Anne Perry's Christmas Vigil Page 8

  “No.” Now she wondered why she didn’t know, and she felt stupid for not thinking of it.

  “I shall inquire,” he replied. “If something caused him to, such as a carriage accident blocking a road, or a dray spilling its load so he could not get past, that might be different from his deliberately choosing the other way around. Presumably this man, the toff, went to collect the casket, and found that it was gone. How did he know that the rag and bone man had taken it?” He put up his hand. “No, no need to answer that—because all the stuff for the rag and bone collection was gone. But he caught up with poor Alf—so if Alf was going the wrong way round, how did the toff know that?” He brought the teapot to the table and poured a large mug full for her. He passed the mug across, his black eyes studying her face.

  “I dunno,” she said unhappily. “D’yer think as ’e worked it out? I mean that Alf ’ad gone the wrong way round?”

  “How did he know it was Alf, and not Jimmy Quick, as usual?” Balthasar asked. “No, I rather think he was waiting and watching, and he saw what happened.”

  “Then why di’n’t ’e go after ’im straigh’away?” Gracie asked reasonably. “In fact, if the casket were left there for ’im, why di’n’t ’e take it before Alf even got there? That don’t make no sense.”

  Balthasar frowned, biting his lip. “It would if he did not wish to be seen. Whoever left it there for him would know what was in it, and that it was both valuable and dangerous. It might be that the toff could not afford to have anyone see him with it.”

  Gracie gulped. “Wot were in it?”

  “I don’t know, but I imagine something like opium.”

  “Wozzat?” she asked.

  “A powder that gives people insane dreams of pleasure,” he replied. “And when they wake up, it is all gone, and so they have to have more, to get the dreams back again. Sometimes they will pay a great price, even kill other people, to get it. But it is not something to be proud of, in fact very much the opposite. If the toff is an addict, which means that he can no longer do without it, then he will do anything to come by it—but he will take great care that none of his friends know.”

  For a moment she forgot the toast and jam.

  “Someone put it there for him, in the casket,” Balthasar went on. “And he waited out of sight, to dart out and pick it up when they were gone. Only this time Alf came by before he could do that. Continue with your tea, Gracie. We have business to do when we are finished.”

  “We ’ave?” But she obeyed and reached for the mug.

  “We have a little more thinking to do first.” He smiled bleakly. “I would tell you to go home, because I believe this will be dangerous, but I do not trust that you would obey. I would rather have you with me, where I can see you, than following after me and I don’t know where you are and cannot protect you. But you must promise to do as I say, or we may both be in great danger, and Minnie Maude even more so.”

  “I promise,” she agreed instantly, her heart pounding, her mouth dry.

  “Good. Now let us consider what else we know, or may deduce.”

  “Wot?”

  He half-concealed a smile. “I apologize—what we may work out as being true, because of what we already know. Would you like another piece of toast? There is sufficient time. Before we do anything, we must be certain that we have considered it all, and weighed every possibility. Do you not agree?”

  “Yeah. An’ … an’ I’d like another piece o’ toast, if you please.”

  “Certainly.” He stood up quite solemnly and cut two more slices of bread and placed them before the open door of the oven. “Now, let us consider what else has happened, and what it means. Alf had the casket at the time he spoke to the chestnut man—Cob, I believe you called him? If we know the route that Mr. Quick normally took, then we know what the reverse of it would be, with some amendments for traffic. Hence we know where Alf is most likely to have gone next. And we know where his body was found.”

  “Yeah, but it don’t fit in, cos ’oo’s blood is it on the stable floor? An’ ’oo fought there an’ bashed up the wall? An’ why’d ’e take Charlie an’ the cart as well?” She drew in her breath. “An’ if ’e killed Alf an’ took the casket, wot’s ’e still looking for? That’s stupid. If I done summink wrong, I don’t go makin’ a noise all over the place. I keep me ’ead down.” She colored with shame as she said it, but right then the truth was more important than pride.

  “You have several good points, Gracie,” Mr. Balthasar agreed. “All of which we need to address.” He turned the toast over and filled her mug with fresh, hot tea.

  “Thank you,” she acknowledged. The heat was spreading through her now, and she looked forward to more toast and jam. She began to realize just how cold she had been.

  “I think it is clear,” he continued, sitting down again, “that the toff does not have the casket, or at the very least, he does not have whatever was inside it. If he did, he would not only, as you say, keep his head down, he would be enjoying the illicit pleasures of his purchase.”

  She did not know what “illicit” meant, but she could guess.

  “So where is it, then? ’Oo’s got it?” she asked.

  “I think we must assume that Alf did something with it between speaking to Cob and meeting whoever killed him presumably the toff. Unless, of course, it was not the toff who killed him but someone else. Although to me that seems rather to be complicating things. We already have one unknown person …”

  “We ’ave? ’Oo?”

  “Whoever passed that way just before Alf, and left the casket,” he replied. “Have you any idea who that could be?”

  She felt his eyes on her, as if he could will her to come up with an answer. She wished she could be what he expected of her, and even now she wished she could think of something that really would help Minnie Maude.

  “Is it someone ’oo knew where Charlie’s stable is?” she asked, wondering if it was silly even as she said it. “Cos somebody ’ad a fight there. We saw the marks, an’ the blood on the floor.”

  “Indeed. And do you know if it was there before Alf went out with Charlie the day he was killed?” he asked with interest.

  She saw what he was thinking. “Yer mean if it weren’t Alf or Charlie, then it ’ad ter be ter do wi’ the casket?”

  “I was assuming that, yes. What does this Stan do for a living, Gracie? Do you know?”

  “Yeah. ’E’s a cabbie …”

  Mr. Balthasar nodded slowly.

  “An’ ’e’s mad, an’ scared,” she added eagerly. “D’yer think Minnie Maude worked that out too?” Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of what violence might have happened to Minnie Maude, if Stan were the one who had left the casket for the toff.

  “I think we had better finish our tea and go and speak to Cob,” Balthasar answered, rising to his feet again. “Come.”

  “I gotta get me own shawl, please?” she said reluctantly. Compared with the thick red one, hers was plain, and wet.

  “I will return it to you later,” he replied. “This one will keep you warm in the meantime. Come. Now that we have so many clues, we must make all the haste we can.” And he strode across the wooden floor and flung open the back door, grasping for a large black cape and swinging it around his shoulders as he went.

  Outside in the street he allowed her to lead the way, keeping up with her easily because his legs were twice the length of hers. They did not speak, simply meeting eyes as they came to a curb, watching for traffic, then continuing.

  They found Cob on his corner, the brazier giving off a warmth she could feel even when she was six or seven feet away.

  Balthasar stood in front of Cob, half a head taller and looking alarmingly large in his black cape. He seemed very strange, very different, and several people stared at him nervously as they passed, increasing their pace a little.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Cob,” Balthasar said gravely. “I must speak to you about a very terrible matter. I require abso
lute honesty in your answers, or the outcome may be even worse. Do you understand me?”

  Cob looked taken aback. “I dunno yer, sir, an’ I dunno nothin’ terrible. I don’t think as I can ’elp yer.” He glanced at Gracie, then away again.

  “I don’t know whether you will, Mr. Cob. You may have black reasons of your own for keeping such secrets,” Balthasar answered him. “But I believe that you can.”

  “I don’t ’ave no—” Cob began.

  Balthasar held up his hand, commanding silence. “It concerns the murder of a man you know as Alf, and the abduction of Minnie Maude Mudway.”

  Cob paled.

  Balthasar nodded. “I see you understand me perfectly. When Alf left you, on the day he died, which way did he go?”

  Cob pointed south.

  “Indeed. And it was two streets farther than that where someone caught up with him and did him to death. Somewhere in that distance Alf gave the casket to somebody. Who lives or works along those streets, Mr. Cob, that Alf would know? A pawnshop, perhaps? A public house? An old friend? To whom would such a man give a golden casket?”

  Cob looked increasingly uncomfortable. “I dunno!” he protested. “ ’E di’n’t tell me!”

  “How long after Alf spoke to you did this gaunt gentleman come by?”

  Cob moved his weight from one foot to the other. “Jus’ … jus’ a few moments.”

  “Was he on foot?”

  “Course ’e were,” Cob said derisively. “Yer don’t go ’untin’ after someone in a carriage!”

  “Hunting,” Balthasar tasted the word. “Of course you don’t. You don’t want witnesses if you catch him, now, do you?”

  Cob realized that he had fallen into a trap. “I di’n’t know ’e were gonna kill ’im!” he said indignantly, but his face was pink and his eyes too fixed in their stare.

  Gracie knew he was lying. She had seen exactly that look on Spike’s face when he had pinched food from the cupboard.

  “Yer mean yer thought as the toff, all angry an’ swearin’, were one of ’is friends?” she said witheringly. “Knows a lot o’ rag an’ bone men, does ’e?”

  “Listen, missy …,” Cob began angrily.

  Balthasar stepped forward, half-shielding Gracie. He looked surprisingly menacing, and Cob shrank back.

  “I think you would be a great deal wiser to give an honest answer,” Balthasar said in a careful, warning voice. “How long after Alf was here did the toff come and ask you about him?”

  Cob drew in breath to protest again, then surrendered. “ ’Bout five minutes, I reckon, give or take. Wot diff ’rence does it make now?”

  “Thank you,” Balthasar replied, and taking Gracie by the arm, he started off along the street again.

  “Wot diff ’rence does it make?” Gracie repeated Cob’s question.

  “Five minutes is quite a long time,” he replied. “I do not think he would have run. That would draw too much attention to himself. People would remember him. But a man walking briskly can still cover quite a distance in that time. Alf would be going slowly, because he would be keeping an eye out for anything to pick up.”

  “Then why di’n’t ’e catch up wif Alf sooner?” Gracie asked.

  “I think because Alf stopped somewhere,” Balthasar answered. “Somewhere where he left the casket, which is why he didn’t have it when the toff killed him. And that, of course, is why the toff also took Charlie and the cart, to search it more carefully in private. He could hardly do it in the middle of the street, and with poor Alf’s dead body beside him.” He stopped speaking suddenly, and seemed to lapse into deep thought, although he did not slacken his pace.

  Gracie waited, running a step or two every now and then to keep up.

  “Gracie!” he said suddenly. “If you were to kill a rag and bone man, in the street, albeit a quiet one, perhaps a small alley, and you wished to take away the man’s cart in order to search it, what would you do to avoid drawing attention to yourself and having everybody know what you had done?”

  She knew she had to think and give him a sensible answer. She had to try not to think of Minnie Maude and the trouble she was in; it only sent her mind into a panic. Panic was no help at all.

  “Cos I di’n’t want nobody to look at me?” she pressed, seeking for time.

  “I don’t care if they look,” he corrected. “I don’t want them to see.”

  “Wot?” Then suddenly she had an idea. “Nobody sees rag an’ bone men, less they want summink. I’d put ’is ’at on an’ drive the cart meself, so they’d think I was ’im!”

  “Magnificent!” Balthasar said jubilantly. “That is precisely what a quick-thinking and desperate man would do! In fact, it is not necessarily true that he was killed where his body was found. That too could have been carried a short way at least, and left somewhere to mislead any inquiry. Yes, that is truly a great piece of imaginative detection, Gracie.”

  Gracie glowed with momentary pride, until she thought of Minnie Maude again. Then it vanished. “ ’As ’e got Minnie Maude?” she asked, afraid of the answer.

  “I don’t know, but we will get her back. If he took her, it is because he still doesn’t have the casket, so he will not harm her until he does. We must find it first.”

  “Well, if the toff don’t ’ave it, then Alf must a given it ter someone else between Cob an’ wherever ’e were killed.”

  “Indeed. And we must find out where that is. It is unfortunate that we know so little about Alf, and his likes and dislikes. Otherwise we might have a better idea where to begin. Perhaps we should assume that he is like most men—looking for comfort rather than adventure, someone to be gentle with him rather than to challenge him. Tell me, Gracie, what did Minnie Maude say to you about him? Why did she like him so much? Think carefully. It is important.”

  She understood, so she did not answer quickly, knowing her response would dictate where they would begin to look, and it might make the difference in terms of finding Minnie Maude in time to save her. It was silly to think Minnie Maude couldn’t be hurt. Alf was dead—and they knew the toff was out there. She could well believe that the powder he was addicted to had driven him mad to the point where he had tasted evil, and now could not rid himself of it.

  “ ’E were funny,” she said, measuring her words and still skipping the odd step to keep up with him. “ ’E made ’er laugh. ’E liked ’orses an’ dogs, an’ donkeys, o’ course. An’ ’ot chestnuts.”

  “And ale?”

  “Cider.” She struggled to recall exactly what Minnie Maude had said. “An’ good pickle wif ’am.”

  “I see. A man of taste. What else? Did she ever speak of his friends, other than Jimmy Quick? Tell me about Bertha.”

  “I think as Bertha is scared.”

  “She may well have reason to be. Who is she scared of, do you think? Stan? Someone else? Or just of being cold and hungry?”

  She thought for a few moments. “Stan … I think.” She thought back further, into her own earlier years, to when her father was alive. She remembered standing in the kitchen and hearing her mother’s voice frightened and pleading. “Not scared ’e’d ’it ’er, scared o’ wot ’e might do that’d get ’em all in trouble,” she amended aloud.

  “And Bertha is frightened and tired and a little short of temper, as she has much cause to be?”

  “Yeah …”

  “Come, Gracie. We must hurry, I think.” He grasped her hand and started to stride forward so quickly that she had to run to keep up with him as he swung around the corner and into a narrower street, just off Anthony Street—the way Jimmy Quick’s route would have taken them. They were still two hundred yards at least from where Alf’s body had been found. Balthasar looked one way, then the other, seeming to study the bleak fronts of the buildings, the narrow doorways, the stains of soot and smoke and leaking gutters.

  “Wot are yer lookin’ fer?” she asked.

  “I am looking for whatever Alf was seeking when he came here,” Balthasar r
eplied. “There was something, someone, with whom he wanted to share this casket he had found. Who was it?”

  Gracie studied the narrow street as well. There was no pavement on one side, and barely a couple of feet of uneven stones on the other. Yet narrower alleys that led into yards invited no one. The houses had smeared windows, some already cracked, and recessed doorways in which the destitute huddled to stay out of the rain.

  “It don’t look like nowhere I’d want ter be,” she said miserably.

  “Nor I,” Balthasar agreed. “But we do not know who lives inside. We will have to ask. Distasteful, but necessary. Come.”

  They set out across the road and approached the old woman in the first doorway.

  Later, they were more than halfway toward the arch and gate at the end of the road when they found something that seemed hopeful.

  “Took yer long enough,” a snaggletoothed man said, leaning sideways in the twelfth doorway. He regarded Gracie with disfavor. “I ’ope yer in’t expectin’ ter sell ’er? Couldn’t get sixpence for that bag o’ bones.” He laughed at his own wit.

  “You are quite right,” Balthasar agreed. “She is all fire and brains, and no flesh at all. No good to customers of yours. I imagine they like warm and simple, and no answer back?”

  The man looked nonplussed. “Right, an’ all,” he agreed slowly. “Then wot der yer want? Yer can’t come in ’ere wif ’er. Put people off.”

  “I’m looking for my friend, Alf Mudway. Do you know him?”

  “Wot if I do? Won’t do me no good now, will it! ’E’s dead. Yer wastin’ yer time.” The man stuck out his lantern jaw belligerently.

  “I know he is dead,” Balthasar replied. “And I know he was killed here. I am interested that you know it too. I have friends to whom that will be of concern.” He allowed it to hang in the air, as if it were a threat.

  “I dunno nuffink about it!” the man retaliated.

  “One of my friends,” Balthasar said slowly, giving weight to each word, “is a tall man, and thin, as I am. But he is a little fairer of complexion, except for his eyes. He has eyes like holes in his head, as if the devil had poked his fingers into his skull, and left a vision of hell behind when he withdrew them.”