The Harvest Man (15 page)

H
ammersmith stood and leaned against the wall. “Three locations and no chalk anywhere,” he said.

“You still been looking for chalk this whole time?”

Hammersmith nodded at Blackleg. “Blue chalk. But there’s something wrong here. It’s the same sort of thing he used to do, but it seems old-fashioned to me now, out of step with what he’s been doing more recently. He’s reverting to his old ways or . . .”

“You’re thinkin’ he woulda drawn them symbols if it’s him.”

“Yes. Those three women you found were all mutilated in the same ways Jack the Ripper . . . Well, it’s the way he worked.”

“Yeah, I don’t got much doubt it’s him,” Blackleg said. “With or without chalk circles on the wall. He killed them three ladies, killed Little Betty.”

Henry grimaced and reached out, touched Blackleg on the elbow. “Little Betty?”

“Did you know her?”

“She was nice to me when I didn’t have a place to sleep,” Henry said. “I haven’t seen her in a long time.”

“She was nice to everyone,” Blackleg said. “She didn’t deserve to get carved up like a Christmas ham.”

Hammersmith’s fingers went unconsciously to the scar across his chest. It itched. “Nobody does,” he said.

“Especially not Little Betty,” Henry said.

“I’m convinced Jack’s been different since he returned,” Hammersmith said. “But these dead women . . . Maybe he’s doing two things at once. Killing women for one reason and men for another.”

“Killers usually got cause to kill,” Blackleg said. “And just one reason’s enough.”

Hammersmith suspected the big criminal was speaking from experience. “But I don’t understand this at all. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“No surprise to think he’s a madman.”

“No. No surprise.” Hammersmith turned and surveyed the cobblestones again. “Here, hold the lantern over here. Maybe I missed something.” He gestured and Blackleg swung the lantern around. Behind him, Oliver cried out and flew from Henry’s shoulder, swooped to the ground, and snatched something from the dirt. The bird circled around, soaring high up over the rooftops above them, and coasted back up the alley to land on his customary perch once more. Henry reached up and Oliver dropped the object into his hand. He held it out for the others to see.

“A silver cuff link,” Blackleg said.

“A clue,” Hammersmith said. “You and your people must have stepped on it when you found the girl here, pushed it into the soil.”

“Bird’s got good eyes.”

“Oliver likes shiny things,” Henry said.

“Could be from anybody,” Blackleg said. “Could be unrelated to this thing.”

“Possibly,” Hammersmith said. “Look. It’s engraved.”

“
A-R.
A man’s initials?”

“I hope so.”

“Be nice to know who A-R is.”

“It’s a starting point, at least. More than we had before.”

“So, what now?”

“Now I think we have to ask for some help.”

D
r Kingsley’s door was closed when Hammersmith returned. He knocked, but Henry reached out and turned the knob. Hammersmith was surprised to see Walter Day standing inside the office next to the desk. Fiona Kingsley was sitting in her father’s chair, behind a pile of odds and ends, and she hurriedly grabbed a book from a stack on the desk. She slammed it down in front of her, covering something up, and shot him a guilty smile.

“I was looking for—” Hammersmith said.

“My father’s not in.”

“I see that. But you’re here instead, Inspector.” Hammersmith looked at Day and squinted as if to bring him into focus.

“I only just arrived myself,” Day said.

“Wasn’t I supposed to meet you out at the wood to look for missing children?”

“No sense in that now,” Day said. “I’m not there.”

“Clearly. And I’m not there, either. I had an early morning, after a late night, but I was going to head out as soon as I finished up here.”

“No need.”

“You found them, then? Wonderful!”

“Last night. Only a few hours ago.” He held up the tree branch he was using as a cane.

“What’s that?”

“My new walking stick. Fresh from the wood. It’s a long story that I’ve just finished boring poor Fiona with.”

“So you went back there without me?”

“I had an idea of where they might be. Didn’t really know how to get hold of you quickly and I thought, if I was wrong, it would be a waste of your time. Anyway, it worked out. They were up a tree. Literally, up a tree. They’d built a platform up there.”

“Ah, we were looking down,” Hammersmith said, “when we should have been looking up.”

Day smiled. “We were not very observant.”

“But who expected them to stay in a tree for hours on end?”

“At any rate . . .”

“You found them.” Hammersmith puffed up his cheeks and blew out a big sigh of relief. “That’s truly the best news I’ve heard in a long time. I take it they’re all right?”

“Tired and hungry and scared, but otherwise two normal healthy boys.”

“That’s good, Mr Day,” Henry said. “I knew you would save those boys.”

“I told him about the children,” Hammersmith said. “Henry and I have spent a good deal of time together this morning.”

“We found something important,” Henry said.

“Actually, I don’t know if we did,” Hammersmith said. “Where did you put them? The boys, I mean.”

“They’re at the house with Claire,” Day said. “Still sleeping when I left.”

“Glad I didn’t go out to the wood first thing. I’d’ve wasted the morning looking for them when they were happily napping miles away.”

“I promise I would’ve got a message to you before too much longer,” Day said.

He turned his attention to Fiona. She sat with her hands on the book in front of her, as if it might float away if she didn’t hold it down. She had been moving her head back and forth between the three men as they talked, but hadn’t interrupted.

“That reminds me, though,” Day said. “It’s why I’m here. I completely forgot when you showed me what you were—”

“Forgot what?” Fiona cut him off, her voice higher pitched than usual. “Were you looking for my father?”

“No, in fact, I was looking for you,” Day said. “I wondered if you would stop at the house a bit later. You might be able to help the children remember something.”

“But how would I do that?”

“They saw the Harvest Man. You know . . . ?”

“I know who you’re talking about. My father was at the latest murder scene all day yesterday. Those victims, the corpses, are downstairs now.”

“I saw them.” Hammersmith shuddered again. “In his laboratory, early this morning. These villains are getting bloodier minded, aren’t they?”

“It has begun to seem so,” Day said. “Those victims were the boys’ parents. The Harvest Man was at their home.”

“Oh, that’s . . .”

“It’s awful, is what it is. But they saw him, and that might be a good thing for us and for this monster’s future victims. He lifted his mask and the boys saw his face. I need them to describe it, but they can’t. I thought perhaps if you drew it for them, they might remember details that aren’t coming to mind just now.”

“You mean, they would tell me what he looked like and I would draw whatever they say?”

“Yes. Maybe seeing a sketch of his features will help them remember even more about him.”

“You’re going to make them scared again,” Henry said. “Thinking about that man and looking at a picture of him. What they’ve been through . . .”

“But it might give us more information than we have right now,” Day said. “We need to know what he looks like. He must be traveling somehow, going from house to house. That’s when we can catch him, when he’s out and about. Will you do it, Fiona? You’re the best artist I know of.”

“That’s kind of you,” Fiona said. “I guess I can try.”

“That’s all I ask,” Day said.

“What time should I stop in?”

“Perhaps wait a couple of hours so they can catch up on their sleep and eat another meal. They’ll no doubt feel safer once they’re rested. But I don’t want you to wait too long or they may start to forget.”

“We’ll make sure to keep them safe,” Henry said. “You tell them that.”

“I will,” Day said.

Fiona turned to Hammersmith. “And you? Did you also come to talk to me?”

“Your father, actually,” Hammersmith said.

“I haven’t seen him yet this morning,” Fiona said. “He’s left a dreadful mess here and run off somewhere.” She swept a hand through the air a foot above the desk, showing off the collection of bric-a-brac from Kingsley’s cabinet drawers. The whole pile of junk was surrounded with a ring of twine that was still attached to a ball that had fallen off the desk and rolled halfway across the room.

“What was he doing with all this?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” Fiona said. “He scattered random things everywhere and then it looks as if he’s made some halfhearted attempt to tie it all together.”

“Should we tidy up for him?”

“I don’t think so. He prefers to have things just so.”

“I can see that,” Day said.

Fiona shrugged. “I can write down a message for you and leave it here. But I can’t guarantee that it won’t be lost in this clutter.”

“Actually . . .” Hammersmith said. He passed a hand through his hair. “I just realized I don’t know what I’d say if we did leave him a message. I don’t know if he can help me.”

“That sounds intriguing,” Fiona said.

“It’s only this.” Hammersmith took the silver cuff link from his pocket and set it down on a reasonably clear area of Kingsley’s desk.

“Oliver found that,” Henry said. “He likes shiny things.”

“I thought the doctor might be able to detect something that I can’t,” Hammersmith said.

“You mean the finger marks he makes visible with black powder,” Day said.

Fiona leaned forward and peered at the cuff link. She looked up at Hammersmith. “Is it a clue of some sort? From the Harvest Man case?”

“No,” Hammersmith said. “Something else. I don’t . . .”

“Of course, you aren’t investigating the Harvest Man,” Fiona said. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”

“Quite all right. I haven’t got used to it myself, being a civilian.”

Day leaned forward to peer at the cuff link. “Is it a clue about you-know-who?”

“That’s just it,” Hammersmith said. “I have no idea, but it might be. And if it is . . . Well, it’s all I’ve got at the moment, so I thought it was worth bothering the good doctor on the off chance it really is something.”

Fiona narrowed her eyes at them. “Who is ‘you-know-who’?”

“Another case. It’s something I’m following up on now that I’ve got the spare time.”

“Well, at any rate,” Fiona said, “I’m quite sure my father won’t be able to find any fingerprints on this thing.”

“He can’t?”

“Well, it’s so small,” Fiona said. “And even if he could find a little part of a finger mark, you’ve been touching this. They would be your marks he’d find all over it, wouldn’t they?”

Hammersmith looked down at the cuff link and felt his face grow warm with embarrassment. “I wasn’t thinking. I should have been more careful.”

“It’s all right.” Day laid a hand on his shoulder. “Finger marks aren’t everything. If you’ve a reason to think this cuff link is connected to a crime, you’ll track the man down, one way or another.”

Hammersmith sighed. Perhaps Sir Edward had made the right choice, after all, in dismissing him from the force. He wasn’t careful or thoughtful enough to be a good policeman.

“But there is an engraving on it,” Fiona said. She had picked the cuff link up and was examining it in the light of the dim lamp on the windowsill behind her.

“Initials,” Hammersmith said. He felt suddenly a bit more hopeful. “At least, I think they’re initials.”

“A man named
A
and
R
,” Henry said.

“There must be a thousand men in London with those initials,” Day said.

“At least we know it
is
a man,” Fiona said. “Women don’t have need of cuff links.”

“Is there a way to track down the purchase of these? I mean, without a hundred constables at my beck and call, marching all over the city, questioning shopkeepers.”

“Perhaps if there were something unusual about them,” Day said. “Or something different about the engraving process.”

“Does your father know much about . . . I don’t know, clothing or engraving on silver?”

Fiona shook her head. “But I think I know someone who does.”

“An expert?”

“You might say that. I could show this to him, if you’d like.”

“Could I meet him?”

“You could go with me.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

Fiona stood up from behind the desk and picked up the cuff link. “We’ll go right away. And then I’ll come round to your house as soon as we’ve finished up, Inspector.”

“Bring your drawing supplies,” Day said.

“I always have those.” She slipped the cuff link into her pocket, grabbed her bag from the floor beside the chair, and marched out the office door. In an instant she was back. She ran to the desk and raised the book she’d been leaning on, scooped up something from beneath it, and ran back out all in a flash. Startled, Oliver swooped out the door after her and returned a moment later, looping through the office door as Hammersmith was trying to leave. Hammersmith ducked and fell back as the bird settled itself once again on Henry’s broad shoulder.

Day helped Hammersmith to his feet, bracing himself with the stick, and brushed him off with his free hand. “Well,” Day said, “I suppose I’d better get moving, too. Lots to do.”

Hammersmith paused at the open door. “You’ll be at the house later?”

“I think I’ll stop at home to check on the children and then I’ll head in to the Yard. I’m behind on paperwork.”

“I’d rather not go by there, if I can avoid it.”

“What’s on your mind?”

Hammersmith checked to be sure that Fiona was out of earshot. “Three women killed in the East End. But recently. Matches his previous deeds.”

“But he’s changed,” Day said. “That makes no sense.”

“I know. I’d hoped you might have some thoughts.”

“Come by the house,” Day said. “I want to know more.”

“I don’t want to stay here,” Henry said. “I don’t know if I’m supposed to clean this up.” He gestured at the desk.

“I’m sure Dr Kingsley will—”

“I want to come to your house, too, Inspector Day,” Henry said.

“You do?”

“If that’s all right with you. Mrs Day is nice to me and I’m hungry now. Maybe she’ll give me food.”

“Um.” Day shrugged. “Well, why not? The more the merrier, I suppose.” He looked at Hammersmith. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything to this cuff link thing, right?”

“Of course,” Hammersmith said. “I’ll find you, wherever you are.”

He waved to Henry and rushed out of the office, hoping he wouldn’t get lost in the hospital again before he could catch up to Fiona.