“Yer. I think I pretty well know who done it.”
“Why have you not come forward, then, girl?” Poole demanded. “It was your duty. Had you no wish to bring your uncle’s killer to justice?”
“It was Inspector Bainbridge you suspect, isn’t that correct?” Barker murmured.
There was silence in the room. Hettie was breathing hard and Barker was immobile, staring down at her in the chair. Poole’s mouth was open, and Han had his eyes cast down to the floor.
“I believe it was old Bainy, yes,” she said in a low voice.
“You think he killed your uncle and harassed your…friend here. Tell me, why do you believe he did it?”
She looked over at Poole, clearly afraid of his reaction. I saw her lick her lips and then she spoke. “Because he was in love with me, that’s why.”
“I see. And how do you know that was how he felt about you?”
“Because he told me, didn’t he? He brought me flowers at Christmastime and poured out his feelings to me. Said he’d throw over the missus and come and take care of me if I’d let him.”
“Damnable lie,” Poole thundered.
“Take it easy, Terry. Let her speak. Did he later confess he had killed your uncle?”
“No, he didn’t, but I worked it out myself, you see. I’d been at the match factory for five years. Most girls only last three. It’s rotten work. I’d complained to him how backbreaking and dangerous it was before I knew he had feelings for me. My uncle was a surly old beggar and treated me rotten. He’d even made advances toward me. Bainy knew, because he’d broken up a disturbance at our house more than once. He hated my uncle. I think he knew what a better life I’d have if he was dead. I wouldn’t have to do no backbreaking work and I wouldn’t be threatened anymore. But then, Charlie here moved in. The inspector didn’t like him at all. After Uncle Lazlo died he started arresting him for just anything. Any crime in the area and he was hauled in as a suspect. He gave him a long record, he did, that made him look bad. Charlie couldn’t get work aboard the Blue Funnel anymore, so he turned to betel nuts.”
“Get back to Bainbridge,” Barker said.
“I’m getting there. He did for him, then, on New Year’s Day. Hit him with that big truncheon of his, broke his neck. That’s how I reckon it, anyway. I ain’t sorry. You gents didn’t live with the man. But then, Bainy tried to pin the crime on Charlie here. He knew Charlie carried a flail about in his pocket for protection. Being the commanding officer there, Bainy had him brought in for questioning. But even he couldn’t convict him without evidence.”
“Look, this is enough,” Poole stated. “End of interrogation. You, stop scribbling there and give the notes to me. Barker, I want the two of you in my office in five minutes.”
“What about Miss Petulengro?”
“She is being detained temporarily. If she behaves, she might be allowed to leave in the morning. Constables! Separate these two and watch the girl. She has claws.”
Five minutes later we were settling into a pair of scratched and rickety chairs in Poole’s office. The room was very much like Bainbridge’s. I wondered if there was a school of architecture for police institutions. Who chose the fungal shade of gray on the walls and the braided rug on the floor in front of Poole’s desk? One could only assume it was a former felon, exacting his revenge.
Poole opened a small box on his desk and removed a cigarette. He lit it up and sucked in the smoke. Then he blew it out through his nostrils like a dragon and started in on my employer.
“What in hell was that all about? Are you accusing Nevil of being involved in the murder we’re investigating? Good lord, he gave his life for this case.”
“I have not accused him of anything,” Barker pointed out. “Miss Petulengro gave a private opinion as to what she thought happened to her uncle. She is not bringing a suit against anyone.”
“She might as well have. You know I can’t let this go now. This will have to go to my superiors who will appoint an outside investigator into Nevil’s actions. What a mess! He should have known better than to get involved with that Gypsy minx. And all the while, she was living with a Chinaman! This is a fine hornet’s nest you’ve stirred up!”
“I have a suggestion,” Barker stated.
“I’m sure that you do. I’m not sure I want to hear it.”
“An investigation would certainly tarnish Bainbridge’s reputation-”
“Tarnish? This is murder we’re talking about. It would blacken it forever.”
“And there is no surety that enough evidence would be able to be collected in order to convict him-”
“That’s true. It might just be Miss Petulengro’s word for it. But it would still call into question his character, which is almost all his widow has to live on, poor dear.”
“So, let it lie.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Cyrus. You know I’m a foursquare man.”
“Not permanently, Terry. Allow me to investigate a little further. I am not prejudiced against him. I have formed no opinion. If no one feels he or she has been wronged, including the only relative of the late Mr. Petulengro, then why open up a painful and fruitless investigation that shall cost the people of London and tie up constables best used patrolling their beats.”
“There is something to that, but I cannot make that decision.”
“Let us investigate a little further then, both of us.”
Poole had sucked half his cigarette down to ash. He reached toward the ashtray but in doing so, the column of ask broke off and landed on the rug. Poole stomped at it roughly.
“Perhaps.”
“I want to thank you, by the way. Your men did a fine job of apprehending Mr. Han.”
“P.C. s Horton and Finney are good men,” Poole said grudgingly. “With all the action occurring around your place these days, I thought you might need two of our best.”
“What shall you do about Miss Petulengro? She might be more cooperative about questioning if you let her go tonight.”
“Possibly,” Poole said. “But the Chinaman stays until I have everything he knows, including his mother’s maiden name, providing Chinese mothers have maiden names.”
“Agreed.”
“You know, regardless of who killed whom a year ago, Han or that dollymop could have shot Nevil in that tunnel.”
“Yes. I had thought of that possibility myself.”
“This case beggars all. I wish I had never got out of bed the day this fell in my lap. It should have gone to Abberline or Swanson. They know the East End better than I. You know what will happen if I bungle this case, don’t you? They might take me out of the C.I.D. and put me in charge of Bainbridge’s station. A total dead end for my career. I hate Limehouse!”
“How did Inspector Bainbridge get assigned there in the first place?” Barker queried.
“He asked for it, as I recall.”
“Did that seem strange to you at the time?”
“It did, but then Bainbridge was not what you call ambitious. It is the sort of posting the younger chaps go for, hoping to get some big case that’ll get them promoted to chief inspector. He asked for it, though, and since he had a good record and seniority, they gave it to him.”
“If an officer were to fall in love with a girl in Limehouse…”
“Stow that,” Poole said, putting a hand up. “I didn’t hear it. I shall spring her in half an hour, but if she cuts up too fine, I shall toss her right back in again.”
“That is your privilege. I am staying at my chambers for a few days. Come by for a chat when you are done here.”
We had a hansom waiting when Hettie came out, looking overwrought and tired.
“They’re keeping him,” she said when she saw us. “They didn’t say how long.”
“Inspector Poole is a fair man,” the Guv said. “If Mr. Han is innocent, he shall be released soon.”
“You have a higher opinion of Scotland Yard than I do, Mr. Barker.”
“I work with them a good deal, miss. Most inspectors do not take advantage of their position.”
“Do you think you can get Charlie out? I know he resisted arrest, but he ain’t a bad man. This all sounds awfully complicated.”
