Shadow of the Dolocher Read online

  "I have to go," she said again backing away. "I'm sorry, I have to go."

  As she walked away, she was trembling, and she felt that if he was watching her he would be able to see it in her gait. She felt as though she had been threatened that the killer had sent Edwards as some warning to her.

  "I can protect you, Kate." His voice carried the twenty feet that separated them now, but she didn't turn around but just kept on walking towards the shop where Tim would be.

  Chapter 20

  Mullins sat outside the blacksmith in the afternoon sun. Scally, on his small stool beside him cleaning some dried flaking off an old halberd that looked like it must have been in a fire somewhere. Mullins didn't bother asking where he'd gotten it or what he intended to do with it. It had been a slow morning, and Mullins wasn't in the mood to work on one of his private projects.

  "You heard about the murder down the road?" Scally said to him, not looking up but still flaking away.

  "I did."

  "They think it was some animal. There was a big bite mark out of the leg."

  "A bite mark?"

  "Yeah."

  "Where did you hear that?" Mullins hadn't heard about this part.

  "I heard the soldiers who took the body away talking about it. They said there was another woman who had a bite taken out of her stomach before this one."

  Mullins saw for a moment the flash of the metal teeth Cleaves had fashioned and held fast to his forearms that everyone who saw him thought was the vicious mouth of the Dolocher. Was there someone else out there doing this same thing? Could it be someone close to him again? Faces of people he knew whisked by, and he shook his head to dispel them and the thoughts he was having.

  "Is there talk of the Dolocher?" Mullins asked, people generally didn't mention this subject around him, but he knew it was mentioned from time to time.

  "Yeah, the murders are in the same places."

  "People believe Cleaves is back from the dead?"

  "I don't know about that, but they talk about the Dolocher as some animal. I think some people think Cleaves wasn't it; that it was never caught." It was heartening to hear that others found it hard to believe that Cleaves was the killer too. He wanted to question Scally more on this, but he knew that the answers would dissolve this myth if he poked any further at it.

  Then he had another flash; he saw the teeth shine in the moonlight and something else, something different but yet something he knew he had seen before. The colour of bone but what was it? He closed his eyes to try to see it better.

  "Are you alright, Tim?" he heard Scally ask.

  "I'm fine," he replied, and then he saw clearly what it was. It was the tusks of the boar; the ones Muc had used in his fights. Now he was seeing them as the silver of metal, and he opened his eyes. Someone must have made those tusks in steel as Muc had wanted Mullins to do. That was what was causing this injury to people that everyone thought were bite marks.

  It was Lord Muc! He was going around killing in the name of the Dolocher. Had he not practically told Mullins this very thing on the night in the cabin when they both went home bruised? It all made sense, Muc was nothing without his gang and his fights, and he couldn't take the quiet life. He had found a way to get rid off all that vicious energy that mashed around inside of him. It had to be him.

  Mullins was suddenly aware that Scally had stood up hastily and he looked up to see the Alderman and two soldiers standing in front of him. Mullins stood up.

  "Can I help you, Sir?" he said, taking his cap off and holding it down low in front of him.

  "Can we speak inside?" the Alderman asked.

  "Yes, come in." Mullins held open the sheet at the door, and Alderman James walked inside. The two soldiers stayed where they were, and Mullins went inside and let the drape fall shut behind him. Mullins wondered if he had been seen at Cleaves grave; he knew he shouldn't have gone there, it was a stupid thing to do.

  "I'll be brief Mr. Mullins; I'm sure you have heard about the recent murders in the area?" Mullins nodded that he had. "I need you to tell me where you were on the night that each was committed."

  "Where I was?" Mullins was instantly scared. "I was at home for the three of them."

  "You have someone who could vouch for you on that?"

  "My wife." James nodded.

  "You're married now?"

  "Yes, for about a year now."

  "Congratulations."

  "Thank you."

  "Have you seen or heard anything about the murders that we might not know about?" James asked. Mullins shook his head, but he slowed as he did and he recalled what he had been thinking just before. "What is it?" James asked, and Mullins knew that his face had betrayed him. He wondered should he say something. He decided he would, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he was right and more people had to die. If he was wrong, he might make a little trouble for Lord Muc, but he deserved it.

  "There is something I have just thought of," he started.

  "Yes?"

  "A while back Lord Muc came to me and asked that I make steel replicas of the serrated tusks he used in the gang fights- the ones that came off the boar."

  "Did you make them?"

  "No, but I've just heard this minute from the boy out there that there are bite marks made in the dead people."

  "From the boy out front?" James asked, and Mullins cursed himself, he had probably just got Scally in trouble somehow.

  "Yes, but I was thinking that maybe someone did make these things for him, and that is what is used for faking the bites," he spoke fast to try to make the Alderman forget Scally.

  "You think the bites are faked?" James said interestedly.

  "Yes, I think some sick person is trying to pretend to be the Dolocher." James looked at him for a while without speaking. Mullins stood there not knowing if he should say something else or remain silent.

  "Do you think Muc is capable of this? I know his reputation for fighting but doesn't he revel in the fight itself and not the slaying of people?" This was true, Mullins has to agree, and he nodded to this. "Still, he is very violent, and there has been less opportunity for him to fight since the rival gangs broke up."

  "That's what I was thinking."

  "You were in that gang too as well were you not?" Alderman said, his tone accusatory.

  "No, I fought once in exchange for help in finding the Dolocher."

  "What help did he give you?"

  "He had some of his men search the streets on the same nights that I was out."

  "But not the night you caught him?"

  "No, they only helped for a couple of nights."

  James looked about the shop and fingered some of the tools.

  "You can see why I came to talk to you?" he asked.

  "No sir," Mullins answered.

  "Cleaves was a good friend to you." Was he going to mention being at the grave now? Was this what he was leading up to all along?

  "He was, but I had no idea what he was up to."

  "I don't doubt that for a moment, but I also know that people have a tendency to make saints out of the dead."

  "What he did was unforgivable, and it will be Hell where he has gone for it," Mullins said. James nodded in agreement.

  "I'll speak to Lord Muc too, your name will probably come up when I mention about those steel tusks he wanted."

  "That's alright."

  James made to leave, but he stopped and turned to Mullins one last time.

  "You should probably try to be home at night until we catch this man." Mullins understood what he meant by this.

  "I will," he said, and James left, taking his soldiers with him, seeming to have forgotten about Scally altogether.

  Chapter 21

  After James had spoken to Mullins, he went in search of Lord Muc. He'd not said anything to the blacksmith of the artist slant on the investigation as for now he was simply following Edwards' idea of rustling a few feathers. He had no intention of mentioning it to Muc either.

&
nbsp; James went to Muc's home on the outskirts of the city, but he was nowhere to be found. None of his neighbours had seen him so far today. They suggested that he might still be in bed, as some days he up with the lark and others it could be afternoon when he surfaced. This added to James' suspicions; did he sleep late after killing someone and transporting their body in the night and dumping it? It was just as possible that he slept late the days after heavy drinking sessions which he was well known to engage in. Could he have the patience to kill and then carry a body to a specific site and dump it?

  James hadn't spoken to Muc in over two years, but he knew he would get that same vibe from him as before when they met; the violence inside waiting to get out, looking for an excuse or an opportunity.

  While he was at the old farmhouse where Muc lived, he looked about the yard and sheds. The sheds were locked up, but he could see inside and saw the old arsenal of weapons from the gang days. He looked at the cart under an awning, searching inside to see if there were any traces of blood or anything else that might look out of place. There was nothing he could see.

  "Wait here," he said to the soldiers with him. "If he comes back leave a message for me in the whiskey cabin on Cook Street. I'll be there from five."

  James left them and walked towards the Cook Street area alone. As soon as he was out of sight of the farmhouse, a voice startled him from behind.

  "You looking for me?" James turned and faced Lord Muc who stood at an alleyway entrance. He had marks on his face from a recent fight, bruising and a cut.

  "I was," James said looking him over with disdain.

  "Let me guess why."

  "Go ahead."

  "You want to ask me about the murders. You have no suspects, so you are going back over old ground?" Muc was sneering, but James didn't say anything. "Have you spoken to the blacksmith yet?" Now his smile was as broad as his face and James felt idiotic and caught off guard.

  "I did," he said controlling his composure, "and he had something very interesting to say about you."

  "Oh yes?" Muc seemed keenly interested in this.

  "He told me about the tusks you wanted to be made of steel."

  "Did he now, did he also tell you that he wouldn't make them?"

  "Yes. What did you want then for?"

  "To commemorate my many victories," Muc laughed.

  "Did someone else make them for you?"

  "No. He is the only one who would be able to do what I want. His work is good even if he is not."

  "Why do you say that he is not good?"

  "He's a violent man, but he hides it. He did this to me," Muc thrust his face forward to show the marks.

  "Why did he do that?"

  "I don't know. He was drinking and who knows what goes through a man's mind when he has a drink in his belly?"

  "About the murders," James changed the subject; he had no interest in Muc and Mullins’ drinking and bar fighting exploits. Both were well known to him.

  "Go on."

  "Where were you when they happened?"

  "I have no idea when they happened."

  "We'll one was only a few days ago, where were you last Thursday night?"

  "I was either at home or in a tavern."

  "Which was it last Thursday?"

  "I don't know. Ask around Alderman, someone will tell you where I was on all the nights that anything happened. I'm hard to miss, people generally remember if I was in their company on a certain night." Muc was smiling again with a sardonic look on his face. James felt that he was trying to goad him into arresting him without the help of the soldiers.

  "I will be asking around, and I hope for your sake you're right. Someone is going to hang for these crimes, and your neck is as good as any other to me," James said as roughly as he could. To his surprise, Lord Muc burst out laughing.

  "Good man!" he said between fits, "Now we're talking!" James was at a loss as to what he was getting at. "That's the good old Level Low coming out in you!" Muc burst out laughing afresh. James saw red and smashed the handle of his cane up into the nose of Muc and sent him sprawling back against the wall. He regretted it instantly, and he turned his back and began to walk away from Muc, expecting to hear his rushed footsteps coming after him any second. But they didn't come. Instead, all he heard was Muc’s voice calling after him. "Level Low! Level Low!" and more laughter.

  James turned and looked at him. Muc spat some blood out onto the ground and sneered at him. His face said he wanted to fight and James clenched his fists and was tempted to oblige him. He would lose, there was no doubt about that, but if the soldiers heard the commotion and came to his aid, they would kill Muc and, though the savage was disliked in all quarters, if James was the cause of his death Lord Muc would quickly become a hero and James would never get these people back on his side.

  "Keep your nose clean, pig!" James said, and he walked away.

  As he walked, he couldn't stop images of the weaver's riots coming into his head. This was where he had received the moniker 'Level Low.' When soldiers under his command had fired above the heads of the weavers who refused to desist, James had used his cane to lower the barrels of the guns of the men closest to him and when they fired the next time, men piled up dead. The riot ended, but that was not the end of it for James.

  One of the men he'd made kill those civilians tried in turn to kill James and failed. James had him court martialled, and he was put to death. This was the shame that James carried around with him every day. It was something that he couldn't get rid of, and he remembered it at the oddest moments. No matter what he was engaged in, it was never far from his thoughts. So many nights he'd woken to either the bodies falling down or the soldier trying to kill him.

  This was the first time in years he'd heard the name said out loud, had heard someone call him it to his face. He felt weak now for not arresting Muc despite his knowing what would have happened. He rounded the corner and came onto Cook Street. He decided he would go for a drink before he was due to meet Edwards, something to calm him so Edwards couldn't jeer at him and make a laugh of this whole thing.

  Chapter 22

  When James came into the whiskey cabin on Cook Street he was surprised to see Edwards was there ahead of him sitting at the very table they'd sat the only other time they had been in this establishment.

  Edwards raised a jug to him and beamed a broad smile as James entered the stuffy and hot room. He saw Edwards motion to the barman for drink for James as he made his way through the crowd. It never ceased to amaze James how busy these types of places always were. No matter how little money people might have, they would always have money for taverns and cabins and the like.

  "Good afternoon, Alderman," Edwards said standing to shake his hand when he was close enough. "You probably don't remember too much about the last time you were in here," he continued with a laugh. James could feel himself blush, but he affected that he had not heard this remark.

  The last time he was here, he was in the depths of depression about the elusiveness of the Dolocher, and he'd had too much to drink. It was a hazy memory to him, but he knew that he had gone on something about the inherent goodness in man. He sat down, and a jug and cup were set in front of him.

  "Have you any news?" James asked, getting down to business straight away.

  "I've been to a few people who have new art either in progress or recently finished but none match what we have in that sketch."

  "I'm the same, and so far there has been nothing from the street artists either."

  "So we are back to where we started."

  "Seems so."

  James poured and took a sip of the whiskey and recoiled from it. Edwards laughed.

  "I'm surprised that you were able to forget that part of being here!" The rancid taste of what passed for whiskey here filled his nostrils, and he coughed.

  "Terrible stuff eh!" he said laughing himself now.

  "What's this?" Edwards said suddenly grabbing at the cane James had leaned against the table.
The Alderman could see straight away that there was a smeared sheen of blood on it and some had run a little towards the wood.

  "I don't know," he said looking at it with screwed up eyes.

  "I think I know what it is," Edwards said looking at him. "Someone close by, I'd guess." James decided that there was no point in lying, but also that he was not going to say anything more about it. He shrugged disinterestedly. Edwards grinned and put the cane down, looking at it once more before going back to James.

  "Where do we go from here with the artist thing?" James asked.

  "I suppose we just keep on looking there. The word will get out among them, and hopefully, that will cause him to do something rash, and we'll have him."

  "It could always be someone who is just a very talented artist but has kept it to themselves for whatever reason."

  "If there is one thing you will learn about people with talent, it is that they can't keep it to themselves," Edwards said, his tone and manner sagacious. James didn't have anything to say to this.

  "Did you find out anything about the amulet?" he asked, casually wiping the blood from his cane with a handkerchief.

  "No, I'm going to need to show it to someone." James didn't really want to give him the amulet, to have it out of his own safe possession.

  "Who?"

  "I can't tell you that."

  "I take it then that you wouldn't allow me to accompany you to see him?"

  "That's correct."

  "Can I have your assurance that I'll get it back as I give it to you?"

  "You can have my assurance that you will get it back as I get it back from him" This wordplay of his, his way of going around in circles and making light of everything that was serious to James rankled him deeply. He was still flushed from his encounter with Lord Muc; that was why he had come her early and wanted a drink alone before Edwards came.

  "Where will you be later? I'll send a messenger with it to you." Edwards looked as though he were thinking seriously about what he should do later.

  "I suppose I can be in the house on Francis Street, you're welcome to drop by if you want instead of sending a boy."