Read Online Blood Tribute (The Lucas Gedge Thrillers Book 1) by Andy Emery - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andy Emery
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Whitehead for a few seconds. He gestured in the direction of Ackerman, and she in turn looked at him, staring blankly. As usual, her gaunt, hollow-cheeked face betrayed no emotion. But after a few seconds her face was suddenly convulsed: by what? Fear? Anger?
‘Oh, no! He’s not my son. How could he be? He’s the bloody Ripper, him! What’ve you brought him here for? Gawd’s sake, get rid of him!’
She shrank away from Ackerman, almost falling out of the bed.
‘Mr Ackerman, you’d better leave,’ said Whitehead. ‘Wait outside for me, please. Now, Patricia, come on. Calm down, now. Orderly!’
Ackerman felt an absurd helplessness washing over him. In his normal life he was in control; he was the one sorting things out and punishing people for their indiscretions. This was the opposite. The one person he did not dare to cross, the one on whom the money he raised had to be spent, was the one who had the whip-hand over him. If only she had the wits to know it.
Anger welled up, and he decided he did not want to hear whatever Whitehead had to say. It would only be something more deflating to his ego. It would have to wait until his next visit. He strode off down the corridor.
12
G edge sat in the kitchen at 14 White Lion Street, cradling a mug of coffee that Polly had made for him. The kitchen was just as cluttered as the drawing room. Cooking utensils and crockery seemed to occupy every inch of cupboard and shelf space, and more pots hung from wall-hooks. The central table was strewn with newspapers and more books, most of them lying open or with their pages marked by corner-folds. He and Polly had engaged in a few minutes of idle small-talk, before she hurried off to fetch something.
When she returned, she placed a sturdy strongbox on the table, unlocked it and, to Gedge’s surprise, took out a revolver.
‘What do you think? Could it stop a man?’
Gedge stared at her.
‘Please. You look as though you’re going to say that women shouldn’t handle guns.’
‘No, it’s not that. It is perhaps a shame if women feel they need to use them. I just didn’t expect this to be the reason you asked me here.’
‘It isn’t the reason. I’ll get on to that in a minute. “A shame if women feel they need to use guns”? I would think that if some of the women who’ve become victims of these traffickers had been proficient with guns, the problem might have been nipped in the bud well before now.’
Gedge flushed. He was obviously going to have to be careful what he said around Polly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… It was just a poor choice of words. As to this pistol, yes, despite being small and light, it would be effective. As long as you’re within a few yards of your target. It has no range to speak of.’
‘That’s alright. Thank you. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t just a pea-shooter.’
‘So, the reason you asked me to come?’
She put the gun away, locking the box and pushing it aside. ‘I’m worried about Claude. As you’ve probably realised, he isn’t here. One of his meetings. Some radical group or other. I don’t know if he told you much about his life?’
‘Not a great deal.’
‘He’s had a varied career, working both in private industry and for governments. Over time, he’s become deeply involved in a sort of network of radicals, stretching throughout Europe. They want to shine a light on injustice in society, which seems to have grown in our industrialised, imperial world. Claude’s 18th century Huguenot ancestors came to Spitalfields as refugees, fleeing persecution in France. They became part of the thriving silk industry in the area. Since then, the silk business has declined and the East End melting pot has been stirred by more waves of immigrants, especially the Irish, and more recently, Jews from Europe. I suppose his instinct to intervene on the side of oppressed people comes from his heritage as part of a displaced community.
‘But the sort of
‘Oh, no! He’s not my son. How could he be? He’s the bloody Ripper, him! What’ve you brought him here for? Gawd’s sake, get rid of him!’
She shrank away from Ackerman, almost falling out of the bed.
‘Mr Ackerman, you’d better leave,’ said Whitehead. ‘Wait outside for me, please. Now, Patricia, come on. Calm down, now. Orderly!’
Ackerman felt an absurd helplessness washing over him. In his normal life he was in control; he was the one sorting things out and punishing people for their indiscretions. This was the opposite. The one person he did not dare to cross, the one on whom the money he raised had to be spent, was the one who had the whip-hand over him. If only she had the wits to know it.
Anger welled up, and he decided he did not want to hear whatever Whitehead had to say. It would only be something more deflating to his ego. It would have to wait until his next visit. He strode off down the corridor.
12
G edge sat in the kitchen at 14 White Lion Street, cradling a mug of coffee that Polly had made for him. The kitchen was just as cluttered as the drawing room. Cooking utensils and crockery seemed to occupy every inch of cupboard and shelf space, and more pots hung from wall-hooks. The central table was strewn with newspapers and more books, most of them lying open or with their pages marked by corner-folds. He and Polly had engaged in a few minutes of idle small-talk, before she hurried off to fetch something.
When she returned, she placed a sturdy strongbox on the table, unlocked it and, to Gedge’s surprise, took out a revolver.
‘What do you think? Could it stop a man?’
Gedge stared at her.
‘Please. You look as though you’re going to say that women shouldn’t handle guns.’
‘No, it’s not that. It is perhaps a shame if women feel they need to use them. I just didn’t expect this to be the reason you asked me here.’
‘It isn’t the reason. I’ll get on to that in a minute. “A shame if women feel they need to use guns”? I would think that if some of the women who’ve become victims of these traffickers had been proficient with guns, the problem might have been nipped in the bud well before now.’
Gedge flushed. He was obviously going to have to be careful what he said around Polly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply… It was just a poor choice of words. As to this pistol, yes, despite being small and light, it would be effective. As long as you’re within a few yards of your target. It has no range to speak of.’
‘That’s alright. Thank you. I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t just a pea-shooter.’
‘So, the reason you asked me to come?’
She put the gun away, locking the box and pushing it aside. ‘I’m worried about Claude. As you’ve probably realised, he isn’t here. One of his meetings. Some radical group or other. I don’t know if he told you much about his life?’
‘Not a great deal.’
‘He’s had a varied career, working both in private industry and for governments. Over time, he’s become deeply involved in a sort of network of radicals, stretching throughout Europe. They want to shine a light on injustice in society, which seems to have grown in our industrialised, imperial world. Claude’s 18th century Huguenot ancestors came to Spitalfields as refugees, fleeing persecution in France. They became part of the thriving silk industry in the area. Since then, the silk business has declined and the East End melting pot has been stirred by more waves of immigrants, especially the Irish, and more recently, Jews from Europe. I suppose his instinct to intervene on the side of oppressed people comes from his heritage as part of a displaced community.
‘But the sort of
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