Read The Detective Branch Online
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
The Detective Branch (26 page)
Druitt shrugged. ‘To be perfectly honest, I can’t imagine Brendan picking up a hammer with genuine malice aforethought. A bottle of gin perhaps.’
Another silence fell between them.
Pyke stood up and stretched his legs. Sitting on the stool for too long had made his leg go dead. ‘How would you describe Malloy’s sentiments regarding the Devil?’ He was thinking about the accusation that the former priest had made in the cell: that Druitt wasn’t simply evil but was the Devil incarnate.
Druitt fell back into his hammock and contemplated the question. ‘Brendan sees Satan everywhere, in everything and in everyone. A harsh interpretation would be that he had long since surrendered his mental faculties. A kinder one would be that he does so because he wants to; because it suits his view of the world. Heaven and Hell, God and the Devil, good and evil. There are no shades of grey in Brendan’s world. In fact, I’d go as far as saying that if Satan was ever proved to be a fiction, there would be no reason for Brendan to exist.’
Pyke found it hard to disagree with Druitt’s candid assessment of the former priest.
Druitt climbed out of the hammock and stretched his limbs. ‘To say I’ve enjoyed our conversation would be an understatement. It’s been a while since I’ve talked for this length of time, but I’m afraid it’s left me feeling rather worn out. If you don’t have any further questions, perhaps you might permit me to get on with my work.’ He gestured down at the half-woven mat on the floor.
‘I’d like to think I won’t bother you again, but somehow I suspect I’ll be back.’
‘I’ll be ready for you, Detective Inspector,’ Druitt said.
Pyke banged on the door and the peephole opened almost immediately. ‘Are you ready to go?’ the warder asked. A few moments later, the door swung open. But Druitt hadn’t quite finished with him.
‘Tell me one thing, sir. What date
exactly
did this murder take place?’
exactly
did this murder take place?’
Without having to consult his notes, Pyke said, ‘The third.’
‘Of December?’
He nodded. ‘Is that significant?’
Druitt yawned, but when he looked up, his eyes were glistening. ‘I’d say you were better placed to answer that question than me.’
‘Why me?’
‘The problem of Milton’s poem isn’t Satan. It’s God,’ Druitt said, calmly. ‘Because why else would the poem need, or even desire, to justify the ways of God to men?’
By the time Pyke returned to the Detective Branch, it was late, well after ten, and the rooms were occupied by just Whicher and Shaw. While he removed his greatcoat and hung it on the stand, Whicher explained that he’d been to see the constable who’d arrested Egan, but that there was seemingly no connection between the matter he’d been arrested for, the theft of a few crates of wine, and the Saviour’s Cross. Pyke asked him whether he’d managed to question Egan himself, but Whicher shook his head and said it hadn’t seemed to be worth his while.
Frederick Shaw was sitting at his desk surrounded by stacks of papers and reports. His sleeves were rolled up and an ink pen was tucked behind his ear.
‘Found anything interesting?’
‘I’ve been trying to reacquaint myself with that investigation I was telling you about,’ Shaw said, pointing to the reports on his desk.
‘And?’
‘The first boy, Johnny Gregg, was beaten to death with a hammer, as I said.’
Pyke pulled up a chair and sat down. ‘And this other boy was crucified?’
‘Stephen Clough. His hands and feet were nailed to a door.’
‘Where?’
Shaw took a few moments to find the right file. ‘Cambridge Street.’
‘Soho?’ Pyke felt a jolt of excitement race up his spine.
‘That’s right.’
‘But I thought you said the bodies were found in St Giles.’
‘The first one was.’
Pyke could feel the blood pumping in his chest. ‘Do you know where on Cambridge Street?’
Shaw had another look at the report. ‘An old stables, I think.’
‘That’s where Brendan Malloy used to perform mass each Sunday.’
Shaw looked up from the report, confused. ‘Malloy?’
‘The priest. The one we had in our custody until Wells, in his wisdom, persuaded Mayne to release him.’
This was an important piece of information. It suggested that Malloy knew or at least knew of the man hanged for killing Johnny Gregg with a hammer and for crucifying Stephen Clough. If Morris Keate was as plagued by Satanic visions as Shaw seemed to think he was, and in view of the location of the second murder, it was almost inconceivable that he hadn’t met Malloy and perhaps even asked for an exorcism.
‘When did all this take place, Frederick? I know you’ve mentioned the date already but remind me again.’
‘Eighteen thirty-nine.’
‘Which month?’
‘December. The first boy, Gregg, was found on the morning of the fourth.’
Pyke felt another rush of excitement. ‘So he would have been killed some time on the third?’
‘I suppose so.’ Shaw looked up and must have seen the heat in Pyke’s face. ‘Why’s that significant?’
‘Guppy was killed on the night of the third of December, too. And as far as we know, a hammer was used on both occasions.’
Shaw looked at him, dumbstruck. ‘I thought there was a connection. I just didn’t think to check the dates . . .’
‘Frederick, don’t feel bad. You’ve just broken this whole thing wide open. Now, I need you to tell me everything you know about the old investigation.’
Shaw’s hands were trembling slightly. ‘Do you really think there’s a connection?’
‘Just take your time,’ Pyke said, pulling his chair up to Shaw’s desk. ‘And start from the beginning.’
The first body was found by a crossing-sweeper early on 4 December at the crossroads of Tower and Little Earl Street in St Giles. The boy was soon identified as Johnny Gregg and was believed to be part of a gang of pickpockets that operated among the theatre crowd in Covent Garden and Drury Lane. From there, it was always easy to slip back into the rookery and relative safety. Gregg had been beaten to death with a hammer or some other blunt object but no family had come forward to claim the body. According to Shaw, no one had been especially concerned to find the boy’s murderer, at least not initially, presuming, rightly or wrongly, that, as a petty thief, he had stolen from the wrong person and had got what was coming to him.
But when a second body was found two weeks or so later, this time on the other side of St Martin’s Lane in Soho, people sat up and took notice, not least because of the gruesome nature of the death. Stephen Clough had been pinned to the door of a stable on Cambridge Street, six-inch nails driven through his hands and feet. He had also been stabbed in the stomach, and it was this wound, rather than the nails in his hands and feet, which, according to the coroner, had killed him.
Again, few people either in Soho or St Giles volunteered information beyond confirming that Clough, like Gregg, had been part of a gang of pickpockets that worked in the district. Nonetheless, this second murder had sent sections of the city into panic. The fact that children were being murdered, even if the children in question were dirt poor and belonged to the criminal classes, turned the story into a sensation. Rumours began to circulate about witchcraft and an underground coven of Devil worshippers. No one, it was said, was safe. The sales of pistols and knives soared and self-appointed constables joined the official police in patrolling the lanes and back-alleys of St Giles and Soho. In this febrile atmosphere, Shaw told him, the pressure to find the murderer had been intense, so when a man called Keate was brought to their attention, everyone, Shaw included, pounced on him. A night-soil man by trade, Keate lodged in one of the houses on King Street, St Giles, close to where the first body had been found. According to the men he worked with, Keate was a loner who, at nearly forty, was still under his mother’s thumb. He was also a deeply religious man, a Roman Catholic, and was troubled by visions of Heaven and, more often, Hell. Other lodgers reported that Keate had not been seen at the house on the night of the murders. His tool-chest was searched and a hammer was found, together with a distinctive hat that was later proved to belong to one of the boys. The hammer had traces of blood on the handle. Keate was arrested and taken to Bow Street police office. At his hearing, it was decided that the evidence against him was sufficient to warrant a trial, and at the trial, in spite of entering a ‘not guilty’ plea, Keate was found guilty. Two weeks later he was hanged in front of a crowd outside Newgate prison.
After Keate’s arrest and execution, no one else had been murdered. And no one, Shaw assured Pyke, had been in any doubt that they had got their man.
‘So when exactly was the second boy, Stephen Clough, found?’ Pyke took a piece of foolscap and picked up his pen.
‘The morning of the fourteenth.’
‘That means he would have been killed some time on the thirteenth.’ Pyke considered what this might mean for their current investigation. The thirteenth was the following day.
‘You think whoever killed Guppy will try again?’
Pyke shrugged. ‘Tell me a little more about the investigation. For a start, how did you first come to identify Keate as a suspect?’
‘One of the lodgers contacted the police, I think.’
‘Who led the investigation?’
Shaw looked at him and wetted his lips. ‘I know you don’t care for the man but I can assure you that the investigation was conducted in an exemplary manner. Everyone said so. It was one of the reasons Mayne was able to make such an effective case for the establishment of the Detective Branch.’
‘Pierce?’
Shaw nodded. ‘Nothing, and I mean
nothing
, was left to chance. Keate was the murderer and he got what he deserved.’
nothing
, was left to chance. Keate was the murderer and he got what he deserved.’
FOURTEEN
T
he following morning, at Pyke’s request, the top men of the New Police assembled in the commissioners’ offices and were ushered into Mayne’s chambers. Rowan, the more senior of the two commissioners, was there, as was Wells. Benedict Pierce arrived late and took a chair between Rowan and Wells.
he following morning, at Pyke’s request, the top men of the New Police assembled in the commissioners’ offices and were ushered into Mayne’s chambers. Rowan, the more senior of the two commissioners, was there, as was Wells. Benedict Pierce arrived late and took a chair between Rowan and Wells.
It was a full-scale council of war, and once Mayne had welcomed them, he gestured for Pyke to take the floor. Having done so, Pyke outlined what he’d already found out (omitting all references to Ebenezer Druitt) and what he suspected might happen later that day or night; he spoke fluently and without interruption, and when he was finished, he allowed himself a glance at Pierce. The colour had risen in Pierce’s neck and cheeks.
Pyke knew that the assumption he was making - that Guppy’s murder was related to events five year earlier and that the pattern of dates might replicate itself in the present - was contentious. Still, his instinct told him that a connection existed. He’d been led in this direction by Druitt’s apparently casual remark, and it was highly possible that Druitt was making mischief for its own sake, but could it simply be coincidence that Gregg and Guppy had been killed on exactly the same date and in almost identical a manner?
‘But you have no actual proof, no firm evidence, that such an attack will occur today or some time tonight, do you?’ It was perfectly clear from Rowan’s demeanour that he neither liked Pyke nor trusted his judgement.
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