The Strings of Murder (9 page)

He laughed. ‘Aye, yer right. Ye wouldn’t last five minutes against some lassies I ken.’

‘Sorry, some of the lasses you …?’

‘Ken.’

‘Ken?’

‘Ken.
Know!
Och, I forgot you Londoners cannae speak without three marbles in yer gobs. Talking of gobs, c’mon, I need to get a bite to eat. We can have a chat over a pint.’

‘I did not travel all this way for
pints
,’ I said, my expression stiff. ‘I would rather get started on the work as soon as pos–’

He silenced me with a vigorous thump on the back that took me momentarily out of balance. ‘Nae. I need some food before that. Dunno about ye, but I’m starving.’

By then he was already crossing the courtyard with huge strides. I snorted in frustration and could only follow him at a pathetic trot. Only then did I realize how hungry I felt. After all, I had not eaten anything except for a meagre breakfast while still on the boat.

‘I was told that this case of the violinist is extremely urgent,’ I said briskly as we walked down the road. ‘I read in the preliminary report that the body is currently at the morgue. We should look at it before anything else.’

‘Aye, we’ll get there today.’ McGray cast me a sardonic grin. ‘Although promise ye’ll not puke all over our Dr Reed. I’ve read how soft the Southrons’ stomachs can be.’

‘I’ll have you know I began a degree in medicine, which –’

‘Which ye didn’t finish for bein’ a squeamish brat.’ McGray winked at me. ‘I’ve also had some preliminary reports to read, y’see.’

I rolled my eyes, begging Heaven for some mercy.

I was not expecting to eat at a decent place, so I was not too surprised when McGray led me to a mucky tavern in the west end of High Street. The board hanging over the road read
Ensign Ewart
.

‘What d’ye reckon?’ McGray asked as we crossed the threshold.

Immediately I saw that we were entering one of those ancient public houses that have stood on their ground for centuries, and are likely to go on like that for ever.

The interior was quite dark. It could have been because it was a horrible day outside, but the small windows with diamond leading told me that the pub would be in shadows
even during the brightest summer noon. Cracked, moth-eaten furniture was crammed all around, making the room look even smaller. Barrels of beer were piled by the opposite wall, right next to the bar, behind which sat enormous containers with pickled eggs and onions, and countless bottles of spirits.

‘What a picturesque slum,’ was all I could say. There was a group of scoundrels gathered around a long table, and as soon as I spoke, the filthiest of them jumped from his chair. It will never cease to amaze me how human beings can degrade themselves. I know I should be more compassionate, but that man would have challenged the serenity of the Virgin Mary: his hair and face looked greasy, with a repugnant beard covered in crumbs and tiny shreds of meat, and he wore the most ragged clothes. The man lurched towards us and I perceived his foul stench, a mixture of sweat and stale beer.

He grunted in the most indistinguishable dialect. ‘Michty me! See who’s here! Nein-Neil McGree!’ The drunken men burst into laughter, one of them banging his head on the table and spilling a jug of ale.

‘What an enchanting place for a meal,’ I sighed.

McGray’s expression did not show anger but weariness. ‘Aye,’ he replied, showing the man his hand and the small stump where his ring finger had been. ‘See, ’tis not grown back yet. Will youse let us eat in peace?’

‘Och! Won’t ye fiddle a bit for us?’ The men cackled so loudly that I thought the walls had shaken. Tucker growled and barked furiously, showing a set of long fangs.

‘Ye must be drunk to dare teasing me.’ McGray did not say that in a threatening tone, but rather matter-of-factly.

‘Och, Nein-Neil McGree’s gonna call his spooks and they’ll drag me to Hell to Auld Nick! Abody ken he’s as nuts as his lil’ sist–’

McGray moved so fiercely we were all startled. In a long stride he reached the drunkard, seized him by the neck and slammed his head against the nearest table, pinning him down with one hand – the very hand they had just mocked. A splash of blood stained the old wood.

The laughter stopped immediately and the three other men stood up on wobbly legs. I dropped my umbrella, ready for a fight, as one of the drunkards hurled himself upon me. He was so intoxicated it was easy to strike him in the face with a neat punch. The man fell flat on his back, his nose bleeding.

‘Oh, dear Lord …’ I sighed, seeing that his blood had smeared my leather glove. I produced my handkerchief and wiped it off meticulously.

‘Aye, yer very drunk,’ McGray repeated, squeezing the man’s neck with terrible strength. His voice had become a nasty, vicious hiss.

The drunkard thrashed his arms desperately, but then McGray clenched one and twisted it until I heard the joint crack. Tucker was barking madly.

‘
What the hell are you doing?
’ I screamed in horror, but McGray would not listen.

He leaned over the man and whispered in his ear: ‘Ye ken the rules, laddie. Speak all the shite ye want about me, but don’t ever,
ever
slander my kin.’ The drunkard snarled in pain. ‘Now, I don’t think Mary likes chaps o’ yer type in her pub. Ye better tell yer mates to go.’

The smallest of the men jumped forward. I thought he
was going to attack me too, but the tiny man just ran out of the tavern. The last scoundrel grabbed his fallen pal by the wrists and dragged him to the street.

‘Look at that!’ McGray cried, squeezing the man’s neck a bit tighter. ‘Ye didn’t even have to tell ’em to go!’ Then he lifted the man by the neck and threw him out of the pub, onto the muddy road. There was a roar of laughter from the people passing by.

‘Sorry ye had to see that,’ McGray said, walking back as if he’d squashed a fly on the table. The other few customers watched us for a second, but then turned and continued their chatter as if nothing had happened. McGray seemed equally unconcerned: he lounged at a large table close to the fire, wiping his bloody hand on the edge of his coat. ‘I didn’t expect ye’d have that in ye, Frey! That’s one stout punch for a Londoner!’

I was still appalled: ‘Y-y … you broke that man’s arm!’

Nine-Nails shrugged. ‘It was just a wee splinter; those dunghills heal overnight. I do feel sorry about it …’ He could not have looked more nonchalant. ‘Fancy a pint?’

An incomprehensible mumble was all I could utter.

‘Och, Adolphus!’ a thick voice cried. When I turned round I saw a plump young woman approaching with a mop and a bucket. She was wearing a stained apron tied up tightly around her broad waist. Her ginger hair was an explosion of orange curls that brought out the freckles all across her round face. ‘Ah’m sorry about the lads. I cannae control ’em!’

McGray laughed and a spark glowed in his eyes when he spoke to the woman. The wrinkles around his mouth deepened as he smiled, yet a childish quality came afloat.

The woman began mopping the blood and the spilt ale. Then she fixed her bright green eyes on me. ‘Oi! Ye brought a fetching one!’

‘Och, Mary! Ye hopeless flirt! Don’t tell me ye’ll fall for this peelie-wally! Come on, Frey, don’t stand there lookin’ all stiff like a pole; have a seat.’

When I saw the greasy chairs I was about to produce my handkerchief again, but refrained from the impulse and sat down – Tucker had already ruined my suit. The dog was lying lazily right in front of the fireplace, enjoying the sudden heat; it was hard to believe that he’d been growling like a wild wolf but a moment earlier.

I was about to protest again but McGray waved his hand dismissively. ‘Right, now we can eat in peace. Mary, what’ve ye cooked today?’

‘The usual, but we got haggis today, Adolphus.’

‘Bring it on, hen!’ McGray was all enthusiasm. ‘And a pint of ale.’

‘Haggis for yer friend too?’

I resisted the urge to laugh at her. A sheep’s stomach stuffed with its blood and other discarded tripe was not my idea of food.

‘A plain pie, please,’ I said as politely as I could.

‘Ye mean a bridie?’

‘I do?’

‘Aye, get him a bridie,’ McGray said.

One moment later Mary brought a huge, steaming bowl and served a ladleful of haggis on to McGray’s plate. I must admit that the meaty smell was not that bad, but I would sooner kiss a public latrine than eat something of such foul appearance. The thing looked like a cow’s
ruminated cud, only soaked in fat and with a far more disgusting colour. A moment later she came with a meat pie.

‘Some gravy, lad?’ I saw her pulling a ladle from another bowl, a viscous brown fluid dripping from it.

‘No, thank you.’

‘A pint?’

‘No, thank you.’

Mary looked at McGray with a puzzled face, but he only shrugged. Once I started eating the terribly dry pastry I understood.

McGray began gobbling up the hideous fried guts, chewing loudly and spilling food and ale all around him. I felt sick just from watching, but looking away did not help, for I could still hear him merrily smacking his lips.

I sighed and could not repress my contemptuous remark. ‘What ever went wrong with you?’

McGray raised his head with a quizzical brow. ‘Wrong how …?’

‘Wrong as in you live in one of the most expensive neighbourhoods in this town, you obviously have the intimidating butcher’s character that can take men very high within the police, and – it pains me to admit it – there is something about you that makes me think you are not entirely stupid …’

McGray looked at me with firm, piercing eyes. ‘And …?’

‘And yet you dress like the jester of Mary Queen of Scots, you have instigated the creation of the most ridiculous investigation department in the force, and apparently you like to spend your time in the filthiest pigsties on the face of the earth – No offence.’

I said the latter to the pub’s landlady, who happened to be mopping right beside me. She only replied with a vague ‘Eh?’

Nine-Nails chuckled before grabbing his pint and gulping a long draught. When holding the glass his absent finger became evident.

‘Don’t ye mock our Queen Mary. Her ghost still lurks around Scotland … and don’t ye roll yer eyes like that whenever I speak, else I’ll snap yer own arm like a piece o’ liquorice! Now tell me, how much have ye heard of my subdivision?’

I was tempted to ask how he’d lost his finger but preferred to save it for later. ‘I have not known about your subdivision for long. I was appointed to it only the day before yesterday.’

‘All polite ’n’ vague like a good Southron,’ he said. ‘Ye ken what we look after?’

I nodded. ‘My superiors referred to them as apparitions.’

‘And what d’ye think of …
apparitions
?’

I painfully swallowed a dry mouthful of bridie and felt it going down my throat like a tangle of rope. ‘You do
not
want my honest opinion.’

‘Ye think am out o’ my wits, I can see. Told ye, Ah’m past caring. People mock me all the time, like ye just saw. At least ye’ll use pretty words I may’ve not heard.’

I sighed. ‘See, I cannot even be bothered to come up with an elaborate answer. Ghosts and spirits used to thrill me when I was a child and we needed a good horror around the Christmas fire, but fortunately most of us grow out of it.’

He cackled. ‘Aye, yer one of those who’d whimper
“McGray, yer ruining yer career!” and shite like that; I’ve heard it all. And am sure yer all-michty bosses told ye I’d only be a nuisance during yer hunt for Jack the Ripper.’

That infamous name hit me like a rock.
He knew!

I raised my head so swiftly I nearly sprained my neck. ‘How on earth do you – ? You were not supposed to –’

‘See, I don’t only read ghostly tales. I ken they sent ye cos they think yer tripe lover has inspired some Scot to –’

‘
Sshhhh!
This matter is so delicate only a handful of men in the nation know about it, yet you bark it out in detail in the middle of this filthy den!’

McGray cackled loudly and I felt fire in my stomach. ‘If we Scots ever need to be inspired for depravity, the last place we’ll turn to is yer glossy England,
believe me
.’

‘Whether you believe it or not,’ I said, ‘it is a case that came at the worst of moments. So do not,
do not
expect me to jump in excitement when you decide to go hunting will-o’-the-wisps.’

McGray grinned, ‘Och, ye’ve read about the cases we’ll be working on! Aye, we’ll do some research on those wee lights.’

‘I do not give a damn about flames of methane produced from decaying matter. I’d much rather you finished eating that ghastly mush so we can start the work we are supposed to do.’

I pushed my dish away. Hungry as I was, I could not possibly swallow another bite.

‘Ye won’t eat yer bridie?’

‘Absolutely not. That is the culinary equivalent of a kick in the groin.’

Fortunately McGray was a fast eater and we soon left
the Ensign Ewart. I swiftly put up my umbrella, picturing the contents of the tenants’ chamber pots.

McGray, walking impassively under the raindrops, cast me a derisive look. ‘I cannae believe that such a soft dandy caught Good Mary Brown.’

I sighed, thinking of the glory of those days. ‘Well, if you’d seen her you would not have believed that she was guilty either. She was this little, wide-eyed woman with a soft voice. Her
modus operandi
was rather blatant, though; all the bodies showed obvious signs of arsenic poisoning. Which reminds me – I would like to inspect Fontaine’s body as soon as possible.’

‘Can do. I spoke to the laddie at the morgue this morning. He should have the post-mortem report ready by now.’

‘We better go there straightaway,’ I said, anxious to begin the real work. ‘I still don’t know whether you have got a proper morgue here; the body might well be growing maggots as we speak.’

Though meant as a joke, my words turned out to be rather premonitory.