The Yard (33 page)

“I’m not sure.”

“You mean there might be more murders?”

“It’s a possibility. I’m being perfectly frank with you, Mrs Day. I’d hoped that you might shed some light on things for me. I have no idea which way to turn. I’m afraid more murders are a very real possibility.”

“Oh, I wish he had told me something. Now I shall go mad with worry until the killer is arrested.”

“I shouldn’t have been so forthright with you. I apologize.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m glad you told me. I do so hate being kept in the dark. I just wish there were something I could do to help.”

“Perhaps there is something.”

“Yes, anything.”

“If you could persuade your husband to abandon the case…”

“But I thought he was already working on another case.”

“He is. But that’s only temporary. He’ll be back on this one as soon as he’s finished.”

“Unless you solve it, you mean.”

“Yes, but it seems hopeless. The thing is, I have every reason to believe that the murderer won’t kill again if he’s left alone.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Some of the clues he’s left. I can’t tell you anything exact, you understand. That’s secret departmental business. But there are indications that the killing is done. But if your husband were to stir this beast up again … well, I’m afraid that it might go poorly for our dear Inspector Day.”

Claire sat back and regarded Cinderhouse over the top of the tea set. Her eyes had narrowed. He couldn’t see her hands. They were below the edge of the table. All he could see was the reflection of his own gleaming pink forehead, huge and distorted in the surface of the teapot.

“You seem to know a good deal about this killer, Mr Bentley.”

“Please, call me Inspector Bentley. I’ve worked quite hard for my title.”

“Very well. Inspector Bentley, how could you possibly know whether the killer will do it again? And why wouldn’t you want him brought to justice?”

She was smarter than he’d assumed she would be and he had overplayed his hand. Women these days were overreaching themselves. He smiled, took a sip of tea. It tasted like brown water.

“You misunderstand, Claire. I do want him brought to justice, but I don’t want Inspector Day to be the one to do it. He has much more to lose than I do and might be harmed if he pursues the case. I, on the other hand, am unmarried. My family is long gone. It would be better if I were the one placed in danger, rather than him.” He set his cup down and spread his hands. “I’m only trying to do some good here,” he said.

She leaned forward in her chair and pursed her lips. He saw the trace of a smile on her face.

“This is an important case, isn’t it?” she said.

“I suppose it is. In fact, I believe it’s the most important case the Yard has ever undertaken.”

“Surely not more important than the Jack the Ripper investigation.”

“Well, no, not more important than that. But important, nonetheless. And, I think, equally unsolvable.”

“And yet you want the glory of solving it yourself, don’t you?”

“Beg pardon?”

“You want my husband to step out of the way so that you can solve this unsolvable case and win the admiration of your peers. Perhaps of all London? Paperboys shouting your name at every street corner? Is that it?”

Cinderhouse was startled into silence. He took another sip of tea and thought. He concluded that the lady herself had given him the best way out of the sticky situation he’d blundered into. He set the cup back down on the table and laughed.

“You’ve found me out, Claire. I’m afraid I am a self-aggrandizing heel. Yes, I very much want the respect of my peers. Like your husband, I’m new to the Yard. But he’s caught on so quickly and is doing so well there. I feel I’m competing with him.” He leaned forward and raised his eyebrows. “Please forgive me? I thought this might take nothing away from him and yet perhaps do me some good. I only want my son to be as proud of me as you are of your husband.”

“You said you had no family.”

“Did I? I’m sorry. My wife died so recently that I’m unsure of how to describe myself now. I have no wife, but my son … well, my son is my family, if you understand me.”

He saw her relax and his own smile became genuine.

“I do understand,” she said.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

“I’m sure you needn’t have resorted to all this in order to gain respect. Hard work is its own reward, don’t you think?”

“You’re right, of course.”

He stood and adjusted his coat.

“Well, I’ve rather badly embarrassed myself. I should take my leave.”

“Please don’t feel embarrassed. I’m sure you meant Walter no harm.”

“Still.”

“As you please. Let me fetch your hat.”

When she turned away, he noticed a monogrammed handkerchief on the floor, partially hidden under the edge of the chair. She must have dropped it from her lap when she stood to answer the door. She brought his hat and gloves and he feigned clumsiness, dropping his gloves on the floor near the handkerchief. When he picked them up, he grabbed the cloth, too, and quickly pocketed it.

He pointed at the arm of the chair.

“I couldn’t help but notice that shirt.”

“Oh, I do wish you hadn’t. It’s become something of a puzzle for me. I can’t get the buttonholes to line up.”

“How have you been marking them out?”

“Oh, I couldn’t mark the shirt. I’ve been using my eye.”

“You mean you’ve been guessing at the measurement of the holes?”

“Well, yes.”

“Oh, dear me. What you need is a washable tailor’s marker. I have several and would be happy to give you one.”

“You have several tailor’s markers? Why would that be, Inspector?”

“Yes, well, you see, we use them occasionally to mark bodies. Washable, remember? We wouldn’t want to leave traces of our work for mourners to see.”

“How fascinating. I never would have guessed.”

“But the markers are readily available at any general store and would be quite useful to you.”

“Thank you for your kind advice. Perhaps the next time I visit my husband at work, you’ll be gracious enough to lend me the use of one.”

He moved to the front door and opened it. He donned his hat and stepped out onto the stoop, then turned back toward her.

“Please stop in at the Yard any time and I’ll make you a gift of one. Only…”

“Yes?”

“I do wish you wouldn’t mention today’s visit to your husband. It might go hard on me at headquarters.”

Claire smiled and nodded. “I don’t see that there’s any reason for me to bring it up.”

“Thank you so much.”

“No, thank you. You’ve livened my afternoon considerably.”

“Then my visit has not been a waste of time.”

He grinned at her, tipped his hat, and walked down the steps to the street. His cab waited at the curb and he stepped up into it. As the cab rolled away from the Day house, he took the handkerchief from his pocket. It was a lady’s cloth with the initials
CC
in one corner. Claire’s maiden name must have begun with the letter
C
and she hadn’t yet ordered new handkerchiefs with the initials of her married name.

He touched it to his face. It smelled of apples and smoke.

His visit to the Day house had not gone as he’d hoped, but a new possibility presented itself. He folded the handkerchief neatly, put it in his pocket, and settled back against the seat. The cab bounced over ruts in the road and jostled this way and that, but Cinderhouse didn’t notice. He was deep in thought.

W
ho is he?” Sir Edward said.

“I don’t know, sir,” Day said. “But he looks familiar.”

“Then he’s definitely one of ours?”

“I think so. When Sergeant Kett gets here he may be able to tell us.”

“Where is Kett?”

“Organizing the men, sir. We’re doing a better job this time of keeping the onlookers out of the way so the doctor can do his work on the spot. The discovery of Mr Little’s body yesterday caused a bit of a circus, but the park’s been secured. Nobody here but police this time.”

Day and Sir Edward stood back and watched Dr Kingsley work. The trunk was concealed in a stand of lime trees on the outer edge of St James’s Park. The scent of limes partially hid the odors of the canal and the animals and the people. The body in the trunk had not yet begun to stink.

“This is quite recent,” Kingsley said. “Not more than a few hours old, I’d say. Who found this?”

“A little girl who chased a duck into the trees.”

“She might have seen the murderer.”

“Agreed. Inspector Blacker is making inquiries now. He’ll try to find the girl.”

“Why wasn’t she detained and questioned?” Sir Edward said.

“The man on the beat apparently felt she’d been sufficiently shocked by what she saw. He instructed her mother to take her home and put her to bed.”

“Understandable, but in the future let’s hold on to our witnesses until an inspector can talk to them. It’s a waste of effort and time to have to track down the girl when we should be tracking the killer. That’s already one less man we have for the hunt.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doctor, do you … Good Lord, man!”

Kingsley was unpacking the trunk. He lifted out a severed arm and set it in the grass. He reached back in and brought out another arm. He sat back on his haunches and stared in at the dead man’s face for a long moment, then stood and carried the arm he was holding over to the detectives.

“Feel the severed end here,” Kingsley said.

Sir Edward said nothing but stared at Kingsley until the doctor looked away.

“Very well,” Kingsley said. “But the blood’s fresh. Tacky, but still wet. The killer’s barely ahead of us.”

Day closed his eyes and nodded.

“Did you bring the shears, Mr Day?”

“I did.”

“Good. Give me a few minutes and we may learn something useful.”

Kingsley returned to the trunk and set the severed arm carefully back inside. He opened his black bag and took out the little pot of charcoal dust. He tapped a mound of it into his palm and blew it over the lid of the trunk. He repeated the process on the front and sides of the light brown box. The setting sun cast an orange glow on the trunk’s hinges and seams.

“We’re perhaps more fortunate here than with Inspector Little’s trunk. I’m afraid it may be difficult for me to make out any marks on the black surface of that one.”

“Do you see anything on this one?”

“Yes, several good ones. Bring those shears over here, please. And a lantern.”

A constable approached and set his lantern on top of the trunk. Day averted his gaze and handed the shears over. Kingsley took them without looking and Day stepped back to stand with Sir Edward. Kingsley found a grease pencil in his bag and circled several spots on the trunk. He held the shears up next to each of these spots and examined first one, then another with his magnifying lens. It took him several minutes, and as he was working
his way around the back of the trunk, Sergeant Kett joined Day and Sir Edward under the trees. Sir Edward gestured for him to stay put. Kett nodded and stood silently.

“It’s him, all right,” Kingsley said.

“Him who?”

“I don’t know the name, but I know his mark now. The same man handled these shears and this trunk. His prints are all over the lid and on both sides. Aside from one other man or woman and what appears to have been a small child, nobody else has touched this trunk.”

“A child?”

“Yes, I think so. Or possibly a dwarf. But that’s not likely. I should think a dwarf would have been noticed here in the park.”

“Well, how do we know that one of them is the killer?”

“The child, or dwarf, left a single print. Here, you see? The unknown second man left marks on the lid and the handle, but only on one side of the trunk, which indicates to me that he probably helped to carry it. The overwhelming majority of prints are from the same person who held the shears both before and after the murder. Those prints are under and on top of the layers of blood on the weapon, and some of his marks on the trunk display trace amounts of blood in them. This constable was put in the trunk and it was latched shut before the killer cleaned himself up.”

“Which of my boys was it?” Kett said.

“You may be able to put that matter to rest for us, Mr Kett.”

Kett nodded and took a deep breath. He went to the trunk and stood over it for a long time before coming back to the trees and lighting a pipe. Both Day and Sir Edward were silent. They waited for Kett to get the pipe lit and take a deep drag. Smoke curled from his mouth when he finally spoke.

“I was gonna yell at ’im when he shewed hisself today. I was mad as a wet hen ’cause he missed his shift, and the whole of the time he was settin’ here under the trees in little pieces.”

Day opened his mouth, but Sir Edward laid a hand on his arm to quiet
him. He moved his head almost imperceptibly from side to side.
Let the sergeant talk.

“He was always a bit of a dandy, he was. Always worryin’ that his jacket dint fit right across the shoulders or the cuffs of his trousers was showin’ wear. Used to drive me batty. But he did the work. I couldn’t never fault him for that. He weren’t in the league of his mate Hammersmith, but he were a fine young man, that one.”

Kett turned his back to the other men and stood smoking. Day noticed that Sir Edward looked away toward the canal while Kingsley busied himself with the trunk, doing things Day thought he’d already seen him do, circling the same spots again with the grease pencil. Finally, Kett wiped his eyes on his sleeve and turned back, but he kept his face down.