Shadow of the Dolocher Page 23

  When he got there, however, he was surprised to find no one out the back either. He entered the house and called out from the kitchen. No one answered. This was very odd indeed. Spencer didn't know what to make of this, but it did not feel good.

  He found that his heart was beating a little faster as his mind raced for some rational reason everyone could have disappeared like this. Nothing was coming to mind as he walked from room to room still calling his servants. Spencer realised that he had never known the house to be empty before. It roused a very odd and sinister feeling in his heart. Was the Devil here, and if so what had he done to everyone in the house. Spencer's head wanted him to leave the house at once, but his anger at the red-faced tormentor was stronger, and he started to pace the house and ball his fists in fury.

  "Who's here!" he shouted loudly, "Come and show yourself!"

  This was it; Spencer was not going to run anymore. If now was his time to face what he had let loose on the world and face the same fate as his staff, then so be it.

  "Come on!" he shouted again, "Do you plan to hide in the shadows forever!"

  At this, Spencer heard a noise come from above. It was like a couple of heavy footsteps on the landing. Spencer swallowed and took a step towards the door. His hand went to his sword, and he drew it. It felt good in his hand like he had been missing it for a long time. He looked along the blade and felt it gently. This could be the last time they would be in combat together, and he felt a great fondness for it at that moment. He should have made it part of his will to have it buried with him; perhaps someone would think of it after he was gone. With this last thought, he smiled and went out to the bottom of the stairs.

  He stood there a moment looking up into the darkness at the top. He could imagine that red face coming from the dark and peering at him through the light, ready to whisk him away with that manic grin of his to his seat in Pandemonium. Spencer steeled himself and put one foot on the bottom step of the stairs. This was a battle, he thought, no different to the countless others he'd fought over the years. He thought of his men around him, all waiting for his lead and he started to walk up the stairs to meet his enemy head on.

  About half way up he heard the noise of the heavy footsteps again, but this time there was a new noise, a sound that he had not expected to hear. It started as a low rumbling that he could not make out, but very quickly it became something much more familiar and terrifying. It was a low deep growl!

  Spencer knew now that this was no man he was up against, this truly was a beast, and there was little chance of coming out on top against the Devil himself. Spencer let out a roar of anger and plunged into the darkness with his sword thrust out before him. The growl became a sudden howl of an animal, and something very heavy and hairy barged against Spencer. He felt his blade tear flesh, and he twisted the sword for maximum damage. The creature let out a screech of pain as Spencer fell to the ground. His sword fell from his hands and disappeared into the darkness of the landing.

  Terrible thundering sounds rang out on the thickly carpeted floorboards of the stairs, and Spencer looked after the beast to see that it ran on four legs. It did not negotiate the steps well and fell as much as ran down to the bottom. With astonishment, he saw that it was no Devil, but was, in fact, the wolf.

  It had been hurt and was looking to escape. Spencer could not believe either his eyes or his luck. He leaned on an elbow and realised that his ribs had been badly bruised. The wolf was gone from sight now, and he heard it crash from room to room as he followed its progress with his ears.

  When a woman shrieked outside somewhere he knew that the wolf has finally found the back door and was running wild once more in the city. Colonel Spencer lay on his back and took some deep breaths. That had almost been the end of him. He could not believe his luck.

  He had been a long time lying there in numbing pain before he began to wonder how the wolf had gotten into the house in the first place. It seemed obvious now that someone had duped the staff out of the house and brought the wolf in, leaving it upstairs to feed on him when he got home. There was only one person in the world who would want to do that to him, and that was the red-faced man, the man he had upset so much by capturing his likeness in paints. He didn't know how much more of this nonsense he could take before it drove him completely around the bend.

  Chapter 60

  The latest body hung from a large spike hammered into a door. Blood had drained to the steps of the building- a disused shed on the land of a small livestock trader- and soaked into the scraps of strewn hay and the sodden earth. The woman was cut along all of her limbs, and the skin was splayed outward slightly so that the exposed bone could be seen inside. She was young, probably only about twenty years old and her face was scarred and bruised.

  "Does anyone know her?" Alderman asked the soldier who stood guard over her body.

  "No Sir, not so far, Sir."

  James looked over the body, the only parts exposed were the limbs and head, but the clothes were slick and thick with dried blood, and he wondered if there were more wounds inside apart from the obvious impalement through her chest that she hung on.

  "Someone must have heard this happen?" he said in vexation; incredulous already at the idea that maybe no one had.

  "The men are asking around, Sir," the soldier assured him. At least they had the sense to do that, James thought. "This poor girl," he went on looking at her. It was moments like this that he was glad he had no children of his own, he didn't know how he could deal with something like this ever happening if he had.

  Taking a thin quill from his pocket and wiping it with his handkerchief, he peered into the crevasses made by the slicing of the limbs for some foreign object that might be in there. He didn't see anything, but he still had to examine the wound when the stake was removed, and that would be a more likely hiding place for this sadistic killer.

  When the first soldiers came back with their reports from the surrounding houses, no one had heard the noise of the hammer being smacked into the door. The reason for this was not that people were afraid and that they were keeping things to themselves but that there had been a terrible commotion on the street to the front of the houses whose rear looked onto the trader’s yard.

  When the Alderman enquired, he was told that apparently there were some children who had tied strings to some tin and had run up and down the streets causing an awful din and the resulting echoed noises brought all and sundry to their front doors to see what was going on. As a result of this, the body was able to be mounted without anyone seeing or hearing.

  "We need to find out who those children were!" James said, they must have been paid by the killer. James then noticed that one of the soldiers was talking to his Sergeant furtively that for some reason hooked James in. He knew it was something important, something that had been missed up to now, he didn't know how he knew, but he was sure he knew. He raced over to them, "What is it?" he demanded.

  "This man says that there were reports of a similar disturbance at the site of the murder in the alley a few weeks ago."

  "Why did you not report this then?" James asked of the man.

  "I'm sorry, Sir, at the time it was not part of our investigation, it's only now that it seems to me to be relevant." The man was squirming, and his face had driven a deep red in embarrassment.

  "Idiot!" James said but quickly went on to the Sergeant, "Find out if any of your men who were on duty at the other sites heard similar complaints, have a report to my house by this afternoon!"

  James left the Sergeant to go about this business, and he waited again by the body.

  Looking around he was surprised that the rattling noise of Edwards' carriage had not been heard on the street yet. Was he not going to show for this one? This was one he would particularly enjoy. As much as he still hated to admit it, it was good to have eyes like Edwards' on these scenes, you never knew what he was going to spot or point out.

  Soon after the cart came to take the woman away and James wa
tched as two soldiers held her up and a third pulled the stake from her chest. When he finally loosened it, it came out with a sickening sludging sound, and some more viscera slopped to the ground as it did so.

  The men took her down, rearranged themselves and carried her to the cart a few feet away. James saw something flutter to the ground, and he looked at the stooping soldier who leaned to pick it up, blocking his view of what it was.

  "What is that there?" he called, and the soldier turned and held up an envelope. James came over and took it and looked at it. He knew what it would say before seeing and when he did, he saw his own name on the same paper that he'd seen twice before. It had been held up by the victims back against the door, but above the wound and as such it held only the smallest bit of dirt from falling to the ground.

  There were no other markings on the envelope, and he pocketed it without a word to anyone.

  "I'll ride in my own carriage to the morgue," he said and walked back over to it as the cart was slowly led away.

  When he was away from the scene, James took the envelope from his pocket and looked it over again to be sure that there was nothing on the outside before he opened it.

  There were two sheets inside again this time. He decided to look at what he knew was going to be a sketch. He opened the page, and he saw something he was not expecting. Instead of a charcoal coloured sketch of a gruesome body or some such scene his eyes were greeted with a street scene, buildings on either side and crowded street in the centre, many featureless heads and faces going about their business.

  What really stood out though was colour, one piece was coloured red, and it was one of the faces near the back of the crowd. It was a hooded figure who looked out unnoticed by all others in the scene, a devilish face, smiling in a sinister way as though it knew something that only he and the viewer were aware of. James thought for a moment of what Edwards had described of Spencer's hallucinations before putting the sketch on the seat beside him as he looked at the letter.

  Dear Alderman,

  I would have thought by now that you would have been closer to catching me, but it looks again like it will come down to the blind drunken luck of a blacksmith or some other tradesman to take me to task. I was very sorry to hear you are now also having trouble with a wolf. They are very beautiful creatures if treated and looked after well.

  I shall continue with my work, though I may now take a break, in the way that I did during my first round of killings. That way the people are all the more worried when they hear of my return. You'll know soon enough which way I have decided.

  Yours,

  The Dolocher

  Chapter 61

  When Mullins got into the house, Kate was not there and he cursed her for always being out and about, constantly visiting people or going to the market. He paced back and forth in the small room, and his temper grew as he began to feel constrained, like an animal in a cage.

  If he hadn't believed at first what Edwards had said to him, he certainly believed it now, there was no way anyone other than he could have known about the bruise on her hip unless she had done what he had claimed. His anger mixed with terse emotion and the idea of losing her and the life he had built for himself in these last couple of years. How could she have done this to him?

  He sat down at the table and images of his time in 'The Black Dog' roiled in his head. It was a terrible experience, and he believed for a time himself that he was destined for the gallows. He recalled his despair, and that the saving grace to him in there was that he had Kate in his life. And all the time she was doing this behind his back!

  It didn't matter to him at all that she might think she was doing it for his benefit; as far as he was concerned, it would have been better if he had died than for her to do this in his name.

  A long time had passed before he heard her at the door. In this time he had calmed significantly and sat resigned and patiently at the table for her to come in. She was surprised to see him at this time of the day.

  "What are you doing home?" she asked him, setting her basket on the table. He didn't answer her, and he saw the look of concern come over her face. She looked at him and waited for a response. "What is it Tim, you're scaring me?"

  "I want to ask you one question, and I want to you to answer me only one word, either yes or no," he said slowly. She nodded that she understood, but he could see the fear in her face, the fear that he already knew what she had done. He faltered for a moment now that he could see her in front of him and tried to convince himself that maybe things could be alright if he never knew for sure. But he couldn't go with that idea, however blissful he might imagine it could be. "Did you sleep with a man to get me out of gaol?"

  Kate burst into tears and collapsed on to the table. Her sobs were heavy and seemed to be choking the air out of her. His hand went out automatically to console her, but he stopped it, knowing what this display meant.

  "I'm so sorry, Tim, I just wanted you to be free!" she wailed in one fast gasp. She looked up at him imploringly, "I thought they were going to kill you!" she cried. He didn't know what to say. Up to now, he had been angry and hurt but angry at the idea of it. Now that he knew that it was true, was something that had actually taken place, he felt dead as if he was no longer there but just an ethereal watcher of this scene. It was like he too was waiting for Timothy Mullins, the blacksmith, to speak.

  "How could you do that to me?" he said slowly, his eyes cast down on the table now.

  "I didn't want you to die!" she wailed.

  "This is worse," he said after a long pause, and he heard her sobbing start up once more.

  Mullins let her cry for a long time while he sat there. He would look at her head, the hair falling about and her shoulder bobbing every now and then, but he could feel no compassion for her, no need to comfort her.

  She sat up much later still and wiped her eyes, her face was puffed up, and she looked terrible and pale.

  "Did he tell you himself?" she asked finally.

  "He told me what you had done, but not that it was with him until he was dashing away in his carriage and I couldn't catch up with him."

  "He's an evil man," Kate said.

  "I'm not married to him," Mullins said, and even to himself, it had the tone of finality.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked him. It was growing dark out now, and there were no candles lit in the room.

  "I'm going to do something the next time I see him, I won’t know what exactly until I'm already doing it."

  He knew he own rage and anger and what it would lead him too and also that he was in no control of it. Right now, he welcomed that loss of control.

  "Tim you can’t, you'll end up in gaol again, or worse. He knows people everywhere, and he has the money to do what he wants!" she pleaded with him.

  "That's of no regard to me." There was another long silence, and Kate fidgeted in her chair.

  "What about me?" she asked.

  "You will do what you want, but you will no longer be living here with me. I won't throw you out tonight but I will go to work tomorrow, and you will be gone when I get home," his coldness was hard to maintain, but he thought this would be the only way he could get through this.

  "No, please Tim, don't do this!" she dropped to her knees and grabbed at him, but he pushed her hands away.

  "I haven't done anything Kate, you did this," he told her in a low voice. He stood up and moved away from the table. Kate stayed where she was on the floor.

  "I'm so sorry, Tim," she said crying again. "I did it for you." He didn't look at her nor answer her. He pulled on his coat and walked to the door.

  "I expect you'll be asleep when I get home,” and he went out into the cold evening.

  Once outside he felt the full tilt of the heartache slap him, and he walked quickly towards the river so that no one he knew might see his teary face and hear the bellow he would have to release from the depths of his soul soon.

  He rushed on slipping and sliding at times on t
he icy surface until he was crossing the Liffey and in a place where he was alone and not himself and he cried and roared and shook with anger. His life as he knew it draining from him in one last great gasp.

  Chapter 62

  Kate cried solidly for an hour after Mullins left that night. She was so ashamed of herself and how things had worked out. At moments she grew into a rage, and sometimes they were aimed at Edwards and other they were squared at the ungratefulness of her husband.

  She had done this awful thing for him, to see that he was not hanged for murders she knew he had not committed. Did he think that she had enjoyed what she was doing? It had broken her heart to do it, and she felt cheap and disgusting all through the act and ever since.

  Edwards had done this for his own amusement, and she had since found out that he had played no part in Tim's release, that there had been another murder and that was why he had been let out. Her mind raced from one hurt to another, and she grew very tired of it all.

  When she finally stopped crying, Kate chewed on a crust of bread and drank some water. She was cold now, and she set herself the task of lighting a fire. This took her mind off things for a while but as soon as she was done, the world came back in on her. She shivered as the heat hit her and she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders. What was she going to do? She could tell by Mullins that he was devastated, and she knew he was not the type of man to let these things drop easily. She probably shouldn't be here when he came home tonight.

  Where could she go? The obvious place was to Mary and Sarah, to the place that she herself had once called home, but she was so ashamed of what she had done that she didn't think she could face them. If she lied to them, it would be worse when they found out the truth. She hated Edwards, so there was no way she was going to go there. There was no one else she could think of who might take her in, she had no family and only two real friends.