Again Axwell kept Jack waiting. The thought of self-preservation was a strong enough adhesive for him to stick around. Whatever Axwell did, in here would be safer than out on the streets. At least Thirsk was off his back, though how he was going to explain the snuffbox’s permanent disappearance to Bowser, he had no idea. He only hoped that Thirsk and Bowser never met. Or if they did, were not civil enough to each other to offer one another snuff. The chances of that, fortunately, were remote.
Axwell’s opening shot wasn’t encouraging. ‘Conscience playin’ you foul, bonny lad? Come to confess?’
‘No, I damn well have not,’ Jack answered hotly.
‘Methinks you’ll be wastin’ me time then.’
‘If you let me tell you, then maybe you will be able to judge and not pre-judge.’
‘Alreet. Sit doon.’
Jack sat opposite Axwell in the same room they had conversed in before – so unproductively from Jack’s point of view. His head was still groggy from Hodsock’s hammer blow. He felt queasy, though his nerves were now steadier. Axwell’s annoying attitude had seen to that.
‘An’ how did you do that?’ Axwell asked with a sneer.
‘My face collided with someone’s fist.’
‘A lot of stray fists around this toon.’
‘Exactly. That is why I am here.’
‘Reportin’ another attack? Know who it is this time?’ Axwell’s mockery was beginning to niggle. Jack controlled his temper with an effort.
‘This,’ he said indicating the lump over his eye, which he realised with a sinking heart was bound to cause great mirth amongst the audience when they spotted it tonight, ‘was given to me by someone I am acquainted with, unfortunately. However, it is concerning the other attack that I am here. Remember the story I told you of Mr Courtney and the man at the church who was the leader of the gang who tried to do me in?’
‘I remember the remarkable tale.’
‘And I remember that you did not believe a word of it.’
‘Not a word.’
‘Well, you will have to start believing me now. I know where to find Courtney’s unsavoury associate.’
Axwell’s scepticism came to the fore. What was Flyford up to? Was he trying to put him off the scent? He should be so lucky! He had seen with his own eyes Flyford leaving an assignation with Thirsk. It had confirmed his suspicions, but he was not sure if he had enough evidence to make that idiot Ridley move against a man who was once well regarded by the sheriff’s cronies. Somehow, he had to nail Flyford; it was his only chance of getting to Thirsk.
‘Where will this man be found?’ he asked cautiously.
‘I followed him to a house below the Keelman’s Hospital. I suggest you go there and arrest him.’
‘Just like that.’
‘It seems a simple enough matter to me. At least interrogate him.’ Jack could see that Axwell was wavering. ‘If you do not, I will make a formal charge against him, and the sheriff will be forced to make you act.’
‘Alreet,’ said Axwell unhappily as he slowly got to his feet. He was reluctant to do anything because he was convinced that this was some carefully laid plan of Thirsk’s and Flyford’s to place the blame elsewhere. Yet if it was a trick, he’d rather it was played on him than the sheriff, who would be stupid enough to fall for it and let Thirsk and Flyford off the hook.
Axwell opened the door and shouted, ‘Rickaby! Fetch us the pistol.’ Turning to Jack, he said unsmilingly, ‘Now Mr Flyford, if you please, take us to see your friend.’
When Jack had difficulty finding the house, Axwell became even more suspicious – and Jack began to panic. Then he recognised the lean-to. ‘There it is!’ he called with relief. ‘That door yonder. And he went up to that room there,’ pointing to the upper window where he had seen the light coming from.
Sensing a possible trap, Axwell tensed. ‘We better see if he’s in.’
‘I will just wait here,’ Jack suggested. The last thing he wanted was to confront the man, especially as he would probably put up some resistance. He couldn’t face yet another fight.
‘Nah. You come wi’ us. We won’t know if it’s him unless you can point him oot.’ Jack didn’t have time to argue as Axwell turned to Rickaby, whom Jack recognised as the uncompromising fellow who had barred his entrance to Acorn’s house after the murder. ‘Give us the pistol.’ Rickaby handed over the weapon. Jack didn’t like the look of it. It was the sort of unreliable piece that might go off of its own accord. ‘I’ll gan first, you follow,’ Axwell said, pointing the pistol alarmingly at Jack. ‘Rickaby, you take the rear.’ Not an ideal arrangement, thought Jack, as he would have happily volunteered to take Rickaby’s place at the back.
They opened the door and entered. Two bare-footed urchins rushed out, shouting obscenities. Rickaby caught one of them across the head with the back of his hand and the child fell into the snow.
They started to climb the rickety staircase, which creaked under every footstep. The walls were rough and cracked and damp, and the smell of stale urine was overwhelming. Jack wished he had armed himself with a bunch of sweet-smelling herbs. On the first landing, some sacking that formed a door was pulled back and two grimy-faced girls in ragged, stinking clothes peered out. One was gaunt and emaciated, with a flat breast peeping out of her loosely fitting dress. The other was fatter and pockmarked. ‘Fancy a fuck?’ the fatter one said, lifting her skirt to reveal blotched and bruised legs.
Axwell waved the pistol at them and, amid a stream of abuse, the sack curtain was quickly pulled back over the doorway. Jack felt sick at the sight and once again reflected on what a sheltered upbringing he had had.
At the top of the next flight of stairs, they had to shove their way past a man lying on the floor – the stench of liquor was unmistakable. Here, the roof sloped down into the eaves, and they had to stoop to reach the door at the end of the small landing. Axwell halted for a moment: the door was slightly ajar. He glanced back at the ashen-faced Jack. Rickaby gave a knowing grin and drew out a long, thin-bladed knife from his belt. Jack nervously looked around for any useful nooks he could dive into if any violence started. If someone was going to get stabbed or shot, it wasn’t going to be Gethsemane Flyford. (He could never forgive his father for naming him after a garden; when he took to the road, he had taken on the more laddish name of Jack. As he stood petrified between the two hard-nosed Novocastrians, he was quite willing to exchange the world of Jack for the tranquilly boring existence of Gethsemane.)
Axwell knocked on the rotten door. There was no answer. He gently pushed the door and it swung open noisily. The sergeant stepped forward into the room. Jack stood rooted to the spot, Rickaby’s thick breath upon his neck as he craned over to see what was happening.
‘You can come in,’ Axwell called from within. Jack popped his head round the doorway. Axwell was on his haunches, bending over a body. ‘This him?’
Jack thought the man might be lying in a drunken stupor until Axwell stood up. He tried to suppress the nausea that rushed from his stomach. The man had a bloodied slit which stretched from ear to ear. The cut was so deep that the head was tilted backwards as though it was about to fall off the lifeless torso. As well as the crescent-shaped line of congealed blood on the throat, there was more blood on the floor around the top half of the body. Jack recoiled at the grotesque, open-mouthed stare; the one wild eye popping out of the head seemed to follow his movements like those in an artfully painted portrait. It was too much for Jack, who vomited violently behind the door, the smell mingling with the other noxious odours that pervaded the building.
Axwell waited until Jack had stopped retching before repeating his question. Jack dabbed his mouth with his handkerchief and nodded.
‘I know this un,’ said Axwell, totally unmoved by the gruesome scene. ‘They calls him Crindle. One of the devil’s own. I might have known him if you’d given a better description – like he’s got an eye missin’!’ Jack was feeling too ill to get miffed. ‘Alreet, Flyford, you can gan.’
Jack was relieved that he could escape. However, he couldn’t leave without knowing what Axwell was going to do. ‘Will you act against Courtney now?’
‘Rather difficult, wouldn’t you say. Crindle’s not gannin’ to tell us much, now is he?’ Then his eyes narrowed. ‘Or mebbees that’s the way you wanted it.’
‘I am glad the bastard’s dead, but his death does not serve my purpose well if you still do not believe my story. If you could but see the matter as clearly as I do, you would realise that Courtney murdered Acorn. Then Courtney hired this man to get rid of me because he knew that I knew he was the killer. And now, to protect himself, he has done to death the only person who could implicate him in the murder.’
‘Somehow, I can’t see Mr Courtney’s dainty fingers slittin’ the throats of scum like Crindle.’
Neither could Jack, yet he knew he must have done so.
‘Just gan home an’ I’ll talk to you later.’
Out on the landing, Jack heard Axwell issuing an instruction to Rickaby. ‘You search the room an’ I’ll see if I can get our beloved sheriff doon here. I pray that he’s not just eaten.’