Chapter 26
It was twenty minutes until the meeting with Clarkson. Henry stared at his beaten reflection in the darkened window of an abandoned building, wondering if he had done enough to conceal his identity.
A cold breeze had picked up, shrouding the street in the suffocating fumes from the nearby factories. The rain had left everything soaking wet.
Over a month ago, it would have pained him to return to this cesspit but here he was happily smearing shit across his face. He ran his finger along the black dust on the brick wall and pressed the soot into the crevices of his teeth. Monsters did not have clean teeth. Nor did they have impeccable jackets. He removed a knife from his pocket and tore the seams of the old jacket he was wearing. Inch by inch, he continued to desecrate his image until he was satisfied with the ghastly portrayal of a man with nothing left to lose. When done, he gave himself a nod and walked along the edge of the Thames.
As he walked by the river, he watched the flatbed ships sail by, loaded with sacks of goods. Even at this hour, the river was occupied. He supposed business never slept. When the red-bricked Asheford Sons wharf loomed in the distance, a sickening feeling gripped him.
He reached for the vial of laudanum in his jacket pocket and took a dose. Only when the hammering of his heart lessened did he proceed to the meeting location.
A gentleman dressed in black with a hat and a bushy moustache was waiting. His grey eyes were already intuitively inspecting Henry as he approached.
It spiked his pulse to be scrutinized in that way.
“Are you the Mr. Edwards I am due to meet?” Clarkson spoke briskly.
“I am,” Henry said, attempting an American accent. He had been practising the drawl for days now. It was his hope that if word got out someone was snitching, it could not be traced to a certain English man.
Clarkson narrowed his eyes. “You, sir, have information regarding Edwin Asheford? How am I to know that you are a credible source?”
“’Cos I’m riskin’ everything to speak with you.”
“Are you directly associated with Mr. Asheford?”
Henry brought a cigarette to his lips and lit it. He hated cigarettes. “Consider me a silent partner in this game of cat ’n’ mouse. I’m simply in the position of givin’ you what you seek for somethin’ in return.”
“Of course, a handsome compensation.”
“Nah.” Henry drew in a nauseating mouthful of smoke and exhaled. “Cooper spoke to you about an object.”
“He spoke about many things.”
“About a treasure that had supposed supernatural properties.”
Clarkson scrutinized the Asheford Sons wharf. “Does this object have value to you?”
“Do you want the information or not?”
“What information specifically?”
“Ledgers, trade routes … the private pocketbook of those buyin’ the illegal black-market goods and, if I’m feelin’ generous, I may offer information regardin’ a business expansion to the Americas.”
“I see.”
“We both want the same outcome, Clarkson.”
“I’d say you talk like a man who desires vengeance.”
“Vengeance, justice, call it what you will, I’m not fuckin’ interested in puttin’ a label on it. Do you want the information or not?” Henry spat a wad of spittle to the ground. He felt grimy doing so.
“By when can you provide it?”
“It can be provided in increments. If you agree, the ledgers will be in your post box within the week. Everything else will follow in due course.”
Clarkson turned to face him. “Mr. Edwards, your proposal is indeed an interesting one, although I am afraid that your mysterious identity does little to sway my confidence. Unlike Mr. Cooper, whom I knew to be a wharf manager.”
“If I was tryin’ to deceive you, I would have asked for monetary compensation.”
“You could very well do so next week.”
Henry inhaled another lungful of smoke. “As mentioned, we’re both on the same side of the coin. All I ask for is that object, and once delivered, I can make myself a loyal subject to your investigation as a man with knowledge on the inside.”
Cooper gave him a hardened look. “You suggest a long-term acquaintance, then?”
“Yeah.”
“And if you claim to know information regarding a business expansion to America, could I expect you to shed light on this matter?”
Henry licked his lower lip. “I intend to bring it all down.”
“They say a man with vengeance in his heart is a dangerous thing, Mr. Edwards.”
“Save your breath for a man who cares for such things. Now, what do you say? Will you continue to lay on thick with the philosophy or can we agree to business?”
“I will agree.”
“Where is the object?”
“My, my … you are certainly a man of action.”
“You agreed to the proposal; let us speak business,” Henry shot back.
“Allow me first to get a good look at you.” Clarkson stepped forward. “You disguise yourself as a street rat and yet, beneath all that soot, you have the blueprints of a gentleman. I will not inquire further about your identity as I trust that it will be revealed in due course. In the meantime, I am open to entertaining the idea that you are a nobody and will maintain your anonymity in my inner circle. Ah, and there it is, that relief in your eyes…”
Henry looked at the man with a stone-cold expression. “I do not like bein’ scrutinized.”
“No, I do not doubt, but it pleases you to hear that, does it not?”
“It would please anyone who’s in the business of rattin’ out criminals to the police.” Henry sneered. “Get on with it, your derailment of the conversation has annoyed me.”
“I do not have the object.”
“What?”
“Mr. Cooper perished before the transfer of information could occur. What I can tell you, however, is that the man once admitted to having hidden it in a field of gold. God knows what he meant by that. To be honest, I never understood the relevance of the object. I always assumed it to be a stolen artifact from Edwin’s office, which hardly put a dent in the investigation. Worthless, really.”
Henry’s jaw set. “In a field of gold.”
“Whether it was a literal meaning or a figurative one, I do not know. The man always spoke in riddles.”
“Is there nothing more?”
“Unfortunately not.” Clarkson frowned. “Does that change your proposal?”
“No,” Henry said. “I will deliver what I promised within the week. As I’ve said, I have an interest in puttin’ a stop to Edwin Asheford and will do so before my dyin’ day.”
“Very well, I shall be waiting,” Clarkson said. “Send the information to The White Lion pub on Lambeth Road. Address it to Mr. Turnbull. I am sure that I do not need to mention why. There are eyes everywhere, Mr. Edwards, even in places you would consider safe.”
Henry nodded.
Clarkson went off, walking through the dizzying swirls of Henry’s cigarette smoke.
As soon as the detective was out of sight, Henry immediately flicked the cigarette away and crushed it beneath his boot. He stood in silence, glaring at the red-bricked wharf across the river. The golden letters of his last name blurred before his eyes. Tonight, he would break in and get the ledgers. Tomorrow, he would worry about Cooper’s damned riddle.
***
Only when a thick cloud shaded the moon did Henry climb the iron ladder. From the side alley of the wharf, the ladder went to a balcony on the third floor of the building. He knew the general manager’s office was at the top, and if his memory served correctly, he recalled about a dozen filing cabinets filled to the brim with company documents.
On the balcony, Henry was careful to remain low. He crouched by the window and squinted through the darkened glass.
The room inside was pitch black.
At this hour, it was safe to assume that no one was working. No less a general manager who more than likely ended his shift in the early afternoon to go to the whorehouse and gamble away his wages.
Henry tried the door. It was locked.
He heaved at the window. It slid up without a hitch.
After crawling over the ledge, he stood still and observed the room.
He had last seen this office nearly six years ago when he came with Rhys and his father to tour around the newly bought wharf. The office had not changed much since then. There were rows of cabinets off to the right, a desk in the far-left corner, a painting of a field of wheat…
Henry stilled.
The object is hidden in a field of gold.
Heart hammering against his fragile chest, he made his way to the large oil painting of the most boring wheatfield he had ever seen. He ripped it off the wall and saw a green safe set into the brickwork.
Vaguely amused, Henry’s face froze into a grimace. Was it really that simple? Had Cooper hidden the time-travelling device in plain sight? Then he thought about the briefcase he’d found at Cooper’s apartment. The man did have a penchant to hide things in walls.
Muffled voices from beyond the door snapped Henry to attention. The hammering of boots against floorboards drew nearer.
Henry tucked himself behind the office door.
“As I’ve said, a shipment of Smith Wesson revolvers may be making their way from New York to Britain by early autumn,” the voice said.
“How nice of our American friends.”
“I suppose the Davenport-Asheford matrimony will prove more fruitful than just a couple of snotty brats.”
“You think we will soon be pals with the Eastman Bludgeoners?”
“We could indeed.”
“Bloody hell.”
There was a choked laugh. “And you know those American bastards take it to the next level with their dealings. I hear that Angelo Davenport is a force to be reckoned with … we’ll be filled to the eyeballs with glitter and gold when the company opens for business there. Wait for me downstairs while I get the ledgers and we can examine the numbers over a pint of the good stuff.”
Footsteps retreated, followed by the sound of the key grating against the door’s metal lock. The door swiftly opened into Henry’s face. Heavy footsteps entered. A man stumbled in, muttering to himself and smelling of sweat.
The moment the man placed a lamp onto the desk, Henry slammed the door shut and darted forward.
“What the devil—”
In one swift movement, the man was in a chokehold, his jaw forced at an awkward angle against Henry’s arm. With his back stiff against Henry’s chest, the man was quick to dig his fingers into Henry’s muscled forearm. His cries for help were muffled by Henry’s firm hand clamped around his mouth.
Henry bent to whisper in the man’s ear. “Do as I say, and no harm will come to you. That includes staying quiet. The ledgers … where are they?”
Just as Henry pulled down his arm to allow his captive to speak, the man shouted. His shouts were cut short as Henry stifled his mouth once more. With his free hand, Henry unsheathed the knife from his belt and brought the pointed tip against the man’s back.
“You feel that sharp blade above your right kidney?” Henry wiggled the knife for effect. “I won’t hesitate to stick you like the pig you are if you continue squealing. Understood?”
Frozen, the man barely made a noise.
“I said, understood?” Henry said, digging the knife further.
There was a noise of acknowledgment.
“Where are the ledgers?” Henry said, loosening his clamp on the man’s mouth.
“In … in … the desk,” the man stammered through bubbles of spit.
“Show me where.”
“Top-right drawer,” he said. “I have a key.”
“And where is that key?”
“In my left pocket.”
Henry frowned. He removed the knife from the man’s back and reached into his pocket. Among the loose coins, crumbs of God-knows-what and sweet wrappers was a ring of keys.
“Which one is it?” Henry said.
“Third from the right.”
“Good,” Henry muttered.
He manoeuvred the man around until he could reach the top-right drawer. Inside was a stack of leather-bound books. Henry removed them, took a quick look at the top one and saw hundreds of entries in brown ink. On the last page, the most recent one stated Smith Wesson – Possible shipment end of September.
“Very good,” Henry repeated and shut the ledger. “Now, about the safe in the wall. Which of your keys opens it?”
“They don’t.”
“Don’t lie to me,” Henry growled.
“I’m not lying!”
Henry pulled the man’s head back by his stringy grey hair and was met with a pair of crooked eyes.
“I have had a very unpleasant week. It would not be in your best interest to worsen it,” Henry snarled in disgust.
The man’s mouth flapped open like a fish.
“You see…” Henry brought the blade against the man’s bobbing Adam’s apple. “I am out for revenge, and I intend on getting it—”
“You’re … you’re Edwin’s boy.”
Henry’s face burned at the sudden declaration. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve seen you once before … yes, when you came to visit the wharf,” he croaked. “I’m sure of it. Anyone would remember the blueness of those eyes, like that portrait of your mother—”
“I am not that bastard’s son.”
“I will not tell your father of this violation.”
Henry shook his head. “Where is the key for the safe?”
“Please, I have a family—”
“The key.”
“I promise to not speak out … I promise—” He began to struggle.
A flicker of urgent panic blazed within Henry’s chest as a sour feeling spread through his gut. “Do not do something you’ll regret,” he said, holding the thrashing man firmly in his arms. “Where is the key?”
“Cooper had the last-known key!”
Henry stilled. “What?”
“I’ve been searching for the thing for weeks,” the man cried out. “A safe breaker is coming next Tuesday to open it.”
It dawned on Henry that he had found a key in Cooper’s briefcase. A long time ago, back in his early days at Bondieux House, and that key was in the depths of his own jacket pocket on his key ring.
His cheeks burned, and not from anxiety. This criminal had recognized him, and Henry was as sure as hell the man would not hesitate to run straight to Edwin with news of his son’s thievery. That would jeopardize everything. He knew what had to come next, and although he was worried about the outcome, he was no longer afraid. To gain the freedom he desired in this world of violence, he would have to sacrifice his own morality.
The blow to the man’s head came fast.
A pain exploded in Henry’s bruised torso as he was elbowed. He pushed the man onto the table and clamped his hands around his neck. He expected more of a struggle, but instead, the man’s arms flailed about, knocking over the gas lamp. It fell to the floor in a burst of flames.
Blood rushed through Henry’s ears as he increased the pressure.
After one long minute, the man’s strength waned until he collapsed like a heap of rocks across the ledgers.
The flames now licked the edges of the desk.
Henry collected the ledgers and went to the safe. He fished in his pocket for the key, which slid like a charm into the safe’s lock. The inside was lined with a satin-blue interior. There were more documents, which he secured beneath his arm. In one of the safe’s drawers, he found a black satin pouch. He briefly opened it and saw a time-travelling device.
His heart hammered violently.
At last, she would be saved.
He slipped the pouch into his jacket pocket and turned to face the blazing fire.
A billowing cloud of grey smoke was funnelling its way to the ceiling. The scalding flames had engulfed the desk, taking the dead man with it. The smell of burnt flesh was sickly sweet.
Henry covered his face with the crook of his elbow and rushed through the flames toward the back of the office. He exited through the window and promptly slammed it shut. As he descended the ladder, he prayed that the whole wharf would burn to ash.