The Killing Hand (14 page)

Each day after the public meeting I woke early and purchased a copy of The Times. For several days there was only silence, something that seemed to unnerve me more than when there
was
news. Since my face to face encounter with the murderer I had found myself living in fear of Him. Deep inside I wished only that the next murder would not happen, and that the entire thing would go away and we could resume living as we were. Yet, even in desperation, I knew this was not going to happen. My fears came true on the Monday when I bought the paper and the very news I wished not to see was reported on the front page.

THE TIMES, MONDAY, JANUARY 17, 1838

POLITICIAN JASPER THATCHER has become the latest victim in a string of brutal murders committed throughout London by the notorious Spring-heeled Jack.

He was viciously murdered in his home late Saturday evening. A witness insisted that the murderer was dressed like that of a gentleman when he approached Mr Gosforth. Following a short conversation, the witness claims the murderer spat in the face of the victim, before bludgeoning him to death and finally making his escape by leaping over a nearby wall.

   The article made me sick. This murderer – this monster! – had bludgeoned an innocent man in his own home for our own gain. And He was dressed as a gentleman, as if that made Him acceptable to society, as if merely wearing a suit enabled one to act as they wish without remorse. Was this in response to the public meeting?

  
I can promise that behind the mask of night he is simply a man.

   Was He mocking us? Was this H
is response to the public recognition?

   I felt depressed as I understood that Jasper Thatcher was
now dead by our hands. Even if not all of us wished for it be, none of us had done anything to prevent it. His death had provided very little gain to our plight. Further money for those that already were wealthy enough. And, in regards to identifying the villain, all I could gain from the matter was that He was able and willing to hunt down anyone at our very command. Instead of providing me with a clue as to who He may be, it simply made me fear for my own life more.

   I ventured to work shortly after, fe
eling ill in myself. I opened the door to my workplace, the soft jingle of the bell resonating from within as I did, and stepped in. As always, Gilbert did not so much as look up at me as I entered and I merely made my way to my desk, placing the newspaper down and shifting into the silence of work. I sat at down and read over the article again. Although it made me sick, reading over it and envisioning it built up the rage within me, the rage that helped me to continue on.   "I knew Thatcher," Gilbert spoke from nowhere as I was lowering myself down to my seat. His attention had been drawn from his paperwork; perhaps my tense posture had caught his eye. He stood and walked over to my desk slowly, as if a tamer encircling a lion, and reached out for the newspaper from under me, snatching it and scanning over it. "Git of a man he was, but he did not deserve such a death."

   I slouched down into my seat. I had no desire to work, and little desire to mask it. "What
do you think would bring a man to carry out such a heinous act against him?"

   Gilbert did not answer. I do not suppose he had an answer, for I had searched for closure on the matter and yet I found none. Wealth was the obvious answer, but it was no real explanation for
how horrific these murders were. No rational thought could bring a man to kill like this, nor to even think such thoughts. It was almost as if the killer was relishing in it by this point. Gilbert placed the newspaper down, drawing his gaze from it and saying nothing further. I no longer wished to acknowledge it and shut it in the draw of my desk.

   We worked in silence for the remainder of the afternoon. Mine and Gilbert's relationship may have been acrimonious at times, yet it
seemed by now we had settled to such a routine that we made sure not to cross ourselves with one another. I worked from a logbook for the remainder of the day, tallying profits and losses for the company. I indulged several hours into this menial event, enjoying the break from any sort of thought. My arms and my eyes moved, but there was no true purpose or vision behind them. I merely existed.

   Prior to closing I came across a detail in one of the logs that I did not quite understand. I looked up to Gilbert, who was planted at his desk, d
rawn into his work, and called out. "What is this loss from last month?"

   "What loss?" he responded, not looking up.

   "The trade. The earnings from last month are reporting a loss."

   "Loss is natural," he concluded. "Some months are worse for trade t
han others."

   "You said that back in August. Have we been operating at a loss this entire time?"

   He placed his quill down and leant back in his chair. "Not the entire time."

   "Just most of it then? Have we made any profit?"

   He cocked his head sheepishly. "I have been trying to maintain this business by myself since your Father left. You have done little to aid me, when you
have
been here. It is natural that business reputation has taken a hit."

   "Not like this," I hissed
pointing down at the figures. "We cannot continue operating like this Gilbert. Surely you knew that?"

   "And what would you have me do?
Your Father’s death, the crash of the market and that bastard Shaw bleeding the remains dry. Should you have a solution, I would eagerly hear it, but I severely doubt you do, Eric."

   To this I had no response
, and I am certain that was hit intention. Still, I was angry at him keeping the companies loss from me. For all the fact that we were meant to be business partners, he had failed to confide in me his failings. Suddenly the months of berating I had received from him seemed pitiful – the very man was scolding me for not doing a proper job when, in all reality, it was he who was failing to carry out his duties proper.

   We did not speak until
the clock chimed and I collected my things and left. This matter was one thing that I did not need to deal with, the other events taking precedence. I had the deaths of men weighing heavily on my conscience, making my mind feel heavier with every regret, as if it were due to collapse in on itself. I felt as if I were going insane.

   I returned home to do what I do best: drink. I marched through the streets of London, ignoring every cheery businessman and watc
hful police officer and retreated straight to the dark comfort of my own home where I locked myself up. Once again I found myself lighting the fire, opening another bottle, and slouching into the armchair before it. As I did so a pain rose up my arm and I was reminded of the wound there: His mark; His warning. I was certain it was intentional, so that I would never forget such a warning due to it being inscribed into my skin.

   I drank for a short while
, but not long enough to be drunk. I stared at the ceiling and pondered nothing in particular. I contemplated turning to finish the liquor cabinet entirely that night. Somehow I managed to decide against it. I justified it by thinking that things would only be just as bad – if not worse – if I were blind drunk; if I even survived that amount of booze. The thought was tempting, to hope to block everything out in an inebriated haze, but ultimately that would not make the situation go away. I paced for the remainder of the afternoon, lost in deep thought until brought out of it by a knock at the door early in the evening. As with all knocks by this point, I froze. Who would be behind it? A friend, with hope, but the doubt lingered in my mind that He was still out there and able to visit me whenever he wished. To finish the job, perhaps.

   I opened it to Lilly, whom I welcomed in. I could not return her warm smile. So much had happened recently that made me feel like a ma
n that should never be allowed to smile again. A man that condemns others to death as he sits drinking and socialising should deserve no such emotions. I had wished not to be that man but, whether or not I wished for it, it is what I had become.

   "What i
s wrong, Eric?" Lilly asked when she saw me lost in thought.

   I did not even realise that I had ignored her. The thoughts were running so quickly through my mind that I was barely able to tell where I was. "It has been a long few days," I finally settled
with responding. "Days I could do with forgetting."

   "Gilbert told me of the affair with the business. The losses, that is," she spoke, taking me by the hand and leading me to the sofa where we sat. "He should have told you. Do not think he is without g
uilt on the matter."

   "I am sure it will resolve itself," I dismissed. I was no longer angry with the matter, as it was mostly fuelled by the heat of the moment.
No, my anger with Gilbert had existed only to divert my mind from bigger things, it was not genuine. "With a bit of work we can restore what the company earnings once were."

   "Then it is not that which troubles you?" she asked, and I realised that perhaps I was not hiding my grief enough.

   "It is nothing. Nothing I would desire you to be entwined with."

   "I am your sister, Eric. If you are having issues, I would prefer you would indulge them with me."

   "Not this time. I need to deal with this myself."

   She said, "You have said that before. Always one to shut others out
! I remember Father saying the same thing of you."

   My
Father; I had not thought of him lately. What would he think of me in such a situation? How would he advise me? "Did my Father speak of me when I was in Europe?" I asked, wondering what his final thoughts of me were.

  "He spoke of you frequently, often expressing his sorrow at your absence and often wishing that you would return to us soon."

  
"Did he speak of me, or of my work?"

  
"He did not speak of your work, only of you."

   This relieved me. To be thought of a
s just a lackey had often begrudged me, and it gave me pride to know that my Father did not simply see my venture as a business necessity.

   Lilly gave me a warm smile as she relaxed back into the sofa. "Tell me a story from your time in Europe."

   "I am not in a story telling mood."

   "Oh, please Eric. You have spoken so little of it since your return."

   "What type of story?"

   "Any story," she spoke. Her eyes lit up at the romanticism of Europe. "Tell me of the places you travelled!"

   "There is little to tell I am afraid," I spoke slowly, trying to remember the year gone. "I travelled alone for the most part, and did not concern myself in the affairs of others."

   Lilly looked disappointed, but I had no reassurance for her. My time
in Europe was not to be spent sightseeing, nor in the company of good friends. My travelling was done purely as a form of escape, and any tales of escape would surely do little to enlighten her.

   I needed time alone. I looked at the clock. "I am afraid w
e will have to call it a night. I may visit sometime if I feel up to facing Gilbert again."

   "Do not be too harsh on him," she pleaded. "He will do his best to fix everything. I know it."

   "Very well," I said, rising to take her in a goodbye embrace. "I will make sure to see you soon." She gave me a parting smile and I closed the door behind her.

  
With Lilly gone and my mind exhausted I decided the house was too cold and quiet to entertain myself and went straight to bed, hoping to fall asleep and, even if just for a split second, not have to worry about the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore.

My mind was no clearer when we gathered at The Flying Knave the following night. Each of us looked less sprightly than the previous meeting. Without a single word of greeting muttered between us, Lucius silently lit a cigar and began to deal the cards. There was no sound of protest from Francis, nor cheer from Palmer. The room remained silent. I wondered if perhaps the weight of the situation was starting to crush the men beneath it. Had we become subordinate through fear?

   Lucius spoke as he dealt out the cards. "For those who have not read the recent papers, Jasper T
hatcher was murdered in the previous week. As there was no company under Thatcher's name we made no gain, although the benefit of him not hounding our activities shall pay for that in itself."

   Palmer scoffed at the notion of making no gain from the murd
er.

   "Is there need to have a meeting every week?" Harry stammered as Lucius finished dealing. "Especially at the rate people are being killed as a result of the meetings."

   Palmer scowled as he took up his hand. "Stop being so weak, we should use this gift! You are benefiting from this scheme as much as anyone else. Your cowardice and perception on matters leaves much to be desired."

   Harry became silent, beaten down by Palmer's scathing response. Palmer's rebuking almost sounded like a threat and I
wondered if he meant it generally, or if it was a slip that he was able to arrange such a thing.

   Harry spoke again. "But if we continue, what if it raises too much suspicion?"

   "Raise suspicion?" Palmer growled. "Try to understand it is not that level anymore."

   Lucius leant in towards the table. "Palmer is right. The Mayor pretty much knows exactly what is going on here. The only saving grace we have now is, while he probably understands the motive and the means, he still remains oblivious as to who
could be committing such acts." He stubbed the remainder of his cigar out against the table. "James will do everything in his power to find us. If he cannot, then he is no good as a detective."

   Palmer's eyes narrowed. "Especially with the reputation he
holds."

   "Once he finds out the identity of our killer, it is to be assumed that he may find out
that of his clients," Lucius said. "Therefore, it is in our best interest to ensure that neither our killer, or ourselves, are endangered in any way."

   Ha
rry fidgeted in his seat. "I do not know which one of you He is, but I want to leave now. I do not want to get involved too much and wind up getting caught as a criminal."

   Francis called out in warning, "Do not be a fool! If you leave, you will be dead
by tomorrow."

   "What does He want?" Harry continued,
now pleading. "Tell us Lucius."

   All eyes turned to Lucius, his gaze stern upon Harry. "Do not presume I am he just because I was there at this birth of this scheme. Why is it you thi
nk he suddenly started killing? For the money, of course. Most people think of wealth before anything else. He can achieve both a high social position and wealth apart from his nocturnal persona. If we continue these meetings carefully, we will undoubtedly control some of the most successful companies in the world."

  
Francis leant into the middle of the table making himself clear. "Look, we do not know the true power of the forces we are dealing with here. If he is working in accordance with a moral righteousness, even in spite of his behaviour, we may not be left unscathed."

   "The unworldly forces at play may topple us all," Harry adds.

   "That includes you, Lucius, despite your protestations."

   "If we have the money, he will serve our purpose," Lucius spoke resolut
ely in true businessman fashion. "That is what he wants; the money, nothing more. As he works strictly for money it puts us at an advantage. The money we generate after each acquisition will keep him loyal to us. He will not harm us, and more importantly, he will not have a reason to go anywhere else."

   Luciu
s' conclusion was not peculiar; he was a man who firmly believed that everyone had a price and could be bought. I had to wonder though if his analysis of the situation was simply speculation or whether he knew for certain. If it were mere speculation then it was a dangerous one. If He was, as Francis stated, working by some other code then He could have very well turned against us at any time.

   L
ucius drew out the cards and began to deal. “Let us move on with business.”

   Palmer grunted. “
Why do we still play this infernal game? We have the powers of elimination at our fingertips, and yet we choose a sole victim once per week through cards? Enough of this folly, we should simply name those that we wish death upon and be done with it.”

   “
We will continue to play for the very same reason that we originally coined the game. Jack wishes his identity to be kept secret, and by his targets being chose impartially there can be no accusations of favouritism.”

  
“Then why just one target a week? It seems such a waste.”

   “
As previously stated, further deaths would merely incriminate ourselves. We must pace our actions if we do not wish to attract the attention of the law.”

   “
The law will notice,” Francis warned. “Each death has been executed in such a peculiar manner that it would be impossible for a line not to be drawn between them. Should this act continue it will be your downfall.”

   Lucius leant ba
ck in his chair, looking smug. “I have no doubt that the police will be unable to link the murders to this group. There is an entire city of men who would do as we do, Francis. Nothing stands to link it to us specifically. The decisions made in these meetings have been executed, regardless of the request. In the past few weeks, whoever we have selected has been murdered without question. If things get too out of control, there is no reason why we cannot select a red herring or two, is there?”

   Francis said, “
So now you are killing, not to enrich yourself, but to merely distract others. When will it end? Among the five people in here, there must be someone who has a connection to this…
Jack
. My mind tells me that it may be you, Lucius, although I have nothing to base that assumption on other than your ease with the situation; but then what of Palmer? Whoever it is, that person is utilising this connection for their own good.”

   Palmer gave a cheer. “
A good strategy, I would say! Alas, not one that came from my brilliant mind.”

   Francis continued. He sounded defeated, as if he were only arguing now ou
t of habit. “It is too peculiar. I do not consider any men who sit beside me now to be the sort who socialise with murderers. Crooks, perhaps, but not murderers. No matter how I think on it, there has to be some kind of benefit for Jack in all this.”

   “
The money, we know this,” Lucius sighed. “Obviously, this endeavour is going to be profitable for him. A man killing prominent businessmen is unlikely to be doing so for altruistic purposes. The money that has been taken from the account of The Hudson Group is his fee, which he dictates depending on the request.”

   “
I understand the ruse of the laundering scheme; but a man with that much power will have bigger goals, I can assure you. I believe that, whomever has struck this deal – and I turn my gaze to you now, Lucius – does not realise that they may simply be a pawn for him. Perhaps it is his intention to take The Hudson Group entirely, when the time is right.”

   Lucius did not respond.

   “Francis is right,” I added, for the first time in a while. “Do you think it will continue like this? We give names and our enemies drop dead, forever?”

   He nodded. “
As long as we carry on as we are, the results of these meetings are as good as guaranteed to us. And, as we are not directly involved in the murders, we are not accountable for the attacks.”

   "Just because we are not committing the murders ourselves does not make us any better," Francis s
aid. "We are still advocating these attacks by continuing to participate. We cannot be sure of Jack's intentions. He
may
be trying to assist us to our mutual benefit. Contrariwise, he may have ulterior motives altogether – and it is that which I now believe."

   Lucius lent into the table wearing an expression of boredom from hearing this conversation far too many times
before. "I am sure if it were his intention to kill us now, it would have happened. The anonymity between Jack and this group is purpose; it means we can all back out when the time is right. It is as previously said; all we are doing is merely talking."

 
Francis barely gave Lucius time to finish, speaking over him instead, “It was
merely talking
that killed Rufus, lest you forget such a thing. There is no walking away, Lucius. We have never had that option, and it has been made perfectly clear what happens to those who try and pick that path.” The fire had since returned to his eyes.

   “
Rufus disobeyed, we have already established that. As long as we continue as we are then we shall be safe.”

   Palmer grinned
. "It is like having some sort of guardian angel - and we are clear of all suspicion!"

   “
Where does it end?” Francis asked. “If we cannot walk away, then you must understand that we are simply glorified prisoners. Jack will throw us to the fire when the time comes.”

   Lucius finished his drink and immediately began to pour himself another
, ignoring Francis’ scowling. “As of now our primary concern is dominating our own markets. What we have is a gift. However, we must make sure not to escalate the situation – I believe that is what will placate Jack. Although we are not killing anyone directly, we must be careful not to create enough suspicion to incriminate us. I think if all of our competition died off it would raise questions. If we only choose people that only directly benefit us then we will be incriminating ourselves.”

   “
But we have not killed anyone, not really!” Harry hollered, apparently trying to reassure himself rather than convince the rest of us.

   Lucius continued, ignoring him. “
Even if the police do not prove our involvement, the media would be able to cast assertions by covering it. People would realise that these murders are benefiting us. That could be enough to permanently damage our image - and do not fool yourselves gentlemen; it is no secret to others that this meeting happens, even if the subject matter is a mystery to anyone outside this room. All it needs is enough evidence to point towards us as a group and we could find ourselves on the chopping block. It is at that point that Jack would abandon us, not before.”

   Palmer hummed to himself. “
What if the police did not even get a chance to pursue us? What if we could prevent the police from investigating ourselves in connection with the murders?”

   Francis sn
apped. “Do not think about it! First you are talking about killing businessmen, but now you are talk about crushing the law. It is something that would only make the situation worse tenfold.”

   “
Policemen are not men at all,” Palmer hissed.

   “
Aside from your opinions and conclusions – it is wrong. No matter who is killed for our benefit I would be appalled. It is abhorrent.”

   “
The people who are killed are indirectly linked to us at best,” Lucius spoke, attempting to bring the argument under control. “Their deaths are beneficial to us. We reap the rewards with none of the punishment. I find myself in agreement with Francis; killing high profile officers would attract too much attention to be able to continue as we are. We simply continue as we are, making sure that we leave no evidence in our actions.”

   “
We are not even breaking the law,” Harry muttered to himself, largely ignored by the rest of the room.

   “
Our profits have increased tenfold after being able to purchase the companies. The deaths of the owners made this possible. I dare say if we continue like this we will be set for life.”

   Francis let out an exasperated cry.
“The entire operation is wrong. The sanctity of life is not a commodity to be bought through the acquisition of profits. The price on the lives of these men is too great.”

   “
Criminality is rampant, we are no worse than those that have been killed,” Palmer argued. “They were crooked, hands in every pocket they could find.”

  
Francis said, “What entitles you to decide who should be killed?”

   “
What entitles you to decide who should live?” Lucius countered.

  
“We should stop now, whilst we can. If we do not wish to do this, we can all escape – all at once. One of us would perhaps be seen as a threat, but all of us would be seen as a statement. We’ve kept our silence this long.”

   Palmer shook his head resolutely, his eyes transfixed on some insurmountabl
e thought. “No, this is a gift. This is the only way to topple my competitors.”