The Equivoque Principle Read Free

the odd-sized couple, the man observed their every move. He slowly removed himself from the darkness, and crept along the wharf after them.
    Ignorant of the attention they had attracted, Miller and Twinkle shuffled along the street. Just then, a pained expression crossed over the giant’s face, and he clutched at his stomach. He was giddy on his feet, unusually so for a man his size and he looked around for something to steady himself upon. His legs began quaking at the knees, threatening to give way at any second. Miller squinted into the misty half-light, staring down at Twinkle as her tiny form shifted in and out of focus. Colours blended into a wash of muddy mire, and suddenly everything around him seemed to lack definition and solidity. He doubled over as a sudden wave of nausea flowed over his body.
    ‘Oh, my poor sweetie,’ Twinkle said, standing on tip-toes to pat Miller’s back, as the large man-mountain vomited noisily into the gutter.
    Miller the strongman lifted his heavy head, his eyes rolling madly, and suddenly collapsed onto his knees. This was unlike any inebriation he had experienced in his life. He felt like he was a marionette, and someone was snipping his strings, one by one. His large frame overpowered him, an unseen pressure forcing him down onto the cold dampness of the cobbled street. The dim of the night stole what little light he could visualise as he grabbed at Twinkle’s dress, desperate to find something solid to hang onto. He mouthed empty, silent words, as he searched deeply into her green eyes, pleading for her help.
    Miller was suddenly aware of a dark shadow falling over him from behind. Before blacking out, the last thing he saw was Twinkle’s terrified face as she raised her arm to protect herself. In the midst of confusion, the man known in the circus as Prometheus heard her piercing screams, as unconsciousness draped itself over his body like a heavy, wet tarpaulin.

CHAPTER III
The Eyes of the Law
    B ERNIE YATES SAYS they’ve been there since first light, Sarge,’ said the young police constable. Twinkle’s body was laid on her stomach across Miller’s back, with her arms folded beneath her and fine splatters of blood polka-dotting her blonde hair. In the light of the early morning, the entwined couple resembled stone statues in a mausoleum, bathed in an azure glow. ‘I ain’t ever seen the likes of it before. Look at the state of ’em.’
    ‘I’m looking, Jennings. The Commissioner’s going to go spare now,’ said Sergeant Horace Berry, poking at the bodies with his truncheon. ‘This one’s the third victim in as many nights. At least this time it looks like the killer didn’t get away,’ he said, scowling at Miller’s unconscious form lying in the gutter. ‘So how come I don’t feel lucky, eh? Jennings, lad, get yourself back to the station. Bring back some men and a couple of body-carriers,’ he said, as he sized up Miller’s vast body. ‘On second thoughts, you’d better make that three.’
    ‘Right you are, Sarge,’ said Constable Jennings, and he sprinted off amid the throng of onlookers and workers, surrounding the docks in the early morning light.
    ‘Come on, folks, move on back. Go about your business now, g’wan,’ the sergeant said, as he glared at the assembling crowds. ‘Isn’t it too early for you ghouls?’
    The night sky was lazily making way for the day, and a cold November breeze rattled into Crawditch, lifting clouds of mist up into spiralling swirls in its wake. Sergeant Berry pulled out his pocket-watch and cursed. It was coming up to seven in the morning, and he’d only just come on shift half-an-hour ago. Berry had been hoping for a hot brew before he had to get his hands dirty. Sliding his helmet further back on his head, he mopped at his brow with a white handkerchief.
    In his late forties, Berry had been with the Metropolitan Police since its inception over twenty years before, and had been a paid constable for ten years prior