The Hyde Park Headsman (16 page)

It was hard to think in the office. It was too quiet, too comfortable, and too prone to interruption.

He rose suddenly and without bothering to take his hat or jacket, strode out and down the stairs, calling over his shoulder to the desk sergeant, and went into the street.

Immediately the noise and clatter surrounded him and he felt a sudden overwhelming familiarity. This was the scene he was used to, the ordinary people pressing in on him, full of their own business, peddlers, costers, small tradesmen, women bound for markets to buy or to sell, running patterers calling out in their singsong voices the hasty rhymes of the latest news.

Around the corner out of Bow Street, along towards Drury Lane he passed pie sellers, sandwich men, and a woman with peppermint drinks, another with fresh flowers, all calling out after him, some even by name. He waved a hand in acknowledgment, but did not stop. Hansoms drove their way between slower carriages with tops open to show ladies out to see the sights, and to be seen.

He continued on southwards into the Strand. There hoardings advertised drama, music halls, concerts, and recitals. Magical names were written in giant letters: Ellen Terry, Marie Lloyd, Sarah Bernhardt, Eleanora Duse, Lillie Langtry.

Who was Aidan Arledge, and why had someone killed him so brutally? Was it really no more than the accident of having walked alone … He stopped. No, not in Hyde Park, not necessarily. They must find out where he had been killed. That was the most important thing. If it were really no more than a coincidence of place, then they must know what that place was.

Someone bumped into him, apologized icily and strode on.

“ ’Ere guv—wanna newspaper?” a ragged youth shouted cheerfully. “Another ’orrible murder in ’Yde Park! Mutilated corpse found on the bandstand! ’Omicidal madman loose in London! Jack the Ripper come back again! What are the rozzers doin’? ’Ere guv, d’yer want it or not? Read all about it ’ere!”

“Thank you.” Pitt took it absently and handed the boy a copper. He stood back from the fairway, leaning against the wall, and opened up the paper. The words were just as bad as the headlines: sensational horror, columns of speculation, and the inevitable criticism of the police. So far they had not mentioned the second victim’s name. At least Tellman had been swift enough to take the card case and keep it to himself. The widow, if there were one, should not discover her loss because some friend or servant had seen the blaring headlines in the newspaper.

He folded it up again and continued along the Strand. If it were a madman, a chance lunatic with no connection with either Winthrop or Arledge, it would be steady police work which caught him, if anything did. Tellman was good at that. Dammit, he was good at it himself! He knew the underworld and the petty thieves and forgers, macers, kidsmen, cardsharps and tricksters who would have wind of such a creature loose.

Then memory jarred his confidence. No one had caught the Ripper, no one had come anywhere near. There had been suspicions of a few people, but in the end the Ripper had eluded them all. History would remember the name with a shudder, and the superintendent who had been in charge of the case was a byword for his failure. Even Commissioner Warren had had to resign.

He wished fervently that Micah Drummond were still in
charge. Promotion was a very double-sided coin. If he succeeded, Tellman could easily take the credit; if he failed, the assistant commissioner would blame him, and justly so. He gave the orders, he made the decisions.

He turned and walked back up towards Bow Street, passing a watch peddler he knew and nodding to him. Why on earth would Winthrop get into a pleasure boat with a stranger? It made no sense at all. There must have been a connection at least between Winthrop and his killer, even if not with Arledge. And he must find out more about Arledge.

He increased his pace, and reached the station with a sense of urgency.

The duty sergeant looked up, his face anxious. “Mr. Pitt, sir, Mr. Farnsworth’s here to see you, sir. And Mr. Pitt …”

“Yes.”

“He looks proper put out, sir.”

“I imagine he is,” Pitt said wryly. “But thank you for telling me.” And he stopped and took a moment to steady himself and try to prepare in his mind what he would say.

He arrived at his office with his head still a blank, and pushed the door open.

Farnsworth was sitting in the easy chair. He did not rise as Pitt came in, but merely looked up at him, his face dark.

“Good morning, sir.” Pitt closed the door and walked over to the other chair.

“Hardly!” Farnsworth snapped. “Have you seen the newspapers? Headlines in every one of them, and not surprising. Two headless corpses in two weeks. We’ve got another Ripper, Pitt, and what are you doing about it? I’ll tell you this, I don’t intend to lose my position because you don’t catch the lunatic who’s running amok. For God’s sake, sit down, man! I’m getting a crick in my neck looking at you.”

Pitt sat down immediately.

“Well, what are you doing?” Farnsworth demanded again. “Who is Arledge anyway? What was he doing in the park in the middle of the night? Was he picking up a woman? Is that the link? Were both these men picking up prostitutes, and some insane creature with a puritanical mind got it into his head to execute a kind of mad vengeance on them?” He pulled a face, doubt and anger in his eyes. “Although usually men with that kind of fixation kill the women, not the men.”

“I don’t know,” Pitt admitted. “I’ve got Tellman out trying
to find out who Arledge was, and everything we can about him.”

Farnsworth’s shoulders were stiff, pulling on the fine worsted of his coat.

“Tellman—Tellman? Is he good? I know that name …”

“Yes, he’s excellent,” Pitt said honestly.

“Ah—yes.” Farnsworth’s face lit with remembrance. “Drummond always spoke well of him. Bit rough, but intelligent, good at ordinary police work, knows his petty criminals. Good. Yes, use Tellman. What else?” He looked at Pitt with hard, accusing eyes, very clear light blue.

“I’ve got other men out searching the park, looking for any possible witnesses, although tonight will probably be better for that.”

“Tonight?” Farnsworth demanded with a frown. “You can’t afford to waste time until tonight, man. What’s the matter with you? For God’s sake, Pitt—can’t you see we are on the edge of another explosion of violence in the city? People are frightened. There is talk of anarchy, unrest, even murmurs of a republic. It’ll only take another string of unsolved murders like this and some revolutionary will strike a spark that will set London ablaze. You haven’t time to waste waiting around for evidence to come to you.” He thumped a tight fist into the arm of the chair, leaning forward in it uncomfortably. “We none of us have!”

“Yes sir, I am aware of that,” Pitt answered patiently. “But the most likely way for us to find a witness who may have seen something is to try those who are creatures of habit. The odd passerby who was there last night, and not ever before or again, we have no chance of finding unless they come to us. But those who go there regularly at that time will in all likelihood be there again tonight.”

“Yes, yes—I see.” Farnsworth was unable to relax, he still sat forward, all his muscles tight. “What else? You’ve got to do better than that. I don’t suppose anyone saw anything of value. This lunatic is certainly twisted, warped, mad—but that doesn’t mean he’s a fool. You’ve got to do a great deal more than hope, Pitt.” His voice rose and became sharper. “Abilene hoped with the Ripper—and look what happened to him!”

“He worked dammed hard too,” Pitt said defensively. He had not known Inspector Abilene personally, but he respected his efforts and knew he had done everything any man could to catch the Whitechapel murderer.

“And you had better work dammed hard too.” Farnsworth stared at him. “And something more. If you want to keep this office, we’ve got to get him.”

“I’ve also got men out trying to find out where the murder was committed,” Pitt added. Farnsworth was unreasonable. Even though Pitt understood the knowledge and the fear which drove him, it still angered him, though he could not afford to show it. It was a position he resented bitterly. There was no honor in placing a man so you could abuse his courage or his intelligence and leave him no recourse to retaliate, or even to defend himself. Now that he had power, he must make sure he did not do it so easily, regardless though Tellman might tempt him.

Did Farnsworth find him as irksome?

“What do you mean?” Farnsworth demanded, staring at Pitt. “Wasn’t he killed where he was found? How do you know?”

“No—no blood,” Pitt replied. “At the moment we don’t know if it was somewhere else in the park or a place entirely different, which could be anywhere.”

Farnsworth rose to his feet and began pacing the floor.

“What about Winthrop?” he demanded. “Wasn’t he killed in the boat? Isn’t that what you said before?”

“Yes—with his head over the side. We can’t prove that, but it seems extremely likely.”

Farnsworth stopped abruptly.

“Why?”

“Because there was a fresh nick in the wood of the boat corresponding in size, position and depth with where a blade would have caught it if it had struck off someone’s head over the side,” Pitt answered. “Also he had a few pieces of cut grass on his shoes. He was quite dry himself, but his head was wet.”

“Good—good. That’s definite. So Winthrop was killed in the boat, and Arledge was killed somewhere else, but you don’t know where. I still think it could be connected with a prostitute. You’d better bring in all those who work around that area—and don’t tell me it’s several hundred. I know there are well over eighty thousand prostitutes in London. One of them may have seen something, may even know who this lunatic is. Do that, Pitt!”

“Yes sir,” Pit agreed immediately. Actually it was an extremely sensible idea. So far the connection did seem the most likely. Prostitutes had their own areas, and the number he
would need to see was actually relatively small. Winthrop might indeed have gone to the park for that purpose, or even have thought of it afterwards, when an opportunity presented itself. That was an answer to the seemingly impossible question of why he would have got into a pleasure boat with anyone. He could have with a prostitute, if she had expressed the desire to do so as a preliminary to her favors. Winthrop would suspect nothing, especially since he was a sailor. It might seem to him an amusing thing to do.

“Well?” Farnsworth went on. “What else? What do we say to the newspapers? Can hardly tell them we suspect the late Captain Winthrop of soliciting a whore in the park. Apart from anything else, we’d be sued. Lord Winthrop has been onto the Home Secretary, saying too little has been done.”

“Tell them the assistant commissioner has made a penetrating and lucid suggestion which the police on the case are following,” Pitt suggested soberly. “Let the newspapers work out for themselves what it is. Tell them you cannot say until it is proved, in case you do someone an injustice.”

Farnsworth glared at him, uncertain whether to suspect sarcasm or not.

Pitt was saved the necessity of explaining himself by a knock on the door, and as he answered, Police Constable Bailey came in. He was tall, sad-faced, with a sweet tooth for striped peppermint drops. He looked at the assistant commissioner apprehensively.

“What is it, Bailey?” Pitt asked.

“We have found out ’oo Arledge was, poor devil,” he replied, turning from Pitt to Farnsworth and back again.

They both spoke at once. Bailey opted to answer Pitt.

“ ’E were a musician, sir. ’E conducted a small orchestra sometimes and guested with a lot o’ other different people. Quite distinguished ’e were, in ’is own circle, like.”

“That’s quick.” Pitt looked at Bailey carefully. “How did you find out so soon?”

Bailey blushed. “Well sir, ’is wife said as ’e didn’t come ’ome last night. She didn’t realize it until this morning, like, but when she ’eard about the body bein’ found, she got upset an’ sent for us. The local constable knew it were ’er ’usband, o’ course, because ’er name’s Arledge—Dulcie Arledge, poor creature.”

Farnsworth was sitting upright in his chair.

“What else? What sort of woman is she, this Mrs. Arledge?
Where do they live? What did he do, apart from music? He must have had money.”

“Don’t know about that, sir, but seems like ’e were quite famous in ’is own fashion. ’E did ’is conducting very well, so they say. As for Mrs. Arledge, she seems like a real lady, very soft-spoken, nice sort o’ manners, dressed very quiet like, although not in black yet, o’ course.”

“How old, in your estimate?” Farnsworth pressed.

Bailey looked awkward. “ ’Ard to tell a lady’s age, sir….”

“Oh for Heaven’s sake, man! Make a guess. You must have some idea. You’re not saying it in front of her!” Farnsworth said impatiently. “Forty? Fifty? What?”

“More like forty, sir, I should say, but still very pretty. One o’ them sort o’ faces that you can live with, if you know what I mean?”

“I have no idea what you mean!” Farnsworth snapped. Bailey blushed unhappily.

“Do you mean pleasing without being consciously beautiful?” Pitt asked him. “The sort that becomes more agreeable as you know the person better, rather than less so?”

Bailey’s face lit. “Yes sir, that’s exactly what I mean. The sort you wouldn’t get tired of, ’cos that’s all there is to ’er—sir.”

“A most attractive woman,” Farnsworth said sourly. “But that doesn’t mean her husband didn’t go out after whores all the same.”

Bailey said nothing, but his unhappiness registered in his features.

Farnsworth ignored him. “Find out, Pitt!” he said grimly. “Find out this Arledge’s habits, anything you can about him, where he went for his pleasures, how often he took walks in the park in the evenings, any”—he hesitated—“any peculiar tastes he might have had. Perhaps he abused women, went in for sadism or perverted behavior—something that might bring a pimp down on him.”

Pitt pulled a face.

“Don’t be squeamish,” Farnsworth said abruptly. “Good God, man, you know the situation! There’s close to hysteria over this second case. Banner headlines everywhere, and articles about police incompetence. There’s a by-election coming up, and already the candidates are out to make capital of it.”