Page 39 of Molly Boys

Something hot squirmed in Archie’s belly at the thought. He ruthlessly ignored the sensation and instead focused on the manner in which Wakefield had been killed. Why drain his blood, why cut him open and drain the fluid from his spine? It made no sense. And David Perkins. If Dr Shaw was correct and the killer had drilled a borehole into the back of his skull, to what end?

Simple murder he understood. He’d investigated a dozen cases on his way through the ranks to detective inspector, but he’d never seen anything like this before. There were still too many questions: What did the killer gain from this manner of killing? Was it for some kind of sick pleasure or did it serve some sort of scientific purpose? Were Charles Wakefield and David Perkins the only two victims or were there more?

If there had been other murders, the only way they wouldn’t have heard of them was if they’d taken place in The Old Nichol. For whatever reason, the chief inspectors and superintendents still gave The Nichol a wide berth, letting the slums rule themselves. It was a practice with which Archie didn’t agree and wasn’t going to follow. The Nichol was not a law unto itself, and if young men had been murdered within its boundaries by the killer now dropping corpses in the streets of Whitechapel, Archie was damn well going to find out the truth.

Without meaning to, once again Archie’s mind began to replay the inquest of Charles Wakefield in his mind, which inevitably led to thoughts of Lord Stanley.

Lord Stanley.

Archie had had a visceral reaction to the young lord the moment he’d laid eyes on him. And his gut had never steered him wrong.

The more they’d talked the more Archie had been convinced Lord Stanley was hiding something. He was such a fascinating contradiction. He’d held himself with confidence and dignity, much as most of his class did, but his pale blue eyes told a different story. They held secrets, but also a hint of fear. Whatever Lord Stanley knew, it scared him. He wished he’d had longer to study the man, to speak with him more fully, but the discovery of David Perkins’ body had shifted Archie’s priorities.

He needed to see the young lord again, somehow. He wasn’t even sure how to find him… yet. But Reverend Edwin had known Lord Stanley, although Lord Stanley hadn’t seemed even remotely interested in devoting himself to a life of faith and servitude. He tried to picture the pretty man in a cossack, but it gave him a strange, unsettled feeling in his belly he didn’t want to examine too closely.

No, there was definitely something compelling about Lord Stanley, and Archie was going to figure out what it was. In fact, he would just have to pay the good Reverend Edwin a visit and see what he knew.

Archie let out a deep sigh. But first, he had to deal with a grieving father who had the power to destroy Archie’s career.

11

Archie paused outside the door with his hand raised as another crash came from behind it.

He shouldn’t even be there, there was a chain of command for a reason. This particular summons had overruled his chief inspector, the superintendent, and the assistant chief commissioner, straight to the chief commissioner.

The father of the victim.

Archie wasn’t stupid, far from it. He knew exactly what it meant.

“You may as well get it over with, Inspector, it’ll only get worse.” The clerk looked up from the stacks of paperwork on his desk, his mole-like eyes small and squinted.

Sighing, Archie knocked firmly.

“COME!” a voice bellowed from the other side.

Bracing himself for whatever he may find on the other side, Archie reached out and twisted the handle, swung the door open, and stepped into the room.

As the door clicked quietly behind him, Archie could only stare at the crumpled man sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. The usually pristine office was a state; papers and case files littered the floor, bookcases were toppled over, and framed pictures were smashed to pieces.

The man himself Archie had only met on one occasion before and he remembered him to be a fastidiously tidy man, not one hair out of place, his shirt collar ruthlessly starched and matching his pressed suit.

The creature that raised his head slowly to peer at Archie with haunted bloodshot eyes was not that man. Jacket discarded and waistcoat unbuttoned, his collar had become partially detached from his badly wrinkled shirt. His salt and pepper hair was sticking up at all angles like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly.

As he raised his head, his gaze locked on Archie and went flat.

“Commissioner Perkins, sir,” Archie greeted him.

“Inspector Franklin,” he rasped, his voice hoarse as if he’d been shouting for some time. “Do you want to explain to me why my son is dead?”

Archie thought it was pretty obvious but he hardly thought answering withbecause he ran afoul of a murdererwas likely to keep him his job.

“I am truly sorry about your son,” Archie told him and it was true. He could see how much pain the man was in as he grieved for his boy.

He wanted to assure the man he wouldn’t stop until he found the murderer and brought him to justice for what he’d done to both David Perkins and Charles Wakefield but he didn’t think the chief commissioner wanted to hear that. He was looking for someone to blame, someone to punish, and, Archie realised with a sinking feeling, it looked like that person was going to be him.

“Sorry?” he croaked. “SORRY?” His voice rose, flecks of spittle flying from his lips as he pushed to his feet, his chair grinding loudly against the wooden floor.

He rounded the desk and grabbed the front of Archie’s overcoat and slammed him against the wall, causing his bowler hat to topple from his head and roll across the paper-strewn floor.