Read Online Mayhem by Sarah Pinborough - Free Book Online Page B

much, perhaps, he wondered as he looked at the glazed eyes and flushed faces of those who filled the surrounding tables. There was something amiss in the people of the city, even he could sense that: a hysteria maybe. There had been too much violence done on London’s streets this year. It needed to slow down.
    ‘What makes you think it isn’t Jack?’ he said, finally addressing his companion. Waring wasn’t showing deep insight: the methods of murder were so different that although both were gruesome, they were unlikely to be linked. It was Dr Bond’s opinion that there weretwo killers at work here, and he was very much inclined to agree.
    ‘The letter for a start,’ Waring said. ‘“I swear I did not kill the woman found at Whitehall”?’ He obviously noted Moore’s look of displeasure because he laughed slightly as he raised his beer glass. ‘Come, come: it came into the Central News Agency. It was hardly likely to be kept a secret.’
    ‘We’ve had more than seven hundred such letters arrive, and it’s unlikely any of them are from Jack himself. They simply add to the load of the investigation and my lack of sleep. You’d do best to ignore them,’ he said sternly.
    ‘It’s my job to make sure they get published, not to hide them.’
    ‘At least you’re an honest bastard. There is truth in that.’ Moore signalled the waiter for two more drinks.
    ‘And your lot have hardly been quick to connect them.’
    ‘There is also truth in that,’ Moore said. ‘Policemen are often politicians too. So what exactly is it you think I can do for you?’
    ‘It’s not what you can do for me,’ Waring winked. ‘It’s what I can do for you.’ He let out a sharp whistle and turned his head to the door. Various customers glanced down at the floor as something moved between them, causing the odd smile or curse in surprise.
    The small terrier came and sat obediently at Waring’s feet. ‘Meet Smoker,’ Waring said. ‘If there’smore of that woman hidden in Whitehall, he’ll find her.’
    ‘We’ve tried dogs,’ Moore said. ‘As you are no doubt very well aware, I’ve spent my day surrounded by the damned things.’
    ‘You haven’t tried this dog.’ The waiter hurried over and Waring paid for the drinks. He waited until the man had scurried away again before leaning forward and continuing, ‘If there’s something to be found, he’s the one that will do it.’
    Moore stared at him. ‘You want me to let your dog search the Whitehall building?’
    ‘No,’ Waring shook his head and tipped his glass towards Moore. ‘I want you to let my dog and I search your premises. No find, no story. I give you my word.’
    So there it was: the point of the meeting. But to let a reporter and a scruffy terrier into the crime scene? How would that play out back at Division? The bosses would hang him. He looked down at the eager-eyed hound; it appeared to be staring back at him, awaiting his answer. It was a confident eye, he had to give the dog that. How much harm could it do? He and Waring understood each other; the reporter would not make him look inept, no matter what the outcome. He drained his beer. He also knew he didn’t have a huge amount of choice. In their strange relationship of give-and-take it was he himself who owed the most recent debt of gratitude.
    ‘Tomorrow then,’ he said, and got to his feet. ‘Meet me at Division at half past eleven. I’ll take you over from there. And no audience.’ The dog, Smoker, thumped his tail against the dusty wooden floorboards.
    ‘Tomorrow then,’ Waring repeated, and also got to his feet. The dog looked up at its master and as the two men headed out into the cold night air, Smoker stayed close at Waring’s heels.
    Moore headed to the main thoroughfare to try and find a hansom cab; unlike many of Whitechapel’s foetid alleyways, Commercial Street was well-lit and busy.
    ‘Do you want to share?’ he asked Waring, a polite gesture only. They might be many