FIFTEEN

Watson

‘We owe you no courtesy,’ said Ben. ‘You were, after all, trying to kill my friend and colleague.’

Badger held a chair thrust into her, chair legs surrounding her torso and pinning her to the wall, like a lion tamer keeping her from attacking. She spat at their feet.

‘Steady!’ cried Badger. ‘That’s a decent rug, that.’

‘Never mind,’ hissed Ben. What the hell were they going to do with her? And it was the middle of the night. Best to ask the questions they had intended to ask yesterday, he reckoned.

‘Josie Williams.’ He looked her over. At first, back in Battersea, he had thought she was young. Her body was slim and shapely enough, but this close to her – and under the scrutiny of the lamp’s light – he could well see the careworn creases at her eyes, the deep grooves on either side of her mouth, a bit of gray in her dark hair, the beginnings of a wrinkled neck. Her face was nut-brown like the rest of her Nomade brethren, though how much of that was sun and how much dirt was difficult to tell. ‘Were you the medium at Horace Quinn’s séance the night he was killed?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He had expected her to have some sort of Gypsy accent, but instead she sounded Irish. So, she was a Traveller pretending to be a Romany for the séance.

‘We know it was you,’ he lied, ‘so you might as well make a clean breast of it.’

She raised her chin and glared defiantly, saying not a word.

Watson took another tack. ‘Why were you trying to kill my friend?’

She turned her face away, lips tight together.

‘I done nothin’ to you,’ said Badger, rather sullenly, Ben thought.

With hands at his hips, Ben stared at her a good long time before he leaned right into her. ‘You sat directly in front of Horace Quinn at the séance. You were the only one to have a throwing knife just like you brung here to kill Badger with.’ And he shook it at her as he made the accusation. ‘So only you knew how to chuck it at him, and then you escaped by the window. The evidence is stacked against you. And if you don’t confess, the police will haul in Thomas Brent for the murder, and hang an innocent man.’

She jerked her head toward him, wearing the most horrified expression he’d ever seen. Before he could make another remark, they all froze at the sound of urgent pounding on their door.

‘This is the police! Open up!’

Ben’s first thought was to make a run for it. But he had to pull that back. He’d never had the police after him. The holy hell of a noise they’d all made in the struggle must have alerted Mrs Kelly, and she had likely gone in search of a constable.

They all broke at once from their immobility. Ben grabbed an overcoat and threw it on over his union suit. Badger scrambled across his bed to wrap himself in the coverlet. But when he’d let the chair go that had been caging Josie Williams, she broke for the window, cast up the sash, and leapt out of it.

Ben ran to the window and looked out, afraid he’d find the broken body of the woman sprawled on the dark pavement, but she was a nimble thing, even at her age, and was nowhere to be seen.

He swore under his breath and marched to the main room and to the door, unlocked it, and cast it open. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said.

Detective Inspector Hopkins barged in first, looking like he’d just tumbled out of his own bed, with beard-shadowed cheeks and mussed hair under his bowler. Mrs Kelly, knowing Holmes as she did, must have called Hopkins herself. The constable who accompanied him looked smart, as the copper on the beat would, all silver buttons glinting in the lamplight, mustache curved down over his mouth, and custodian helm strap tight under his bottom lip.

Behind them was Mrs Kelly, holding her dressing gown closed tight at her neck, and a sleeping cap barely containing the rags tied round her curls. The woman’s face was stark and wary but not frightened. Mister Holmes appeared to have chosen her well, for she had done what was required without hysterics, and he was entirely grateful for that.

Though Ben had strategically placed himself before Badger’s bedroom, Hopkins rushed past him anyway, made a quick sweep, and returned to the main room with an exasperated expression. ‘What goes on here, Watson? Badger?’

‘Oh, just a little break-in,’ said Badger casually. He had draped the coverlet over himself like some Roman emperor.

Hopkins took that in as well. He pushed his bowler up his forehead. ‘Your landlady said there had been a fight.’ He glanced at Ben, no doubt noting the swelling to his nose from the earlier altercation with the Travellers.

‘There had been,’ said Ben, turning away from the oil lamp Mrs Kelly had brought into the room and the constable’s lamp shining in his face. ‘But the suspect got away.’

‘Is this to do with your murder case?’

‘It’s all to do with it,’ said Badger grandly, like he was in some music hall. He seemed to find it amusing, even though he was the one who had been threatened. Sometimes Watson just didn’t know what was in his friend’s empty head.

Hopkins wasn’t amused. ‘Well, isn’t that just fine. Got me out of bed just to face you two in the middle of the blooming night.’ He dragged his hat off his head and slapped it against his thigh.

‘We had it well in hand,’ said Ben apologetically to Mrs Kelly. But by her expression, he thought he had better add, ‘And we thank you, Mrs Kelly, for such smart and quick action on your part.’

She made a curt nod. ‘Mister Holmes advised me to keep an eagle eye on the two of you. Looks like it’s needed.’

‘And that you did. False alarm, Inspector.’

Hopkins waited, bleary eyes still steady on Ben. But with nothing more forthcoming from them, he gave up, popped his hat back on his disheveled hair, and blew a gust of air past his fluttering mustache.

‘You’ve got six more days, chaps. Just six. And no more of your midnight shenanigans. Let’s go, Constable,’ he said wearily.

‘Thanks for stopping by, Inspector!’ said Badger brightly. Ben elbowed him hard and he doubled over. There was no need to antagonize the blighter. He was on their side. At least for the time being.

Mrs Kelly was the last to leave, and gave them a scathing and suspicious glare before taking her lamp and closing the door after her.

Ben listened at the door to their tromping down the stairs, and Mrs Kelly closing and locking her own door, before he turned on Badger in the darkness. ‘Why d’you have to treat the man that way? He’s giving us a chance.’

‘In the end he’s just a copper like all the rest of them. Do you really think he’s gonna give us a chance?’

‘He said he would, and I believe him. Otherwise, he could have hauled us away for disturbing the peace. When are you gonna be a man, Badger?’

‘Aw now, Ben. There’s no call for that.’ He yawned suddenly and elaborately. ‘I was got out of me bed with the cold hand of death at me throat. Grant me a little consideration. My blood was up.’

Ben couldn’t blame him, he supposed. It must have been a shock. Badger was just coming down from it. ‘Awright. I reckon so. Did she get away?’

‘Yes, right out the window.’

‘Window …’ Ben began to ponder and sat on the arm of the upholstered chair in the sitting room.

‘Blimey, you’re thinking again. I know that face. We have her for the murder, don’t we?’

‘Yes, we do …’

Badger threw back his head and trudged to stand before him. He trailed his coverlet like a regal train. ‘I know that look, Ben. What? What the bloomin’ hell is it now?’

‘I’ve been thinking. She sat across from Quinn.’

‘Right! The perfect place to throw a knife at him.’

‘But that’s just the thing. You see, you have to stand a decent distance from your target if you’re throwing a knife. It has to tumble end over end to stick the target. It provides momentum. If the target is too close, the handle will hit first.’

‘So she was lucky.’

‘You don’t walk into that kind of situation and hope for luck. You make damn sure you can do the deed, eh? Think about it.’

‘I don’t want to think about it. I want to go back to bed.’

Ben was adamant. ‘But it don’t make any sense. She couldn’t have done it.’

‘But … but what about the mud on the windowsill? That could have been her. You said the soil sample wasn’t from the household.’

That stopped Ben and he stilled in thought. ‘I … I don’t know. And why would she want to kill him? We haven’t established that.’

‘She didn’t like him. He sounded like a right bastard to me.’

‘But why?’

Badger flopped into the chair and laid his head back against it. ‘You’re right. I’m not using the guv’nor’s methods, am I?’

‘“When you know why, then you know who”. Isn’t that what you said Mister Holmes always told you?’

Badger rubbed his face and nodded.

Ben went on. ‘She had to have come to the Quinn household with murder in mind. So what’s it to her? What did Quinn do that she became his judge and executioner?’

‘Probably cheated her as well as he cheated everyone else in that household.’

‘Could be. Looks like we’ve got to do some digging about this Josie Williams.’

‘Can we do it in the morning?’ he said with a yawn. ‘I’m knackered.’

‘Awright. Get to bed, you.’

Badger didn’t reply as he trudged to his room. Ben remained in the sitting room for a long while, staring at the dying coals in the grate.

In the morning, Ben sagged in his chair from lack of sleep, even with the drapes pulled back to their widest position as a weak sun tried to brighten the main room. Badger, however, despite the life-threatening peril he had found himself in last night, was as chipper as a schoolboy. He dug into their breakfast of crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, kippers, toast and porridge.

Ben drank his coffee like a mechanical soldier, toyed with his toast, and spooned some porridge into his mouth. The porridge was unexpectedly good, with a bit of butter, sugar and … was that nutmeg?

He looked again at the letter that had arrived this morning from The Daily Chronicle, and tucked it away in his coat pocket.

‘You look thoughtful, Ben,’ said Badger.

Ben set down his cup and rubbed his eyes. ‘Stayed up late to think.’

His companion seemed to sober at that pronouncement. ‘Yes, I’ve been thinking too.’

‘Have you? A wonder you could, while your jaw was flapping with all that food.’

‘Can you blame me?’ He gestured toward the sideboard. ‘We’ll be fat in no time.’

‘I reckon.’

‘Anyways,’ said Badger, buttering a slice of crunchy toast, ‘I been thinking about what you said. That this Josie Williams couldn’t have thrown the knife that close to him. But if you will remember, when the lights went out, she was nowhere to be found. Could be she jumped up, stabbed old Quinn, and hopped it out the window. That would account for the mud on the sill.’

Ben cocked his head and crunched down on his crustless toast, savoring the taste of the bread and butter. The bacon suddenly smelled good to him. He rose from his place with plate in hand, opened the covered dish with the rashers and grasped several strips. While he stood there, he reasoned that he might as well get some eggs too, filled the plate high, and sat down again. He picked up a rasher with his fingers and chewed it down.

‘There’s something to that,’ he said with mouth full. ‘But I’d still like to know why.’

‘That would make the case, wouldn’t it?’ agreed Badger. ‘We’ve got to get her dead to rights.’

‘But the other question is, should we tell Hopkins?’

Badger never paused to think or stop eating. ‘No,’ he said around a wad of food in his mouth. ‘Definitely no. What if he comes up with some excuse that she didn’t do it? And we know she did. He’d want to nab Brent and he’d make us tell him where he is.’

‘I agree. No to Hopkins. For the moment at least.’

They ate in silence for a time until, with a last splash of coffee, Ben felt satisfied. He pulled the serviette from his collar, wiped his lips, and pushed away from the table. ‘We’ve got to find Josie. But we also have to get back to the Quinn house so you can look at the séance room.’

‘And blimey, Ben, we’ve got the reading of the will today as well.’

‘Crikey, I almost forgot that. Right. You go to the house and give it a look round, and I’ll find Josie. Meet you back at Quinn’s at two o’clock sharp.’

With coats fastened and hats firmly on their heads, they each set off in different directions.

Ben stuffed his hands in his pockets and kept the collar of his coat up around his ears as the spring rain pelted him. He watched with longing as carriages and hansoms clattered by him on the cobblestones. Ah well. Maybe someday if he and Badger could get a few more clients, they’d be able to afford such luxuries. But if he couldn’t locate that minx Josie Williams, they’d be in a right state. How would they profit if their first high-profile client was hauled to gaol and hanged?

‘Not well,’ he muttered to the wind.

He thought of catching a ’bus but decided against it. He was close enough to the open lots of Battersea, and was relieved to see that the Travellers’ caravans were still there. The piles of bricks remained in evidence, but now they were gleaming from the rain showers. A rusty crane with a long beam hanging from its rope, and swaying with the windy rain, hovered over the narrow passageway like the lintel to the gates of Hell. He wondered how safe it was passing under it, when a couple of rough-bearded men sauntered forward with truncheons in their hands.

‘Morning, gents,’ said Ben, as pleasantly as he could with the sudden appearance of a stone in his gut. He touched the brim of his hat for good measure. ‘You remember me from yesterday, yes? The man what could throw a knife?’

They didn’t seem inclined to retreat, but they weren’t coming at him either. He took some small comfort from that.

‘It’s just that … well. Josie Williams paid us a visit last night with the intention of skewering my colleague. And we can’t have that. Unfortunately, she got away before we could talk to her proper. Would either of you know where she’s got to? Back to your camp maybe?’

They continued staring at him so long he began to wonder if they spoke the Queen’s English. He shuffled his feet, looking down at his shoes. All that nice leather covered in mud. ‘Look, lads …’

‘We don’t talk to no black devils,’ said the one on his right.

Ben sighed. He looked heavenward for only a moment. ‘Would it help to offer some brass?’

The men exchanged glances.

‘But the question is,’ Ben went on, almost to himself, ‘would you answer after I gave it over? You see …’ He began walking in a circle, eyes gauging how far away the caravans were. ‘I’ve had this trouble before. Some jacks like yourselves tell me you don’t trust me due to the triviality of my skin color. And then I offer to pay and you take my coins and then laugh in me face and still don’t tell me, only you’re richer with my coins in your pockets.’ He shook his head at the tragedy of it. ‘It ain’t right. And so. I’ve learned not to pay out my hard-earned coin to no wastrel bogtrotters.’

That stopped their smirks and smiles. They raised their chins … and their clubs … and approached. ‘What did you say?’ said the one on the right.

‘Now you see how hurtful it is,’ said Ben, backing away. ‘I wouldn’t have said a thing, except that I really need to talk to her. And …’ Swifter than they could spot, he reached into his inside coat pocket and drew his Webley Bull Dog with the checked walnut handle, cocked and aimed it, seemingly all in one smooth motion.

They stopped their approach and stilled.

‘I apologize for the “bogtrotter” remark. I was looking to rouse you and I did. And I hope you’ll apologize for the “black devil” comment as well when you get a moment.’ He took aim in turn to each man’s face. ‘But as you can see, I mean business. I need to talk to Josie Williams and she needs to come with me now or I swear I’ll swarm this place with rozzers.’

‘She ain’t here,’ said the one on the right.

‘I don’t suppose you could drop your club on the ground? Good lad. And you, fella.’ He aimed at the one on the left. He soon dropped his club. ‘Is that right? Is she not in your camp? She murdered a man, you know.’

‘We don’t know nothin’ about her,’ said the one on the left in a light Irish brogue. ‘She came to us ’bout three years ago. Came from a different Traveller camp, so she said. Does some fortune telling. Maybe a séance or two for the punters.’

‘That’s all very well, but I still need to talk to her.’

‘Let Collin decide,’ said the other.

‘I’d love to. Which one is Collin?’

‘Me,’ said the burly man from yesterday, coming from around a broken wall. ‘You two,’ he said to the men, and thumbed behind him back to the caravans and the smoky fire. ‘Get on.’

They looked at Ben and his revolver, glanced at their abandoned clubs, and made the right decision by leaving them where they lay and making a hasty retreat.

‘Greetings, Collin,’ said Ben with a smile. He uncocked the revolver and stuffed it back in his coat pocket. ‘Won’t need this, will I?’

‘We’ll see.’

Ben was careful to maintain his distance but be close enough to seem polite. ‘Maybe you heard I was looking for Josie Williams. Again.’

‘Heard tell she paid you a visit last night. Stupid woman.’

‘Not too smart, no. She killed a man.’

He shrugged. ‘I have no knowledge of that one way or the other. It’s nothing to me. Nothing to them,’ he said, jerking his head to where the two men retreated. ‘We took her in and that’s that.’

‘But she tried to kill my partner, which says to me she killed that man in Bloomsbury. During the séance she was holding for him.’

He shrugged again. ‘She does what she likes. We aren’t responsible.’

‘I get you.’ Watson kept a sharp eye on the doings behind Collin. Like feet gathering behind the wagon. He shot a quick glance over his own shoulder, just to make certain no one was ambushing him back there … Damn. It surely looked like they were. Two men creeping around the haphazard piles of bricks. His eyes roved, quickly assessing.

‘Well, Collin. It looks like you gents don’t want to talk to me no more. I don’t like going where I’m not wanted, so maybe I’ll just take m’leave.’ The Bull Dog was in his hand again, like a magician’s trick. Collin raised his empty palms. But Ben had the feeling his throwing knives were stuffed down the waist of his trousers, within easy reach.

So there was Collin before him, two men behind, and more men gathering and waiting to pounce.

And just one Ben Watson with only five bullets. He didn’t like the odds.

He straight-armed his gun, cocked it. Collin hesitated, crouching down. Ben smiled and suddenly jerked his arm high. He fired.

Collin ducked at what he expected was a bullet to his chest, and he laughed when he realized he was all right. He took a step forward and the men at the caravans came running. Ben took a step to the side so he could see the men coming from behind him.

And that’s when the beam finally fell.

The bullet had pierced the rope but not severed it immediately. But with the weight of the beam, and the rope now a thread, it couldn’t hold it any longer. Down it came. Collin barely got out of the way, but some of his men weren’t as lucky.

The Travellers behind Ben stopped dead at the shocking carnage, and he took advantage of that by bolting to the side. By the time they collected themselves, he was already on the main street, and running hard. He looked back only a few times as he ducked down alleys, courtyards, and all manner of shortcuts, until he was convinced no one was following him.