The Murder Pit by Mick Finlay

Author:Mick Finlay
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2018-01-19T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

We waited in the doorway of the King Lud pub, on the corner opposite Tasker and Sons. It was just before twelve o’clock. As we arrived, some of the clerks came out for their lunch. They were back within the half hour, and another line of them came down. Ludgate Circus was busy, with crowded open-topped buses heading to Oxford Circus and Liverpool Street, to Blackfriars Bridge and Kings Cross, coming up against the cabs and carriages and wagons. A bent woman sat against the wall of the bank, a basket of boiled eggs in her lap. Men in suits, women with shawls and baskets, street hawkers with pies and muffins and potatoes, all crossed the roads and dodged each other on the paving. The owners of two coffee stalls across the road from each other battled over how loud they could shout their wares, having a good old laugh as they did. And then our man Pope came out, a tall black bowler on his bald head, a long overcoat, thick gloves on his hands. He was about to cross when he glanced us. A sour look came over his face. He turned and went the other way down Fleet Street.

I set off across the road and soon caught him, landing a hand on his shoulder. He turned.

‘What do you want?’ he asked. His eyes were watery with the bitter wind. He coughed.

‘Quick question, Mr Pope,’ I said.

The guvnor had reached us now.

‘We need a favour, sir,’ he said. ‘Could you give us Mr Barclay’s address, please? The place he used to live, not the new one.’

‘D’you think I remember the addresses of all those clerks?’ Pope’s gloved hand was by his face, the fingers fluttering as we’d seen before.

‘Would you get it from your records, sir? We’d be very grateful.’

‘No, I could not. Good day.’

As he turned I landed my hand on his shoulder again, firmer this time. I gripped his arm.

‘Oh!’ he gasped, a little of his spit falling onto his thick grey whiskers. ‘You’re hurting me. Leave me go!’

‘This is important, Mr Pope,’ said the guvnor. ‘We’re trying to rescue a young lady, as we told you.’

‘I’m late for lunch!’ he hissed. ‘And why should I help you? You won’t even tell me what he’s done!’

The guvnor leant forward, his voice low. ‘We’ll tell you if you get us that address.’

Pope’s muscles went loose.

‘Yes?’ he asked. I felt him twitch. ‘You’ll tell me what he’s done?’

I dropped his arm and patted him on the shoulder.

‘All the details,’ murmured Arrowood. ‘All his loathsome actions with that young lady. How he held her captive. How he used her.’ The guvnor shuddered violently and gasped. ‘The parsnips.’

‘The parsnips?’

The guvnor nodded, his lips clenched tight.

Pope glanced up at the office windows. A sharp tongue flicked out his gob. He coughed.

‘Parsnips?’ he asked again.

The guvnor raised his eyebrows.

‘And this will help with your case?’

‘You’ll be doing London a great favour, sir. I assure you.’

He looked at us each in turn as he thought.

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