The Yard (23 page)

“There are black smudges now,” Day said.

“Yes,” Kingsley said. “But they’re more complete than the blood smears were. Look at them closely.”

Blacker, who stood back from the others, cleared his throat.

“I think I understand,” he said. “If we catch the man who did this, we can compare the size of his fingertips to these smudges and prove that he held the murder weapon in his hand.”

“I should think a great many people would have the same size fingertips,” Day said. “I appreciate your diligence, Doctor, but I fail to see—”

“You didn’t look closely enough,” Kingsley said. “Here.”

He drew a magnifying lens from his vest pocket and handed it to Day. Day looked at the glass for a moment before using it to examine the razor’s handle. His expression made it clear to everyone that he was humoring the doctor, but his voice, when he bent over the basin, was an astonished whisper.

“Oh,” he said. “I see a pattern in the dust.”

“Yes,” Kingsley said. “Now look at your own fingertips. You don’t even need the glass to do it. Hold them up to the light.”

“Of course,” Hammersmith said. “Skin isn’t smooth.”

“That’s right, Constable. But what’s fascinating is that the minute patterns of the skin on your fingertips are different from those of our friend Inspector Day. Or from those of anyone else in this city. Quite possibly the entire world, although I don’t know how we would verify that.”

“Impossible,” Blacker said.

“I know,” Kingsley said. “It seems hard to reconcile, particularly when one takes into account how very small a fingertip is. But Faulds has done extensive research and experimentation on the subject and his findings are quite exciting. I have heard that authorities in India are considering the use of these fingertip patterns in identifying criminals. And there are other jurisdictions that may follow suit.”

“Excuse me,” Day said. “Please forgive me, but as interesting as this is, I fail to see how it helps us find the murderer.”

“Oh, it doesn’t, of course. But once found, his fingers might be compared to the smudges on this weapon. You could prove that he held the razor and that he used it.”

“He might only have shaved with it,” Hammersmith said.

Hammersmith tried to keep his manner casual, but he thought his voice sounded higher than normal.

“True,” Kingsley said. “I don’t think this would hold up in a court of law. But you might use it to coerce a confession, might you not?”

Day nodded and looked at Hammersmith.

“A demonstration much like this, perhaps dramatized a bit more colorfully so as to seem scientifically conclusive, might convince a suspect that there’s no hope for him.”

“Unless he’s got any sense,” Blacker said. “If he’s got a brain in his head, he’ll simply laugh at us.”

Kingsley appeared put out by the lack of enthusiasm. “It’s worth keeping in mind,” he said.

“Yes,” Day said. “Perhaps we should ensure that nobody else touches this razor until we have someone in custody and can compare their fingertips with these marks.”

“I agree,” Hammersmith said.

“Splendid,” Kingsley said. “I’ll wrap it in paper. Meanwhile, let’s have everyone who might have touched this come in here later today so I can eliminate their prints on the handle. I’ll wipe my own off of it and those of anyone else who might have come into contact with it, including the victim himself. Those prints remaining will have to belong to the killer.”

“Unless the killer has the same pattern of skin as his victim,” Blacker said. “Or as any one of us. I still say this is ridiculous.”

“Be that as it may,” Kingsley said.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Day said. “This may help us catch Inspector Little’s killer. And, even if it doesn’t, it’s been a fascinating exercise in itself.”

“Catch Little’s killer?” Kingsley said.

“Yes. We’re operating, for the moment, on the notion that this case may be related to that of the inspector’s death.”

“Oh, no,” Kingsley said. “I had no idea you thought that. There’s absolutely no chance of it. This killer and that killer are quite obviously different people.”

Blacker snorted, turned on his heel, and left the room.

“What’s got him upset?” Hammersmith said.

“He’s tired, is all,” Day said. “And he had such high hopes that we were on the right track.”

M
essage here aboutcher father.”

Sergeant Kett was waiting for them when they returned to the Yard.

“Whose father?” Day said.

“Him.”

Kett pointed at Hammersmith.

Blacker went to his desk, but Day waited with Hammersmith.

“Doctor at St Thomas’, Dr Brindle, wants you up there when you can, Constable,” Kett said.

Kett was usually businesslike, getting through the day on the back of his paperwork and sending the men where they needed to be as soon as they needed to be there. Day hadn’t known the sergeant long, but he was surprised to see pity on his long face.

“If you need the time today, that’d be all right with me, lad,” Kett said. “You look a fright.”

“Thank you, Mr Kett,” Hammersmith said. “Really, I think there’s too much for me to do here today. I can’t leave.”

Day held up a hand. He almost touched Hammersmith’s arm, but drew back. The constable radiated intensity.

“We can use your help, Hammersmith,” Day said, “but see to your father. We’ll still be here.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’d rather see this through before I deal with a personal issue.”

Kett frowned and handed over the telegram he was holding.

“Suitcherself,” he said. “I’m notcher mama. But don’t be gettin’ messages here if yer not gonna do anything about ’em.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And another thing—”

“Mr Hammersmith.”

The three men turned at the sound of Sir Edward’s voice. The police commissioner was standing across the room, outside his office door, looking their way.

“A moment of your time, please, Constable.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hammersmith looked at Day, who shrugged. It was unusual for Sir Edward to speak directly to a bobby, but not entirely unheard of. Hammersmith pulled on the cuffs of his sleeves. He crossed through the partition and between the desks to the other side of the room. He preceded Sir Edward into the office and the door closed behind them.

“Huh,” Kett said.

“What does he want with Hammersmith?” Day said.

“Not a clue, lad,” Kett said. “But when you see the constable again, tell ’im I want a word. His mate Pringle’s late for his shift again.”

“That’s hardly Hammersmith’s responsibility.”

“Didn’t say it was and didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Of course.”

Blacker was standing on the other side of Day’s desk when he got to it. It seemed to Day as if the stacks of files had grown again. He couldn’t see the surface of the desk at all.

“Looks like we’re starting over again,” Day said.

“Kingsley’s wrong,” Blacker said. “He has to be.”

“What makes you say that?”

“If he’s right then we’re looking at some sort of epidemic.”

“A disease?”

“Not a disease. Just plain evil. You’re a thinker, Day. You look at a thing from this angle and then that. You walk around it and pick it up and you don’t decide on a thing, you just look at it.”

“I don’t—”

“Not an insult, old man. It’s good what you do, for this kind of work. But I’m not like that. I find a purchase in a thing and I dig in. I don’t look at it inside and out, I go at it. Do you understand?”

“Not in the least. You’ve entirely misapprehended me.”

“Last year it was Saucy Jack. Now we have Little’s killer. And, if Kingsley’s right, we’ve got this other thing, this Beard Killer. If they’re not related…”

“I was never convinced that they were related. The only link between them was the bizarre nature of—”

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Day looked around at the other detectives, all of them busy at their desks, none of them looking in Blacker’s direction.

“Keep your voice down, Blacker,” he said. He kept his own voice low and
didn’t move his lips, hissing the words through clenched teeth. “They’re all listening to us, and you sound like you’ve lost your mind.”

“Maybe I have,” Blacker said. But he said it so quietly that only Day could hear him. He leaned forward and whispered, “You’re new here, so take me at my word: This isn’t what the Yard is cut out to do. Look, a man loses control and kills his wife, a child is trampled by an omnibus, a woman poisons her neighbor, a bludger takes a man’s wallet and slices him up … Those things happen every day and that’s why we’re here. We go in and we grab hold of the killer and we lock him up. We find out why the killing was done and that takes us right to the one that did it.”

“Right. I understand all that.”

“A man cuts the guts out of woman after woman or sews a man’s face up or shaves some poor bastard and then cuts his throat for no reason at all—there’s no percentage in it. That’s killing for the sake of killing. Where do we even start to look for the monster done that?”

“Little’s killing is simple. There’s a connection somewhere between the killer and the victim, and we seek it out.”

“No. No, this is different. There’s no sense to it, and one killer without reason is an oddity, but it seems to me that it’s spreading. We had a monster and we couldn’t catch him. Now how many monsters are there? It’s not just the Ripper anymore. Something’s changed in this city and everybody knows it. They’re all scared, everybody out there’s scared, and it’s more than we can deal with.”

“You’re tired.”

“Of course I’m tired. We’re all tired. But this is why I was here when you arrived this morning. If there’s no sense to this, then there’s no purchase for me. What am I doing here?”

“You’re doing police work.”

“I’m not sure I know what that is anymore.”

“I think it starts with putting these files in order. We’ve made a good run at it and we need to finish up here. We pick the likeliest path and we run it down until we can’t run anymore. When that happens, we come back
and take another run down a different path until we’ve exhausted all the possibilities.”

Blacker nodded. He still looked troubled.

“There’s something happening, is all,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying here. I know I’m blathering on, but crime’s changing and people are changing. This is just the start, mark my words. I think there’s too many of us people and we’re too close together and we’re turning on each other like rats in the gutter. We’re in the biggest city in the world, Day, and I think it’s trying to get rid of us.”

Day sat down. From this angle he couldn’t see Blacker over the murder reports on the desk.

“London isn’t responsible for all this,” he said. “A small percentage of the people in this city are responsible for this, and if we can find those people and bring them to justice, then everyone else will be safe and free to go about their business.”

“You make it sound as if there’s an end to it all. There’s no end. And it makes less sense every day.”

Blacker’s voice sounded small and strained drifting over from behind the wall of cases, and there was no pun to accompany his accidental use of Day’s name.

“Even if you’re right,” Day said, “it seems to me that there’s only one thing we can do.”

“What’s that?”

“Start looking for a killer.”

After a long moment, Day heard Blacker take a sheaf of paper and start turning pages. Day took a deep breath and chose a stack at random. Somewhere, he was sure, there was a clue. He shook off the effects of Blacker’s speech and began to read.

H
ave a seat, Mr Hammersmith,” Sir Edward said.

“Sir.”

Hammersmith sat stiffly on the edge of the straight-backed wooden chair and tried to avoid looking at the stuffed tiger head on the wall as Colonel Sir Edward Bradford went around his desk and settled into the more comfortable leather chair. Sir Edward gazed at Hammersmith for a long moment before speaking.

“You look rough, Constable.”

“I’m fine, sir.”

“Good. Now tell me, do you by chance know a Mr Charles Shaw?”

“I believe I may have met him, sir.”

“Yes, I believe you have. When I arrived this morning, that gentleman was waiting in ambush for me. It seems you paid a visit to Mr Shaw’s home in the wee hours and threatened his family.”

“No, sir.”

“You didn’t visit him last night?”

“No, I mean I did, sir. But I never threatened him or his family.”

“You don’t seem the type.”

“No.”

“Then why did you go to his house?”

“In the course of an investigation, sir. I was watching his home when he happened to return from a holiday and I took the opportunity to talk with him.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“The household wasn’t sleeping. They had just arrived, and it was more convenient to approach him at that time than to leave and return in the daylight.”

“I noticed you came in just now with Detectives Day and Blacker. Were they with you last night?”

“No, sir. I joined them some time after my visit to the Shaw home.”

“He said there were two of you, but the other one was never introduced.”

“No, sir. It was only me.”

“Why would he tell me two if there was only one of you?”

“I don’t know, sir. It was me alone.”

Sir Edward stared at Hammersmith without speaking, and Hammersmith returned his gaze. Finally Sir Edward nodded. He seemed to have made up his mind about something.

“I like a man who stands up for his fellows. Why were you and Pringle there?”

“It was in the course of investigating a case, sir. And, again, it was just me.”

“Which case? Is this related to the matter of Inspector Little’s death?”

“I don’t think so. This was … I found a body yesterday.”

“Why didn’t you turn it over to a detective?”

“I did, sir.”

“And?”

“And it was decided that the case was not a priority at this time.”

“Who decided that?”

“Inspector Tiffany, sir.”

“Did he ask you to continue investigating in his absence?”