The Detective Branch (34 page)

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Authors: Andrew Pepper

Tags: #London (England) - History - 1800-1950, #Mystery & Detective, #Pyke (Fictitious Character: Pepper), #Pyke (Fictitious Character : Pepper), #Fiction, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Historical, #Traditional British, #Suspense, #Crime

BOOK: The Detective Branch
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They stared at one another for a moment. ‘I want information,’ Pyke said, deciding to ignore Culpepper’s question.
 
‘About?’
 
‘Two boys who were murdered about five years ago, named Gregg and Clough. Your lads, I’m told. They once belonged to Horace Flint.’
 
Pyke saw Culpepper flinch slightly. It told him that the mobsman wasn’t as good a liar and card player as he thought he was. ‘Nothing to do with me,’ Culpepper said, scratching his chin.
 
‘Johnny Gregg and Stephen Clough. Both pickpockets. Gregg was beaten to death with a hammer just around the corner from here. Clough was nailed to a stable door in Soho.’
 
Culpepper ran the tip of his finger across his puckered brow. ‘I remember hearin’ about those boys at the time. Terrible business. But at least they got the man what did it. A Devil worshipper, I think.’
 
The fact that Culpepper remembered this as quickly as he did made Pyke suspicious. ‘They didn’t work for Flint?’
 
‘
Flint
?’ Culpepper looked at him, as if the name wasn’t familiar.
 
‘Horace Flint. He turned up a few years ago in the gutter not far from here. Someone had stuck a knife into his belly.’
 
‘I remember that one, too, now you comes to mention it. But I don’t understand what any of this has to do with me.’
 
Pyke had hoped that their history together might have inclined Culpepper to give him even a little information, but the man had clearly decided to say nothing. A different approach was needed.
 
‘Well, you never were the most intelligent boy on the street, Georgie.’
 
Pyke saw Culpepper’s forehead tighten. ‘I’d be very careful what I say, if I was you.’
 
Pyke wondered about the men guarding the tavern and the fact he’d seen exactly the same operation in the Blue Dog. ‘Don’t worry. I haven’t come here to reminisce.’
 
‘I’m afraid I don’t know anything about the business you mentioned. So you can crawl back under whatever stone you came from.’
 
Culpepper had effectively dismissed him but Pyke chose to remain where he was.
 
‘It must have been dark in that coal-shed, Little Georgie. But at least you had a pack of wild dogs for company.’
 
Partly it was frustration on Pyke’s part, partly it was sheer recklessness. But he was also curious; he wanted to see what happened when Culpepper cracked.
 
No one in the room even twitched. Pyke noticed that Clare Lewis was staring down at her shoes. Culpepper regarded him for what seemed like minutes. For his part, Pyke could feel the skin under his collar burning.
 
‘If you wasn’t a Peeler, you’d be dead right now. Doesn’t matter you knew me a long time ago.’
 
‘I just want to know about Gregg and Clough. Why them? Why did this man, Morris Keate, go after them?’
 
‘I’m gonna count to ten. If you’re not gone by the time I gets to ten, I’m gonna kill you with my own bare hands and, so help me God, I’m gonna enjoy doin’ it.’
 
Pyke folded his arms and remained where he was: he could see the beads of sweat popping up across Culpepper’s forehead.
 
‘I’ve just been to the Blue Dog, where I had a more agreeable conversation with Conor Rafferty. He even offered me whisky.’
 
This time it was impossible for Culpepper to keep the surprise from his face. ‘You here to do that Paddy’s bidding, then?’ he asked.
 
‘No, but he seems to think he’s involved in a battle over territory.’
 
Culpepper watched him carefully but didn’t give anything else away. ‘I heard about ’is brother. Dangerous city, this one.’
 
‘Is that why you’re hiding away? It would take a small army just to fight past the taproom counter.’
 
‘Hidin’? You found me easily enough, didn’t you?’ Culpepper’s smile lacked even the faintest hint of warmth.
 
‘I did, didn’t I?’ Pyke took a few steps towards where Culpepper was sitting. ‘And I’ll tell you what I told him. If there are any more bodies, I’ll personally see to it that every one of your businesses is closed down and that you and your men spend a few nights in the cells.’
 
‘That so?’ Culpepper was grinning. ‘In which case, next time you come, I’ll be ready and waitin’.’
 
‘I still want to know about the boys,’ Pyke said, taking another step towards Culpepper.
 
‘And like I told you, Detective Inspector, I didn’t know ’em, didn’t know a thing about ’em, except what I read in the papers.’
 
Afterwards, Pyke wondered whether his next act had been somehow calculated or whether he’d simply wanted to hurt Culpepper. In the end, it didn’t matter. It was the suddenness of his movement which took Culpepper by surprise. Before the man could react, Pyke had grabbed a clump of his hair and slammed his face down against the hard surface of the table. He repeated this movement and heard the bridge of Culpepper’s nose snap, saw the blood leak on to the table. With air expanding in his chest, Pyke turned suddenly and walked towards the door. If the man standing there had held his ground or if any of them had drawn a pistol or challenged him, he might not have got out of there unscathed. As it was, they were all too stunned to do anything. By the time Pyke stepped on to the street, he could feel the veins corded in his neck.
 
‘Pyke.’
 
Clare Lewis caught up with him. Her neck was red and mottled, her tone insistent.
 
‘I didn’t know you were in bed with a man like Georgie Culpepper, Clare. He’s an animal. He once hacked off another man’s head with an axe and stuck it on a pole.’
 
‘Exactly,’ she said, her whole face flushed with colour. ‘Even more reason why what you just did was stupid beyond belief.’ She shook her head. ‘You think you can just walk all over a man like George Culpepper in front of men who are supposed to fear him and not expect him to retaliate?’
 
‘He knew those boys, didn’t he?’ When Clare didn’t answer, Pyke said, ‘He knew them but for some reason he’s pretending he didn’t.’
 
She stepped into the space between them and he could smell gin on her breath. It made him want to kiss her. ‘And that’s why you broke George’s nose?’
 
‘They were eleven or twelve years old when they died. Just children.’ Pyke waited. ‘As far as I know, they both worked for Flint. Even at the time, no one came up with a reasonable explanation as to why two dippers from the same swell mob should’ve been targeted by a religious lunatic.’
 
Clare’s expression softened a little. ‘And you think George knows?’
 
‘He knows something.’ Pyke looked around and waited for a beggar to limp past. The air was cool and damp and he felt spots of rain on his skin. ‘How well do you know him, Clare?’
 
‘He’s a fair partner and he leaves me to run things the way I want to.’
 
‘He has the morals of a goldfish, Clare. He was brought up by a pack of wild dogs.’
 
‘It must be easy to judge everyone else, Pyke, when your own life is so beyond reproach.’
 
‘I’m touched by your sarcasm.’ Pyke smiled weakly. ‘What I did in there was light the fuse. Georgie knows something about those boys, I’m sure of it. My guess is he’ll want to talk to someone. Who knows? With a little prompting, that person might be you.’
 
‘Are you asking me to spy on him?’
 
‘Not in so many words. But if you were to hear something . . .’ Pyke hesitated. ‘Look, I could pay you.’
 
He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to say. Her back stiffened and there was a wounded look in her eyes. ‘For some reason, I never felt you thought of me as a prostitute.’
 
Pyke watched her trudge back towards the tavern, trying not to think about the hurt he’d just caused.
 
 
Walter Wells was waiting for Pyke in the main office of the Detective Branch, ahead of a meeting with Mayne they were both due to attend. He was pacing up and down, oblivious to Shaw and one of the clerks, who were sitting at their desks. As soon as Pyke walked into the room, the acting superintendent took him by the arm and led him into the corridor. ‘Just a word of warning, old man. Pierce has heard about your notion that Charles Hogarth was murdered; he’s also been told you’re trying to link it back to the investigation of the boys’ murder. I’m told he’s going to be at the meeting. He’s going to come after you with everything he’s got.’ Wells waited for a clerk to walk past them and added, ‘You need to tell me everything you know, if I’m going to be able to help you.’
 
Pyke wasn’t surprised that Pierce was rattled or that he’d invited himself to the meeting. What did concern him was the speed with which Pierce had found out about his plans.
 
‘Someone who was at the meeting in the department yesterday must have gone straight to Pierce.’
 
‘Between the two of us, Mayne’s hopping mad. As far as he sees it, you’re stirring up trouble with no proof to support your claims.’
 
They walked to the end of the corridor in silence, and as they started to climb the stairs, Pyke said, ‘By the way, you might want to look at a man called George Culpepper or one of his mob as the likely gunman in the murder of Sean Rafferty.’
 
It had been meant as a casual remark, a bit of help to Wells, but the acting superintendent immediately stopped, turned to Pyke and hissed, ‘I, sir, have given you every support, even to the point where it’s harming my own standing with the commissioner. The very least I’d like in return is the opportunity to go about
my
job in the manner that
I
see fit.’ His face was hot and red, and without another word, he stormed up the stairs, leaving Pyke a few paces behind him.
 
Pyke managed to catch up with him outside the commissioners’ offices. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Walter. It was just a piece of idle gossip. I thought you’d want to hear it, that’s all.’
 
Wells gave him a grudging nod and the two of them entered Mayne’s office. Mayne was talking to Benedict Pierce.
 
Even before Pyke had taken the chair provided for him, Mayne said, ‘Is it true, sir, that you have instructed your men to treat the death of Charles Hogarth as
murder
?’ The words shot off his tongue like bullets.
 
‘That is correct, Sir Richard.’
 
Mayne had expected Pyke to deny this accusation and was momentarily flummoxed. ‘Even though the coroner has ruled otherwise and the man’s funeral has already taken place?’
 
Pyke glanced over at Pierce, whose face was gleaming with anticipation. ‘Yes, in spite of all this,’ he said calmly.
 
‘Then your actions put you at odds with the law of this land and I have no choice but to suspend you from your duties.’
 
‘That would, of course, be your prerogative, Sir Richard, but before you come to a decision, perhaps you should look at this.’ Pyke reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a piece of paper, smoothed it out and handed it to Mayne.
 
‘And what in God’s name is this?’
 
‘It’s an affidavit sworn this very morning before Sir William Wightman, Justice of Her Majesty’s Court of Queen’s Bench. You’ll see that the signatory, Tom Challis, is a clerk at the office of the coroner for the County of Middlesex. He has sworn under oath to seeing, with his own eyes, marks or holes in the hands and feet of the deceased, Charles Hogarth, that could only have been caused by crucifixion.’
 
Pyke looked at Pierce’s face. It told him all he needed to know. Lockhart hadn’t said a word to him. For so long now, Pyke had assumed that Lockhart was Pierce’s source in the department and now that no longer seemed to be the case. Who else could it be? Not Whicher. That just left Shaw - and Wells.
 
Mayne stared at the document, seemingly not knowing what to do or say.
 
‘The onus is on the coroner to justify his original finding but sadly he is nowhere to be found. The same is true of the porter who apparently discovered Hogarth’s body in the first place. Both men live on their own but neither has been seen at their respective place of residence in over two weeks.’
 
‘What are you saying, Detective Inspector?’ Mayne stared down at the document in his hands.
 
‘Let’s consider the facts. Johnny Gregg was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of December 1839. Isaac Guppy was beaten to death with a hammer on the third night of December 1844. Stephen Clough was crucified ten days after Gregg on the thirteenth of December 1839. Charles Hogarth was crucified ten days after Guppy on the thirteenth of December 1844.’

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