kept hidden from sight.

‘Jack,' he said. ‘Close the door behind you.'

‘Expectin' someone else, were you?' replied Jack.

‘You know how I work. Bazeley announces my visitors. You know that, Jack.'

‘Bazeley won't be announcin' no one no more.'

Mr Reeve shook his head as though dealing with a badly behaved child. ‘You've been doing a lot of killing recently. Careless, Jack, very careless.'

‘I was never that,' said Jack. ‘All these years and they never caught me once. They didn't even 'ave my name until you gave it to them.' Jack leaned over the desk but Mr Reeve showed no sign of being intimidated.

‘I want to help you, but I can't do that with you in London where you're a wanted man. You get yourself up to Liverpool, I know a man who will take good care of you.'

‘I'm sure you do.' It was the first time Jack had smiled since entering the office.

‘Don't be like that, Jack. Sit down, won't you?'

‘I'll stay standin' if you don't mind.' Jack stepped away from the desk and paced the room, all the time keeping his eyes on Mr Reeve. ‘When would you say it all started going wrong for me?'

‘Around about when you got caught up to your elbows in some copper's blood,' replied Mr Reeve. ‘And that was no one's fault but your own. Like I said, you got careless, Jack.'

‘I killed Heale because you asked me to. You said he started askin' for too much.'

‘I didn't tell you to get caught.'

‘I didn't,' growled Jack. ‘You put Savage on to me.'

‘Savage?'

‘Yeah. I know now he's on your books too. I know now you gave him my name and told him where I lived.'

Under the table, Mr Reeve's knuckles went white as he tightened his grip on the knife. ‘And you tell me, Jack. Why would I want to lose you? You were always a good thief. The best, Jack. Why would I want to lose such a good thief?'

Jack drew his knife. Its handle was stained with dried blood but its blade was clean. ‘No,' he said. ‘You tell me.'

‘Ambition is a dangerous thing,' said Mr Reeve. ‘For years we worked well together, you and me, but then you started sniffing around my business, trying to turn my own against me, trying to steal from me, Jack.' Mr Reeve's voice grew louder and louder.

‘I helped build this empire of yours,' replied Jack. ‘I been helpin' you out all my life and yet here I was still riskin' my neck breakin' into 'ouses, while you sat pretty in this office, playin' at being respectable.'

Mr Reeve nodded. ‘You wanted me out of the way, Heale wanted more money and Savage needed reminding of who was the boss. Him catching you killing Heale was the perfect solution.'

‘Except I got away.'

‘Ah, well, yes, but here's the thing, Jack. You've gone and turned yourself into a celebrated murderer now. Anonymous Jack is now the Kitchen Killer.' He laughed. ‘You're famous, Jack. Notorious. You're the most famous man in London and when Savage brings you in they'll make him commissioner and he'll owe it all to me. You see, even when you think you're winning, you'll still never beat me. I'm better at this than you, Jack. That's why you're a thief. That's why that's all you'll ever be.'

Jack lunged forward, aiming his knife at Mr Reeve's throat. Mr Reeve blocked him, stopping the knife with the flesh of his forearm. He then rammed his own knife into Jack's stomach. With an almighty cry, Jack rolled off the desk and pulled the knife from his stomach and one from Mr Reeve's arm. Blood gushed from both their wounds. Jack was now holding a knife in each hand. Mr Reeve stood and backed away, trying to stop the flow of blood with his hand.

‘You're a dead man,' said Mr Reeve. ‘Killing me won't change that.'

‘The way I see it, there ain't all that much difference between life and death,' said Jack.

Mr Reeve made a bolt for the door but Jack was too quick for him. He brought him down with two knives plunged into his back. Mr Reeve's legs buckled. Jack grabbed his chin and pulled his head back. ‘Goodbye, Mr Reeve,' he said and he dragged Mr Reeve's own knife across his throat. More blood, but Jack didn't leave it there. He fell on the twitching body, and repeatedly stabbed it until it went still.

Jack stood back to admire his work. Out of his right eye he saw a translucent figure standing next to him. He turned to Mr Reeve's ghost, enjoying the look of confusion on his face, taking pride in the fresh, bloodless wounds that covered his ghostly body.

‘Jack?' said the ghost, its voice tinged with fear.

The sound of knocking came.

‘That's them coming for you,' said Mr Reeve's ghost.

‘No, it ain't,' replied Jack, with a wicked grin. ‘That's them coming for you. Go through the door, Reeve. There's nothing left for you in this world.'

Mr Reeve looked at Jack's wound. ‘I'll be seeing you soon, Jack.' The ghost turned and stepped through the Unseen Door.

Jack dropped Mr Reeve's knife on his body and wiped his own on the side of his coat.

He heard the sound of thundering footsteps. The door swung open and Inspector Savage stepped inside. Behind him Jack could see a stairwell packed with coppers, all of them baying for blood. His blood. A couple at the top gasped as they saw the remains of the body on the ground, but Savage looked Jack squarely in the eyes.

‘Jack Toop, I'm arresting you on the charge of murder.'

Jack smiled and raised his dagger.

‘Put it down, Jack,' said Inspector Savage. ‘The game's over.'

‘Oh no, the game is far from over,' replied Jack, and ever so calmly he rammed the knife into his own neck.

Sam stood outside Aysgarth House. He looked up the stairs leading to the door but his feet remained rooted to the spot. He felt anxious about seeing Clara again. He planned to tell her everything. He wanted to be honest with her. He would explain the real reason he had entered her house before. He would tell her about his job and the errands he ran for the dead. He would tell her anything she wanted to know.