unhinged. Do not trouble yourself looking for rhyme or reason. I doubt you’ll find either. The man’s dead, the coroner’s surgeon has performed his duty. The coroner will reach his verdict. The case is therefore closed. It is time to move on. There are more pressing matters that demand our attention.”
They were in the Chief Magistrate’s office at Bow Street. James Read had adopted his customary stance, facing the room with his back towards the open fire. Read’s eyes flickered to the window. His brow furrowed. Hawkwood followed the magistrate’s mournful gaze and saw that a thin sleet had begun to fall.
The magistrate turned away from the weather, a weary expression on his narrow face. “How goes the Doyle investigation?”
Hawkwood grimaced. “Not as well as I would have liked. No one’s talking.”
There was a silence in the room, interrupted only by the slow, monotonous ticking of the clock in the corner and the crackle of burning wood in the hearth.
“What about the men who attacked you? Have you given any further thought as to whether they might have been working under orders rather than by their own volition? Perhaps you have informers who can make enquiries?”
He meant Jago, Hawkwood thought.
There was a sudden sharp report from the direction of the hearth. Read jumped in alarm. A stray spark, Hawkwood realized, must have struck the magistrate.
James Read sidestepped smartly and swatted the back of his right knee. “Mr Twigg!”
The door opened so promptly that Hawkwood suspected the clerk had been hovering outside, awaiting such a summons.
“Yes, sir?” Twigg blinked behind his spectacles as the magistrate turned towards him.
“A guard for the hearth, Mr Twigg. Before the day is out, if you please. That’s the second pair of breeches I’ve ruined in as many weeks.”
The clerk rewarded the Chief Magistrate with a weary
The look Read gave his clerk was priceless. Hawkwood suspected that only Ezra Twigg could have got away with such a retort.
“Yes, well, thank you for your acute observation, Mr Twigg; straight to the nub as always. But you’ll see to it? I believe there’s a guard downstairs in the sitting magistrate’s chambers – I’m sure he won’t raise any objection.”
Twigg nodded. “Right away, sir.”
The little clerk departed on his errand, closing the door behind him, but not before he had caught Hawkwood’s gaze and rolled his eyes.
Hawkwood bit his tongue.
“You were about to say …?” Read said, frowning. His sharp eyes had evidently caught the exchange.
Hawkwood shook his head. “Nothing, sir.”
“Very good. In that case,” Read said drily, “don’t let me detain you.” The magistrate moved to his desk, sat down and picked up his pen. “But be sure to keep me appraised of your progress. That is all. You may go.”
10
“Christ on His cross, Maggsie, will you hold that bloody light steady? I can’t see a bleedin’ thing!”
Sawney threw the big man a glare, which was difficult, given that he was on his hands and knees, head pressed to the ground, arse in the air.
“Sorry, Rufus,” Maggett whispered, and held the lantern lower. Three of the lantern’s four sides were blacked out, which made it possible to direct the candle beam in a specific direction. It also decreased the chances of the light being spotted by prying eyes.
Sawney shook his head at his companion’s idiocy and resumed his inspection of the gravesite. The two men standing guard behind Maggett’s broad shoulders looked on in nervous anticipation.
It was half an hour after midnight. Apart from the four men, the graveyard was deserted. Tendrils of mist drifted in spectral coils around the canted and fallen headstones, while on the ground a thin veneer of frost had already started to glisten.
Sal had done the legwork on this one. There were several tried-and-tested means of tracking down fresh corpses, but most of the gangs relied on informers – gravediggers, sextons, corrupt local officials and the like – to tell them about impending deaths or recent burials. On this occasion, the information had come courtesy of the undertaker. Sal had been cultivating the ninny for months, leading him on, letting him think he was God’s gift. Never underestimate the power of a pretty girl and the information she could extract with the proffer of a quick feel. Sal’s flirtatious grin and silken promises of carnal delights had paid dividends. The burial ground of St Anne’s was one of a dozen sources, visited in rotation, which had proved profitable due to this particular moonstruck fool’s loose tongue.
On this occasion, they’d been lucky. They needed the body in a hurry.
The two female corpses had proved unsatisfactory. Dodd had informed Sawney of that fact when he had taken delivery, viewing the remains in silence before finally shaking his head. “Regrettably, they’re not as fresh as you implied. The decomposition is too advanced for my purposes.” Dodd had looked up and fixed Sawney with a penetrating stare. “Which makes me suspect they’ve been in circulation for some time and surplus to your requirements. Am I right?”
Sawney flushed. The attempt to palm the women’s corpses off on to the doctor had been worth a try. It just hadn’t worked, that was all. Sawney waited for the sky to fall, but to his immense relief Dodd appeared unexpectedly philosophical, accepting the condition of the cadavers with calm equanimity and what might have passed for a slight smile.
“Come now, Sawney, no need for the long face. The spontaneous nature of your offer showed initiative, not to mention a head for business, even if the gesture was, shall we say, misguided? On this occasion I’m disposed to overlook the matter. I trust, however, you’ll make restitution with your
Sawney wasn’t too sure what that meant exactly, but he nodded nonetheless because he did not want to appear slow-witted. He presumed that Dodd felt he had not fulfilled his side of the bargain. The silver cross was still burning a hole in his pocket and so far Dodd had nothing to show for it, save two unwanted cadavers that were rapidly going off.
“You want me to take ’em off your hands?” Sawney had asked. Might as well show willing, he thought, and maybe make a bit on the side by selling them to someone who wasn’t so fussy about their less-than-pristine condition.
Dodd, however, after contemplating the corpses at length, pursed his lips and said, “That will not be necessary, at least for the time being. While there is, as I have said, a substantial amount of deterioration, further examination may reveal one or two organs that are still suitable for harvest.”
Sawney wasn’t too sure what the doctor meant by “harvest”, so all he could do was look knowledgeable while confirming that he would honour the first part of their arrangement the following night. The next delivery, Sawney promised, would be far superior in quality. Dr Dodd could count on it.
“Oh, I’m sure I can,” Dodd said softly. “I know it would not occur to you to make the same mistake
Sawney had known exactly what the doctor meant that time. There was no mistaking the emphasis and, by its nature, the implication.
Which was why he was in the middle of a burial ground, freezing his rear end off, while trying to get his accomplice to keep the bloody light still.
Sawney stiffened. He’d almost missed it. Would have too, if Maggett hadn’t stopped buggering about. But there it was, plain as day, caught at the edge of the lantern beam. The snare.
By themselves, the acorns wouldn’t have looked out of place, three inconsequential little pods lying on top of
