Authors: Paul Finch,Neil Jackson
Craddock (5 page)
Rafferty didn’t seem convinced. “So far only Irish people have been killed.”
“
Your Pooka kills only the Irish?” the major said.
Your Pooka kills only the Irish?” the major said.
The sergeant shuddered. “My Pooka is punishing his own people because they are disgracing themselves in the face of the enemy – the Saxon.”
That made sense, Craddock decided, in a tribal, feudalistic kind of way. But looking again at the mangled remains of Marion Mary Rourke, it still seemed harsh.
“
It never occurs to him that maybe his own people are in this wretched state because of the Saxon? Because Irish landlords, loyal to the Saxon, exploited them? Because profit-making exports came first, before famine-relief?”
It never occurs to him that maybe his own people are in this wretched state because of the Saxon? Because Irish landlords, loyal to the Saxon, exploited them? Because profit-making exports came first, before famine-relief?”
The sergeant shook his head sadly. “The Pooka only respects integrity, sir. There can be no excuses.”
“
I’d like to meet him,” Craddock said.
I’d like to meet him,” Craddock said.
“
But you don’t believe in him.”
But you don’t believe in him.”
“
No, I don’t,” the major agreed. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a madman in this town who does.” He turned back to the street, where further disorder was brewing. “Sergeant Repton, I want these roads cleared!” he roared. “Now, d’you hear! Tell these people this is an unlawful assembly. If they don’t disperse, I’ll have the Riot Act read. I’ll call in the Fusiliers, so help me!”
No, I don’t,” the major agreed. “But that doesn’t mean there isn’t a madman in this town who does.” He turned back to the street, where further disorder was brewing. “Sergeant Repton, I want these roads cleared!” he roared. “Now, d’you hear! Tell these people this is an unlawful assembly. If they don’t disperse, I’ll have the Riot Act read. I’ll call in the Fusiliers, so help me!”
Then he glanced back to Rafferty. “We need ...”
His orders tailed off, for the Irishman had fallen to his haunches and was examining something in the snow. Eventually he picked it up, but gingerly, by its corner.
“
A piece of sacking, sir,” he said, holding it out. “Possibly torn off our murderer’s clothes during the fight. And it’s green, sir. It’s emerald green.”
A piece of sacking, sir,” he said, holding it out. “Possibly torn off our murderer’s clothes during the fight. And it’s green, sir. It’s emerald green.”
It was the Christmas Day of 1850 when Major Craddock finally returned home from the Punjab War. They’d crushed Shere Singh’s supposedly invincible army the previous February, and had spent the next ten months harrying and pursuing the scattered remnants.
That first day of his well-earned leave was a gloomy one, however. Caked in dust, red and gold tunic in rags, he’d stood on the deserted verandah and stared through an open door into an empty bungalow. No happy words greeted him, there was no delicious smell of wildfowl broiling in curry. The whitewashed villa had been festooned with black curtains of mourning.
Abigail, it seemed, had died the previous June – or so he’d eventually found out, by questioning a nautch girl in the neighbouring village. Craddock would wonder ever after if the Queen’s authorities had seriously attempted to cable him, or were simply lying to cover their embarrassment. Either way, it had finished him in their service.
Now, on another Christmas day, fourteen years later, he stood alone again in a pall of uncertainty. Below him, in the workhouse hall, the clamour for food and drink went on, though he neither saw nor heard it. At length, Inspector Munro appeared beside him.
“
As far as we can see, sir, they’re just children.”
As far as we can see, sir, they’re just children.”
Craddock nodded, but said nothing. He gazed down absently.
“
Sir,” Munro said quietly, “I think we’ve exhausted this line of enquiry. We’ve checked every fair in the county, every circus. There are no dwarfs missing, no midgets behaving oddly. Even if there were, and he was hiding out among the paupers in Wigan, there’s no guarantee he’d come here for his Christmas dinner.”
Sir,” Munro said quietly, “I think we’ve exhausted this line of enquiry. We’ve checked every fair in the county, every circus. There are no dwarfs missing, no midgets behaving oddly. Even if there were, and he was hiding out among the paupers in Wigan, there’s no guarantee he’d come here for his Christmas dinner.”
Craddock glanced up. “Free food, free drink, free warmth. You think he’d turn that down on a day like this?”
Munro was clearly in doubt. “Do we even know for sure that he’s a vagrant?”
The major thought again of the seated figure on the mineral line. At the time he’d been certain of what he’d seen; now that almost a month had passed, he was beginning to wonder. “It was always a long shot, I suppose.”
“
Shall I stand the men down?” Munro asked.
Shall I stand the men down?” Munro asked.
Craddock stiffened at that suggestion. “Not yet.”
“
We’ve been here five hours!”
We’ve been here five hours!”
“
Not yet, Captain Munro!”
Not yet, Captain Munro!”
Further along the balustrade, bored constables glanced around, surprised at the harsh tone.
Munro leaned closer. He whispered: “Jim – it’s Christmas Day and we have a full shift on. At the moment they’re not doing anything. We all want to catch this lunatic, and we will. But he isn’t here. Let me send the lads home?”
Craddock took out his watch and glanced at it. “Give it another half-hour, and we’ll talk again.”
Munro stood back, visibly irritated but unwilling to dispute it further. He had a wife and youngsters of his own, of course. Craddock’s house, meanwhile, would be cold and empty, filled with the desolate gloom of a late December afternoon. The major wondered if he was being overly insensitive with his men, but then he remembered the frozen, twisted bodies, their clawed hands and ghastly faces, and his resolve hardened.
He glanced back at Munro. “I’ve a reason for this, Jack.” He looked at his watch again. “And now is the time for it. Come with me.”
Munro followed as the chief inspector made his way down to the lower levels, and pushed through the mad bustle in the dining area to a separate but adjoining chamber. It was long and low, and overhung with dirty rafters. Various benches and stools were being arranged there by parish orderlies. There were no windows – only a door at the far end, though this was now masked by a white sheet, suspended between the walls like a piece of laundry. A strong light had been positioned behind it, so that a figure moving there appeared as a black phantom.
That figure now peeped around the edge of the sheet. He saw the two officers and came out, promptly stumbling on the uneven paving-stones.
“
Gerry Flaherty, sir,” he slurred, with a heavy Irish lilt. He offered them a shaking hand. “Sh – showman extraordinaire. And a happy Christmas to you. Glad to be of service to the po-lice.”
Gerry Flaherty, sir,” he slurred, with a heavy Irish lilt. He offered them a shaking hand. “Sh – showman extraordinaire. And a happy Christmas to you. Glad to be of service to the po-lice.”
He was clad in a tight, chequered suit, worn and patched at its cuffs and elbows. He was stooped and balding, with wisps of grey hair behind his ears. His face, blotched and reddish, revealed his own fondness for a tipple or two.
“
Pleased to have you along, Mr. Flaherty,” Craddock said, shaking his hand. “You recall the modifications we discussed?”
Pleased to have you along, Mr. Flaherty,” Craddock said, shaking his hand. “You recall the modifications we discussed?”
Flaherty saluted. Then hiccuped.
Craddock gave him a dubious stare. “The situation is simple. You will proceed with your show as normal. Ignore our presence as much as is feasibly possible. You won’t even see us unless necessary, which it probably won’t be. There’s nothing else really to tell you.”
“
Right you are, sir,” Flaherty said with a broad smile. His breath was soused with whiskey.
Right you are, sir,” Flaherty said with a broad smile. His breath was soused with whiskey.
“
Munro,” Craddock said. “Have Sergeant Repton search the rest of the building. Tell him to stick his nose in every grid and mouse hole. I want the bloody place turned inside out. And get Rafferty and the men to take their positions outside. Join me back here when you’ve finished.”
Munro,” Craddock said. “Have Sergeant Repton search the rest of the building. Tell him to stick his nose in every grid and mouse hole. I want the bloody place turned inside out. And get Rafferty and the men to take their positions outside. Join me back here when you’ve finished.”
With an audible sigh, the inspector walked away.
The magic lantern show began five minutes later, the vast majority of the paupers having now filed in, in what could only be described as paroxysms of excitement. There were many more of them than there were seats, so a good number were sitting on the floor or in the aisles. For once, a hush fell over them – few had ever beheld a wonder like this before.
Craddock stood at the back, as unobtrusively as possible, wrinkling his nostrils at the stench of unwashed hair and bodies. He’d watched them carefully as they’d trooped by. From what he’d seen, there was little argument with Munro’s verdict: the killer was not here. All of these were young children, though some faces were so drawn, so marked with sores and crusted in filth that it was often hard to tell. Still, the final test was yet to be made.
Almost on cue, the shadow puppets began to dance on the big white curtain. At first it was the tale of Aladdin and his wonderful lamp. ‘Oohs’ and ‘aahs’ erupted from the audience, as clearly distinguishable Chinamen with pigtails and bandy legs trotted back and forth, bowing to each other against a backdrop of pagodas. Flaherty might have been a drunk, but his skill was undeniable.
Several minutes later, Munro slid in. He took his place beside Craddock. On the curtain, a boyish figure, seated cross-legged on a rock, was polishing a big lamp.
“
Everything’s in order,” the inspector muttered.
Everything’s in order,” the inspector muttered.
Craddock nodded, but said nothing. On the curtain, through a billowing mass of smoke, the genie had now appeared. The well loved tale rolled on through its many convolutions, the two officers watching in silence over the rows of heads.
“
I take it there’s a purpose to this?” Munro eventually asked. “It’s almost dark outside. I seriously doubt there’s much more we can do.”
I take it there’s a purpose to this?” Munro eventually asked. “It’s almost dark outside. I seriously doubt there’s much more we can do.”
“
Patience, if you please,” the major said. “We’ve one more card to play.”
Patience, if you please,” the major said. “We’ve one more card to play.”
And as he spoke, Flaherty began to play it. On the curtain, the scene abruptly changed. From the emperor’s fabulous palace, the location was suddenly a field somewhere, a couple of withered trees to indicate hard times. As the paupers sat entranced, too unfamiliar with the Aladdin story to realise that a diversion had been made, two bowed figures, struggling to push a plough, appeared. Half way across the screen, they stopped, stood upright and took off their hats, as if to pray. It was lost on the audience, but not on Munro. Instantly he recognised an image of rural Ireland – two peasants had halted in their daily toil to say The Angelus.
After they had finished, they recommenced their work. Now they seemed terribly tired. One collapsed to his knees. Digging in what was clearly supposed to be earth, he held up only thin and twisted roots.
Craddock watched the audience closely. Thus far there wasn’t a peep from them. They were so absorbed, not one of them had moved for several minutes.
On the curtain, meanwhile, the two peasants, now in rags, were crawling to the feet of a tall man in a tailcoat and topper. By his profile, he had a huge jaw, which he held up proudly. Though the two beggars implored him for help, he ignored them, finally turning and striding away. Huddled together in misery, the two figures slumped down to the earth and lay still – but only for a moment or so. Slowly, jerkily, they rose back to their feet, but now they were no longer men. They were skeletons, walking heaps of bones. Frightened gasps came up from the audience, yet as they watched, more skeletons appeared, standing alongside the first two.
“
I hope he doesn’t overdo it,” Craddock said quietly.
I hope he doesn’t overdo it,” Craddock said quietly.
Munro stared at the curtain, amazed. It was now filled with skeletons, of all shapes and sizes. What was more, many of them were hideous, light shining through narrowed eyes and jagged grins for mouths. As one, like an army almost, they began to advance, growing steadily larger.
Beggar children started to scream and shout. Those at the front threw themselves back. Chairs were overturned.
“
Stupid bastard!” Craddock snapped. “This wasn’t what I asked him to do!”
Stupid bastard!” Craddock snapped. “This wasn’t what I asked him to do!”
He lunged forward, fighting his way through the packed mass of shrieking, struggling youngsters. On the curtain, the skeletons had assumed demonic proportions, leaning down toward their victims with hooked talons for hands. Munro felt a prickle of fear – no magic lantern man was
this
talented. With a sudden surge of panic, he hurled himself after the major.
this
talented. With a sudden surge of panic, he hurled himself after the major.
Seconds passed before they were able to reach the screen. Craddock yanked it aside, ready to shout and bawl at the drunken buffoon who had so let him down – only to find a scene of horror.
Flaherty lay chest down in a heap of stick-and-paper puppets. He had been throttled with such unimaginable force that his head had twisted right round and his face looked up over his back. The policemen were stopped in their tracks. Flaherty’s eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with burst vessels. Grey froth still bubbled on his blue, grimacing lips. Clearly, he had been killed only moments earlier. As if to confirm this, beyond the table where the spirit lamp burned, a narrow door hung open on the snow-filled yard.
“
Quickly!” Craddock shouted, dashing through, drawing the revolver from under his coat.
Quickly!” Craddock shouted, dashing through, drawing the revolver from under his coat.
Munro followed, but outside there was no-one to see – only Constable Coogan, with his shotgun. The constable had been lounging against the far wall, smoking a pipe, which, on seeing his senior officer, he quickly beat out on the bricks.
“
Someone just came out this way,” the major said, hastening toward him.
Someone just came out this way,” the major said, hastening toward him.
Coogan shook his head, startled.
“
Weren’t you awake, constable?” Munro demanded.
Weren’t you awake, constable?” Munro demanded.
“
Sir – no-one came out. I swear.”
Sir – no-one came out. I swear.”
“
The bloody door’s wide open!” Craddock roared.
The bloody door’s wide open!” Craddock roared.
“
It was open all along, sir, honest,” Coogan stammered. “No-one came out!”
It was open all along, sir, honest,” Coogan stammered. “No-one came out!”
The major and Munro glanced at each other, bewildered. “What the devil is going on here?” the inspector whispered.
“
Devil is right,” Craddock said. “I ...”
Devil is right,” Craddock said. “I ...”
“
Sir, look!” Coogan suddenly hissed. “Up there.”
Sir, look!” Coogan suddenly hissed. “Up there.”
All three found themselves staring up the high gable wall of the workhouse. To their incredulity, a figure was framed on the darkening sky, balancing along the topmost parapet, perhaps eighty feet above them.
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