Page 69 of Molly Boys
Archie looked up and saw a man standing on a metal platform close by.
“Is this place open at all?” Archie asked. “There doesn’t seem to be anyone working.”
The man climbed down the ladder and crossed over to Archie. “Most of the factory is shut down now. There’s just a few vats being used, not much of the machinery, costs too much to run. Only a handful of workers and we bottle the ink by hand, but honestly it don’t do much good. This place don’t get the business it used to when my father was foreman here.”
“I see,” Archie mused. “I’m Inspector Franklin, I’m looking for Edmund Baxter. Is he here or should I look for him at his home?”
The man’s eyes widened and he glanced around nervously. “He’s usually skulking around here somewhere, but I couldn’t tell you where to look.” He leaned in, his voice dropping. “Take my advice and stay away from that man, there’s somethin’… unnatural about that one.”
“What makes you say that?” Archie tilted his head a fraction as he studied the man, who seemed twitchy at the mention of Edmund Baxter.
“There’s just I dunno… somethin’.” He shook his head. “When he looks at you, there’s something in his eyes. It makes your whole body run cold.”
Interesting…
“His father then, Harold Baxter?”
“In his office.” The man relaxed a fraction, seemingly more at ease with the senior Baxter. He indicated over his shoulder. “I’ll show you, it’s easy to get lost in this place and it’s not like I have anything much else to do.”
Archie nodded, following the man through the maze of the near-silent factory as he contemplated the man’s words.
He hadn’t been exaggerating about the factory; it was a maze of twists and turns punctuated with open spaces filled with silent and still machinery. One thing was for certain, the death knell had been sounded for H.E Baxter & Sons. Archie was only surprised it hadn’t closed down already.
“Well here we are.” They arrived at a closed office door.
“Thank you for your assistance,” Archie muttered. The man nodded and wandered off.
There were low muted voices on the other side of the door as he raised his hand and knocked.
“Come,” a voice called out.
Archie opened the door to step inside and two men looked up. A grey-haired man Archie assumed was Harold Baxter sat behind a heavy desk with a few small, neat piles of paperwork set atop it. Archie’s eyes drifted across to the person standing beside the desk and got his first good look at who was presumably Edmund Baxter.
He was thin, his clothes hanging from his slightly hunched frame. His skin looked unpleasant, pale except where it was livid with pockmarked scars, and his eyes, as they glanced by Archie, were small and black, like beetles. Archie decided Everett had been right, there was something decidedly unpleasant about the man.
“Who are you?” Harold snapped, momentarily forgetting himself. As if realising Archie could be a potential customer, his expression eased into that of a salesman. “Unless you want to place an order, of course.” He gave an ingratiating smile. “Our company produces the finest inks in England. Fit for royalty, you know.”
“I’m not here for ink.” Archie’s dark gaze locked on Edmund Baxter, who hadn’t yet fully met his eyes in return. “My name is Inspector Franklin. I’m here to speak with your son.”
“Edmund? Why?” He turned to his son sharply. “An inspector here to speak with you? Edmund, explain yourself.”
When Edmund replied, the tone was somehow cold and hollow, Archie thought. Something was missing from his voice, like it was empty of emotion.
“I can’t, Father, when I don’t know why the inspector is here.”
“What do you want with my son?” The man stood aggressively, leaning forward and resting his hands on his desk.
Ignoring Harold Baxter, Archie kept his attention to the man’s son. The foreman had been right, Archie decided, there was something off about Edmund Baxter that was hard to articulate. The tiny hairs on Archie’s arms stood as the younger Baxter finally turned his gaze on Archie, his eyes so dark they were almost black.
“Mr Edmund Baxter, is that right?” Archie pulled out his notepad and pencil.
“That’s right.” Archie got the impression he was being studied just as thoroughly.
“You have heard of the recent murders of Charles Wakefield and David Perkins?”
“Only what I read in the papers,” the younger Baxter replied as he continued to stare at Archie unsettlingly. “But then again, I don’t always believe what I read.” The corner of his mouth curved, but the action was curiously devoid of humour. “Those pesky reporters, they get so many things wrong.”
“Hmm,” Archie hummed as his eyes narrowed. “You knew one of the victims.”