It disclosed a pile of letters tied in red silk, with one loose upon the top.
McLevy bowed his head solemnly and Ballantyne’s long tapering fingers, more suited to acolyte priest than practising policeman, lifted the letter and passed it over.
The inspector held it at arm’s length and as words fell into focus so did the last pieces of the Morrison case.
Edinburgh, 1864
My Dear Wife Melissa,
I write this as your husband with what seems eternity between us. I have lost my way. I have lost my way.
I can find no sense in all of this but I blunder on, as if, as if it will make a difference. But it all seems like shadows on the wall as if my existence is not myself, just a shape, a shadow.
I have fallen into an abyss and don’t know how to retrieve myself or if I even wish to do so.
Well, let it all be so. I put one foot, one action in front of the other and grasp at what comfort the moment can bring.
‘He disnae seem very happy,’ observed Ballantyne, who was reading over McLevy’s shoulder.
‘No,’ replied McLevy, re-ordering his eyes for better vision. ‘And whit does he mean by comfort?’
They scanned further.
Let that be so. When death is on our trail, we ride that poor horse so hard to escape that it would shake loose the bridle and saddle to run wild and free, to separate from us.
It is not the target. We are.
Let that be so.
I give you two names.
Gilbert and Walter Morrison. These are men I am forced to now have dealings with and I do not trust them.
I have lost all my agents in the field except Bartholomew, who leaves this very afternoon on a cargo ship with some important papers for Secretary Mallory and will carry this letter along with him.
It will join my earlier communication, which is still in his possession because we have been unable to find a safe ship for him to travel in. It will have to be a roundabout route because traffic between here and the Southern states is now more and more difficult. This is a rare chance for him to make the journey.
He will have to land in Union territory and make his way by horse to the South.
With luck he will deliver both letters to you at the same time. In your hands.
Two, as they say, for the price of one.
I have had no response from you to my previous letters nor would I expect such. I do not know if you have even received them. Let us hope so.
I must wait till midnight.
I have already been persuaded to hand over the cash bonds in order to guarantee delivery of two blockade ships and will receive the final papers this night.
I have warned the Morrisons that should they fail me I will have no compunction but to shoot them dead.
There are three bullets left in John Findhorn’s revolver. That should be enough.
This cannot sound to your ears like a gallant Southern officer but I am not so gallant these days.
I fear betrayal. Judas. But I must go on.
I have no option.
As a shadow has no option but to follow the body to which it is attached.
If I succeed I shall follow Bartholomew as soon as possible.
If I do not win through then it means that I have fallen. I will not be coming after.
I have fallen. I have fallen.
Please forgive me.
Your husband,
Jonathen
McLevy pondered. Something in the letter did not ring true. Something not expressed. Hidden. A secret.
‘It’s very sad,’ said Ballantyne.
‘It’s the cause of homicide,’ replied McLevy. ‘Let us depart this murderous sanctuary.’
He grabbed the other missives, closed the empty box, and stuffed them into the recesses of the poacher’s pocket in his coat to smuggle past any watchers.
These he would examine later at his leisure.
But for now he had an appointment to keep.
40
Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.
THE BIBLE, Romans
As the hansom cab clattered to a halt outside the Tanfield Hall, McLevy handed the bound letters to Ballantyne.
‘You carry on towards the station,’ he commanded. ‘Put them in a safe place.’
‘In the records office, naebody ever gangs there,’ Ballantyne said, looking at the crowds outside flocking in through the doors. ‘But whit do I tell the lieutenant?’
‘What I have instructed you.’
‘It’s no’ exactly the truth.’
‘It’s near enough.’
He gave Ballantyne some money for the cab, knowing well the remuneration of a constable did not extend to such sums, waved goodbye to the worried face, took a deep breath and joined the throng.
‘Aye. Turn your face from the rightful path, walk the way of Satan!’
Jupiter Carlisle’s distorted visage thrust itself into McLevy’s, while those around him scattered to avoid blanket condemnation. The placard held in his hand like a holy sword still read, This is against God!
The inspector was unimpressed; he had moved the man on many a time when his vituperation threatened to get out of control. This might be one of them but McLevy had too much on his plate as it was.
