Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [126]
‘Mackenzie!’ Sir Charles shouted. ‘What do you mean by this? Where have you been?’
‘On a trail, sir.’
‘You’ve been remiss in your duty. You are relieved of your rank, and subject to severe disciplinary action.’
‘Sir, if you’ll listen...’
‘And look at yourself, you’re a disgrace to the force! A ruddy disgrace!’
‘Sir, consider this...’
Mackenzie, whom Godalming understood to be an Inspector, gave the Commissioner a piece of paper.
‘It’s another of these blasted crank letters,’ Sir Charles exclaimed.
‘Indeed, but unfinished, unsent. I know who the author is.’
Godalming now knew this was important. An unholy light sparked in Sir Charles’s eyes. ‘You know the identity of Jack the Ripper?’
Mackenzie smiled, eyes mad. ‘I didn’t say that. But I know who is composing letters over the signature.’
‘Then find Lestrade. It’s his case. No doubt he’ll thank you for weeding out another interfering lunatic.’
‘This is of paramount importance. It’s to do with the business in the park the other night. It’s to do with everything. John Jago, the dynamiters, the Ripper...’
‘Mackenzie, you’re raving!’
To Godalming, both policemen seemed on the verge of madness. But the piece of paper was a nugget of something. He stepped in and looked at it.
‘“Yours truly, Jack the Ripper,”’ he read aloud. ‘Is this in the same hand as the others?’
‘I’ll stake ten guineas on it,’ Mackenzie said. ‘And I’m a Scotsman.’
They were in a crowd now. Uniformed men clustered around, and not a few of the loiterers. Mackenzie’s elder comrade also joined the group. A new-born constable stood to attention behind Mackenzie, ready for action.
‘Sir Charles,’ Mackenzie said, ‘it’s a vampire. Treason is involved. Dynamite treason. I’ve reason to believe we’ve been duped all along. Highly-placed interests are intervening.’
‘A vampire! Nonsense. Rattle the cages of the crusade and you’ll get your man. And he’ll be a warm johnny.’
Mackenzie raised his hands in frustration. It was as if he had battered his forehead against the Commissioner’s obstinacy.
‘Sir, does the name of the Diogenes Club mean anything to you?’
Sir Charles’s face went grey. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, man.’
Godalming was intrigued. The Diogenes Club was Charles Beauregard’s outfit and Beauregard had arisen throughout this whole affair. It was possible the Scotsman had picked up a genuine trail and run his quarry to ground.
‘Sir Charles,’ he said. ‘I think we should have Inspector Mackenzie’s report in camera. It is possible that we are near to solving several mysteries.’
He looked from the Commissioner’s face to the Inspector’s. Both were set, unwilling to bend to the other. Beside Mackenzie was the Carpathian, red eyes fixed on Sir Charles. Behind them was the massively-moustached, dark-eyed constable.
At once, with a dizzying vampire insight, Godalming knew the constable was as fake as a seven-pound note.
Fire belched and noise rang out. People scattered, yelling. Bags of paint exploded against Portland stone dressings. Windows were smashed by well-aimed projectiles. Shots were discharged and a woman screamed. Everyone in their little group tried to throw themselves to the ground. The Carpathian collided with Godalming, and he staggered under the weight, trying to remain on his feet. The false policeman had his arm drawn back. Something flashed. Godalming collapsed and was forced to the grimy cobbles. The Carpathian rolled off him. Sir Charles swore mightily and waved a revolver.
Mackenzie drew in air for a breath, then held it. He was on his knees, mouth open, eyes rolled up. The Jack the Ripper letter, caught by a gust, whirled off a few yards, then stuck flat as a poster to a wet wall, written-side in. Mackenzie gasped and