The Devil in the Dock by Richard James

Author:Richard James [James, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sharpe Books
Published: 2020-04-14T22:00:00+00:00

With Graves preparing for his investigations on the south bank, Bowman resolved to walk to Bow Street and speak with the desk sergeant there. With a few well-chosen words, he was sure he might be permitted some time with Tremont. Bowman still found it difficult to see how the dock manager could be wrapped up in a Fenian plot, besides which, Callaghan had failed to offer any adequate reason as to why he should want to bomb his own dockside. Having despatched Hicks for a list of those who had been reported missing around London, Bowman descended the stairs from his office to the great reception hall at Scotland Yard.

As ever, it was a bustle of activity. Footsteps echoed off the tiled floor and the hubbub of conversation rose up to the high ceiling. Ladies and gentlemen found themselves waiting on benches alongside the very lowest in society. Drunks and vagrants mixed with bankers and shopkeepers as they awaited their turn at the central desk. Here and there, police constables stood with their charges, some in handcuffs. The occasional drunken cry would pierce the air. As Bowman stepped from the stairs, he was certain that even the nobility were represented in the room. A thin, elderly lady with grey eyes and translucent skin sat stock still beneath a window. Her hands were folded over the handle of her cane, and her nose was lifted into the air in an attitude of superiority. A smile played about Bowman’s lips as he allowed himself to imagine the purpose of her visit. Money was involved, no doubt. And probably a maid, too. The inspector took solace in the fact that the citizens of London were finally coming round to the idea of a professional police force standing ready and waiting to give assistance. Just as he was tightening his coat around him in anticipation of the keen May wind, he heard a voice rise above the hubbub.

“There he is!” it cried. “That’s the very man.”

Bowman recognised the voice, and particularly the soft Irish lilt, at once. Casting a glance at the reception desk, Bowman saw Sister Vincent gathering her skirts. The desk sergeant threw a questioning look to Bowman and the inspector waved his hand to indicate his assent.

“Sister Vincent,” Bowman began, “I trust all is well at The Sisters Of Mercy?”

“No, inspector, it is not,” the sister replied, matter-of-factly. In her wimple and spectacles she reminded Bowman of a small mole, blinking in the light of the high windows that graced the walls. “I came as soon as I could.” She was breathless. Bowman led her to a bench and motioned that a young man in a funeral director’s coat should make way for her.

“What is ailing you, sister?”

“I should have listened to you, inspector. I see it now, but I was concerned that you were disturbing the peace of the convent.”

“What has happened?” Bowman sat slowly next to her, imploring her with his eyes to continue.

“Oh, Inspector Bowman, it’s Jonas Cook.” Bowman swallowed hard.

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