'Sorry about keeping you here,' Nigel explained.
'Don't worry, mate,' Ron said. 'I only had a night in front of the TV with the wife planned; frankly, you're doing me a favour. Now what do you want first?'
He started with national newspapers: they carried stories of murder, the more gruesome the better, while the local papers were unpredictable. They came and went quickly, and often carried nothing more than market times and the price of apples. He asked for March 1879 copies of The Times, the paper of record. Although it was unlikely the murders would be in there, it was worth a try; he also ordered The Daily Telegraph -- then The Times'1* cheaper, downmarket rival - and finally, the News of the World, which served up a weekly diet of murder and sin even in 1879.
Ron disappeared into the depths of the repository.
Nigel went to his seat and waited, trying to stop himself checking his watch every other minute. The reading table would be superfluous. All the volumes he'd ordered came on that most dreaded substance: microfilm. Nigel hated it. Scanning through endless reels of the stuff on badly lit screens coated in inches of dust, developing repetitive strain injury by having to rewind whole reels manually, threading the crumpled, creased pieces of film over the rollers and not under, it was as much fun as gouging his eyeballs out with a teaspoon.
When they came, he took the boxes through to the room filled with microfilm readers, huge machines with screens the size of 1950s televisions.
He teed up The Times first. For the week following the murder, it carried nothing. Not for the first time, Nigel marvelled at the verbosity of the Victorian press. In one edition there was a report of a parliamentary debate that must have comprised more than 15,000 words, the newspaper columns densely packed, unbroken by illustrations or advertisements.
How anyone read it without losing the will to live was beyond him.
Relieved, he turned next to the News of the World. The Screws was founded in 1843 and quickly established itself as a primary source of salaciousness, mining the magistrates' courts of London for stories of murder and adultery. If Albert Beck's death had not made its pages, then it was unlikely to have been reported by anyone else. The microfilm reel carried every edition for 1879. It was his intention to scroll briskly through January but, as always, he found it impossible to avoid being consumed by the past. As he spooled sedately through the weekly editions his eye was caught by wonderful, evocative yet matter-of fact headlines: 'Atrocious Outrage Near Bristol' and 'Threatening Attitude Of Nihilists'. The front page of each edition had a list of 'Jokes Of The Week'
culled from other publications, so unfunny they seemed to have been filed from another planet which, in effect, they were.
He found the first edition for April. There was a report from the Zulu War and a report on the exploits of the Kelly gang in Australia. He was about to scroll down to the next page when, at the bottom, he saw a headline that made his heart stop.
KENSINGTON: THIRD HORRIFIC
MURDER
The story beneath read:
The bodies of all three men lay in pools of blood on the ground, a demon having wielded a sharp instrument to open them up. Up to one o'clock yesterday North Kensington had no clue as yet to the motive or identity of the fiend whose deeds have sown considerable terror within the local community. The first victim was named as Samuel Roebuck, a brickworker of Notting Dale, whose mutilated body was discovered in the fields near his home.
The man had last been seen drinking on the evening of Monday March 24th, and the police initially believed the killing to be the consequence of a drunken altercation.
But then on the morning of Saturday March 29th, the stabbed form of Albert Beck, a tanner, of nearby Clarendon Road, North Kensington, was discovered in the undergrowth of St John's Church by a passer-by close to Ladbroke Grove. He leaves a widow and two small children in penury. The third victim was named as Leonard Childe, a 38-year-old blacksmith of Harrow Road, North Kensington, who leaves a widow and four children, the eldest being just thirteen. He was discovered during the early morning of Tuesday April 1st, near to Notting Hill station. Police authorities have called for calm in the area and are said to be closing in on the ghoul who perpetrated these wicked acts. Those who have witnessed any suspicious activity among relatives or neighbours, such as the sighting of blood-drenched clothes or lunatic behaviour, are entreated to present themselves at North Kensington police station to provide information.
Nigel finished reading, then left the room, headed down the short flight of stairs, all the time dialling Foster. By the time he made it out of the doors the phone was ringing.
Foster answered straightaway.
'I've found a report of the murder of Albert Beck.'
'What does it say?'
'The killer struck three times. A body was found on Tuesday 25 th, Saturday 29th, and Tuesday 1 st April.' He paused. 'April 1st is tomorrow,' Nigel added.
He heard Foster sigh. 'I'm aware of the date,' he drawled. 'That's not the only thing that bothers me.
If he's following this pattern, then he killed someone last Saturday and we haven't found the body. Where were the first and third victims found?'
Nigel trawled his memory. Years of scanning documents had given him almost photographic recall.
'The first was Brick Field, Notting Dale. The third near Notting Hill station.'
'Find out as much as you can about each of the killings, in particular the spot where they were found.
Call in when you have something.'
Foster collected his jacket from the back of his chair and put it on. He went through to the incident room and clapped his hands to get everyone's attention.
'Listen up. I've just had Nigel Barnes on the phone: he's found a newspaper report from 1879 about three killings in North Kensington in the space of a week.
The second killing was of Albert Beck.'
'The second}' Heather said.
Foster nodded. 'That's not the only surprise. The third victim was murdered on 31st March 1879, the body found the next day.'
A silence fell across the room.
'So this is what's going to happen. Andy and Heather, get a team to Notting Hill Gate. That's where Barnes says the third body was found in 1879.
Scout it out, get plain clothes on the street, digging up the roads, begging for small change, whatever you can think of, as long as it's low-key: just get some bodies around there. Find a place overlooking the station if you can and keep an eye on it. I'll come and join you there later.'
'What about the first killing?' Heather asked. 'If he's followed the pattern . . .'
'I'll deal with those who might already be dead.
You try and stop someone else joining their ranks.'
The mortuary attendant, the only person on duty that evening, at least until the inevitable victims of a Saturday night in the city were wheeled in later on, looked ill at ease when DCI Foster strode in purposefully.
'Can I help?' he asked, blinking furiously behind his wire-rimmed glasses.
'You can. I want to see every body that was brought in last weekend. The ones you still have, anyway.'
'Did you ring and ask about this in advance?' he asked nervously.
'Look,' Foster stopped himself. 'What's your name, son?'
'Luke.'
'Luke, I'm in the middle of a murder investigation.
It is extremely important that I see those bodies and that I see them immediately. Now I'm going to walk in there and have a look. I think it's best you don't try and stop me. Agreed?'
Luke nodded slowly.
'Good man.'
Foster left him at his desk and barged through a set of double doors that led downstairs to the cold store. He could feel the temperature fall as he went further into the depths. At the bottom was another door. Locked.
'Luke!' he shouted. He could feel a draught coming from somewhere, he guessed the hidden approach where
