Chapter Notes: This Chapter was a chore. I seem to have an epic on my hands here. LOL! To tell the truth when I first conceptionalized this installment I thought it might not be large or grand enough for the series, then it grew with characters coming out of the woodwork, then the Yard got involved ect...yep it's officially an epic LOL!
Alister Eads finally gives you an idea of the slimy underpinnings that make him who he is in this chapter, one of the ickiest things I have ever written, fortunately I had some Watson/Lestrade fun to sort me out LOL!
I think there are some unexpected surprises in this chapter as well, some events that bring mysteries into relief but not all...that would not be me to show whats up both sleeves!
For those who speculate that every chapter is the end of this installment...no there is one chapter more.
WARNING: If speak Gaelic, there is an actual Gaelic insult in this chapter that you might find disturbing LOL!
Bart
Doctor John Watson, Police Surgeon: Scotland Yard 4
The Frozen Image
Chapter Nine
Lestrade was walking once again through the steel barriers of Newgate, this time accompanied by the fevered shouts of reporters. Anger surged up from nowhere and he had to resist the sudden urge to give them more of a story than they anticipated.
He had been working on the paper work of Harold's arrest, an arduous task to be sure when the summons he and Watson had been expecting came through his door.
It was customary for a convicted murderer to get a visit from a representative of Scotland Yard the night before his death; it was almost as cliché as the priest that inevitably came by, Lestrade had made that visit himself more than once. With the death of a killer is also the passing of an opportunity to solve any murders that the man or women had carried out. Closure for the families was a priority at that point, there was not much to offer in the way of compensation considering that the killer was a day from the fitting of the hemp necktie, but in the way of a clear conscious, some did confess.
Lestrade and Watson had discussed it before his friend left for home.
-
"I have a feeling that Alister is just getting started. I don't think we have taken his full measure yet, but he's going to reveal his true self shortly, it will be his last chance to let us know just how awful he really is." Watson had remarked resting his chin and hands on his cane thoughtfully.
Lestrade sighed. "He humiliated us, John, he took one of our own and turned him into an accomplice, a murderer, and we never had the first clue. What more can he do to the Yard that he has not already done?"
Watson's tired eyes met his own. "Don't ask questions that you really don't want the answer to, Giles."
-
Lon was too busy to meet Lestrade so he was ushered down to the deathwatch by the Vice Administrator of the prison, and nervous little man named Turner.
Soon he was in that all too neat prison cell. Alister had his back turned writing letters, Lestrade was happy to see it was with a heavily bandaged hand.
"If you will be patient a moment longer, Chief Inspector, I'm finishing up here."
Lestrade took a seat, very unusual for a prisoner to have more than one chair, but Lestrade had a hunch that this prisoner had some very powerful visitors to accommodate.
Alister finished the letter, sealed it in the envelope, and then turned to Lestrade. "I am so sorry, it was rude of me to summon you here then make you wait, but alas I have very little time left and a lot of plans to bring to fruition."
Lestrade was diplomatic. "No doubt."
Alister smiled. "I am assuming, since I am due to die tomorrow, Harold confessed finally? I honestly thought he would do it earlier."
"Why did you not just tell us who he was, rather than go through that elaborate deception just to give Watson the clue about the photos? How's the hand by the way?" Lestrade inquired crossing his legs as nonchalantly as possible.
Alister chuckled as he held up the bandaged appendage. "It was one of the most painful events of my life, and my hand is still sore. Be sure to thank Watson's bodyguard. To answer your other query, I was not going to turn in Harold; he had his own path to follow. Far be it from me to interfere with someone else's journey. There is no need to fear his motives, Chief Inspector, Harold was not trying to escape judgement, he just does not want to face the family. All that suffering over a female, it's all rather ridiculous if you ask me."
Lestrade braced himself for what was to come. "We know it's all a ruse, Harold, the Pattern, the Quaker faith, the misogyny, all of it, so why don't we dispense with the pleasantries and get down to why I am really here."
Lestrade was not sure what he expected, glowing red eyes, a sudden sprout of demonic horns and wings. Anything but what did happen.
Alister began to laugh; it was not an evil laugh, or one that was even ironic, just an explosion of good-natured mirth.
"I am so sorry, dear Lestrade," he managed to say between sniggers. "You think you know, but you still have no idea."
Lestrade, extremely discomfited by the outburst, managed to say, "Enlighten me."
Alister smiled as if recounting a favourite memory, "You must forgive my engaging in a bit of burlesque, you see, it is expected that someone have a motive for murder, reasoning or madness. I have none of those things, I just enjoy killing, always have."
Lestrade tried not to show how chilled he was by this admission, he nodded encouragingly, unfortunately, Alister was beyond needing a spur.
"My first human kill was in the orphanage, a boy who was brought there temporarily, lost on the streets of London, he cried for his mum all night long, so I took a pillow and made him quiet. I was thirteen. I don't even know his name, but it was no matter. Once you get over that obstacle of the first one, it becomes ever so much easier, soon the orphanage had a rash of unexplained deaths and shut down. Turned out to make my way on the streets when I was fifteen, I found that drunks were easy prey, then émigré in the country illegally, who was going to report their disappearances, I might as well have gone back to killing animals for all the attention those deaths caused."
"You liked the attention?" Lestrade ventured.
Alister blinked for a moment, as if he was coming back from whatever place he had gone in his mind during the recollections. "Well I suppose, after that amateur butcher over in Whitechapel made that noise, I realized that I needed to refine my methods, gain a trade mark that was both memorable and macabre, with just a touch of theatre."
"The red tear on the cheek."
"I got the idea from a Scaramouch mask," Alister admitted, "I was already working on the pathology, the whole message from God, misogyny angle, strangling women with the ribbon."
"Like a choker," Lestrade prodded.
Alister smiled. "You figured it out!"
Lestrade shook his head. "Inspector Patterson did."
"Yes, John Patterson, he's a great man," Alister confirmed with a fond smile.
Lestrade studied the prisoner for some sign of irony or sarcasm. "You bear him no ill will?"
Alister looked astonished. "Oh no, Giles, I bear no one ill will."
Lestrade shook his head to clear it of stray thoughts. "Alister, you kill people, you corrupted Harold Rollins to commit murder; you are manipulating all of those Bedlow people."
Alister shuddered. "You want to meet an evil man; you should have known Gustav Bedlow! He scared even me."
"How can you say you bear no one ill will," Lestrade reiterated, trying to be patient.
Alister shook his head giving Lestrade that little placating smile. "I said what I mean, Lestrade, I bear mankind as much ill will as a Lion does an antelope on the Serengeti, or a Shark does a school of fish in the Atlantic, I am a predator, mankind was my prey, it would be absolutely absurd for me to attach any kind of grudge or bias to my actions. I'm not a bad fellow, I just happen to be someone who likes to kill. You call that evil, I make no such differentiation."
Lestrade shook his head in disgust. "Why am I here, Alister, I am assuming you have some confession to make, other than the bile I've been subjected to so far."
Alister cocked his head to one side his face curious. "You really are disgusted, that is quite fascinating. I thought you had seen enough death to understand how the world truly functions."
"Alister, if you do not tell me why I am here I am walking out right now," Lestrade stood to go.
"I want you to stand out of the way and let tomorrow happen. That is all, Inspector, just do nothing," he said in a placating manner, as if he were talking to a child.
"Let what happen, precisely?" Lestrade asked his voice thick with suspicion as he sat back down.
Alister smiled. "Why, my death, Chief Inspector, I see no reason you would object to that event happening."
Lestrade knew there was a catch, he was almost afraid to ask. "What exactly are you planning?"
"Oh, well there will be members of the psychological establishment from Belgium, believe it or not I happen to be a significant advancement in man's understanding of the criminal mind," Alister replied his eyes lighting up with some personal excitement, "that book Bedlow was working on, it is going to be very important for years to come."
Lestrade was beginning to see the grand scheme. "You want to be famous."
Alister laughed. "Oh no, I want to be infamous which is much longer lasting. All of the new publicity surrounding the Red Tear Strangler because of the events of this week, culminated with Gustav's research and my demise in their viewing, I will be talked about for years to come."
"All I would have to do is raise an objection, because the families of your victims deserve to see you hang," replied Lestrade, his voice betraying just how appalled he was.
Alister rolled his eyes. "The dead are dead, what is the importance of them seeing me hang when compared to the importance of advancing men's knowledge of their own depravity."
"But you don't care about that, you've been lying to them all alone, they are understanding nothing by watching you die, the research is moot," Lestrade said with a sputter of words.
Alister laughed. "You know that, and I know that, but it's irrelevant, there are no losers in this enterprise. They get their advancement, they get to rewrite the texts on the criminally insane, and I get the notoriety that I could not accomplish in my entire life, and even you get something, call it a parting gift."
Lestrade was not sure he wanted anything this monster was willing to give him, but he had to know. "Tell me."
Alister gave him a list that he had on his desk, there were thirty-two names on it. "Those are the victims I could recall, a paltry amount I'm afraid, but I will give you a confession that covers them all. Their families get closure, and you get a feather in your cap, assuring you that Superintendant position you have always coveted is yours, and all you have to do is nothing."
Lestrade felt like a diabolical contract fell to his hand from the talons of the devil himself. He nearly dropped it in his disgust.
"It has already been settled, at nine o'clock tomorrow morning, I will be led to the gallows. They will give me the opportunity to say my last words, which will be quite memorable between you and I, and I will die. The administrator has it all scheduled in his wall safe, the next person to see that document is the hangman and the clerk in charge. All of the major newspapers will be there, and all you have to do is nothing, this is not a serious difficulty I am asking of you. Your conscious will eventually soothe," Alister said in a concerned tone of voice as if he was distressed with Lestrade's reticence.
"And if I object?" Lestrade inquired.
Alister shrugged. "There will only be five families given closure by tomorrow's event, the rest will always wonder. If I don't see a gallery full with the press represented, I will not be signing any documents tomorrow, Giles, I have to be a man of my word, if a man does not have his honour, what is he?"
Lestrade arose abruptly and headed for the door giving it a bang to summon the guard, he would not be privy to listening to this lunatic any longer.
"I will see you tomorrow, Giles, sleep well," Alister called, his voice dripping with sincerity.
Lestrade did not respond.
He kept silent all through the halls and gates, once he reached the door; he walked to the alleyway and vomited. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he thought back to Watson's sickness in that alleyway, that illness was an infection of the body, Lestrade felt as if his very soul needed purging. Try as he might, he could not see a way out of the labyrinth that Alister had created.
He felt a determination rise within him. He could not outsmart Eads, but he knew a man who might.
---
He rang the bell at Watson's Kensington address.
It was answered by a very irritated red-haired lady that Lestrade knew as the cook. "So, ya knew tha Doctor Watson waz sick, and ya did nuthin about it, Inspector? Jes let him gallivant around tha city runnin' a fever? An yer callin yerself his friend?" she demanded in her thick Irish brogue.
"I'm sorry Aileen, I honestly did not know he was sick until he showed up at a crime scene barely able to stand," he responded in the tone he used to divert Clea from acts of violence.
"Tha stubborn arse is in tha parlour, canna git you sum tea or summat?"
Lestrade smiled relieved the storm had passed. "That would be splendid, thank you, Missus McClellan."
She rolled her eyes, "Jes thank me by na draggin him out ta'night, he's still a bit peaked."
He nodded his agreement as she turned in a huff and went into the living quarter's side of the practice.
Lestrade entered the familiar practice office and found a healthier looking Watson scribbling away at his desk, in his robe and nightshirt, he had a fire going and his service revolver on the desk near his right hand, he did not seem to notice his visitor.
"I'll be with you in a moment Lestrade, I have a deuced amount of paperwork at hand," Watson remarked with a sly smile.
Of course he noticed.
Lestrade pointed to Watson's revolver. "Are you expecting to repel invaders?
Watson gave him a smile that could mean anything or nothing. "Are you here for a visit, or did you just wish to see how long you can irritate me before I put a bullet into your hind parts?" (9)
"No worries, dear chap, I just stopped by for a bit of advice," Lestrade responded taking the chair across.
Watson glanced up idly scratching the side of his nose with the end of his pen. "Concerning," he inquired.
Lestrade sighed. "Alister Eads."
Watson nodded as if he had expected as much. "Gave you his manifesto and list of demands, did he? Tell me, how many did he offer to confess to?"
Lestrade found he was not surprised at Watson's seeming foreknowledge, he found it comforting that the man was so far ahead of the game, it confirmed that his decision to bring him aboard was a wise one.
"Thirty-two, but I was led to believe that was just a start, you suspected as much I take it?"
Watson nodded, "I assumed that there were more, but thirty-two was beyond my worst fears; please fill me in on the rest."
Watson sat in silence listening to his friend with his chin resting in his intertwined fingers.
As Lestrade finished, Watson sat in silence. "You are incorrect in one assumption, Lestrade, I cannot outwit Alister, he has been planning this moment for quite some time."
Lestrade's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"However," Watson stated as he stood and walked to his large bookshelf, "there was this one chap a few hundred years ago who had it all sorted, I think we'll take some of his advice."
"Who?" Lestrade inquired feeling that familiar cinder of anger. When someone showed just how illiterate he was, he rarely felt that with Watson, maybe he was just tired.
Watson flipped in a red leather bound volume for a few moments before settling on a page. "Sun Tzu was the fellow's name, no one knew warfare like this bloke, required reading for warmongers the world over, and will be from now to the end, most likely."
He paused, his suddenly grave eyes found Lestrade's. "I have to ask, Giles, as a friend, if we interfere with this we will be upsetting the plans of some very vindictive and powerful persons, even if we are careful, the scale of the strategy I am proposing is going to show our hand, that will make you a likely candidate for retribution."
Lestrade knew that was a possibility, he realized that he had known this for a few days deep down. "Don't lose your nerve old boy, you might be an insufferable lout at times, but I never suspected a cowardly streak."
Watson smiled the crooked grin. "Says the man who cannot tell a woman who barely stands taller than his waist anything but yes ma'm."
Lestrade shrugged. "If you want to speak of vindictive streaks, I believe that little lady makes the nobility in question look amaturish."
Watson sniffed good-naturedly. "Coward."
Lestrade waved him off as if that was of no consequence. "So what does this Soo character have to say?"
"All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away; when far away, we must make him believe we are near. Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him," Watson read.
Lestrade laughed. "You confidence man, here I was thinking how brilliant you were on that day with that Holmes impostor, and you were following the advice of some ancient dead general with a funny name!"
"I never professed to be brilliant, Lestrade, all my intelligence comes by association, I claim no genius as my own," Watson admitted, sitting on the edge of his desk wincing at a sudden pang of pain in his side as he settled.
Lestrade shook his head at the man's density. "I'll not attempt to argue the matter with you; I would be far more effective arguing with that book in your hand. So, if I heard correctly, we give him what he wants, or at least seem to?"
Watson nodded, "He wants a gallery full, Lestrade, so let's oblige him."
Lestrade realized what the man was saying. "We would need an army; I can call some Yarders to play, but not enough to accomplish this task."
"Fortunately, I keep an army around, whether I want it or not," Watson responded with a wry smile.
Almost on cue Missus McClellan burst into the parlour, she was escorting a smiling little waif, his hands sticky and his mouth suspiciously rimmed with white frosting.
"Yes ya did!" She bellowed.
"No I dint!" he replied in a most offended voice.
"Charlie, if you are going to deny something, try to make sure you are not wearing the evidence," Watson informed in a patient tone, indicating the mouth and fingers.
The unrepentant little shaver licked the frosting off his fingers and comically tried to lick if off the outside of his mouth.
"I'll have yer tea inna bit, Inspector, if you'll keep the wee beastie outa my hair, Doctor," she complained.
Watson winked at Charlie. "Forgive me, Missus McClellan, but I have work for the entire gang, they will be here shortly, I will of course double your pay for the evening."
She threw her hands up in the air and left uttering, "Go gcreime cúnna ifrinn do bhall fearga!"
Lestrade whistled. "I hope you keep that gun under your pillow, she's in fine temper!"
Watson winced. "She's not the worst one; I have a high tempered Spanish maid to deal with tomorrow after the boys get through with the place,"
"Coward," Lestrade replied with a genial sniff.
"Waz this 'bout some work?" Charlie asked, his blue eyes sparkling with adventure to come.
Watson nodded, "Get the lads."
Charlie took off with a whoop and was out the door in seconds.
Lestrade watched as Watson rounded his desk and settled back in to his chair with a barely restrained grunt. "We need Mayweather for this next bit; he's at the Club keeping Mycroft in the loop as to my condition.
"I'm back."
Before Lestrade could turn around, Watson had his pistol in his hand and the hammer cocked.
Lestrade followed the line of the gun, Mayweather was leaning against the wall, and he had a glimmer of what might have been respect as he showed his hands empty.
"Mayweather, I don't want to bloody up that bowler, so announcing yourself when I am armed is the safest course, agreed?" Watson remarked in a cold steady tone.
Mayweather grinned and nodded.
The click as Watson put the safety back on and backed the hammer was loud in the suddenly tense room.
"Newgate Prison, I believe you studied it when we visited Mister Eads just the other day?" Watson asked as he replaced the pistol on his desktop.
"What of it?"
Mayweather, given his assignment, left tipping his hat with the same absent smile.
After the door shut behind him, Lestrade saw that there was a fine tremor in Watson's hands. "You came close to ruining Mary's wallpaper, didn't you?"
Watson nodded. "Mayweather has been pushing me since I've somewhat returned to health, I think he wants to test my reflexes and willingness, in his eyes I need to be able to defend myself if need be."
"Isn't he your bodyguard?" Lestrade asked aghast,
Watson nodded. "It is the way of his upbringing; the Maori tribe in New Zealand are a hard people. His mother, taken into slavery by an unscrupulous British ship captain , dumped at the nearest port when she turned up pregnant. Showing remarkable will, she returned to her people with her baby son, something she grew to regret. They challenged the boy as he grew to combat, because of his fairer skin and hair; he fended off warriors twice his age, fighting duals to the death before he was twelve. The fact he survived that long was astounding, they are fierce, well trained fighters, and rumour has it, cannibals."
Lestrade sucked air through his teeth. "How did he wind up working for Diogenes?"
Watson wiped a bead of sweat with a steadier hand. "He was brought to the British embassy by his mother, she had stolen documents and a photo that identified his father, and he resembled the man enough that they accepted him, not knowing that he was a trained killer already. A bloke from the Diogenes Club was in residence, Augustus Mayweather, saw something in the lad, adopted him, and taught him to be a gentleman and not a savage. He was the closest thing to a father Algon ever knew. Charon killed him because Augustus signed the registry at the Hotel as A. Mayweather, but he was after Algon."
"I thought you did not know anything but what was in that letter," Lestrade needled with a smile.
Watson shrugged. "I tried asking him, he was surprisingly forthcoming."
Lestrade glanced at the door. "Can he break into Newgate Prison? That office might have the best security in the city outside of the Royal Family."
Watson nodded. "Holmes fixed the leaks that were from the inside out, but he said there were vulnerabilities if you were attempting to break in."
They heard the pattering sound of a pack of running feet in the lane outside.
"Let's get down to some deception, shall we?" Watson said with a sly smile.
Lestrade was sure it mirrored the smile on his own face.
---
Alister Eads was so excited the next day, that Lestrade had trouble keeping the man focused. "I am sorry, Giles, but this is the culmination of a life time of effort," he remarked, "Surely you won't begrudge me a little restlessness."
They stood outside of the death chamber; they could hear the milling throng and the ominous thumping sound of the gallows tested.
Alister signed the last of the documents with a trembling hand.
Lestrade met him just a few minutes previous, the man was glancing through the doorway making sure there was a crowd was in place, and he saw Agatha Weems, so the press was present. All was as it was supposed to be, so he went through with the confessions.
"Wish me luck."
"The first thousand years of torment in Hell, be sure to think of me, " Lestrade remarked wryly.
Alister chuckled.
As they led Alister through the door, Lestrade followed close behind.
The condemned man glanced around with increasing consternation.
"Where are the Bedlows and their colleagues?" he demanded.
Lestrade had been waiting for this moment. "Oh they are attending the nine o'clock hanging of a longshoreman who murdered his partner over a card game. I am told his language is quite atrocious, his last words should be memorable."
Alister turned and hissed, "You lied to me."
Lestrade smiled. "I did everything you told me to do; the nine o'clock hanging has not been tampered with. Fortunately, this is the seven o'clock."
The truth was finally occurring to Alister. "Who are these people?"
"They are all of the victim's families that we could locate; it is surprising how many dropped all plans and came to see your neck stretched. Included in that number, the Bisset's whose daughter you talked Harold into killing. They visited Harold last night in his cell, and told him that they forgive him, after I explained to them how you twisted his love for their daughter. They agreed it is what she would have wanted. They are going to speak on his behalf at his hearing in a couple of days, so is most of the Yard, Judge Burkett is the sitting judge so we think there is a chance he will get years in prison and not the gallows."
Alister nodded in Agatha Weem's direction, she was sitting serenely with her pad in her lap. "I can still have my last words recorded. They will not be lost."
"Actually, Agatha wanted me to offer you her sincerest apologies, she said her dreadfully inadequate female memory caused her to leave this morning without a writing instrument."
Alister finally broke, his eyes were desperate when he rounded on Lestrade, "You cannot do this to me!"
Lestrade shrugged off his grasping hands. "Welcome to obscurity, Alister."
The rest of the affair was anti-climatic.
---
Lestrade felt relief as he finished the paperwork. He could not believe that he had made it out of this happening with his career intact. It was not every day you could successfully close thirty-two open cases at one blow; he was enjoying the all too rare victory.
The Yarders were all planning to meet at the Rusty Anchor to celebrate, he was happy to see their spirits revived by Alister's hanging. Harold's confession and arrest struck quite a blow to this unit's heart. One of their family, a little brother, had been taken from them, they all felt a culpability that would last for years.
A PC from upstairs walked in and handed him a summons from the Superintendent.
He sighed. Superintendent Collins would not be happy if the Bedlows decided to wield their considerable influence against the Met, but Lestrade would gladly do it all over again just for Alister's face as they pulled the hood over it.
He was halfway into the office when he realized that Collins was not alone.
The well-dressed man was tall. You could see that even as he sat, his dark hair, perfectly coifed, and he had a perfectly trimmed black beard that made him look distinguished. His tiepin alone was more than Lestrade's salary for a year.
"Chief Inspector Lestrade, I'd like to introduce, Sir Alfred FitzRoy.
This...will end badly, Lestrade thought to himself as he shook the offered hand.
Story Notes: For those who must know what Missus McClellan said:
"Rinn tu e!" Translation: "Yes you did!"
"Go gcreime cúnna ifrinn do bhall fearga!" Translation: "May Hellhounds gnaw your manly parts!"
For those offended I am sorry but when I ran across that insult...I had to use it LOL!
The quote is from Sun Tzu's Art of War. Watson being around military types for as long as he was would have read the book most likely, I think it explains his knowledge of tatics that he has demonstrated in this series so far. I try not to give Watson an ability or knowledge that he would not have come by honestly, remember this is a Rennaisance man we are talking about. He was world traveled and cultured, but he still remains able to chat with person of little or no education, and I found his contact with little scamp Charlie very heart warming.
I think Missus Mc Clellan shows the exasperation of most who love Doctor Watson but find he hampers their ability to take care of him, most of us can't curse some one in Gaelic though LOL!
As for Algon, I am hoping that the revealation of his heritage does not disappoint, I thought long and hard about his background, and until I watched a documentary show on the Maori tribe and the fierce scary way they conducted their business I did not have handle on the bloke. A man with the visceral anamalistic training of a close to nature native, coupled with a British frame of mind would be a scary man, no? However, I think Watson passed the test!
(9) Watson all comfy, first time picture where he does not look like death warmed LOL!
thanks for reading!
One more chapter to go!
Bart