Read The Detective Branch Online
Authors: Andrew Pepper
Tags: #London (England) - History - 1800-1950, #Mystery & Detective, #Pyke (Fictitious Character: Pepper), #Pyke (Fictitious Character : Pepper), #Fiction, #General, #Mystery Fiction, #Historical, #Traditional British, #Suspense, #Crime
The Detective Branch (5 page)
Sometimes Pyke wondered what his wife, Emily, would have made of his decision to join the police force, whether or not she would have been surprised. Part of her, he suspected, wouldn’t have batted an eyelid, even though he had once told her, after leaving the Runners, that he would never go back. Throughout their marriage, Emily had known that he missed his former profession: the excitement and even the grubbiness of the work. But he had changed in the years since her death. As a young man, he had been as much concerned with lining his own pocket as locking up malefactors. Those ambitions hadn’t deserted him entirely but these days he’d come to believe that the law, even if imperfect, was both a necessary and an inevitable part of civilised existence. Part of him also knew she would have been disappointed in his decision. He could hear her voice: telling him that by becoming a policeman he was colluding with a system that was founded on unfairness. She had been a firebrand radical, a socialist, someone who’d believed passionately, naively perhaps, that the world could be altered by the words and deeds of those with political commitment.
Pyke checked to make sure there wasn’t a card made up for Harry Dove and that his name wasn’t listed in connection with other known receivers. When he was satisfied of this, he walked up the staircase to the office of the two commissioners and knocked on the door of Sir Richard Mayne, entering before being invited to do so.
Mayne was sitting behind his gargantuan desk. He was youthful in looks, despite his fifty years, with a smooth, oval face, brown hair that was greying at the edges, and a hard, compressed mouth. He was cold and taciturn but, as a former solicitor, he had a good brain for police work and it was he, rather than the other commissioner, who had argued for the creation of a specialist detective department. Some liked to compare Mayne to Peel, and Pyke could see the similarities. Like Peel, Mayne could be stern and humourless; Pyke rarely saw him relax and he never spoke an unnecessary word. But Mayne could be loyal, too, and while he hadn’t exactly warmed to Pyke as head of the Detective Branch, Pyke knew he had vigorously defended him to outsiders and at his twice yearly appearance before the parliamentary select committee.
With him in the room was Walter Wells. Wells had just been promoted to the rank of acting superintendent of the Executive Division, the largest and most prestigious of all of the New Police’s divisions and the only one based at the headquarters in Whitehall Place. It was the most senior position in the New Police after the two commissioners and the post of assistant commissioner. Wells was about the same age as Mayne but his hair was still thick and black and looked as if it had been cut with the aid of a pudding bowl. His head was the size of a pumpkin and his skin seemed to have the consistency of hard wax. Even when he smiled, it didn’t move. He had joined the police force ten years earlier and had risen steadily through the ranks. As a soldier, he had been decorated for his service to the Afghan campaign, during which it was said he’d single-handedly fought off a mob of tribal warriors for two days until reinforcements had arrived. There were a lot of former army men in the New Police, and many of these spoke highly of Wells. Pyke had yet to make up his mind, and he was irritated by Wells’s mostly crass attempts to ingratiate himself with whoever he was talking to.
Briefly Pyke told them what had happened at the pawn shop, that three men including the owner had been shot and killed, then he outlined how the investigation was proceeding. Both men seemed happy enough with his account, but the fact that Wells had been invited to this meeting in the first place worried Pyke. The Detective Branch, with just five men, was a minor department, and although it answered directly to the office of the two commissioners, this autonomy was constantly under threat. Each of the divisions had its own area of jurisdiction and some superintendents resented the fact that crimes committed in their patch could be handed over to the Detective Branch. Some argued that the Detective Branch wasn’t strictly necessary and that crimes committed in their areas could be investigated just as well by their own men.
When Pyke had finished talking, Mayne invited Wells to respond and the acting superintendent told them about some Irish ruffians who had been seen firing their pistols on waste ground near King’s Cross. Pyke’s thoughts immediately turned to the Raffertys, and when Wells added that these Irishmen had been spotted drinking in the King of Denmark on Long Acre, the place Villums had mentioned, he knew they were talking about the same men.
Mayne turned his gaze towards Pyke. ‘In the last hour, and with my approval, Walter has dispatched a group of officers from the Executive Division to pay this establishment a visit and, I hope, apprehend the men in question.’ He looked across at Wells. ‘Do you have their names, Walter?’
‘No names, I’m afraid. Just descriptions.’
‘I see.’ Pyke took in this information, wondering whether any of the descriptions would match Conor Rafferty. ‘Does this mean I’m no longer in charge of the investigation?’
‘Not at all. But we both felt that, in the circumstances, time was of the essence. In view of the seriousness of the incident, I feel that the investigation would benefit from Walter’s expertise and experience.’
Pyke glanced across at Wells. ‘And who would be in overall charge of the investigation?’
‘You would still run the day-to-day affairs.’ Mayne tapped his fingers on the desk. ‘This is about co-operation between departments. Anyway, you’ll be snowed under as it is. Another pair of hands can’t do any harm.’
‘You don’t seem especially convinced by the course of action we’ve taken,’ Wells commented, trying to smooth over the situation. ‘You’re a plain-speaking man by reputation. I’d like to hear what you’ve got to say.’
Pyke shrugged. He considered telling them about the Rafferty brothers but decided this would only stoke Wells’s rash decision-making. ‘What evidence is there to indicate that these men were involved in the robbery?’ He waited. ‘Aside from the fact they’re Irish and were seen in a pub on Long Acre?’
When neither of the men answered immediately, Pyke added, ‘And to date, our enquiries have led us to believe we’re looking for a single gunman, not a mob.’
Mayne’s jaw hardened and he shook his head. ‘A single gunman couldn’t have fired all three shots.’
Wells leaned back against his cushioned chair and extended his arms upwards. ‘Perhaps I might ask, Detective Inspector, what is your opinion of the Irish?’
‘The Irish?’ Pyke turned to look at him. ‘I know a few, rich and poor, and I couldn’t generalise.’
‘Perhaps you should spend more time in places like Saffron Hill or Little Dublin. Ten or fifteen to a room, fifty in every building. More arriving by the day and reproducing quicker than vermin.’
‘If we peddle that notion to the newspapers, I guarantee we’ll see Catholics hanging from gas-lamps by the end of the week. Is that what you want? Mobs of irate, self-righteous Englishmen burning people out of their homes?’
Wells clenched his jaw but said nothing.
‘Enough of this,’ Mayne interrupted. ‘Personal views aside, we are following up on this line of enquiry because it is, or might be, pertinent to your investigation.’
Pyke was surprised that the commissioner had again referred to it as his investigation and wondered to what extent this was true.
‘More to the point,’ Mayne added, ‘I want the two of you to cooperate with the new superintendent of Holborn Division.’
‘I thought that position hadn’t been filled,’ Pyke said. He’d heard that the old superintendent had retired but that a replacement still hadn’t been found.
‘It hadn’t,’ Mayne said carefully. ‘Until this afternoon.’
‘Oh?’
‘In light of the events that have brought us all here I felt it was imperative to make an appointment. And as fortune would have it, there was a suitable man willing to put himself forward.’
There was a knock on the door. ‘Come,’ Mayne barked, adding, ‘That should be him. I asked him to attend this meeting.’
Benedict Pierce strode into the room and nodded politely at Wells. Ignoring Pyke, he said, ‘Sir Richard,’ and waited for Mayne to invite him to sit. He had the stiff demeanour of a military man but, unlike Wells, Pyke knew for a fact he had never seen, or been anywhere near, active service. All of the buttons on his frock-coat had been polished and there was a perfect crease running down the length of his trousers. Not a single hair on his head was out of place and his chin was smooth and clean shaven. He removed his stovepipe hat, sat down on the empty chair next to Wells and crossed his legs.
Pyke considered his options. He could refuse to work with Pierce and see what transpired, or he could say nothing and find out what kind of game Pierce was playing.
‘You know Walter, of course. Pyke, too.’ For Pyke’s benefit, Mayne added, ‘I’m pleased to say that Superintendent Pierce has agreed to assume control of E Division with immediate effect. Any questions?’
Pyke smiled, deciding to keep his thoughts to himself. ‘I’m pleased, for your sake, that you were able to fill the vacancy at such short notice.’
There were many reasons why Pyke disliked Pierce. The fact that the man was punctilious, vain and self-regarding was almost beside the point. Pyke didn’t hold Pierce’s rampant ambition against him either, even if this meant he had risen with an almost obscene swiftness through the ranks of the New Police. What rankled most was that this success was not due to Pierce’s skills as an investigator or even an administrator but rather because he had always sought out the right connections. He belonged to the clubs that mattered and had even joined a Masonic lodge. Pyke had traded with men like Villums and the information he had bought and sold had secured his position in the New Police. But while he had turned a blind eye to some of Villums’s activities, he had never accepted a bribe to cover up someone’s involvement in a murder and had never allowed the rich and powerful to tell him how to do his job. Pyke suspected this wasn’t true of Pierce, but it was the man’s hypocrisy which galled him most of all; the fact that the new head of E Division could let a rich man who’d strangled his servant live out his days in peace and yet would make sure a poor man who had stolen in order to feed his starving family was sent to the scaffold.
‘Good.’ Mayne glanced at Wells and turned to Pierce: ‘I take it you’ve now had a chance to visit St Giles for yourself.’
Pierce nodded. ‘I’m pleased to report that the crowds have diminished and that my men have secured the premises.’ Uncrossing his legs, he glanced across at Pyke and added, ‘In fact, I believe I’ve come across some information which may be of use to the investigation.’
‘Go on, Benedict.’
‘One of the victims, the pawnbroker, Cullen, was threatened only the other week by a couple of brutes with Munster brogues.’
Pyke felt the muscles in his stomach tighten. ‘You must have talked to the wife.’ He paused, trying to gather his wits. ‘But it’s not your investigation.’
‘I was just trying to apprise myself of the situation.’ Pierce looked around the room and realised that this was new information. ‘And it’s lucky I did because it looks like Inspector Pyke has omitted to share this piece of news.’
‘A troublesome oversight, indeed, especially in the light of Walter’s suspicions about the Irishmen who were seen firing their pistols.’ Mayne stared at Pyke and shook his head.
Pierce asked Wells to elaborate, and when Wells had finished Pierce nodded then turned to Pyke. ‘Then it seems we have our men already.’
‘Except Pyke doesn’t seem to concur with this view,’ Mayne said.
Pyke did his best to hide his anger but the sudden rush of blood to his neck must have given him away.
‘No? Already trying to do things your own way, Pyke?’ Pierce taunted him.
Not for the first time it struck Pyke what an outsider he was in their company. Ostensibly, he dressed as they dressed and spoke as they spoke, but whereas Mayne and Wells had come from upstanding, landed families and Pierce had bought his way into the right clubs and associations, Pyke had grown up in the rookery and would never be accepted as their equal. Most of the time, Pyke was unconcerned by their efforts to disparage and exclude him, and the idea of ever wanting to join their clubs appalled him, but every now and again their high-handed manner rankled him. If he was honest, Pyke was most angered by the idea that someone in the Branch might be passing information back to Pierce. For how else would Pierce have known so quickly about the Irishmen who had been to Cullen’s shop? Pierce had been the head of the Detective Branch before him and still had contacts, perhaps even friends, among the detectives and the clerks. Pyke had been told that Eddie Lockhart had been Pierce’s favourite.
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