Mayhem Read Free

nervously picking at his cap. Even in the unnatural light, his face looked pale. He was in his thirties, perhaps more, and had the hands of a man who had worked hard and honestly for the better part of his life. ‘We thought it were just a bit of old bacon. I should maybe ’ave said something yesterday, but I thought nothing really of it. I didn’t even notice the smell – ’ard to believe that now.’
    ‘If it were wrapped tightly, the smell would have been less, and if you were focused on your work …’ I shrugged. ‘Show me where you found it, if you would.’
    ‘Yes, sir.’ The carpenter gestured towards the dark space behind us that yawned like pitch-black night. ‘You’ll need some light.’
    ‘What in God’s name brought you down here?’ Hawkins asked.
    ‘It’s where I ’ide me tools. I don’t trust a lot o’ the new men up there, sir,’ Windborne said. ‘I’ve been in me trade a long time; they ’aven’t. I can’t afford to ’ave me tools stolen. I know the way, but it’d be a puzzle to anyone who didn’t know the place, so me tools are safe ’ere.’ He stopped several feet away from where the torso now lay. ‘I use that nook, behind a plank of wood. The parcel was stuffed in beside it.’
    Hawkins raised the lamp, and his arm immediately wavered slightly. ‘Dear Lord, look at that.’
    The wall at the back of the alcove was black where the rotting flesh had soaked through its wrapping, and maggots teemed across it almost as thickly as they did across the torso itself. ‘Well, that answers one question,’ I said, almost to myself.
    ‘Which is?’ the detective asked.
    ‘Our victim has been here much longer than good Mr Windborne knew her to be.’ It was cool in the vault, but I was sweating slightly. The damp air and consuming darkness beyond the small pools of light was becoming oppressive and I suddenly feared that if I stayed down here much longer I would not be able to breathe. I stepped back. My heart was starting to race unpleasantly and an anxious tingle prickled at my skin. It was a sensation that had become all too familiar over recent months.
    ‘I think I have seen all I need to see here,’ I said. ‘If you would be kind enough to arrange for the body and its wrapping to be sent to the mortuary, I will clean herup tonight.’ I was glad of the poor lighting as I turned back towards the stairs, sure that my face would no doubt look unhealthily pallid, were someone to study it. I quietly drew in a deep breath and silently counted each of the rough steps as we climbed until my racing heart had calmed.
    These strange moments had come upon me more frequently in recent weeks, and as much as I blamed my cursed inability to sleep, I knew too that the wash of blood that was flooding London’s streets this summer was equally responsible. I had suffered as a child with these fleeting moments of surreal anxiety during which I was sure my heart was about to be crushed in my chest, but as I grew into adulthood, they began to fade into a memory almost forgotten. Even during my time on the battlefields with the Prussian Army they had not returned – not until this past summer. They filled me with a terrible dread, and I was left tired and drained when the spell had passed. Of course, this did nothing to help my insomnia, and I knew that on some level the two had to be linked. I prayed that sleep would soon return, and with that these strange fits would be dispelled.
    I took the stairs with vigour, and by the time we reached the street the combination of my brisk pace and concentrated breathing had cleared my head and I was once again myself. I lit my pipe, and Detective Hawkins did likewise. Evening was falling, and London was sinking into the gloom that existed between dayand night before the streetlights flickered into life. There was a chill in the air, and as we both shivered and smoked, I felt certain that the young detective was as glad as I that we were free of the