The Dolocher (15 page)

The cold weather began to set in in early October the following year. The evenings began to lose that light by a few minutes each day, and the clouds seemed content to be grey that month with rain falling frequently but for short periods.

Dublin was back to the ways of old and the population had seen a further increase as more came in from the poorer counties in search of work, or a means to leave Ireland altogether. Almost every rented room in the city had an additional person living in it compared to the year earlier. There had been massive upheaval in France, and there was talk of rebellion in Ireland that added to the excitement. Businesses were doing better than before though there did seem to be more destitute people on the streets than ever.

It was the savage killing of one of these same people that saw the return of ‘The Dolocher’ after months of silence when the city thought the massive culling of the pigs had gotten rid of it for good.

On a brisk Friday morning, a man was found who had been severely savaged by something large. His clothes lay tattered and strewn about the place, and his limbs and torso were slashed and ripped repeatedly. There was nothing left of the poor man’s face and even his genitals had not been left undisturbed with parts of it lying dismembered a couple of feet from the rest of the body. The place of the killing was a quiet lane well known those who remembered the Thomas Olocher story; Lesser Elbow Lane-the very same place that Olocher’s own body had been found half gnawed away by ravenous pigs. The ground and walls were drenched in blood and pieces of the man’s brain were coming from the hollow that was his face. It was a truly gruesome sight to behold and one that the woman who first came upon it was unlikely ever to forget.

Alderman James stood at the scene with a sick feeling in his stomach. This was by far the worst thing he had ever seen, worse even than Olocher’s pig chewed carcass. He was more tormented however by the thoughts he was having as he looked over the lane for possible clues. Was this the same man whom Dublin had christened ‘The Dolocher’ or was this a new murderer setting his own cycle in progress? He thought it was more than likely the same man as last year, but he wondered where he had been for the last ten months and why he had increased his level of violence for this victim. Had he been somewhere he could not have harmed anyone, and this was the deadly result of months of pent up murderous rage? Was it going to begin again just like last year? He didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to deal with something like this monster who killed so viciously and was so elusive; the memory came to him of his almost falling from the rooftop that night he failed to catch the beast. The one time he saw it and had gotten close to it. The sting of failure still fresh on his soul.

The soldiers came back to him one by one with news of no witnesses or anyone hearing anything. It was going to be another long, long winter if this was how it was going to have to be endured again. He would have to go to Edwards now and see what he knew and he didn’t relish the thought at all, it brought back all the failures of last year and the resulting pig slaughtering madness that had engulfed the city.

He got back in his carriage and had it go down along the Coombe and stop at St Patricks Cathedral where he looked at the impressive building as they slowly passed. He would pray to any God to not have the last year repeat itself. He became lost in thought, as he listened to the slow clipping of the horse’s hooves as they went down Patrick Street onto Nicholas Street and into Christ Church, as to the religion that this man could belong to and yet still be able to do such a thing to another human being. Had he no sense of the Hell that awaited him for what he was doing? Perhaps he was pig ignorant and thought hell was going to be full of taverns and brothels like the Hell they were in fact passing through right now. The carved Devil hung over his perception; the dark arch that housed it black and endless in his mind. It felt like the man who was doing this would live there somehow.

When he got home he saw Edward’s coach outside, and he felt then that he had known that this would be the case. He went into the house and was told Mr. Edwards was waiting in the drawing room. James went to him directly.

“So he’s at it again,” Edwards said with a smile as they shook hands.

“Possibly.”

“Only possibly?”

“It could be someone else.”

“Unlikely though?”

“Yes.”

Edwards was looking at him with a face that on anyone else James would call concern.

“I can see that this is bothering you but you have to see the opportunity here. If he did not come back, you would have no chance of catching him.” Edwards was looking at him in animation. James said nothing. “You nearly caught him once and this time around you will catch him.”

“I’d rather he was gone forever, and no one else had to die,” James said.

“That would be terribly boring, Alderman,” Edwards retorted with mock contempt, “People die every day in this hellish city but that is all boring; these people are dying with gusto and they are remembered as being victims of ‘The Dolocher’ as they would never have been remembered by anyone if that were not the case.”

“I’m sure they would all rather be alive!” James said.

“Don’t be so sure my good man, these people who have been killed weren’t living lives like you or I, they were scrounging from day to day, each day harder than the last to feed themselves and their family,” Edwards said and he seemed to be in earnest.

James wanted to change the subject. Edwards was enjoying goading him too much.

“What do you make of this latest one?” he asked.

“You see,” Edwards said delighted “You are already on board with the notion that this is the same killer as last year.” James sighed but didn’t object. “This is a ramping up in ferocity which leads me to think that they have not been able to do this for a while.”

“I had the same thought.”

“I think we should check the prison lists for the last months and see who has just got out and has been in there since the last murder took place.”

“Sounds reasonable, I was thinking we should look at the ships manifests as well and see if anyone has left and come back with a few months absence,” James said.

“That is good too; you are bound to come up with a few names who will have been legitimately travelling to and fro and the killer if he did leave and come back by ship may have used a different false name on both trips.”

“Still worth a look though,” James stated

“Indeed!” Edwards enthused. “I have missed this. It was terribly exciting last time.”

“Please try not to sound so exuberant about this,” James said dryly, looking at Edwards coldly.

“Oh, save your looks and admonitions for your criminals,” he laughed in return. “I will go to the prisons as I think they will dislike me less than you and I have a few connections there and the money to make a few more,” he laughed.

“So I will go to the docks and ask around on the boats that are there now.”

“Sounds good, it might not be a bad idea to ask around the market there as well as some of those sellers can be quite vigilant when they want to be. I will go there after the prisons, and if you are still there we might meet up.”

“Agreed, and if not come to meet me here tonight and we will see where we are.”

“Agreed,” and with a flourish Edwards turned and headed for the door waving over his head as he did.

When he was left alone, James poured himself a large brandy and sat down. His stomach felt ill as he pictured the body from today, and he couldn't help but see the body of Thomas Olocher lying beside todays one in that same mucky lane, he could even see that same dog’s eyes from before and he couldn’t convince himself that the same dog was not there today watching all that was going on and waiting to feast on the meat of the dead. He shuddered at the thought and downed a gulp of brandy before calling for his carriage and making his way to the docks.

There was another killing only days after the first of the new ones. Another prostitute this time and again the savagery had been more ferocious than any of last year’s murders. This woman was so badly mutilated and torn up that no one could tell who she was. She was killed in the alcove where the carved statue of the Devil sat, and the whole place was covered in blood and sinews, even ‘Old Nick’ himself; the cobbles slick with viscera.

“My name is Kate, by the way,” a voice said from the doorway of the blacksmith’s. Mullins turned and saw who it was. He stopped working, stood up straight and looked at her. He was hot and annoyed and tired, but he tried his best to be polite.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“The Dolocher is back killing again,” she said.

“So I hear,” he replied.

“People think you are the one going around at night killing,” she said

“Some people think that,” he replied; the idea of this still sickening to him, to the man he knew he was inside.

“I know it’s not true, you don’t have that in you,” Kate said “And Mary has seen you and told me that it wasn't you. She said she looked into your eyes, and they couldn't be further from the eyes of her attacker.” Mullins could feel himself blush, but he knew his face would already be red from the heat. “I’ve looked at your eyes too blacksmith and I can see you are a good man.”

“Just because I don’t go around killing doesn’t make me a good man.”

“No it doesn’t, but something else could.”

“And what’s that?”

“You must be the biggest and strongest man in Dublin,” Kate said as though musing out loud.

“I think there’s bigger,” he replied. She smiled, but this was quickly replaced by a much more serious face.

“The soldiers don’t care what happens to anyone around here,” she said, “they would be happy if we were all dead.” He nodded his agreement. “You do care about the people who live here,” and again he nodded. “You are the only one strong enough to stop the Dolocher, who actually cares about stopping it.”

“What?” he wasn’t expecting this.

“The killing will just go and on if no one stops it. It seems to be smart enough to stop killing when there are more soldiers around or when groups of men roam the streets looking for it sometimes at night, but if you started to look at night, on your own, you might be able to find it and kill it.”

“Are you crazy, if I walk around the streets every night and there are more murders I will surely get the blame!”

She looked sad when he said this, and this prevented him from saying any more. He waited for her to say something.

“If the Dolocher is not caught soon then it is only a matter of time before me and probably Mary will be dead,” she said after a long pause. Mullins knew that there was no way Kate could avoid going out at night if she wanted to be able to survive. “If you do this for me I’ll give myself to you,” she said meekly. This stunned him, and he looked at her again and, though not what was intended, he could only see how beautiful she was.

“What?”

“I could be your wife,” she said. “I’ve seen the way you look at me and it’s not just my body you look at.” He was sure he was blushing now, but he did his best to keep his composure.

“If I ever have a wife,” he started slowly and not looking at her now “It will not because she feels she owes me anything.”

“We all owe something to the ones we love,” was all she said before she left. Her voice had trembled as she was leaving, but he couldn't be sure if it was from anger or because she was beginning to cry. Women truly were the most confusing creatures.

On his way to work a couple of days later, it was clear to Mullins that there had been another killing, there were so many more people standing around talking in groups than there would otherwise normally be. Though he avoided stopping he knew by the time he got to work that it was a man who had been the victim this time and that the wounds he received were the worst to date, that his face was even missing when he was found.

It was just as he began to open the blacksmith that he began to register and process some of the looks he'd been getting on his way, and he felt more eyes on him now. He turned and looked around, and it was so obvious that people just looked away as he did. He wanted to ask why but he knew what the answer would be, and he couldn't face hearing it at that moment. He opened the door and went inside and waited for his first customer of the day. He busied himself with the work of seeing up, lighting the fires and collecting the tools, and he took meticulous care to inspect reach tool as he removed it from the holder in the corner of the room. The heat grew steadily on this cold morning, and it was going to be a busy day.

The morning ran longer than usual without a customer, and he grew agitated at his idleness. He called the boy in and asked him to go looking for business in Hell and to come back when he had something for the blacksmith to do. As he watched the boy make his way down the road, he noticed again that people were purposefully avoiding his line of sight and didn’t look at the premises as they passed. He was boiling with anger now and he wanted to shout out to them what they hell they all thought they were looking at, but it was the fact that they were not looking that was causing the most hurt. He could feel his shoulders press against his back muscles, and he straightened his back and tried to take in some deep breaths.

He longed for the Liberty Boys to bound past on their way to a ruckus so he could follow and take his anger out on a willing human body or any other living thing that might come in his way. He looked out the window once more in the hope of seeing this very thing when he saw Mary Sommers, and he stopped dead and stared at her.

He looked at the arch of her back as carried her potatoes, and he followed the lines of the scars on her face and hands. He had never looked at her in this way before and couldn't look away now. He saw the white mounds of what looked like folded skin that were her scars and looked at the fear that was evident in even a single step that she took. He felt the warm salt at his eyes and his vision blurred and Mary took on whole other shape in his vision; the shape of a woman unhindered by scars and pain who was going about her business today exactly like everyone else was. Everyone else who was still alive.

But he was not alive anymore.

The anger burst through him now, and he turned and picked the table with his tools on it and threw it against the wall. The whole place shook and he stamped on the iron that lay scattered on the floor and he kicked over his stool and the taking up a rod he began smashing the table to nothing until finally, with nothing but small pieces of wooden debris left he collapsed to his knees and his hands dropped to the floor in exhaustion. He cried in this position now, and he could see his tears mix with the sawdust and the earth on the floor. Cleaves was gone and not just gone but savagely gone. His cheerful face wiped from his skull and his body torn to shreds; ‘the meat plucked from his bones’ came to mind and he cried more as he thought about the children's love for him, the man who told them stories but would never speak of the true horror of the Dolocher to them. ‘There’s no such thing as the Dolocher’ he’d told them. There’s no such thing as Cleaves now.

He stood up after a while and with a headache he looked at the damage he had done to the place and the image was sobering. He looked outside and saw that people had gathered out there but began to disperse when he looked out.

He went out onto the street, and now there were eyes looking at him with sympathy but he ignored this, this was not what he was after. He looked up and down the street for Mary Sommers and saw her turn the corner up ahead towards Hell. He ran after her and catching up with her called her name. She turned to face him.

“Mary,” he said catching his breath again.

“Yes?”

“Can you give Kate a message for me.”

“Ok.”

“Just tell her I’ll do it.”

“You’ll do it?”

“Yes, she’ll know what that means.”

“The blacksmith says he will do it; that’s the message?”

“That’s it, thanks.”

“I’ll tell her when I see her,” and she walked away slowly to continue her work. Mullins watched her for a little and then he began to walk back to the blacksmith.