Blackstone and the Heart of Darkness (22 page)

Three

Elven for a hardened ex-copper like Jed Trent, observing the autopsy on Lucy Stanford had been a strain—so much of a strain, in fact, that halfway through the procedure he had been overtaken by an irresistible urge to head for the nearest pub and swallow a couple of large brandies. When he returned to the police morgue, Ellie Carr had completed her work but was still standing next to the marble slab, staring down at the corpse.

‘Any luck?’ Trent asked.

Ellie looked up at him. ‘Luck?’ she repeated, and he could see from the expression on her face that she was both mystified and troubled.

‘What I meant to say was, have you found anything that might get us closer to catching the bastard who did this?’ Trent amplified.

‘I don’t know,’ Ellie admitted. ‘But I’ve certainly discovered a couple of things which are rather puzzling.’

‘Like what?’

‘Well, for a start, there’s the state of her skin. It’s obviously been very well cared for recently, but, even so, it still feels rougher than I’d have expected it to, given her privileged background.’

This was no time for humour—Jed Trent understood that—but he still couldn’t stop himself from chuckling.

‘Have I said something funny?’ Ellie asked sharply.

‘It’s not so much what you said as the assumptions that lie behind it,’ Trent told her. ‘To be honest, I think you’ve been reading too many of those romantic novels, Dr Carr.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You know the sorts of books I mean—the ones in which the heroes who are nearly always lords—have strong, manly jaws. And the heroines—who are never anything but ladies—have skin as soft as silk, and as fresh as the morning dew. Don’t pretend you’ve no idea what I’m talking about, Dr Carr. You’re a woman, and
all
women read that sort of tosh from time to time.’

‘As a matter of fact,
this
woman doesn’t,’ Ellie said, sounding prim—and perhaps a little guilty. ‘I’m far too busy, and I confine my reading to serious medical textbooks.’

‘Of course you do,’ Trent said, disbelievingly. ‘But the point is that, however the aristocracy are described in flowery books like that,
you’ve
no reason to assume that they’re any different from the rest of us. They have bad teeth and bunions, just like we do.’

‘But not quite as often, and usually not quite as extreme,’ Ellie said thoughtfully. ‘Besides, why—after she’s neglected it for so long—
should
she suddenly start taking better care of her skin?’

Jed chuckled again, even though he had the grace to look shame-faced immediately the chuckle had subsided. ‘You need to spend less time with dead people and more time with live ones,’ he said. ‘If you got out more, you wouldn’t be so mystified by something that seems perfectly normal to me.’

‘Would you care to explain?’

‘Willingly. She probably started taking more pride in her appearance for the same reason that most women do.’

‘Because she’d read too much romantic tosh?’

‘No! Because she’d found the real thing. Because she’d got herself a man—this Jamie Green bloke.’

‘You may possibly be right,’ Ellie said, though she did not sound entirely convinced. She paused for a moment. ‘The other thing that’s got me perplexed is the contents of her stomach.’

‘Oh?’

‘The last thing Lucy ate was a piece of bread coated in lard. Now that’s what I would have been given as a kid, but surely it’s not something that would normally have appeared on the Stanfords’ dining table.’

‘Maybe it wouldn’t,’ Trent agreed. ‘But put yourself in Lucy’s place. She’s slipping out to meet Jamie, and she knows she’ll be gone for a quite a while. Isn’t it possible that she had a quiet word with the cook and got her to make something up for her, in case she felt peckish?’

‘Would the cook have given her
bread
and
lard?
’

‘Why not? It’s cheap, it’s quick and it’s nourishing. It’s the sort of thing the cook would make for herself, if she was feeling peckish.’

‘Even so...’

‘Besides, maybe that’s what Lucy asked her for.’

‘Why should she have done that?’

‘Because she knew that if she was going to run away with Jamie, that’s the kind of food she was going to have learn to get used to, sooner or later.’

‘You’ve got an answer for everything,’ Ellie said.

‘Of course I have,’ Jed Trent agreed, slightly complacently. ‘That’s why you like having me around.’ His face grew more serious again. ‘Was the poor little kid interfered with before she was killed?’

‘No, at least she was spared
that
humiliation,’ Ellie said. ‘At least she died a virgin.’

*

The doctor had covered Mick Huggins’s skin with a soothing yellow lotion, and now Huggins lay on a hospital bed, his eyes gazing sightlessly at the ceiling, his blistered mouth occasionally uttering sounds that might possibly have been words.

Standing at the other end of the room, Blackstone and Drayman looked first at him and then at each other.

‘Considering that he intended you to meet the same fate as befell him, I don’t think
I’d
have bothered to pull him out of the pan at all,’ Drayman said.

‘Maybe I wouldn’t have myself, if there’d been time to think about it,’ Blackstone replied, looking down at the blisters that were clearly in evidence on his own hands.

But he knew, deep down within himself , that it wasn’t true—that if he found himself in the same situation again, he wouldn’t act any differently.

‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘looking at it from another angle, I think I owe Mick Huggins a debt of gratitude.’

‘You owe him a
what!
’

‘A debt of gratitude. He’ll have been told to make my death look like an accident. So if he’d followed his instructions, he’d have dumped me in the brine at the edge of the pan. If he’d done that, there’d have been nothing I could do to save myself, any more than there was anything he could do to save
himself
when he fell in. But instead of obeying orders, he decided it would be more fun to see just how far he could throw me—and that was what gave me the opportunity to escape.’

‘You lost me,’ Inspector Drayman said. ‘What’s all this talk about instructions and orders? As I understand it, Huggins was simply getting his revenge for what you’d done to him in the Hanging Tree.’

‘Oh, that’s how you read things, is it?’ Blackstone asked. ‘Then consider this: Huggins could never have attacked me if there’d been anyone else there in the pan. Agreed?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘But there wasn’t anyone there, because all the workers had abandoned the pan,
right
in
the
middle
of
the
extraction
process
. Now why do you think they did that?’

‘I don’t really know.’

‘I do. I’ve just had a chat with Mr Watkins, the works manager, and
he
says that the reason the men were pulled off the pan was because Bickersdale insisted on it.’

Drayman looked up at the ceiling. ‘Bickersdale again,’ he said. ‘I’ve told you before: you’re becoming obsessed with the man.’

‘He was worried that I was getting far too close to his jewellery-smuggling racket, so he set a trap for me,’ Blackstone said firmly. ‘And, like an idiot, I fell right into it.’

‘I’m still far from convinced there
is
any racket.’

‘If there wasn’t, why would he have wanted me dead?’

‘You’re like a dog chasing its own tail,’ Drayman said wearily.

‘Bickersdale’s a smuggler, so he tried to have you killed.’

‘That’s right.’

‘And the fact that he tried to have you killed
proves
he’s a smuggler. If you’re wrong about either of those things, your whole theory collapses.’

They had reached an impasse. They both knew it, but might have gone on arguing anyway, had not Mick Huggins chosen that moment to moan something that sounded as if it just might be actual words.

‘What was that he said?’ Drayman asked.

‘I think it was, “the girl”,’ Blackstone replied.

The two detectives moved closer to the bed.

‘Boss wouldn’t let me have her,’ Huggins mumbled. ‘Said it would damage the goods.’

‘Can you hear me, Mick?’ Blackstone asked. ‘What are you trying to tell us?’

But it was obvious that Huggins
couldn’t
hear him, and wasn’t trying to
tell
them anything.

‘Couldn’t have her. Spoil the goods. Didn’t care,’ Huggins ranted. ‘Plenty more fish in the sea. Found a girl on the road to Northwich. Had
her
instead.’

‘Are you talking about Margie Thomas?’ Drayman asked.

‘Lovely she was,’ Huggins rambled. ‘Screamed like anythin’. Threw her in the flash when I’d finished with her.’ He may have been smiling as he spoke, but given the state his face was in, it was hard to say for sure.

The two detectives waited for him to say more, but Huggins had finished. There was a rattle in his throat, and when Blackstone felt for a pulse, there was none to found.

‘Well, there it is,’ Blackstone said to Drayman. ‘A death-bed confession. Though I doubt he
knew
he was confessing—or even where he was. But he still said it clearly enough. He raped the girl, then killed her, then threw her into the flash. You can close the case with a clear conscience.’

‘What about the rest of the stuff he said?’ Drayman asked. ‘The boss wouldn’t let him have the girl, because it would be damaging the goods. What do you think that means?’

‘The boss who he talked about has to be Bickersdale,’ Blackstone replied. ‘He’s the one who put up Huggins’s bail, so it couldn’t be anybody else.’

‘And what about the girl? Who is
she?
And where does she fit in?’

‘I don’t know,’ Blackstone said, sounding troubled.

Four

Superintendent Bullock looked across the interview table at Jamie Green.

The boy was all hunched up and looked completely exhausted. And who wouldn’t be, in his situation? Bullock wondered.

‘I just want to ask you a few more questions, and then you can rest,’ he said gently. ‘Is that all right?’

Jamie nodded lethargically. ‘I suppose so.’

‘What made Lucy decide to leave the house on the night she disappeared? Did she do it because she’d arranged to meet you?’

‘Yes.’

‘And where had you planned to meet?’

‘There’s a copse of trees about a mile from her home. There are no houses near it. It’s very secluded.’ There was a sudden sob in his throat. ‘Secluded! That’s one of the words Lucy taught me. But she won’t be teaching me anything else, will she?’

‘Lucy never reached the copse, did she?’ Bullock asked. ‘Weren’t you running a bit of a risk, arranging to meet like that?’

‘Of course we were running a risk,’ the boy said, suddenly coming angrily back to life. ‘And because of it, Lucy’s dead!’

‘I didn’t mean that,’ Bullock said soothingly. ‘I know what happened was terrible, but I didn’t mean that at all.’

‘Then what
did
you mean?’

‘I meant, weren’t you running the risk of her parents discovering that she’d sneaked out? They’d have been absolutely furious if they had, wouldn’t they? They’d have made sure she never had the chance again. She’d have become a virtual prisoner in her own home.’

‘Why does it matter what
might
have happened, now that she’s dead?’ Jamie asked anguishedly.

‘It matters because I want to catch her killer, and to do that I’m going to have to learn as much as I possibly can about what happened on that night,’ Bullock told him. ‘So help me, Jamie. Answer my questions, even if they don’t seem to make a lot of sense to you. Will you do that?’

‘All right,’ Jamie agreed.

‘
Did
you consider the risk of her parents finding out?’

‘Of course we did,’ Jamie admitted. ‘But we both decided that it was a risk well worth running.’

‘You see, that’s what I still don’t quite understand,’ Bullock said. ‘You told me you somehow or other managed to see each other for a few minutes every day, didn’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So why did you
need
to meet at night? Why jeopardize what you already had?’

Jamie stared down at the table, and said nothing.

‘What was so important about meeting that night?’ Bullock persisted.

‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘You have to.’

‘I can’t!’

‘When we started this interview, there was only one thing I was sure of,’ Bullock said, with a hint of sadness creeping into his tone. ‘And that one thing was that you cared deeply for Lucy. Well, I was wrong about that, wasn’t I? I was way off the mark.’

‘I’d have died for her!’ Jamie said.

‘But you didn’t die, did you?’ Bullock asked harshly. ‘She was the one who died. And now you won’t even give me the information that will help me to catch her killer.’

Jamie swallowed hard. ‘If I do tell you why we did it, how do I know you’ll understand?’

‘You don’t,’ Bullock admitted. ‘But you have my word that I’ll try to—and that’s as much as any man can offer.’

Jamie swallowed again. ‘I loved Lucy for herself,’ he said shakily. ‘For her beautiful nature. For her soul.’

‘I
do
understand that.’

‘But I…I…also loved
being
with her.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Yes, I think I do. But you’re still going to have to spell it out a little more precisely for me.’

‘If I tell you—if I put it into words—all it will do is cheapen Lucy’s memory. And I couldn’t stand that.’

‘Say it!’ Bullock urged. ‘Admit that you made love to her.’

‘No, I ...I can’t.’

‘I promise you, it won’t cheapen her in my eyes at all, because I know that you were the man who she adored, and that you treated her with all the respect she deserved.’

‘We made love,’ Jamie said.

‘When was the first time?’

‘It...It was in the Carlisles’ stables, while I was still working as a groom there.’

‘Then you were sent away to London?’

‘Yes.’

‘And since you’ve been back in Staffordshire, you haven’t had the opportunity?’

‘No.’

‘So that’s why you arranged to meet that night?’

‘Not being able to make love was killing us both. We were burning up. That’s why we took the risk: because we couldn’t stand it any longer!’ Jamie buried his head in his hands. ‘And just look what happened!’

‘Jamie...’ Bullock said softly.

‘My Lucy’s dead! Because we couldn’t control our instincts! Because God decided to punish us for not waiting!’ Jamie sobbed. ‘Well, you asked for the truth, and you’ve got it. Are you happy?’

‘Of course I’m not happy,’ Bullock said. ‘I could almost weep for you—you poor little bugger!’

*

Walter Clegg was standing outside the hospital when the two detectives emerged, and from the look that came to his face when he saw them, it was obvious it was no chance meeting.

‘You’ve had another letter,’ he said excitedly, holding out an envelope. ‘I think it might be from the same man.’

The envelope itself was certainly similar to the last one, Blackstone noted, and once again his name was written on the front of it in block capitals.

He slit the envelope open, and took out the sheet of paper.

THE BLUEBELL IS TAKING ON SALT AT BICKERSDALES MINE AT TWO O’CLOCK THIS AFTERNOON. WHY DON’T YOU SEE WHAT ELSE IT’S CARRYING?

‘Was I right?’ Walter Clegg asked. ‘
Is
it from the same feller as wrote to you the last time?’

‘It seems to be,’ Blackstone admitted.

‘An’ what does it say?’

‘I thought we had an agreement that we’d keep you out of this,’ Blackstone said.

‘I never agreed—or if I did, it was only because I didn’t see I had any choice in the matter,’ Walter Clegg said hotly. ‘But I’ve been thinking about it, Mr Blackstone. Tom Yardley was my mate—the best friend I ever had—an’ if that letter is anythin’ to do with him, I’ve got a
right
to know what’s in it!’

Blackstone shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Walter, but you haven’t. This is official police business. I can’t tell anybody about it—not even you.’

Clegg did not look in the least mollified. ‘People have been shittin’ on me all my life, all’ you’re no better than the rest of them,’ he said bitterly. ‘I invited you into my home, an’ let you sleep under my own roof. I thought that I could trust you. I thought that I could
rely
on you. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?’

And without waiting for Blackstone to reply, he turned and walked quickly away.

Blackstone watched him for moment, then shrugged his shoulders regretfully and handed the note over to Inspector Drayman.

‘Ah, more fuel for the fire of your obsession!’ Drayman said.

‘It may be my obsession, but I appear not to be the only one to hold it,’ Blackstone pointed out. ‘
I
didn’t write the note, you know.’

Drayman sighed. ‘Just what is it that you want me to do?’

‘I want you to get a warrant sworn out that will allow you to search the
Bluebell
,’ Blackstone told him.

‘Sam...’

‘You owe me, you know, Inspector. I’ve just solved the Margie Thomas case for you.’

‘I wouldn’t say you exactly solved it. You got into a pub brawl, and because of that—’

‘Thanks to me, you’ll be able to sleep at night again.’

‘You have a point,’ Drayman conceded. ‘But what if I do get the warrant sworn out, and all we find on the boat is salt?’

‘Then I’ll willingly admit that I’ve been as obsessed as you always thought I was.’

‘And you’ll never mention smuggling again?’

‘And I’ll never mention smuggling again. Is that a fair deal?’

‘No,’ Drayman said, ‘but it’s about as good a deal as I’m ever likely to get from you.’

*

Ellie Carr was sitting at a corner table in the King Charles’s Arms, listening to Superintendent Bullock telling her that he was in the process of ordering Jamie Green’s release.

‘You’re going to let him go?’ she asked. ‘Just like that? Do you think that’s wise?’

Bullock sighed inwardly. For months the newspapers had been demanding to know why he hadn’t made an arrest yet, and his own superiors were finally beginning to join in the chorus. And now this chit of a girl—who might know a great deal about doctoring, but had no idea of detective work—had decided that she would have a pop at him too.

‘Speaking as a policeman with a great deal of experience, I can see no reason not to release Jamie,’ he said airily. ‘I’ve had a chat with the lad, and I don’t really think he had anything to do with the girl’s murder.’

Ellie hadn’t thought he had either; she’d said as much to Jed Trent. But somehow, Bullock’s easy sweeping aside of the possibility raised her sceptically scientific hackles.

‘Might I inquire as to what it is that’s made you so certain he’s innocent?’ she asked, with an edge to her voice that would have alerted both Trent and Blackstone to the fact that they were treading on dangerous ground but seemed to go right over Bullock’s head.

‘Well, for a start, there’s the fact that he didn’t know any of the other victims.’

‘But in order to murder Lucy, did he
have
to
know any of the others? There have been full reports of all the other murders in the papers. If Jamie had read them, he could easily have decided that, by making Lucy’s death similar to all the others, he would neatly deflect suspicion away from himself.’

Bloody amateurs! Bullock thought. The world was full of bloody amateurs, and they
all
thought they knew how to do his job better than he did himself.

He laughed, covering the irritation he was feeling with a coating of condescension. ‘Don’t you think you might just be a tiny bit out of your depth, Dr Carr?’ he asked.

Sam Blackstone would never have said that to her, Ellie Carr thought, with growing anger. ‘In what way am I out of my depth?’ she asked.

‘In your assumption—which you no doubt share with
most
of the uninformed members of the general public—that I’ve released
all
the details of the murders to the newspapers. There are a few vital ones that I held back, just in case a situation like this one should arise. There are details Jamie simply
couldn’t
have known, however much he’d read. And I can assure you that Lucy’s death isn’t just
similar
to all the others—it’s a carbon copy.’

Any minute now he’s going to pat me on the head and tell me what a bright—if mistaken—little girl I am, Ellie thought.

She was being unreasonable, she realized. Bullock was a decent and conscientious policeman, who had probably had to work extremely hard in order to secure permission for her to examine Lucy’s body. If he was now not handling her quite as well as he might have, it was only because he was emotionally and physically exhausted, and she would be wise to let matters rest there.

‘Of course, I should have realized you’d keep some details back,’ she said, declaring a unilateral cease-fire.

‘Besides, even without that, I trust my own judgement—just as I’d trust yours if you were a little older and a little more experienced in the ways of the world,’ Superintendent Bullock continued.

‘And just what does your older and more experienced judgement tell you about Jamie?’ Ellie asked, rapidly lowering her mental flag of truce.

‘It tells me that he really loved the girl. And even if I’m wrong on that point—and I don’t think I am—it tells me he wouldn’t have had the stomach for cutting her up like that.’

‘It all depends on exactly what point of desperation she drove him to,’ Ellie said, full guns blazing again. ‘What my younger and less experienced observations have taught me is that love can often quite quickly turn to hatred, and hatred manifests itself in very violent acts.’

Bullock chuckled again at her naivety. ‘And just what could Lucy have done to turn Jamie’s love into hatred?’ he wondered.

‘She could have denied him what he wanted most in the world,’ Ellie said. ‘And he might well have decided that if he couldn’t have it, then no one else could. And what’s the best way to ensure that? By destroying her!’

‘I take it that we’re talking about sexual relations here,’ Bullock said, still greatly amused.