Chapter Fourteen

I managed to sneak into one of the unlocked offices of the saw mill, on the outskirts of the complex I had entered. The stale air told me that no one had visited these rooms in a while, so I was reasonably certain that I would be left alone while I patched myself up. Still I turned the key, which had been left in the lock on the inside and then slumped down in a wooden chair behind a small desk. The room lay in twilight, blends fastened in front of the windows, dark, cold and serene.

It took me longer than normal to catch my breath. I couldn’t get the woman’s face out of my head. Sarah. I had seen her only briefly, back then, in that warehouse. A bundle of nerves, crying, frightened. It had never occurred to me that she had been afraid of me, not of Clarke’s men. That she had been one of them. More important than anyone had realised. I had been blinded by my prejudice and now I paid the price.

If I had wounded her fatally, my career in the Service would be over. The very thing that would save my life would ruin the work of so many others. Why had I taken the shot on the river? Why?

Cautiously, I peeled off my coat and the suit jacket underneath. The wound on my arm was bleeding, but not as much as the pain made me believe. I rummaged through the cupboards and found a stash of old handkerchiefs, of which I bound two together and bandaged my arm over the shirt to stop the blood flow. There was no point in redressing the wound now. It would take too long. I had to get to Clarke before anyone could intercept me again.

Groaning, I slipped back into my garments and exited the office. Several minutes later, I joined the mass of people on their way north, up Belvedere Road, just another person trying to get to their destination through the icy cold.

When I had reached Blackfriars, I turned to cross the bridge towards Newgate. The guards didn’t exactly welcome me, but when I showed them my identification, I was led into the prison. The building looked unwelcoming and dark from the outside, but on the inside it was even worse. At least the parts maintained by the Secret Service were actually that: maintained. As I walked through the security gates and the hallways beyond, one thing was obvious, no matter where you looked: The place was extremely dirty. It was clear that the caretakers only did the bare minimum of what was required to be able to walk through the space and not sink your feet into filth with every step.

With my organised wardrobe - even after having been chased through London - I presented a marked difference to anyone on the premises, not only the prisoners, but also the guards and especially the overseer I had been led to. He was sitting in a small room at the bottom of the cell galleries and was dressed in an ill-fitting uniform, which was, for a lack of any better words, outrageously filthy. His grimy hair stood up on one side of his head, as if he hadn’t even deemed it necessary to fix it after waking up, and I refused the hand that he held out as a greeting, because there was no way I let that man touch even the leather of my gloves.

“You from the big guys?” he asked with a mouth full of foul teeth.

“Yes...” I replied slowly, taking a step back so as to not be enveloped in the foul stench he was emitting. I wagered he was in even worse shape than some of the inmates in the cells behind him. “I am here to see Jonathan Clarke.”

The man turned and made a show of looking at a few pieces of paper on the desk in a corner of the small room. They were the only thing that could be remotely called white in the vicinity.

“I wasn’t notified of any visit today. The prisoner isn’t ready.”

“I didn’t know I needed to see him until half an hour ago. I don’t care if he isn’t ready. Either you bring him to a room where I can speak to him, or I’ll go directly to his cell.”

The overseer bristled visibly and stood up straight for the first time since I had started talking to him. I hadn’t seen him around before, but I hadn’t had any reason to visit Newgate in over five years, either.

“You can’t just walk in here and demand things like that!”

“You will see that I can,” I replied icily. “Now go and fetch the man.”

“I’ll have to ask the director. I can’t just...”

I didn’t know if he was more upset about the broken rules or about my demands, which threatened to make him perform actual work. I suspected it was the latter.

“Go and see him, then. Tell him Mycroft Holmes wants to see Jonathan Clarke. And he wants to see him now.”

“Alright. But don’t move, and don’t touch anything,” he instructed me with a glare and slipped from the room.

I drew in an angry breath and let it escape through my nose in a gesture of disgust. Nothing in this room drew me touch it. There wasn’t even a place for me to sit and wait. Sure, there was the stool the overseer had slumped on before I entered the room, but I didn’t even want my coat to touch that surface. So I elected to stand and wait for the man to return in front of his small office, inside the bottom of the gallery.

The long hallway was light and airy for a prison, with four floors above me, crowned by a roof of metal and glass, through which the cautious winter sun filtered sparingly, illuminating some dust motes dancing in the air, but not much more. The cells were arranged on both sides of the building, several floors high, with a walkway made of metal and wood in front. A few stairs connected the galleries in the middle of the room, and were the only way to safely reach the next level. I had a feeling they were purposely narrow, as it wouldn’t allow a large group of people to storm up or down at the same time.

There was a curious quiet, even though I knew most cells to be occupied at all times. The only noises I heard were the occasional chair moving across the floor, or various items thrown about. Every now and then, someone shouted something unintelligible across the expanse, and someone else replied with even more garbled speech, but other than that it was actually rather peaceful.

As I stood and contemplated my next move, the smell in the prison so bad that I craved a cigarette just to inhale the aroma of the smoke, I heard quick steps approaching in the distance. They grew louder, until the form of the grimy overseer all but fell through the doorway opposite to my waiting place. He was out of breath and his face was red, where you could make out the colour underneath the dirt. It was obvious he wanted to say something, but he was so out of it, he didn’t push out more than fragments.

Not long after - the man still hadn’t said a sensible word - an infinitely better-dressed individual emerged from the corridor behind him. I immediately noticed that his uniform was clean and pressed. With attentive brown eyes, short, dark brown hair with a fringe that was just on the edge of being too long, and a height that rivalled my own, he stood at attention - and so did his impressive moustache.

“I am so sorry about this Mr. Holmes. You must excuse Wilford here... he hasn’t been with us for too long.”

“Then he should be keen to keep his position.”

“Yes, sir, of course, sir,” the director of proceedings for the Secret Service in Newgate stressed. “It’s just that we don’t get many unannounced visits.”

“That doesn’t excuse anything.”

“Of course not,” he stammered.

I had already made the man positively nervous. Thomas Evans had only received me in Newgate a few times, but those visits seemed to have made an impression, even though the last one had been years ago. Maybe that was because I had almost always brought a prominent member of the criminal persuasion with me to lock away. But for all the faults in his underlings, he was a good man, and I didn’t want to make him more anxious than necessary.

“It’s alright, Evans,” I said amiably. “I simply need to talk to Jonathan Clarke for a little while. Can you arrange that?”

“Yes, yes, of course. Can I ask you to accompany me to my office, where you can wait, while we prepare the inmate and take him to an interrogation room?”

“That sounds acceptable.”

As I passed the dirty overseer in the corridor, I made an effort to step on the tip of his shoes, just barely missing his toes, as anyone could see that the flimsy leather was too big for his feet. He glared at me for a second, so I had to stop, even though I hadn’t planned to waste any more time on him.

“Wilford. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir,” he replied, suddenly unsure, his earlier moment of courage forgotten.

“You should hope our paths never cross again. If they do, and you stand in my way one more time, as small as the obstruction may be, I will have your head.”

The man nodded and looked to his feet. I could hear the director shuffle nervously beside me. It was important to let people know who they were dealing with every now and then. The director had surely informed this Wilford character of my status, but the more he feared me, the easier it would be to work around him. I hadn’t planned to visit Newgate again after this episode, but you never know.

Wilford had been thoroughly shut up, so I turned away from him to be led to the director’s office, which was on the top gallery, along with the special cells. We walked up the narrow stairs in silence and I eyed the cells around us with interest. More than a few pairs of eyes followed us. I recognised a few murderers and other felons, but most faces were new to me, which wasn’t a surprise. The people imprisoned here were either waiting for their trial or already on their way to be executed. I had professionally known many men and women, who fell in that second category. Only the top floor housed people for longer. People that were too important, too well connected to be disposed of. They could be informants or bargaining chips. The Service knew their value, and Clarke was one of them.

Similarly to Chapman, Clarke had dealt with China, but he had focused his trade on opium smuggling into Scotland, from where the drug had been distributed throughout the country. Having successfully built his empire, he hadn’t been able to refrain from branching out and had gotten into smuggling people, as well. It was through an influx of women and children appearing without papers from abroad, that we had found his trail. He had wanted too much in too little time. I had told him personally that if he had only paced himself, he would’ve been able to evade us so much longer, though probably not forever.

Evans led me to his office, with a lovely view of St. Paul’s in the distance. What had previously been two cells, was now put together and made for a surprisingly domestic space within this dreadful place. The windows were much larger than was the norm, but they were still barred, as was every opening in this place. Still, if you shut the door and stoked the fire, you had a decent study, with the best security measures.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have a servant around here,” Evans muttered as he placed a kettle on the stove in a corner, before he measured the tea leaves with shaking hands. “I will be back in just a bit.”

He stormed from the office, evidently glad to be able to get away from me, and left me alone with a whole desk full of confidential documents, which he hadn’t cleared in his haste. Sloppy. Very sloppy. And also very interesting. I casually grabbed the required tea implements from a shelf and placed them on the only available surface in the office, which happened to be the desk. With an ear on any steps in the hallway, I glanced over the correspondence.

Most of the information in front of me had been in the briefing, which I had read during my first night back the Diogenes. It showed that my sources had kept me well-informed, which was to be commended. There were only few, recent developments that I hadn’t heard of before, so I made sure to remember the names and rough details out of habit. Of course there was also a notice from Challenger regarding the Mycroft Incident, but it was just a general message to be careful. After I left, Evans would surely inform the head of the agency about my visit. Well, he would know about it anyway, if Hawkins had reached his goal, so no harm done. It would be easier to apologise for my actions later, than get his permission now.

I hoped Hawkins had reached the club. If the cab driver had observed Doctor Fillmore’s practice close enough to intercept us, there was no telling if someone else hadn’t pursued my colleague too. I could only pray he would be at Baker Street later tonight.

The kettle noisily alerted me to the fact that the water was boiling, so I poured it over the tea leaves. They soon emitted the scent of a Darjeeling blend. A good choice, if a little light in the freezing weather. I much preferred the sort in summer, but it would do. Steeping the leaves only took a little while, and soon I had a steaming mug of tea in hand. I breathed in the hot water vapour, which did its best to relax me as much as I dared, as the aroma of the tea overpowered all the other smells in this place for a little while.

It didn’t take long for Evans to return, and upon seeing the cup in my hand, he apologised many times for not having been there to prepare it.

“Nonsense,” I replied. “I gather Clarke is ready?”

“He was in the workhouse when you arrived,” the director explained. “We’ve brought him up to our own interrogation-”

“He was where?” I exclaimed and slammed the cup down on the desk, where the hot liquid spilled across a few pages of paper. “Repeat yourself!”

“The prison workhouse,” Evans said meekly.

“Are you aware that this is very close to the dumbest thing you could’ve told me right now? The only thing worse is informing me that you’ve let all inmates in your care walk free.”

“I wouldn’t do that, sir.”

I walked around the desk and crowded the man against the wall beside the door. We could see eye to eye, but despite his height, Evans looked very, very small in front of me. I grabbed his collar and drew his face closer, so close that our noses almost touched.

“Then why have you permitted something that is potentially just as dangerous? Are you aware that it is the whole point of your job to keep the prisoners isolated? They are not to have contact with anyone except the guards. They should merely reflect on their deeds, and only have a bit of free air while they walk between the interrogation room and their own cell. They are not to be left alone anywhere else!”

“But, sir, he’s been in here for so long-”

“I told Wilford I’ll have his head if he missteps just once more. The same goes for you... only you’re already so far out of line, that you’ve lost sight of where it is that you’re supposed to stand in the first place. You will let me interrogate Clarke now, and you will give me as much time as I need with no interference, or I’ll make sure you don’t just lose your job, but are put in a cell right next to your prisoners for aiding a culprit in a serial murder case, endangering the Secret Service itself!”

I all but shouted the last words directly into Evans’ face, and he grew ever smaller in front of my eyes. As I moved away to release him, he looked like a kicked dog, but he didn’t dare move, much less talk back. I could see in his eyes that he knew exactly just where he had gone wrong.

This was why you had to do everything yourself. Only I couldn’t be everywhere at once. How many more imbeciles like him were working for the Service? How many more lapses like this had led to catastrophic results already?

“Just one last question. For how long?”

“June,” the ex-director breathed and I left him to crumble where he stood.

The guard in front of the interrogation room jumped out of my way as he saw me approaching with quick, heavy steps, and an expression of fury on my face. I didn’t know him, and I already hated him for his reaction. Had he stood in my way just then, I would’ve at least been able to commend the dedication to his guard duty. But it didn’t matter then. I walked through the door and slammed it behind me.

At the table in the middle of the room sat the man himself: Jonathan Clarke. He looked older than I remembered him, which wasn’t surprising as I hadn’t laid eyes on him in ten years, five months and three days. He was still small, so very small. Not as tiny as Ignatius, but at least two heads shorter than me. His black hair had started greying, and he wore it neatly bound in a ponytail, which only made his round face stand out even more. The small, dark eyes, from which you could barely read anything, were still the same, but the full beard was a new addition. I supposed it was easier to maintain in here.

All things considered, he did seem healthy, in good shape, and just a big smug. Though what struck me the most was that he was considerably cleaner than Wilford. I should have the overseer removed just for that.

I was still fuming, but I sat down on the chair opposite Clarke with an air of cold indifference, as I could already see him fix me with a calculating stare. It wouldn’t be good to give him an opening. The way I had closed the door had already been too much of a revelation. That was the problem with Clarke: He wasn’t stupid.

We fixed each other with our best glares and sat in silence for a while. Then Clarke moved, and I heard the shackles rattle that kept him fixed to the floor. Heavy iron, I noted. He looked back and forth between my head and a point on the wall behind me a few times, then closed his eyes and sighed, as if he couldn’t make up his mind on what to say. I wasn’t about to prompt him with anything, as to not influence his first words, so I kept quiet.

Finally he opened his eyes again and his expression morphed into a broad smile.

“Mycroft Holmes. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. Have you come to finish the job? No? Then what else can I help you with?”

I couldn’t fail to see that he seemed utterly pleased with himself. After deliberating for a while, he had apparently decided to let his feelings show. I didn’t know if I should be glad for it, or if his happiness only made me angry.

“I’m just here to ask you some questions.”

“Oh, then I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’m all out of answers to give. Your superiors decided so years ago. I’ve been all alone for so long. You’re the first visitor I had since... 1890!”

“But I’ve heard you recently found some new friends, haven’t you?”

Clarke frowned for half a second, but then his eyes widened. “Ah, yes, the others in the workhouse. Very decent sort of people, if you don’t mind their murdering past. It’s not really right for me to be here, with my hands clean and all. Maybe they better take you to the workhouse. I think you’ll fit right in.”

For the last words, Clarke had lowered his voice considerably and wiped the smile off his face.

“I don’t follow,” I said.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. That’s my role here. You’ve killed more men than most of these people in here combined. Only you do it for the sake of Queen and Country, so everything is forgiven.”

And just like that everything was suddenly so very clear. It was laughable, really.

“Who was it, then? Your wife? A child? A partner?”

Clarke tried to jump from his chair, but the chains prevented him from moving. He had twitched when I mentioned a child. This was easier than I had imagined it.

“A child. Your son then? Was he there that day? In the warehouse?”

“You took him from me!” Clarke shouted his wrath, the earlier nonchalance forgotten. “You took him when he was still so young! You took everyone that day! My gang was my family!”

“I don’t care about your relation to anyone. Just answer the following question: Have you orchestrated the two murders and recent attacks in the last few days?”

Clarke slumped back in his chair, head turned to the side. He didn’t answer.

“Are you responsible for the group of people trying to expose the Secret Service and make my life hell?”

At least he smirked when I mentioned the influence the incidents had on my life. “How could I? I’m locked away securely. Haven’t set a foot outside for over ten years.”

“You haven’t. But several of your workhouse buddies have walked free since then. I’m sure I can find the names of all criminals, who have been acquitted.”

Clarke just laughed. “Good luck finding anything in this dump.”

I eyed him once more, looking for any signs of deception, but he had apparently decided to settle his expression on smug amusement.

“Then help me avoid the search. Does the name Sarah ring a bell?”

It was immediately clear that it did. Even Clarke realised that his grin had slipped. So he didn’t even try to deny it.

“Sure it does. I had a granddaughter called Sarah. She wasn’t even born. Do you want to know why? Because her mother lost her due to the shock of her father being impaled on a sword by a madman! Her mother, who was my partner in business and like a daughter to me!”

“I see...”

“No, you don’t! You have the calm expression of a man who has sliced open so many people in his lifetime that this single incident doesn’t even register. Tell me you remember my son! Tell me he isn’t just another body!”

“Be that as it may,” I said. “You’ve just handed me everything I needed. You could’ve kept quiet.”

“What’s the worst thing that can happen to me? I might as well be dead already. I’m never leaving this place again. If you were to execute me, you’d only be doing me a favour. But this? Oh, this is the most fun I’ve had in years!”

The idea of me bringing him pleasure simply by being here made me sick. This time, I had no qualms about showing my emotions on my face. I got up from the chair and stood behind it. I didn’t want to sit at the same table with him anymore.

“Now listen closely, because these are the last words I’ll ever say to you,” Clarke said and took a deep breath. “The thing about you, Mycroft Holmes, is that no one in this world actually likes you. Every person I’ve ever talked to hates you to some degree. You are a cruel man, who treats everyone else as if they’re lesser beings. You kill indiscriminately. You make your fellow agents fear you, which only turns into hate. Sarah only planted a little idea, but the ground is fertile. Even I don’t know in which circles it has sprouted, but be assured that there are enough people in this city and beyond, who want to ruin your life just as you have ruined theirs. So even if you torture me to give you more names, I can’t give you any, because I don’t know them any more than you do.”

As Clarke leaned back in his chair, I drew myself up to my full height.

“You’re right on one thing: You’re never leaving this prison again. And as much as it would please me to torture you, and I’m sure you’d enjoy the attention, I don’t need you anymore.”

I wanted to leave the room, but as I stood in the doorway, I turned around once more. “And here’s one last thought to keep you company: I shot Sarah not one hour ago.”

Clarke jumped up from the chair, chains rattling.

“You’re lying!”

Despite my anger, I grinned as I walked away. Last words, indeed...

Evans wasn’t in his office when I returned. The fire had almost gone out and the tea was cold. I took the cup with the offending liquid and threw it in a corner, where it shattered against the wall with a satisfying noise.

Breathe, Mycroft. Breathe. He was only trying to provoke you.

It was a testament to my overall state how quickly I had to flee the room. But no matter now. I looked around. Evans’ coat was gone. So the coward had fled the scene of his crime.

I quickly drafted a letter, in which I summarised the director’s errors, then summoned one of the agency men to have it delivered to Challenger - with my explicit recommendation to terminate Evans’ employment immediately. I even put a very rough idea of the sequence of events to paper, so it would explain my decision, though the very action of having Clarke meet with other prisoners was already enough to condemn him.

After this I rummaged through his desk. I had smelled a bit of alcohol on Evans’ breath as I had crowded the silly man against the wall. My suspicion was proven correct, as I found an almost finished bottle of low grade Scotch and a dirty glass in the back of the lowest drawer. I didn’t bother with the glass, just uncorked the bottle and polished off the last remnants without ceremony. The cheap spirit burned in my throat, but it made the whole experience just a bit more bearable.

Then I made an assistant appear before me. The court wasn’t in session, so there was no one present but a single runner - a boy, who couldn’t have been more than sixteen years of age. But he stood upright and proud, with a shine in his eyes that spoke of his character, more so than any other man I had met in Newgate on that day. He wore a simple, brown suit and hid his short hair under a similarly coloured cap. His name was Billy.

Billy was better at his work than I expected. Within twenty minutes, I had the relevant records on my desk. He stood at attention while I browsed the dates and sorted them.

“Will that be all, sir?” the boy asked, after he had waited a few minutes.

I looked up from the papers to scrutinise my helper. “Do you like your work, Billy?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I asked you if you like your job here. At the court. You can speak freely.”

He did a little, nervous laugh. “It’s alright. I have to do a lot, but I enjoy sorting stuff. Making it look neat, easy to find. At least one part in the world I can keep in order. And I always have work, what many of my friends can’t claim. We never run out of criminals, you see.”

“Indeed,” I hummed and turned my gaze back towards the papers.

I had already discarded a number of inmates, on account of them not having participated in the same workhouse as Clarke, and there was still a good amount left, which I had to examine closer. Of course I had a very clear suspect in mind, but it never pays off to do sloppy work.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” I asked without looking up.

“Am I in any sort of trouble?”

“No.”

“Oh, good,” he breathed. “I thought you asked me if I like my job because you wanted to kick me out or something. It happened before.”

“The only one leaving here today will be Evans,” I explained, pushing the files around. “In fact before I go, I will write you a personal recommendation. If you want to work for my people instead of the court, you may approach the new director with that letter, as soon as he has settled in. I assure you the pay will be better and the workload less. Though you will have to keep working with your attention to detail... and refrain from doing stupid mistakes like Evans.”

The boy was temporarily stunned into silence, then he cleared his throat. “If I may, sir, I never quite liked Evans anyway.”

I huffed a short laugh and motioned for Billy to leave the room, which he promptly did, but not without uttering a string of thanks. It has always been just as important to reward correct behaviour as it was to punish the wrong one. Luckily I was in a position privileged enough to influence these matters as I saw fit.

You make your colleagues fear you, which only turns into hate.

Well, I wasn’t in this world to be liked. I was here to make a difference for good, no matter how I achieved it, otherwise I wouldn’t have been blessed with such a brilliant mind and the many skills that I possessed. And anyone in my way had put themselves there voluntarily. I wasn’t about to let a lowlife such as Clarke make me doubt myself.

In the end it took me less than half an hour to find Sarah’s records. I felt infinitely better for finally having grasped the bigger picture of it all. Now all I needed was to catch the woman at the centre.

It would only be a matter of time.