C4: Fat Cats on golden cushions

Arriving in the City, Commissioner Monroe, Inspector Reid, Chief Inspector Abberline, Sergeant Drake and Captain Jackson climbed out of the carriage. On the steps of police station Inspector Sydney Ressler stood waiting for them. Ressler was dressed smartly in a dark blue suit with a navy blue and silvery tie pinned with a silver pin. His black shoes were shining and he was looking grave. Shaking their hands, Inspector Ressler led them into the station.

The station was smarter than the one in Whitechapel, the walls painted a crisp shade of white and there was an air of wealth mingling with an undercurrent corruption. At the front desk a smartly dressed gentlemen was being booked in, while in cells were sat four men in good suits along with a girl in a fine dress. In the upper rooms the walls were littered with information on current cases; pictures of well-dressed gentlemen and pretty girls, cargo ships and jewels. Snatchers of conversation could be heard, at a desk a Detective Sergeant named Archer sat with five constables discussing a jewel heist. It was clear the station dealt with a higher class of criminal then its cousin in Whitechapel.

Leading them into his office Ressler invited them to sit down. The room was light, slightly larger than Reid's office and stacked with information on current cases. There was a strong box sitting on the right hand side. On a board behind the desk were pieces of information, a map of the City and pictures of well do gentlemen. Five comfortable dark brown chairs were set in a circle around desk with one chair behind it.

Unlocking a draw in the desk Ressler drew out a brown file five inches thick. The file appeared stuffed with a variety of information and pictures. For a file to be locked away gave the impression that it contained sensitive information.

"These are the men I believe have reason to murder Silas Duggan," Ressler said, removing a piece of paper from the file.

On the paper were three names along with their occupations and place of work. The first name was that of Mr Osbert Junior, place of work the Bank of England. The second Mr Keaton Junior, place of work Bering's Bank. The third name was Mr Roger Drake, place of work Drake Eastern. Besides Mr Drake's name was a business card bearing the picture of a red drake over an anchor.

"Mr Keaton and Mr Osbert Junior belong to a private members club Duggan owns in Whitechapel. Their fathers did too," Reid said, removing Duggan's black book from the inside pocket of his jacket.

Taking the book Ressler looked at it with interest. Grabbing a black pen with a silver nib he began scribbling down names. Not just the three in question either. Placing the paper to one side Ressler exchanged a meaningful look with Commissioner Monro. Clearly the book had provided had brought valuable information relating to other investigations currently being undertaken by Commissioner Monro and Inspector Ressler.

"I suspect from the start that Mr Keaton Senior and Mr Osbert Senior were connected to Silas Duggan but no evidence could be found. Duggan was able to provide alibis for himself both nights," Inspector Ressler said, handing the book back to Reid.

All the attention turned to the third name on the list. No one dared speak. An icy chill had descended on the room. A clock on the wall ticked ominously. Drake was not an uncommon name yet the horror on Sergeant Drake's face spoke for itself. Only Inspector Ressler seemed unsurprised by Sergeant Drake's reaction, his eyes fixed on the sergeant in a calculating manner.

"Roger Drake is my brother," Sergeant Drake croaked, breaking the silence. "I hadn't seen him for fifteen years. He turned up on my doorstep about a year ago. I thought he was a respectable businessman."

"Roger has a highly lucrative legitimate business and has gained considerable statues within the City. In the past year he has destroyed all competition to become leader of all criminal activity on Corporation land," Ressler stated in a matter of fact tone.

"Roger Drake has come to the attention of those in Scotland Yard and myself," Commissioner Monro said, his bearing calm and composed. "Sergeant Drake you have my full confidence and support."

"I appreciate that Sir," Drake replied, shifting uneasily in his chair.

"Roger has opposed Duggan's attempts to acquire property and businesses on Corporation land. In the past six months a total of fifteen men who were in Duggan's employment have been found dead on Corporation land," Ressler said gravely.

"We need to question Drake, Osbert and Keaton," Reid said, straightening his tie.

"Roger Drake is extremely clever and extremely ruthless. If indeed Drake and Duggan met to discuss business then Duggan would have wished for protection," Ressler said, looking at Sergeant Drake with eyes full of regret.

The words send a shiver down the spines of the men from Whitechapel. Reid and Jackson had heard Bennet speak proudly of his little brother. In his seat Bennet was sitting in silence looking sick. Raw pain was shining in his eyes. His hands clenched tightly on his knees.

"I and Inspector Abberline are investigating Inspector Shine. Today we will read over all cases Inspector Ressler has relating to Duggan. We need as much information as possible before Inspector Shine is spoken to," Commissioner Monro said, his tone broking no argument.

"My men and my files are out your disposal Commissioner. I have told my men the cases you investigate are under the highest level of confidentiality and cannot be spoken about," Inspector Ressler replied, bringing the matter to a close.

Hearing the lie everyone chuckled, smiling at Inspector Ressler's inventiveness. The explanation seemed perfectly plausible with the statement of confidentiality preventing awkward questions being asked. In truth the perfect cover that no one could question. _

Leaving Commissioner Monro and Chief Inspector Abberline to their investigations, Reid, Drake, Jackson and Ressler left the police station. Together they made their way through the well-kept streets of the City. It was cold but dry day bringing everyone outside. Wealth was on display at every turn, jewellery made from the finest gold, silver and precious stones sat glittering in shop windows. Beautiful dress and smart suits in the latest fashion hanging elegantly on mannequins. Men and women alike greeting Inspector Ressler merrily and respectfully. The dresses of the women were of the finest quality and taste. At their heels little dogs yapping and prancing. All of it a far cry from the poverty and dirt of Whitechapel.

Arriving at the Bank of England Jackson let out a low whistle at the display of wealth. Everything about the bank showed quality, from the polished golden lamps to the crisp suits of the banker, clients and clerks. Walking up the reception desk Inspector Ressler showed the clerk his warrant card. The clerk paling as Reid, Drake and Jackson also produced their cards. No bank liked the police coming to call and this was not Inspector Ressler's first visit.

"We are here to speak to Mr Osbert," Inspector Ressler said firmly.

"Of course Inspector," the clerk replied politely, getting up from his seat.

Wring his hands nervously the clerk escorted the men through the bank, passed gleaming white walls, up three flights of stairs and down a short corridor. At a smart brown door with a shining silver handle the clerk knocked twice. An educated voice from within called a reply and with a polite nod the clerk opened the door.

Stepping inside the office the four were greeted by a well-built man sitting behind a large desk. He had a smart brown moustache, short brown hair and keen hazel eyes. Mr Osbert Junior appeared in his late thirties and was dressed in a sharp suit grey. He was holding a cigarette in his left hand and a blue pen in his right and was reading through a long document. The office was smart, the carpet a rich blue, black files sitting in dark bookcases lining the walls and five comfortable looking brown chairs with a pale upholstery were in a circle around the desk. To the left hand side a modest window let light into the room, clearly Mr Osbert was high ranking.

"Good morning Inspector Ressler, how might I be of assistance?" Mr Osbert asked with ease.

"Allow me to introduce my colleagues Inspector Reid, Sergeant Drake and Captain Jackson. We believe you can assist us with an investigation we are undertaking," Inspector Ressler said politely.

"Of course I am always happy to oblige the police, please take a seat," Mr Osbert said, gesturing to the chairs.

Sitting down the four exchanged a covert look. Arranging their chairs Drake and Jackson made it so they were sat at both ends and a little further back. In the two middle seats Ressler and Reid exchanged a look of understanding. Calmly both men slipped open their notebooks.

"It has come to our attention yourself and your father were members of a club a Mr Silas Duggan owned in Whitechapel. Why did you not mention this when I investigated your parent's murder?" Ressler asked casually.

Straightening his tie in a nervous manner Mr Osbert let out poof of smoke while knocking his cigar into an ash tray. Beside it was The Times and next to that The Star, the front page of the latter detailing the investigation into the murder of Silas Duggan.

"At the time it seemed of no importance. There was no reason to think my parents had been in Whitechapel the night they were murdered," Mr Osbert replied smoothly.

"They were murdered by a known associate of Silas Duggan. Could you explain to me why you and your father would stray to a club in Whitechapel, a place of dubious reputation, when there are plenty respectable clubs on Corporation land?" Ressler asked, watching Mr Osbert in a hawk like manner.

"You look into the murder of Silas Duggan," Mr Osbert stated, tapping his pen on the front cover of The Star.

"That we do Mr Osbert," Reid replied without a trace of emotion.

On a wall behind the desk a clock ticked. From the floor above came the sound of creaking floorboards. In the background the five men could hear the voices of bankers, clients and clerks along with snippets of their conversations. In his seat Mr Osbert nervously looked down at some papers then back at the four policemen. His face changing at the realization as to the policemen's visit hit him. No words had been said but even he could read the implications. Taking slow, shallow breaths his eyes flickered between the four men and the door.

In their seats the four policemen sat back in their seats smiling with quiet satisfaction. The old saying of giving people enough rope springing to mind. Glancing at Inspector Reid, Inspector Ressler gave an ever so slight nod of his head, his eyes flicker to the man in front of him.

"Mr Osbert where were you two nights ago?" Reid asked, his tone taking an icy hint.

"I was visiting a friend that night," Osbert replied, an undercurrent of uneasy in his voice.

"I will need your friend's name."

For a second Mr Osbert stared at Inspector Reid, his face showing the distain he felt for the men from Whitechapel. In his smart suit, in his important job Mr Osbert was of the breed who saw Whitechapel people as unworthy of his time. Without a trace of fear Inspector Reid held the man's gaze. Breaking first Mr Osbert turned to Inspector Ressler, his face a mask of indignation.

"Inspector Reid asked you question," Inspector Ressler said coldly.

"Charity. We meet at Long Susan's house in Whitechapel. I paid for the night," Mr Osbert croaked, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

Sitting there Jackson's insides went cold. He was very worried about his wife, he knew she was hiding something important. Something that had her scared and it was rare she showed fear. The last thing he need was for Inspector Ressler to start probing into her affairs. Ressler was unaware of their marriage and Jackson wanted it to stay that way. Taking a deep breath Jackson lit a cigarette to steady his nerves.

"Our thanks for your time Mr Osbert," Ressler said, climbing to his feet.

"Inspector Ressler be advised that Silas Duggan's club and Long Susan house was and is frequented by many City men, such men could make your lives very difficult" Mr Osbert said, his voice full of haughtiness.

Standing on the threshold of the door the four men felt a cold shiver run down their spines. Drake, Reid and Jackson sharing a worried look, all too aware of the clientele of Long Susan's house and the problems that could arise from questioning such men. Nodding politely the four men left the office.

Walking in silence through the bank they left through the front door at the same time as The Chancellor of the Exchequer was walking in. Walking through the streets they spoke in hushed tones. As with all bankers the four had to be cautious when discussing the case. In Inspector Ressler's experience the bankers usually had connections that could make investigations difficult or the means to vanish to foreign climes in a hurry. On more than one occasion men had escaped Inspector Ressler's net by such means.

"Mr Osbert is an interesting man," Inspector Reid mused.

"He is indeed. I will have to consider placing a watch on him. I trust you will check his alibi?" Ressler replied.

"Of course Inspector Ressler," Reid said, his face a perfect mask of composure.

Leaving the matter to rest the four began talking about general matters of daily life of little importance. The streets were well kept, smart carriages passed by on both sides of the road, each driver in a smart uniform. Servants hurrying passed by, some alone and others walking a few steps behind their masters. Some of the smart gentlemen stopped to greet the four while others remained aloof.

Arriving at Bering's Bank the four found it in a flurry of activity. The bank was ringing with the tap of shoes on the floor, the steady clink of coins and the blending a hundred different voices. Walking through the foyer, Jackson was suddenly sent flying as a man with blonde/brown hair and glasses crashed into him. Falling down the pair landed with a thud on the floor, the papers the man was carrying fluttering down around them.

"Sorry so sorry wasn't watching," the man stammered, hastily gathering up his papers.

"Are you alright?" Inspector Reid asked, helping the man to his feet.

"Solomon Quint at your service. Ever so sorry, desperate rush," Solomon Quint said, running off down a corridor.

"I wonder what his hurry was," Inspector Reid said, watching Solomon Quint run into an office.

"Could be anything, you never know what bankers are up," Drake said, helping Jackson to his feet.

"We need to watch our step here. I have recently brought a case against three senior bankers that resulted in convictions. We will not be popular," Ressler said in a low tone.

Ten minutes later the four were sitting in office of Mr Stone. In the privacy of his office Mr Stone sat interrogating them as to the nature of the case, asking what evidence had brought them to the bank, who had given them authority and if the men from Whitechapel fully understood the potential implications of them investigating a man of Bering's. Glaring coldly at the man Inspector Reid and Inspector Ressler explained the murder and what they knew of Mr Keaton Junior. With cool precision Inspector Ressler explained the penalties for impeding a police inquiry the circumstances. With ill grace Mr Stone relented but only if Mr Keaton was questioned in his office. Seeing no other option the four policemen reluctantly agreed.

Half an hour after entering the bank the four policemen sat across from Mr Keaton Junior. He was a slim young man, un-haven, with hazel eyes in a smart dark green suit with a black pattern and a strange air about him. There was a trace of alcohol on his breath. He seemed unconcerned that he was being questioned by two inspectors in relation to a murder investigation.

"Why did you not mention that you and your father are members of Silas Duggan's Whitechapel club when I investigated your father's murder?" Ressler probed gently.

"Father was killed on City land. It didn't seem important," Keaton said shrugging his shoulders, his voice devoid of emotion.

"Where were you two nights ago?"

"I can't remember," Keaton replied arrogantly.

"No good enough lad," Drake snapped, walking over to the young man.

"I was with friends in Whitechapel. I spent the night with a very pretty little cat," Keaton replied, his eyes glinting mischievously.

"The name of the cat and the cathouse," Drake said forcefully, placing his hands on the back of Keaton's chair.

"You were in Whitechapel the night Mr Duggan was killed, think carefully on your words," Ressler said, his voice full of caution.

"The cat's name was Sapphire. The cat house belongs to Long Susan. I raised a glass when I heard of the murder. That filthy, barbaric barber deserved what he got."

In the eyes of Keaton was anger, hate, grief and a reckless disregard for his own life. Like so many before him grief and anger had turned him to life of drink, opium and women. Lost in a world of self-destruction Mr Keaton was a loose cannon capable of anything.

"We will be in touch Mr Keaton, do not leave the City," Ressler said, as the four policemen stood up to leave.

"Inspector Ressler please understand…Mr Keaton is young…he has taken his father's death hard. Do not take his words seriously," Mr Stone implored, his face full of worry.

"Your concern for the boy does you credit Mr Stone, however we must follow the evidence," Reid replied, casting a last look at the young man.

Saying their goodbyes Inspector Ressler, Inspector Reid, Sergeant Drake and Captain Jackson left Mr Stone's office. As they did shouting could be heard from one of the offices along with the sound of breaking glass. Moments later a furious looking Solomon Quint came storming out of an office. Shaking their heads the four men left the bank without giving Mr Quint a second thought.

"Young Keaton is a loose cannon," Drake said, his hands in his pockets.

"I agree with you Sergeant Drake. It appears Long Susan is known to both men," Ressler replied thoughtfully.

"Given both men belong to the same club it is not surprising they visit the same cat house," Reid said calmly.

"We need to get back to the station," Ressler said as a nearby clock chimed midday.

Walking through the streets they soon arrived back at the police station to find Chief Inspector Abberline and Commissioner Monro engrossed in the case files relating to Silas Duggan. The files were considerable and often Roger Drake was mentioned, as were well to do City men, some of which were rather powerful to say the least.

"We will take these files further back at the Yard," Commissioner Monro said sombrely.

"Of course Commissioner," Ressler replied.

"Take care all of you," Abberline said, packing up the files.

"Keep me informed as to your progress but remember, do not stray into Limehouse, I will handle that side," Monro said, as he and Abberline left the office.

Overcome with exhaustion Reid, Ressler, Drake and Jackson flopped down into chairs. Over lunch they sat discussing the morning's events. Either of the two men could commit the murder. The matter of the men's alibis would have bearing on how the case progressed. However the four knew it was possible for either man to arrange the murder without them personally committing the act.

"I have arranged to meet Roger Drake at ten o'clock tomorrow morning. Would the three of you be able to join me?" Inspector Ressler asked.

"Of course Inspector Ressler. Bennet no one will think less of you if you choose not to join us," Inspector Reid said, the sincerity he felt clear in his voice.

"I appreciate that Inspector," Drake replied, a note of despondency in his voice.

"I suggest the three of you spend the afternoon here. Be seen in the City speaking to those that knew Silas Duggan and see what rats come scurrying away," Inspector Ressler said thoughtfully.

"I agree Inspector Ressler. The snitches in Whitechapel have been unusually silent, let us see if City men have looser tongues," Reid replied.

In the bright winter afternoon the boys from Whitechapel took a tour of the City. They were aided by Detective Sergeant Archer, a brown haired man in a brown pattern suit with a red tie. Archer was from a notable City family and was a mathematical wizard. He added legitimacy to the trio from Whitechapel and left people in no doubt that Inspector Ressler had given the trio his full blessing.

As Inspector Ressler had predicated it was an enlightening afternoon. The men who had worked with Silas Duggan had disappeared. Men of good breeding come to trio to tell of gambling debts they owed and the fact Duggan had threatened them if they did not pay. They spoke of Duggan's club being a place where vices could be indulged under the strictest privacy. Many spoke that Duggan recommend them to Long Susan's house.

Roger Drake's name kept cropping up. It seemed Mr Drake was a respected and well liked gentleman. Mr Drake had counselled many men against involving themselves with Duggan. These same men praised Mr Drake the sensible advice. The rivalry between Duggan and Drake appeared common knowledge but all saw it as perfectly natural. The men of the City all agreed that Roger Drake had the breeding and class of a City man. The same men believed Silas Duggan had the stink of Whitechapel about him and that was where he should have stayed.

It seemed to Reid, Drake and Jackson that the men of the City were full of hypocrisies. Duggan's black reputation meant City men sought him out when they wished to commit private vices and illegal activity but by the same token not respectable enough to be involved in public business dealings.

It also seemed too that Silas Duggan had many enemies in The City and that perhaps he had underestimated the power, the influence of such men, and the fact he was mingling with men who had been raised since birth to wield such power. For all his business Silas Duggan had been born a barber's son, while a big fish in Whitechapel and Limehouse to those in the City he was a servant, a useful servant but one who could be eliminated when their positions were threatened.

Under a star filled sky Inspector Ressler, Inspector Reid, Sergeant Drake, Sergeant Archer and Captain Jackson walked out of a bustling pub across from the police station chatting merrily. After a good meal and a couple of bottles of wine all five were feeling very relaxed. Crossing back into Whitechapel Reid, Drake and Jackson began making their way to their respective homes under a cold night sky. The lamps lighting their paths. In the darkness the lights from windows shone brightly. Cloaked in the night Whitechapel took on its familiar edge of danger and sense of lawlessness. _

Arriving home Jackson found the house packed with clients. At her desk Susan was sat reading over the accounts. The dark pink dress she was wearing seemed to add a romantic softness to her appearance. Seeing her, Jackson walked up behind her, planting a kiss on her cheek.

"Evenin' darlin'," Jackson said smiling.

"Good evening Captain what might I do for you?" Susan asked, turning to face him.

"A private audience," Jackson replied, leading her into the parlour.

Locking the door and removing the key Jackson stared at his wife. He was determined to find out what she was hiding. Given the day's events Jackson was praying it was not related to Silas Duggan nor the two City men.

"Susan you've been acting strange for the past few days…"

"Duggan's lawyer Mr Cowdery has requested a meeting with me tomorrow. Mr Grosvenor has inherited Duggan's estate," Susan interrupted, her voice filled with worry.

"Given the circumstances it is to be expected they'd want to speak to you," Jackson said, taking her hands in his.

"I'm scared what they could do to us. I could lose this house or..."

"We'll deal with whatever happens together. I know you're hiding something. Susan you need to tell me what's going on."

Jackson's eyes bore into Susan's. His face taught with worry bordering on fear. Gently he placed one hand on the side of Susan's face. Looking at him Susan's felt the weight of the secret press down on her. Desperately she wanted to confess but something held her back. Pain and uncertainty flickering across her face, Susan allowed herself to be comforted by her husband's touch.

"Tomorrow Matthew, please let me tell you tomorrow. After my meeting with Cowdery and Grosvenor," Susan pleaded.

"Alright tomorrow. I'll hold you to that Susan," Jackson said firmly, looking his wife in the eyes.

"I promise. Matthew hold me," Susan whispered, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Looking at her Jackson felt a shiver of fear run down his spine. Gently pressing his body to hers. What had she done that placed such fear in her? A million fears were racing through his mind. Had the two City men dragged Susan into something? Had a client forced her to be an accessory to a crime? Had Theodore Swift been in touch? The last thought turned his blood to ice. Holding her tightly Jackson prayed whatever it was could be fixed. In the silence of the night Susan allowed herself to relax. For one last night things were as they always had been.