Murder (21 page)

‘Leave Juliana? And little James?’

I said nothing more, for there was little fight left in him. I could not hate him. He had been my friend for many years, and there were none who could loathe Charles Hebbert more than he must be loathing himself.

‘I shall,’ he said. ‘I shall start my preparations tomorrow.’ His eyes finally fell to the corpse he had been so studiously avoiding.

‘What will we do about—?’

‘I will take care of her. And now you should go home. Sleep tonight, and then start your travel plans. And you must try and maintain a normal façade. Blame your desire to leave on exhaustion, or a wish to travel now that Juliana is settled, before you are too old.’

He said, ‘Thank you, Thomas.’

I did not want his thanks. I did not want him in my sight, nor this woman before me.

He washed his hands and face and then, with his shoulders still bowed, finally left.

I did the only thing I could do. First I drank some laudanum to steady my nerves, and then I picked up the woman and dragged her down to the cellar. The weight scratched urgently on my back and once again I felt the cold tightening around my head and a terrible hunger overwhelmed me.

God help me, I gave in to it. I was too tired to do otherwise.

*

In the morning, when I went back down to the cellar to parcel up the dissected remains, I tried not think about the parts of the woman that were missing – the pieces I had vague recollections of slicing off with a demented glee and cramming, bleeding and fatty, into my eager mouth. I kept the room in virtual darkness as I wrapped each part in paper and sacking cloth, pausing now and then and sobbing aloud at what I had done – at what some part of me had
enjoyed
doing. I would not feed the river with this one, however; the
Upir
would not have that. I would wait until nightfall and bury her in the patch of unused earth at the back of my garden, hidden from sight by an overhanging tree. If her body was found and Hebbert or I were called in to examine her, I feared I would go truly insane.

Despite my awful horror, I could not deny the energy that filled me once I returned upstairs and my house was scrubbed clean of blood. I felt revitalised, and I fell suddenly into a wildly good humour which was entirely at odds with the events of the previous night. I loathed myself for it, for I knew what it meant: I had not killed the woman myself, but I had
allowed the
Upir
to feed from her. I had taken one step towards becoming the monster I had vowed not to; one step nearer to allowing the parasite into me, and God help me, enjoying it.

That night, when my labours in the garden were done and my ageing body ached in every muscle, I found a hansom cab and wearily made my way to Bluegate Fields and the respite of the poppy. I needed to forget. I needed to find myself again: Dr Thomas Bond, police surgeon and respected member of society. I would not let the
Upir
win. I would not.

Edward Kane had returned in good humour, eager to see not only Juliana and James but the rest of the friends he had made in London, including his erstwhile rival, Thomas Bond. It seemed, however, as he sipped his brandy and observed the room, that the world he had left behind while in New York had slid slightly off-kilter while he had been away. It was clearer than ever on Christmas day, only a week after his return.

Juliana had yet to tell Dr Bond that she was no longer interested in his marriage proposal but that didn’t bother Kane – he understood that it would be better when he was here too, rather than looking as if he had run back to America and left her to break the old man’s heart alone. Now that the game was won he felt a little bad about it. Bond was not himself, although he declared he was perfectly well. There was something distant about his manner, and over dinner, as they all feigned merriment, Kane wondered if perhaps Charles Hebbert and Bond, old friends that they were, had had some sort of falling out. They were as polite as ever, but their eyes slid over each other’s and there was none of the easy camaraderie that had been between them before, the result of years of friendship. They spoke to each other through Walter Andrews, rather than directly, and then when the conversation shifted, one or the other would turn their attention to Juliana or James rather than talk to each other.

Little James too seemed despondent. He had been excited to see his American ‘uncle’, but his small brow furrowed when he was left alone and even the abundance of toys he had been given – Thomas Bond was apparently determined to win Juliana’s heart through becoming more affectionate and generous with the boy – only lifted his quiet mood for an hour or so, then he would return to playing with a piece of rope and tying knots around one of his toy soldiers. Juliana was doing her best to provide a cheery façade, though Edward knew that she wasn’t happy about her father’s sudden travel plans, and it felt like only he and Andrews had approached the day in seasonal good moods. Now he was struggling to maintain it in the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the brightly decorated house.

‘You’ll miss Charles when he leaves, I imagine, Thomas,’ he said, leaning back in his chair and allowing the big meal to settle in his stomach. ‘You two have had a lot of adventures together.’

‘I shall,’ Bond said, sipping his brandy, ‘but a man must follow his heart and there is a lot of world beyond London. As time ticks on we all have unfulfilled dreams to chase.’ He glanced at Hebbert. ‘When does your ship leave? It must be soon, surely?’

‘Two weeks, Thomas.’ Charles Hebbert smiled, but it wasn’t the open jovial expression Edward had come to know. ‘And then I shall be gone.’

‘If it’s an unfulfilled dream, then you never mentioned it to Mother or me,’ Juliana said. ‘It sounds more like an old man’s folly to me.’ She had drunk more wine than was usual and her words had a bite in them – bite caused by hurt, but a bite all the same.

‘Oh, your father has mentioned a wish to travel many times over the years. To me at least,’ Bond cut in, patting her hand. ‘You should be happy for his new start. After all, you have the business and James and me—’ His eyes darted in Edward’s direction, and there was more than a touch of wariness in them, but he covered it with a gentle smile. ‘We will always be here for you. Isn’t that right, James?’ He ruffled the boy’s hair and the child nodded.

‘You can go and play, James,’ Juliana said softly. ‘And then we shall sing some carols.’

‘Our new world has become smaller, my dear,’ Hebbert said. ‘I can send you telegrams and letters, and perhaps you can all come and visit me when I am settled. It’s not an unfeasible idea. I have become tired of London and I fear it is becoming no good for my health.’

She smiled at that, never liking an argument, but her lip trembled slightly and Kane could see she was fighting back tears.

Walter Andrews looked awkward and Kane leaned in towards him. ‘I think a smoke in the fresh air might help my digestion. What do you say to joining me?’

‘I most certainly shall.’ His relief was almost visible and he followed Kane to the garden, where they stood in the freezing cold of the dark afternoon, the blaze of their matches and the escaping light from the house highlighting the frost that had lingered on the grass since that morning. Kane glanced back through the window. It all looked much more festive from the outside than it felt on the inside. He wondered if Juliana would allow him to stay tonight and take her passionate rage out on his body, or whether she would insist on his return to the hotel and the pretence of respectability.

‘May I ask you a personal question?’ Andrews said once his pipe was lit.

‘Certainly.’

‘I cannot help but notice the affection between Juliana and yourself. I can also see that you are both trying to hide it – or perhaps fight it, I shan’t ask which – but I wondered if your intent was to marry her?’

‘You have sharp eyes, Walter,’ Kane said. ‘No wonder you did so well as a detective.’

‘I have an eye for the smaller details, I must admit.’ He breathed out scented smoke. ‘As does Thomas Bond. In fact, if I were to be honest, I would say his is better than mine. If I have seen the looks between the two of you, then I imagine he has too.’

‘I know Thomas loves her,’ Edward said. ‘He has been very good to her and James.’ Was Andrews trying to warn him off? He drew in heavily on his cigarette. ‘And I have a great deal of respect for him. He is a good man. But yes, I do hope to marry her myself. I believe she loves me.’

‘I believe she does too,’ Andrews said. ‘Will she tell Thomas soon? He is a dear friend and he has loved her for a very long time. I fear I have encouraged him to do so in the past and on reflection that was perhaps not wise.’

‘We were planning to tell him after Charles has left and he’s adjusted to that. If you could not mention it to him, I’d be grateful. I’m sure you think less of me now, but—’

Andrews waved a hand in the air. ‘Thomas is my friend, but we are getting old and you and Juliana are both still young. Your company has brought her back to life; any fool can see that, detective’s eyes or not. And you love each other. I can
only be happy about that. But it is sad that your happiness will cause hurt to Thomas.’

‘I hope Juliana doesn’t lose his friendship. She does love him, you know.’

‘He is not that kind of man; she need not worry on that score. But I ask only one thing of you.’

‘And what is that?’

‘Let me know when you are going to tell him. With Charles gone, I think he will need my friendship then. Losing love when you are young and have years ahead of you to find another is one thing. But as we get older such things are like water through our fingers.’

‘I will. I promise.’ Kane’s heart thumped with relief and he slapped Andrews on the shoulder. ‘Thank you for your understanding.’

They turned back towards the house. ‘I suppose we ought to go back in,’ Andrews said, with a lack of enthusiasm. ‘Although I shall be glad when this strange Christmas is done.’

‘Perhaps the carols and parlour games will bring back our cheer,’ Edward said with a smile.

‘Perhaps,’ Andrews agreed, but it was clear that neither of them was convinced.

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.

Assessment

The patient’s condition continues to improve, despite the return of his waking nightmares as reported in his file from Colney Hatch. He is still wary of physical contact and remains unwilling to wash himself or be washed. He has, however, ceased attempts to self-harm and is compliant with instructions. He still refuses social activity with the other patients and repeats often that he does not wish Dr Thomas Bond to be permitted to visit him again. When questioned on this subject he becomes agitated and distressed. It is my recommendation that in the interest of the patient, further visits from any persons other than immediate family should be denied until he has made further progress
.

‘Three serious crimes on London railways in as many days,’ Henry Moore said. ‘One damned idiot tried to blow himself up yesterday. Burned the carriage down. And over a woman. I tell you, Thomas, the busier the trains get the better policing they need. At least this poor bastard’s death was just misadventure. But to get drunk and then go and lie on a railway track? Well, I can think of better ways to end my days if I was so inclined.’

‘Thankfully, I doubt you are that kind of man,’ Bond said. His eyes darted this way and that, seeking out a hansom cab, which was unusual, for they normally talked for a while on days when work led to them meeting.

The inquest had not taken long and Dr. Bond had given his evidence with his usual professionalism, but now that they were outside and back on the busy streets, Henry Moore could see that the man was distracted. More than that, he looked visibly upset.

‘Is all well, Thomas?’ Moore asked.

‘Yes,’ Bond murmured. His skin was pale, but there were blotches of red high up on his cheeks that Moore had first thought to be just an effect of the bitter weather, but now they were standing close together he realised looked almost feverish. ‘I just have a slight chill.’

Moore studied him. It was bad enough that they had lost the services of Charles Hebbert, but if Bond were to become ill
and unreliable, that would be a blow to all the Divisions. For a moment, his soul felt heavy. They were none of them getting any younger and even he was feeling the need for something different. Perhaps a move to the Railway police wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It might renew his energy.

‘And I received some upsetting personal news this morning,’ Bond blurted in an unusual rush of words. ‘I shall be fine once I am at home.’

‘Is it anything I can help with?’ Bond did not, as far as Moore knew, have a vast social circle.

‘No, I’m afraid not.’ He paused and forced a smile. ‘But it is not a matter of life and death and I am sure all will be well again soon enough. It was just something of a shock.’ He sighed. ‘There is no fool like an old fool.’

‘And you are no fool,’ Moore said. Suddenly the cause of Bond’s distress was clear to him: a woman, no doubt. Perhaps Hebbert’s daughter, of whom he had always appeared fond. Most of men’s follies were caused by women, and he was sure it was the same in reverse. The morgues and police stations were full of men and women who had been drawn to their fates by a love turned sour. Still, it came as a surprise. He had never considered the surgeon to be a romantic man, or if he once had been, he had presumed those days were long done – but perhaps it was true that every man sought a companion against the loneliness. He sniffed hard, his nose running in the cold. Damn these doctors and the misery that seemed to infect them.

‘We should meet more often,’ he said. ‘I sometimes miss intelligent dining company.’ He smiled and slapped Bond’s shoulder. ‘You’ve met some of the men I work with.’