The Legend of Long Jones Read online

  When Muc came out the other end of the alleyway he looked around but couldn't see where the man had gone. He scanned the ground for footprints but it was not clear what was freshest. He moved a few feet on to look in the road at the prints and picked up the trail again. He glanced once again to confirm that Mullins was nowhere to be seen and then set off at a run again.

  At the end, Muc came to a tall wooden gate to a carriage repair yard. There was a hole made by snapping of a few planks near ground level and he could see the slush where the younger thinner man had been able to pull himself through. Muc looked through the slatted planks to the yard inside.

  All was silent in there, the skeleton of carriages and carts all over like some kind of graveyard. His breath steamed though and rose before his eyes but he saw nothing moving inside. Was it worth going in to look around? Most likely the fellow knew this gap in the fence and had used it as a shortcut to get somewhere else, but where.

  Clambering noisily to the top of the gate, Muc threw one leg over and balanced there looking around. He surveyed the yard, taking close looks at the carriages that possibly held his quarry, but then looked further afield to where the other side of the yard would lead out onto.

  The yard, like his own was flanked by two large buildings and he didn’t see any connecting doors to them. At the back there was one lone open shed running the full length of the yard. It had a slanted wooden ceiling and beyond that Muc could see there was an alley or small street beyond. That could be the only place he’d gone.

  While perched up there, Muc couldn’t help but think on this man again. Twice he’d been in Muc’s vicinity and both times Muc had spotted him. He wasn’t very good at the stalk and kill method by all accounts. Was he planning on killing Muc at all, or was it possible he was simply keeping tabs on him for someone else? That was very possible- there was no shortage of people who might want that information. The only question was who specifically? As the thick plank began to eat in the underside of his thigh, Muc dropped back down to the street. He looked around, there was still no sign of Mullins. Most likely he’d gone the wrong way from the alleyway exit- if he even got that far. He would have to give the blacksmith some abuse for the condition he’d let himself slip into. He smiled at the thought of this reprimand and Mullins angry response to it.

  Still, that and other things would have to wait for another day.

  BY THE TIME MUC GOT back to Jeremiah Roan’s tailor shop, plenty more men had arrived and there was now a cask of beer out on the street by the fire as well. Muc had a quick scan for Mullins in the crowd but didn’t see him. He decided to go back inside and talk to the one who’d been guarding the crates so jealously earlier in the evening.

  “You’re back,” the short man said when he saw Muc approach.

  “I am,” Muc smiled, “and I believe you were about to tell me who you were to Roan?”

  “What does it matter to you?” the man asked.

  “I’m the one who’s going to find out who killed him.”

  “How is that?” the man did not look impressed, thinking this was likely a ruse to get a bottle of beer out of him.

  “I’m already looking into the first murder and have made enquiries about this one,” Muc said.

  “What first murder?”

  “The girl by the Collect Pond.”

  “What does that have to do with Jeremiah’s murder?”

  “The killer is the same man, don’t you see that?”

  “David Stirling killed Jeremiah too?” At this the man looked very confused, “Why?”

  “David Stirling didn't kill anyone,” Muc said, “but I know it is the same killer for both and intend to catch them.”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” the man said relenting and handing a bottle to Muc in the hope that he would just go away. Muc took it and nodded in thanks.

  “So tell me,” he said, “Was Jeremiah in any kind of trouble that you know of?”

  “No, he was a straight card, never did anyone wrong. Sure look at how many people have come out for this and they are still coming.” he indicated out the window and Muc looked to see that there were indeed a lot of people here now. Muc smiled at the sight,

  “What did you say your name was?” he asked.

  “Willow is my name, I worked with Jeremiah since I arrived in America ten years ago.”

  “What will you do now?” Muc asked. Willow shrugged,

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “What will happen to this place? Did he own it?” Muc asked of the tailor’s shop.

  “I think he owned the building,” Willow said, “But I’m not sure. It never came up but I don’t recall anyone ever coming to collect rent or anything like that.”

  “You never know, then, you might get lucky and be in his will,” Muc said. Willow said nothing to this but looked glumly out at the fire outside.

  IN THE MORNING, LORD Muc sat at the breakfast table and listened to Tobias as he ran through what had been reported from the gang members since yesterday afternoon. There was a lot as the men were both nervous about the possibility of an attack, but also eager to please Muc. Most of it he brushed away as unimportant, and the suspected sightings of the man didn’t ring true to Muc’s mind. He had a clearer picture of him now and would certainly know him to see, even by his movements. The fact he’d used the carriage yard to escape also gave Muc a clue to his home area or at least close to it. He intended to make a quick scout of the area before going over to the African Burial ground later in the day.

  Muc told the household of seeing the man the previous evening and the chase. He gave them a more detailed description down to the fact that the man favoured his left leg. Tobias wrote all of this down and would circulate it as soon as they were done here.

  “Has anyone looked in on Veeker’s place?” Muc asked.

  “Starving Sam is swinging by there twice a day to see how things are,” Tobias said.

  “I hope he’s not being too obvious,” Muc said and then thinking on it a moment said, “Rotate four different men on that job, no more than one visit every two days by each man.” Tobias nodded.

  Aunty Kay put a fresh pot of tea down on the table and Muc caught her eye and it was smiling.

  “What amuses you so much this morning, Kay?” Muc asked.

  “You do,” she said.

  “How so?”

  “All this skulduggery going on around you and your mind is not on it at all,” she was almost laughing.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re completely wrapped up in this murder even with your own life possibly at risk.” Muc scoffed and waved a hand at her,

  “Would you go away out of that woman, my life has been at risk every day since I was a teenager!” Aunty Kay walked away from the table smiling, a knowing look on her face that irked Muc.

  “Women, eh?” he said shaking his head to the men at the table. They all smiled.

  It was short lived however, as they heard the clatter of the gate below and could hear the approach of frantic footsteps. Each of them faced the door to see who it was and what urgent news came with them. Starving Sam erupted into the room, his boots and legs covered in wet dirty snow and his breath all but gone,

  “What is it, Sam?” Muc asked. Sam took in one breath and then said between further gasps,

  “Stirling...he’s gone...taken.”

  “What do you mean gone?” Muc said rising from his seat in anger. Sam managed to get the last breath he needed in this time and answered,

  “Some men came and took him late last night; they gave Veeker a bit of a going over too.”

  “Is he alright?”

  “His face doesn’t look too pretty but I doubt there’s anything lasting.”

  “Right, Tobias, keep things going as planned, Sam you come with me to Veeker’s and tell me everything you know on the way.”

  Chapter 6

  Arnold Veeker’s face was badly bruised and puffed up as Sam had said.
His eyes were thin slits and his cheeks shone with stretched skin over the swelling.

  “Who did this?” Muc asked him.

  “I don’t know who they were,” Veeker struggled to speak clearly, “I never saw them before.”

  “What did they say to you?”

  “Not much, they came in after I’d closed up. The man who seemed to be the leader just pushed past me to go back to the work rooms and when I tried to stop him the other took hold of me and did this to me,” he pointed to his battered face.

  “Then what?”

  “The man came back out pulling the young fellow you left with me by the hair, hitting him as they went.”

  “So the man knew who he was looking for and what he looked like?” Muc asked.

  “I suppose,” Veeker agreed weakly. Muc nodded,

  “Did the leader have a black moustache, handlebar style, black or dark brown hair?” Veeker nodded, “Was there another man with him who looked like him?” Veeker thought for a moment and then nodded again,

  “Yes, like a brother,” he said.

  “That’ll do then, Veeker, I’m sorry this happened to you. I think I know who did this to you, and I think I know why they wanted the boy.” Muc stood up and turned to Sam, “We better get moving, it might already be too late.”

  THEY ARRIVED OUTSIDE the O’Malley house in less than fifteen minutes despite the poor condition of the roads. Muc stepped up to the front door and banged three times loudly. Sam followed him up the steps and looked around as if keeping guard of the rear.

  The door opened and the timid maid’s false smile dropped as she saw the immensity of the man standing before her.

  “Yes?” she asked nervously.

  “I need to see Mr O’Malley and it is a matter most urgent,” Muc said.

  “I’m sorry, Sir,” she said, “But I can’t admit people to the house without an appointment.”

  “I do have an appointment,” Muc said and this threw the girl completely. He stepped into the house, easing the door open as he went, the maid retreating but not really knowing she was doing it. She caught herself then of a sudden and starting pushing back,

  “No, you can’t come in,” she said but her full weight behind the door was like a fly against Muc’s brawn. “No, Sir!” she called out as her strength failed her.

  “What’s going on here?” a stern voice came from the end of the hallway. Muc looked down to see O’Malley standing there, an angry scowl present on his face. “Who are you?” he said sharply to Muc.

  “I’m here about your visit to the rope makers last night,” Muc said looking into the man’s eyes.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Master, I couldn’t stop him?” the maid whimpered.

  “That’s alright, June,” O’Malley said in a fatherly tone, “You just go on about your duties. This man will see himself out in a moment.” June looked from her employer to Muc and didn’t need another excuse to leave the doorway. She ran up the stairs and disappeared out of sight. When she was gone Muc said,

  “Where’s Stirling?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s time for you to get out of my house,” O’Malley said. Muc took another step into the house and closed the door, leaving Sam out on the steps.

  “We both know it was you and your brother who took him last night from Mulberry Street,” Muc said, “I also know why you did it, but you’re wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?”

  “About the killer of your daughter. It wasn’t Stirling.” O’Malley’s eyes narrowed at the mention of his lost daughter and his forehead wrinkled in anger.

  “What do you know about it!” he shouted.

  “I know that the same person is responsible for at least two other murders and one was only two nights ago when I knew exactly where Stirling was.”

  “That boy killed my daughter,” O’Malley said taking a few steps closer to Muc and pointing an accusing finger at him, “I told him to stay away from her and he wouldn’t listen and now look at what he’s done!”

  “I can see how much hurt this has caused you,” Muc said, “But I’m going to find the real person who did this.” O’Malley was shaking in anger now and words didn’t seem to want to come to him.

  “The boy is not dead,” another voice said, “Yet.” Muc turned to see O’Malley’s brother in the doorway to another roof off the hall.

  “Where is he?” Muc asked.

  “Somewhere safe,” the brother said.

  “Is he alright?”

  “He’s not as pristine as he was yesterday morning but he’s not going to die from injury anytime soon.” There was a coldness in this man that Muc had not seen in many before. There was no doubt in the gang leaders mind that this man didn’t care if Stirling died or not, even if he was innocent. “What makes you so sure he’s innocent?” the brother asked.

  “I’ve been involved in things like this before,” Muc said, “He told me what happened and when I went to the place where it happened; his story checked out. The other murder since has made it even clearer to me he didn’t do it.”

  “You’re talking about that tailor?” he asked. Muc nodded.

  “My brother is grieving terribly, as you can see, we all are,” he said, “We’ll give you three days to come up with proof he didn’t do it- in the form of the person who did do it- and there will take place a trade.”

  “Make it five days and it’s a deal,” Muc said. His mind was racing, he’d look into the crimes and at the same time have the men looking about for where Stirling was being held. Five days should be plenty to find him.

  “Three,” the brother said and there was a firmness in his voice that impressed Muc.

  “Lay off the lad until the three days are up,” Muc said as he pulled open the door. The brother nodded agreement.

  “Are you the one they call Lord Muc?”

  “I am,” Muc said, and pointing to the father of the murdered girl said, “He’s James and you are?”

  “Peter,” the brother said.

  “The Apostles,” Muc smiled and he went outside and pulled the door shut behind him.

  OUTSIDE, AS THEY WALKED from the house, Muc told Sam his idea and sent him back to Tobias to orchestrate the search starting right away. Sam ran off eagerly as Muc trudged on towards the home of Jeremiah Roan.

  Once there he stood below the window where the man had drawn his final agonised breath, and looked up. It was clear of crowds and police now and he was able to get a better sense of the scene from here. It was definitely too high for any man to reach with his bare hand, just as the tree had been by the Pond.

  Going to the corner, Muc turned up the street where he was sure the murderer had been heading before changing his mind. Whatever had forced him to change his route that night was key. It had to have been because of people who would have seen him, but who were those people? He walked as far along the street until the corner was hard to make out anymore and then crossed over and returned by the other side of the road. Everything in this area, so far as Muc could tell, was either a home or a day trading business. The idea of knocking on doors and asking some questions passed by his mind but he didn’t think it would be the best use of his time right now. He would come back here late in the night and see the world as it would have been for himself. That was much more likely to yield something he could go on. For now it was time to get down to the shipyard and after that to get Mullins and go to the other side of the Collect Pond.

  IT TOOK SOME TIME AT the shipyards to find Benny and Tojo. The foremen didn’t know any of the slaves by name and fellow slaves pretended not to know who they were, most likely afraid of getting the men into trouble.

  “I’m Tojo,” a man finally owned up as Muc was passing through the heaving work of men calling their names. Muc looked on the man, a tall but thin man of proud bearing, Tojo looked back at him with poise. Another man stood beside him, wider, bulkier but not quite so tall. Muc took this to be Benny standing in solidarity with his friend. Muc
walked over to the men,

  “You’re from Scaddow’s place?” he asked to confirm he was talking to the right people. They both nodded. “Muc is my name, and Scaddow told me something I’d like to ask you two men about.” They exchanged a nervous glance but looked back quickly to Muc with the same stoic defiance as before.

  “What is it?” Tojo asked. Muc leaned in closer and lowered his voice so those close by wouldn’t be able to overhear.

  “I want you to tell me about the boy who was murdered at the African Burial Ground over the other side of the water.” There was no mistaking the flash of fear that came through the eyes of both men and they too now looked around to be sure no one else had heard this.

  “We can’t talk about this here,” Benny said. Muc nodded and thought for a moment what to do. These men were rented out to the shipyard owners and they wouldn’t take kindly to Muc pulling them away from their work. He sighed and held up a finger for the two men to wait for him a moment. The old ways are sometimes still the best ways, Muc thought as he approached the foreman closest to him.

  “Here you,” Muc said aggressively to the man who turned to face him, “I’m taking these two fellas here for a little while to talk to them. If you make any shit about it I’ll come back here and smash your nose into your face, alright?” The man went white with fright and only nodded nervously. “Thanks, it will only be ten minutes or so,” he said pleasantly.

  When Muc and the two slaves had moved far enough away from the rest of the workers, he asked,

  “So, tell me about it?”

  “The boy was killed after going to his parents’ graves,” Benny said.