The Equivoque Principle (8 page)

Q
UAINT LOOKED FROM
the note to Dray’s face. ‘I assume that you’ve read this letter, Oliver. It is quite clearly a threat, and yet you
still
believe that Prometheus is guilty? The damn letter is
addressed
to him, for God’s sake!’

‘I’ve only got your word that this Miller fellow—
“Prometheus”
as you call him—is innocent and, believe it or not, your word won’t stand up in court. Look at it from my perspective,’ Dray said. ‘Maybe your man had a dark side that you knew nothing about. Maybe he and this Argyle woman had some kind of argument and he did away with her, I don’t know.’

‘What, and perhaps
she
wrote the letter? Look, Oliver…as I’ve said; Prometheus is no killer. Now, I don’t have a clue as to what’s going on in this little town of yours, but one of my best people is stuck right in the middle of it. This letter only perplexes me further.’

‘This is a triple murder investigation, Cornelius, not someone caught scrumping apples! We do take this stuff seriously, you know. So far I’ve managed to keep a lid on it and keep Scotland Yard out of the equation, but I can only hold them off so long. Otherwise we’d have Yard inspectors crawling all over my patch day and night! Do you know how that would make me look?’

‘You’d rather wait for the
real
killer to strike again, whilst you tell everyone in Crawditch that you’ve got the man apprehended, and they’re all safe? Come on, Oliver—surely it will make you look
far
worse when that’s proved false! You’ve got a man locked up for a crime with
no
witnesses and
no
evidence beyond circumstantial. Is that just so it looks like you’re in control when the Yard starts poking its nose in?’ barked Quaint. ‘You’re a chip off the old block, all right.’

‘Cornelius,’ growled Dray. ‘Mind your tongue now. That’s territory you really don’t want to tread.’

‘I remember.’ Quaint clapped his hands together loudly. ‘Look…all I’m trying to do is give my opinion about someone who’s mixed up in all this, and need not be! You boys don’t know him from Adam—but I have known him for years, and would vouch for his innocence until my dying day. He’s not guilty—and if you just give me some time alone with him, I may just be able to prove it!’

‘Cornelius…you know I can’t do that,’ said Dray. ‘I just don’t think—’

‘And that’s the point here, isn’t it? You don’t think! You never did have the capacity to think beyond the pack mentality, did you?’ Quaint stared at Dray, their eyes meeting across the red haze of rage that filled the room. Although neither man spoke, there seemed to be plenty communicated in the silence.

Dray took a deep lungful of breath, and threw himself down into his chair.

‘I don’t have the time for this right now, Cornelius,’ he said.

‘Then
make
time, Oliver—this is important!’ snapped Quaint, trying to get over his point and still keep the tinge of anger from his words. He was not doing a spectacular job so far. ‘I am not your enemy here, Oliver, and nor do I wish to be. Even as we speak, the real foe stalks Crawditch’s streets, and I want the bastard
hunted down and caught so I can put things back to normal, and concentrate on what my circus is in London for!’

‘This isn’t just about you and your bloody circus, man,’ Dray said. ‘When your lot pack up and move on, this will still be my district, and I want this mess straightened out just as much as you do, believe me. So…you want to speak to this Prometheus fellow of yours, right? Berry tells me he’s deaf and dumb. What possible help can
he
be to this investigation?’

‘He’s
not
deaf and dumb, Oliver, he’s a mute! He can
hear
perfectly well, and he can still write down what he knows, or what he’s seen,’ Quaint said determinedly, ensuring that he kept his previous visit with Prometheus secret. He had no wish to get Constable Marsh into any hot water. ‘My crew have already gleaned quite a bit of information about what occurred on the night that Twinkle was murdered, but I need Prometheus to fill in the gaps.’

Dray stroked at his temples. ‘Well, why don’t you start by telling me what you
do
know? Stuff you can prove, I mean…not just your opinion.’

Quaint nodded resolutely: ‘Very well. Last night my colleagues and I visited The Black Sheep public house not far from this very station. If you check with the landlord he will confirm that on the night of the murder, my circus strongman was drinking with his lover—the female dwarf who now lies in your mortuary.’

‘A concise recap for the latecomers,’ Dray grunted. ‘What else?’

‘The landlord told me that on the night of Twinkle’s murder, an Irish gentleman by the name of “Hawkspear” paid him to give my circus strongman a bottle of whisky. The whisky contained a drug that would have probably killed a smaller man. As it goes; it merely rendered him unconscious.’ Quaint paused, watching Dray’s expression closely. ‘Surely that is enough information to prove that Prometheus wouldn’t have been in a fit state to do
anything—
especially murder the woman he loved. Arthur Peach’s
admission will surely absolve my employee, and I urge you to trigger a manhunt for this Hawkspear fellow, at least.’

‘Arthur Peach…yes, I know of the man. A sly one up to his neck in smuggled tobacco and cheap whores,’ said Dray with a nod. ‘All right…if what you say can be substantiated, and Peach will talk to us…maybe I’m prepared to delve a little bit into this—but on my terms, Cornelius. I won’t have you influencing this investigation. You stay well away from now on. Just let us do our jobs. I’ll have someone go to the Sheep and look into what you say. But if Peach denies everything, what are you going to do then, eh?’

‘He won’t deny it, Oliver,’ said Quaint assuredly. ‘I believe I made a convincing argument for him to peddle his honesty to you.’

‘We’ll see, won’t we?’ Dray said, shuffling distractedly with some files on his desk. ‘But until then, your mate stays locked up in our cells and no one sees him unless I’m satisfied.’

‘Well, you might not get very
satisfied
without
me.
Look, just let me speak to Prometheus for five minutes, Oliver, please…I can
help.’

‘You can get
involved
, you mean,’ Dray snapped. ‘It’s just like the old days, eh? I’ve not set eyes on you for twenty years, and you haven’t changed a bit. You’re still poking your nose into matters that don’t concern you. I’ve told you—I don’t want you anywhere near this investigation, and that’s my final word. Now, Sergeant Berry will escort you out.’

‘Commissioner Dray, if you please,’ Madame Destine interrupted. ‘Surely you are more concerned with justice than arguing with a man you have not seen for twenty years,’ she said. Each word was energised with a devilish whiplash and Dray suddenly fell silent. ‘Now, admittedly…Cornelius may be as stubborn as a mule, but he speaks the truth. He
can
help you solve this case. More importantly, he can help our friend Prometheus. By allowing
us audience with him, we may just learn something that can shed more light on this unfortunate affair. Would that not be a more preferable outcome than what you currently have?’

Dray was sizzling in his seat, his face beetroot red. Horace Berry looked over at the man, almost expecting to see steam rising from his collar, but somehow Destine’s words seemed to penetrate his hard exterior, and the blustering Scot’s temper waned.

‘Commissioner,’ said Sergeant Berry, raising his hand. ‘Perhaps we should let Mr Quaint and Miss Destine see their friend, just in case a friendly face will make the man share a bit more information,’ he said cautiously, like a man disturbing a grizzly bear’s hibernation with a sharp stick. ‘Lord knows our constables aren’t having much joy. It can’t do any harm, can it?’

Dray folded his arms tight against his chest. ‘I knew if I ever set eyes on you again things would go potty, Cornelius. I don’t know how much information you can expect to glean from a man who can’t utter a word, but I have to admit…I haven’t the foggiest where else to begin. I think it’s high time your employee told us the whole story, don’t you?’

‘Yes, Commissioner,’ agreed Quaint. ‘I rather think it is.’

A few minutes later, Commissioner Dray grabbed the cell block keys, and strode down the long corridor that led from his office to the cells. Quaint and Madame Destine walked behind him in silent thought, and Sergeant Berry brought up the rear.

‘You can have ten minutes with your mate and no more, Cornelius, and you can thank Horace here for that,’ Dray said quietly into Quaint’s ear. ‘My job’s going to be well and truly shot if this goes any further than this district, and if your monster has jeopardised my career—he’ll hang for it, I swear.’

‘Always an open mind, eh, Oliver?’ Quaint said, as he clamped
his hand firmly on Dray’s shoulder, making the Scotsman’s heart miss a beat. ‘You’re going to have to start entertaining the fact that maybe you’re wrong on this one—and you’re going to have to start thinking like that pretty damn soon. Your ignorance is your greatest weakness.’

‘And your stubbornness is yours,’ parried Dray.

Quaint grinned. ‘Well, you know what I’m like.’

‘I’d forgotten,’ said Dray, rolling his eyes.

‘I admit, perhaps sometimes my mouth gallops ahead of my brain.’

‘I’ll say! Every time you speak it’s like a ten-gun salute. You’ve only got two settings, Cornelius—explosive and bombastic! You don’t know subtlety. It’s not in your blood is it?’

‘Maybe so,’ said Quaint, as he drew a breath through clenched teeth. ‘But then, neither is giving up on a friend of mine when he’s in trouble.’

Dray unlocked the cell door, and it swung open with a grinding screech of metal against stone. The quartet stared into cell, their eyes adjusting to the darkness slowly and, one by one, they looked to each other for an explanation. An open-mouthed Sergeant Berry looked to Dray, who scowled at Quaint, who in turn then shot a perplexed squint towards Destine. A veil of silent confusion suddenly fell over them.

The cell was completely empty.

Prometheus’s discarded woollen cap, lying on the floor next to the iron-grated window and piles of rubble, was the only sign that he had ever been there at all.

T
HE SMALL, BARRED
grate that had served as the only inlet for natural air and light in the cell had been forcibly ripped from its concrete moorings from the inside. The circus strongman known as Prometheus had escaped.

‘Remind me again of your employee’s innocence, Cornelius,’ seethed Oliver Dray.

‘There has to be some mistake,’ gasped Quaint. ‘He wouldn’t just—’

‘Oh, but he has. He won’t get far though, I promise you that,’ snapped Dray, as he turned on his heel, and barged past Destine and Quaint, dragging Berry with him in his wake.

Quaint squatted down onto his haunches and inspected the metal bars, discarded on the ground along with chunks of crumbled masonry from the wall. He looked to Destine for reassurance that what his eyes were recording was actually taking place, and he had not just set foot in a warped fantasy land. ‘So tell me, fortune-teller—did you see
this
coming?’ he asked.

Destine stood at his rear, her veiled face hiding her expression of surprise, but her silence told Quaint all he needed to know.

‘I see,’ grumbled Quaint. ‘What on earth is Prometheus doing? What does he think
this
will accomplish? Why would he be so
stupid?
If Dray didn’t
already
have a noose measured up for him, he will have by now. How the hell do we repair this damage?’ he said, peering at the window’s grate. ‘Hang on…what’s all this then?’ He licked his finger, and gingerly touched the tip of one of the iron bars. He yelped, and withdrew his hand quickly. ‘Well, well,’ he said under his breath.

‘What’s all what, Cornelius?’ Destine asked.

Quaint ignored her, and stood up sharply. ‘I knew there was more to this than met the eye!’ he proclaimed, and approached Destine. She froze as he placed his arm on her shoulder, and plucked something from the tight bun at the back of her head. ‘Ah, perfect, Madame. Thank you!’ he snapped excitedly, and squatted back down onto his knees, inspecting the grate.

‘Cornelius…I know you take great delight in perplexing me,’ Destine said, teasing her bottom lip with her teeth. ‘But what exactly are you doing with my hairpin?’

Quaint ignored her again, and began poking tentatively with the metal pin at the window’s grate in silence.

Destine tapped her foot on the floor. ‘The Commissioner will have mobilised his lynch mob by now, Cornelius,’ she said impatiently. ‘Whatever you are doing, it is costing us valuable time!’

‘I don’t think so, Madame, I think that—aha!’ exclaimed Quaint, skipping easily to his feet for a man of his age and stature. With a broad grin, he held the metal hairpin towards Destine’s face. ‘This mystery seems to have developed a new level of perplexity, Madame. Take a look!’ A thin, barely visible wisp of smoke trailed from the tip of the hairpin, stolen quickly by the wind that blew freely into the cell through the hole in the wall. ‘Well, what do you see?’ he beamed, like an eager child, proudly presenting a painting to his mother.

Destine lifted her veil and stared uncomprehendingly. ‘My eyes are not what they used to be. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at, may I ask?’

‘Madame, do you not see? Those bars were not simply wrenched from the wall by Prometheus’s strength alone. They have been eaten away! Look…eroded…by some sort of acid! It is burning the metal pin as we speak.’

‘Acid?’ asked Destine, beseeching Quaint’s impassioned eyes. ‘But how would Prometheus get hold of acid in a police station?’

‘Anyone’s guess. Perhaps there is a lot more to this than we had imagined.’ Quaint turned, and strode towards the open cell door. ‘Come, Madame, let us see what havoc Oliver’s causing upstairs.’

‘Perhaps we should keep this mystery to ourselves for the time being, Cornelius…I am no longer sure whom we can trust.’

With a crash, Quaint and Destine exploded through the thick set of double doors into the main station office and stared at the pandemonium before them. Commissioner Dray was holding court in the centre of the station as his men rushed about to and fro around him, obeying his every command.

‘Hurry it up, men! We don’t have all day. God knows when he decided to run for it. Didn’t anyone
hear
anything? There’s half a damn wall missing!’ Proving that rage can be a most powerful fuel, Dray yelled with the vigour of a man half his age. ‘Sound the alarm, I want that man found!’

As Quaint approached Dray and Sergeant Berry, he looked around the madhouse that was the station. Policemen were rushing everywhere in panic, their eyes to the floor, desperately trying to comply with Dray’s barrage of orders. Raised voices thronged the air, police whistles screamed and Commissioner Dray had Constable Tucker by his jacket lapels up against a wall.

‘When was the prisoner last checked, Tucker?’ Dray yelled.

‘Sir? The giant, you mean?’ said a flustered Tucker. ‘Well…he was given some breakfast I think, not too long ago.’

‘How long, lad?’ Dray demanded.

‘About an hour maybe,’ said the petrified Constable Tucker. ‘Could be a bit longer, I…I’m not sure. Why, what’s wrong?’

‘What’s wrong, Tucker, is that he’s bloody absconded! Ripped the bleeding bars out of the damn wall, he did. Have you got cotton in your ears, son? Did you not
hear
anything?’ Dray demanded.

‘Why, Oliver…did you?’ asked Quaint, stepping up behind Dray.

The Scotsman shot a furious look over his shoulder. ‘You stay out of this, Cornelius, this is police business. Your friend just signed his own death warrant.’ He switched his stare back to his constable. ‘Tucker, get all the men we have available out on those streets right now. I want an immediate street by street search for the prisoner. Use whatever force necessary to restrain him and haul his arse back here, sharpish!’

‘Seven feet tall, with a bushy beard and muscles like an ox. Shouldn’t be too hard to find, Oliver, even for
your
men,’ Quaint said sarcastically, even though the situation clearly dictated against it. ‘Let me help. If Prometheus is anywhere nearby, or if he’s returned to our transport, we’ll find him. He
is
one of ours, after all.’

‘Oh, don’t think I’ve forgotten
that.
Just you make damn sure you bring him back here, Cornelius,’ Dray muttered, flattening back the lapels on Constable Tucker’s uniform. ‘Don’t go getting any funny ideas either! Your lot are going nowhere unless I say so, got it?’

‘Understood. But you needn’t waste your men’s time, Oliver. My train’s not going
anywhere
until this mess is straightened out,’ Quaint said, feeling Madame Destine’s fingers tighten around his arm like ivy around a drainpipe. She leaned towards his ear and tugged him firmly to one side.

‘Cornelius, we may have further need of this man, if your temper hasn’t burnt all our bridges,’ she reminded him. ‘So play nice. Exacerbating a grievance with the Commissioner will do us little good in exonerating Prometheus.’

The pair exchanged glances as between a school mistress scolding her favourite pupil. Quaint lowered his eyes, and turned sheepishly towards the Commissioner.

‘Look, Oliver…I am sure we’ll get a speedy resolution to this unfortunate business,’ he said, holding out his hand towards Dray. ‘It is a shame we could not meet under less…
pressing
circumstances.’

‘Cornelius…we both know what I owe you,’ said Dray, grasping Quaint’s open hand. ‘A long time ago, a world away from London—you saved my life. But this is just too big to sweep under the carpet. I’ve got no choice but to react with extreme measures. I have to do what’s right by the letter of the law—whether your friend is in the firing line or not! Now, off you go. And if you really want to help your friend…stay out of my way.’