Anno Dracula - Kim Newman [74]
‘Maybe he’s a simple madman,’ he said. ‘Possessed of no more purpose than an orang-utan with a straight razor.’
‘Dr Seward claims madmen are not so simple. Their actions might appear random and senseless, but there is always some pattern. Come at it from a dozen different ways and you eventually begin to understand, to see the world as the madman does.’
‘And then we can catch him?’
‘Dr Seward would say “cure him”.’
They passed a poster listing the names of the latest criminals to be publicly impaled. Tyburn was a forest of dying thieves, exquisites and seditionists.
Beauregard considered. ‘I’m afraid there’ll only be one cure for this madman.’
At the corner of Wentworth Street, they saw a gathering of policemen and officials in Goulston Street. Lestrade and Abberline were among them, clustered around a thin man with a sad moustache and a silk hat. It was Sir Charles Warren, the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, dragged down to a despised quarter of his parish. The group were standing by the doorway of a block of recently-built Model Dwellings.
Beauregard sauntered over, the vampire girl with him. Something important, he assumed, was under discussion. Lestrade moved aside to let them into the group. Beauregard was surprised to find Lord Godalming with the civilian dignitaries. The new-born wore a large hat to shade his face, and was puffing on a cigar.
‘Who is this man?’ Sir Charles asked grumpily, indicating Beauregard and ignoring Geneviève as beneath his notice. ‘You, fellow, go away. This is official business. Chop-chop, scurry off!’
Having made his reputation in the Kaffir War, Sir Charles was used to treating everyone without official rank as if they were a native.
Godalming explained, ‘Mr Beauregard represents the Diogenes Club.’
The Commissioner, watery-eyed in the early morning sun, swallowed his irritation. Beauregard understood why the police resented his presence, but was not above taking a little pleasure in Sir Charles’s discomfort.
‘Very well,’ Sir Charles said. ‘I am sure your discretion is to be trusted.’
Lestrade made a disgusted face behind the Commissioner. Sir Charles was losing the support of his own men.
‘Halse,’ Lestrade said, ‘show us what you found.’
A square of packing-case rested against the fascia by the doorway. Halse, a Detective Constable, lifted the make-shift guard. A bloated rat, body as big as a rugby ball, shot out and darted between the Commissioner’s polished shoes, squeaking like rusty nails on a slate. The constable disclosed a chalk scrawl, grey-white against black bricks.
THE VAMPYRES
ARE NOT THE MEN THAT WILL BE
BLAMED FOR NOTHING
‘So, obviously the vampires are to be blamed for something,’ deduced the Commissioner, astutely.
Halse held up a ragged piece of once-white cloth, spotted with blood. ‘This was in the doorway, sir. It’s part of an apron.’
‘The Eddowes woman is wearing the rest of it,’ Abberline said.
‘You are certain?’ Sir Charles asked.
‘It’s not been checked. But I’ve just come from Golden Lane Mortuary, and I saw the other piece. Same stains, same type of tear. They’ll fit like puzzle pieces.’
Sir Charles rumbled wordlessly.
‘Could the Ripper be one of us?’ asked Godalming, echoing Geneviève’s earlier musings.
‘One of you,’ Beauregard muttered.
‘The Ripper is obviously trying to throw us off,’ put in Abberline. ‘That’s an educated man trying to make us think he’s an illiterate. Only one misspelling, and a double negative not even the thickest costermonger would