Mayhem (34 page)

That morning I had been at the inquest of a cobbler murdered by his wife after fifteen years of marriage. She had stabbed him as he lay sleeping, then she had
dressed, eaten breakfast and walked to the police station. She had told the police inspector she could not abide the thought of his company any more. They had wondered if she was insane; for my part, I thought not. She was resigned to her fate, the officers who had dealt with her told me. She regretted her actions, but she did not regret that he was dead. She was not entirely sure why she had done it, but she knew she had.

There was no insanity in those thoughts, but as I headed home at just after 11 a.m., I wondered whether she would have done it had the
Upir
not been in London. Was her fate just one more ripple in London’s water caused by his being in our midst? I certainly had not been looking where I was going.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I repeated. ‘It is entirely my fault. If there is anything …’ I paused and frowned. There was something familiar about him: the neatness of his dress, the slight roll of neck pressed over his collar. ‘I say, have we met before? You look familiar?’

The man, perhaps ten years younger than I, had thinning brown hair and a narrow moustache, and his skin still retained the youthful softness of someone much younger, though that was perhaps due to his slightly portly physique.

‘I do not think so. I—’ He stopped as recognition dawned in his eyes. ‘Oh, you came to the wharves – to see Mr Harrington. I thought you might be from the bank, or one of our creditors.’

‘Harrington’s secretary!’ I said in triumph.

‘Yes,’ he said, and wrestled one hand free from his bundle of papers and held it out to shake my hand. ‘James Barker. Although I am no longer in Mr Harrington’s employment, I am afraid to say.’

‘I am sorry to hear that – is this as a result of this awful strike?’ Nearly all the dockworkers in East London were striking; they had been out for more than two weeks, and it was causing merry havoc for businesses who relied on supplies coming in and out. They had hoped to starve the men back to work, but newspapers were reporting large sums of money coming in from places as far-flung as Australia to lend support. I had paid it little attention beyond the effect it might have on Juliana and her husband.

‘That was the reason given, yes.’ Barker’s mouth pursed slightly. ‘But the business was not doing well before that – there was only so much I could manage on my own, and old Mr Harrington, God rest his soul, he was a stickler for detail. His son … well, let me just say he is not a natural businessman.’

My exhaustion faded slightly. ‘But he is always at work – he must be trying.’

‘Perhaps.’ The secretary looked as if I had said something mildly amusing. He was clearly bitter about the loss of his position because of Harrington’s incompetence. ‘But he spent very little time in his actual office. You saw the state of it yourself: hardly the desk of a man on top of his affairs.’

‘So what does he do, then?’ The question was light, but inside my every nerve tingled.

‘I should not speak out of turn – my work so often relies on discretion, and I would hate to get a reputation for idle gossip.’

‘I understand that completely.’ I smiled to reassure him. ‘I work closely with the police, and I, more than most, understand the need to keep information private. But between you and me, his family are worried about him.’

‘You will probably think it silly,’ he started after a moment. ‘There may well be a perfectly reasonable explanation for why he spends so much time there …’

‘Where?’ I wanted to grab him and shake the details free.

‘In one of the warehouses – the smallest one, actually, nearest the river. There is no list of anything going in or out of it, but he refused to let me allocate shipments to it. I do not know what he keeps in there – perhaps he just sits inside and drinks. I’ve heard of stranger things.’ His mouth curved again into a tight, unpleasant smile. Barker clearly had no love for Harrington.

‘And he spends most of his days there?’

‘Not always – but there are periods of time when he does – those are the times he has the least interest in his crumbling business. And the evenings, of course – I know, because I was so often working late. I had wondered if perhaps he was unhappy at home, but I hear there is a child on the way.’

A warehouse:
of course
. All thoughts of going home and trying to sleep vanished and as soon as I had said my farewells, I hailed a hansom cab and headed east.

*

The priest’s room was shabbier in daylight, and I thought I could see small dark splashes on the floorboards where he had bled whilst whipping himself. He moved carefully, too, no doubt the cuts across his back causing him much pain beneath his rough clothes. I did not ask the purpose of his birching; there were many things about the priest I did not understand, and I guessed many were things I did not
want
to understand. If this was part of the preparation he had to make to face the
Upir
then I would not challenge it; I had to presume he cared as much for his own welfare as I did for mine. He might not show his fear as Kosminski and I did, but he would be as monstrous as the creature he had followed across Europe if he had none.

‘A warehouse?’

‘Yes.’ I was pacing up and down the small space, and between my agitation and the stifling heat my collar was sticky with sweat. I had already abandoned my coat and waistcoat, tossed carelessly over the rickety chair. ‘We should have realised – the wharves are close to the river, and it is his place of business, so it would not take very much to lure a woman back there. It must be where Harrington kills and dismembers them. It
must
be.’

‘And from there the
Upir
can feed both himself and the river.’ The priest was nodding. ‘We must get inside.’

‘The strike may make that easier. There will be fewer people around to question what we’re doing.’

A sudden, furious banging interrupted us, and from outside came a flurry of foreign words. I pulled the door open and Kosminski rushed in. He threw himself onto the bed and rocked backwards and forwards, tugging at his hair and muttering under his panting breath. The priest spoke to him in his native language, barking words at him, rather than soothing him as I would have, but his sharp tone had an effect and after a few minutes Kosminski was breathing normally.

‘A woman,’ he said. He looked up at me, his eyes full of dread. ‘He has a woman – I
saw
her.’

‘In a vision?’ I asked.

‘Yes –
no
, I saw her first with Harrington – but I didn’t realise he had her still. Not until these visions.’

‘When?’ I crouched beside him, forcing myself not to turn my face away in order to avoid the tangy stench that rolled from him, as thick as winter smog.

‘I cannot … I cannot remember.’ He trembled and twitched and tugged at his upper lip with dirty fingernails.

‘Think,’ I commanded, employing the priest’s aggressive tone. ‘Think, man.’

‘Two weeks ago, perhaps? He was drinking. You were still in the house.’

Two weeks – could she still be alive? Nothing had been pulled from the river, and no body parts had been discovered in public places. I tried to focus on Harrington as the quarry in our hunt rather than what he carried on his back – I told myself I must think of it as murder, not as anything unnatural, or my limited courage would fail me.

‘He must be keeping her at the warehouse,’ I said. ‘She may still be alive.’

‘Warehouse?’ Kosminski said, and I wondered again at Fate: two pieces of the puzzle, coming together on the same day – perhaps we were men of destiny, after all.

The priest prepared a pipe of the strange opium for Kosminski, and I sipped at my laudanum.

And then, God help us, as the afternoon slowly drew round towards evening, we planned our attack on the beast.

‘I need to meditate,’ the priest grunted eventually. ‘I must be mentally strong, ready for tonight.’

‘But we should go now,’ I said, getting to my feet. ‘There is a woman who might still be alive. If Harrington has her in that warehouse, then—’

‘The woman is not important.’ He leaned forward and pulled out a box from under the bed. ‘The
Upir
is important.’

‘But if we can save her—?’

‘Do not think in terms of
saving
, think in terms of
destroying
. We are not here for the woman, we are here
for
him
. If we save her, then we shall thank the Lord, but we must focus on the creature. It is not yet dark, and if we go now, we may free her, but Harrington will run, our hunt will be taken over by your police and they will not understand their killer in the way we do.’

His dark eyes bore into mine. ‘Trust me, Dr Bond. I have seen all this many times before.’ He opened the box. ‘Take this.’ He handed me one of two small bottles of thick brown liquid. I did not need to ask what it was. ‘You still have the pipe?’

I nodded.

‘Good. You must both smoke some. We must all be able to see it if we are to fight it. We will also need his’ – he gestured at Kosminksi – ‘special ability to lead us to Harrington.’

‘As he led me to you?’ I asked.

‘But he will need a belonging of the man’s, I think, to be able to follow. You will have to find something for him to use.’ He got to his feet. ‘I will meet you both at nine, outside Harrington’s offices. Until then you must stay together.’

‘Stay together?’ I was appalled at that thought, and could not keep it out of my voice. ‘But I cannot take him to my house. He is a police suspect, for one thing, and then there is—’ How could I politely comment on Kosminski’s physical presence? I compromised by saying, ‘Well, people will think it strange that he is in my company.’

‘You must stay together,’ the priest repeated. He pulled off his outer robes and then his rough shirt and fell to his knees in front of the fire. He reached for the birch by the fireplace and my arguments faded as I stared at the mess that was his back. It was so lacerated with cuts there was barely an inch of undamaged skin. Welts rose high, still bleeding, and several were infected. How many hours a day had he spent doing this – and why? Because we might have to kill Harrington? Because the woman might die? If so, surely we should all three be on our knees and whipping ourselves, for we were in this awful pact together.

I could not stay and watch. As the priest raised the wood up over his shoulder, I grabbed my coat and jacket, then took hold of Kosminski’s arm and pulled him out of the room.

The evening air was thick and hot, but I insisted Kosminski wear my coat, in an effort to give him some semblance of normality, though I knew that it meant I could never wear it again myself. As it was, it hung too heavy on his thin frame, making him look like a child wearing his father’s clothes and thus likely to draw more attention to us rather than less. I bundled him into a hansom as quickly as I could.

Once home, I opened the front door cautiously. Seeing the hallway empty, I pushed Kosminski towards the stairs, shooing him to make him hurry.

‘I thought I had better wait and make sure that you were feeling better.’ Mrs Parks appeared from the
sitting room just as Kosminski made it to the landing. ‘I’ve left some supper out for you – cold pork, some potatoes.’

‘That is most kind of you – I am afraid today has been rather busy.’ Disapproval – and a slight hint of mistrust – had become Mrs Parks’ normal expression on seeing me now, and I found myself looking forward to getting back into a normal routine with her. I found myself looking forward to regaining all kinds of normalcy, especially no more laudanum, no more opium – and proper sleep. Perhaps by the next day all these things would be mine once more.

I could have wept at the very thought – but tonight, I had other cares.

‘Thank you,’ I repeated, and then added, ‘but please, get home to your family now.’

‘Well, good night, then, Doctor Bond,’ she said curtly. ‘I shall see you tomorrow.’

I waited until she had disappeared back into the bowels of the house – she invariably left by the kitchen door – and then I ran up the stairs. Kosminski was standing in the middle of the study. He had taken my coat off and had laid it carefully over the back of a chair. He looked decidedly uncomfortable – my house was not grand, but I had seen the rooms Kosminski and his family shared, and it was a world away from Westminster.

‘Please, sit down,’ I said.

He glanced around, but stayed standing. I looked at
the clock. It was nearly seven. There was no more time for politeness. I ordered him to sit down and prepared the pipe.

Within fifteen minutes we had both smoked heavily, and my mind was singing and sharp. I examined the vivid contrasting colours around Kosminski’s head that spoke so loudly of a troubled soul, and as I stared at him, I concentrated until the colours faded: I clearly did not deem them real in the way that the sight of the
Upir
had been. My brain was creating them – and then dismissing them. I was glad. That would make the next step of our plan easier.

‘You will have to stay here,’ I said. ‘I think that is the best option. I will be as quick as I can.’

Kosminski, calmer under the influence of the drug, nodded, and dropped to the floor where he sat cross-legged. He did not speak further, and so I left him there. I locked the study door behind me and pocketed the key. Kosminski was a good man, I was sure of it, but he was not predictable.

*

‘Thomas! What a lovely surprise.’ Mary was in the drawing room. ‘Isn’t this weather just stifling? I can barely breathe. It kept me awake all night. Charles is not back from the hospital yet, and Juliana is sleeping, I think. The poor thing is having a terrible time carrying this child. And of course James is always out, trying to find some resolution to the awful strike …’

‘It’s not a social call, I’m afraid.’ I tried not to sound
snappy, but I had neither the time nor the inclination for polite chatter. My heart was racing, my tongue tasted of metal and the world had flattened slightly with the drug, though each shape was sharp-edged and vivid. There was
too much
clarity and truth in everything. I was completely outside of Mary Hebbert and her polite company, and suddenly I wanted to get back to Kosminski and the priest – the only people, at least until all this was over, who understood me.