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Authors: R. N. Morris
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first part.
To be entirely free.
Does it not strike you as the kind of thing someone might get out of a book? A quotation, in other words. Couldn’t D.P.
refer to the title of the book in question? Or the author?’
Macadam and Inchball regarded the enlargement of the inscription thoughtfully.
‘That makes sense,’ said Inchball.
‘Where do we begin, though, sir? There have been so many books written,’ said Macadam forlornly.
‘We must think about the kind of books that would appeal to a decadent individual such as is capable of doing this.’ Quinn gestured vaguely at the wall.
‘I know a couple of bookshops in Soho that stock the kind of literature you have in mind,’ said Inchball.
‘Perfect. However, we must find a way to elicit their cooperation without intimidating them. In my experience, such establishments tend to be wary of the police. Perhaps it would be best to conduct our inquiries there discreetly. One of us could pose as a gentleman interested in material of that nature.’
Macadam and Inchball looked at one another uneasily. ‘With respect and all that, sir,’ began Inchball, ‘I think you might be the best man for that job.’
The chief’s reaction seemed to surprise the two sergeants. ‘I have no objections to that. Indeed, I think it is an excellent suggestion. It will allow me to get deeper into the mind of the individual we are looking for. To understand the man, explore the milieu. So I will go to these bookshops, and to other places where these types are found. Despite the fact that the body was found in Shadwell, I do not think that was within his usual orbit. He may have come from the East End originally, we cannot know. But if he made his living as a renter, as the state of his anus suggests, then I believe his occupation will have drawn him closer to the West. Piccadilly. Tottenham Court Road. Hyde Park. And yes, Soho. He must have had friends, associates. These are the places where we will find them.’
‘And you mean to go undercover, sir?’ Macadam was uneasy.
‘Yes.’
‘Posing as a sodomite?’ wondered Inchball.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. My objective will be to draw as little attention to myself as possible. So I will not be posing as anything. However, I shall endeavour to blend in. I expect I will play it by ear.’
‘Dangerous,’ was Inchball’s judgement.
‘It need not be. I shall simply be asking a few questions. I shall have to think of a plausible cover story, of course.’
‘Very dangerous.’
‘What are you worried about, Inchball?’
‘For one thing, that we might find you with your throat slit and your arse full of spunk.’
‘I will be careful, of course.’
‘It doesn’t matter how careful you are. If you go in like this, you’ve got no protection. Anything could happen to you, sir. With respect and all that.’
‘I shall simply be trying to get the lie of the land. I shall not even have with me a photograph of the dead man to show.’
‘I am glad to hear that, sir. Because that would be very dangerous.’
‘No, I shall stick with my plan to create an artist’s rendition of the dead man. Instead of releasing it to the newspapers, I shall use it in my enquiries. I shall speak to one of the police artists – Petter would be the man. I’ll have Petter draw a living portrait from the post-mortem photograph. I shall have it framed. My cover story will be that I am looking for a friend . . .’
‘A friend whose name you don’t know?’ objected Inchball.
‘A friend whom I believe gave me a false name.’
‘Not much of a friend then?’
‘We met at . . . Victoria Station. In the public bar.’
‘Public bar or public convenience?’
‘Public bar. I do not want to appear too overtly deviant. We met while waiting for our respective trains – or so I thought.’
‘Yes, good,’ said Macadam. ‘You should appear rather innocent, sir. Perhaps even naive. You didn’t realize that he was there to pick men up.
To be entirely free.
Does it not strike you as the kind of thing someone might get out of a book? A quotation, in other words. Couldn’t D.P.
refer to the title of the book in question? Or the author?’
Macadam and Inchball regarded the enlargement of the inscription thoughtfully.
‘That makes sense,’ said Inchball.
‘Where do we begin, though, sir? There have been so many books written,’ said Macadam forlornly.
‘We must think about the kind of books that would appeal to a decadent individual such as is capable of doing this.’ Quinn gestured vaguely at the wall.
‘I know a couple of bookshops in Soho that stock the kind of literature you have in mind,’ said Inchball.
‘Perfect. However, we must find a way to elicit their cooperation without intimidating them. In my experience, such establishments tend to be wary of the police. Perhaps it would be best to conduct our inquiries there discreetly. One of us could pose as a gentleman interested in material of that nature.’
Macadam and Inchball looked at one another uneasily. ‘With respect and all that, sir,’ began Inchball, ‘I think you might be the best man for that job.’
The chief’s reaction seemed to surprise the two sergeants. ‘I have no objections to that. Indeed, I think it is an excellent suggestion. It will allow me to get deeper into the mind of the individual we are looking for. To understand the man, explore the milieu. So I will go to these bookshops, and to other places where these types are found. Despite the fact that the body was found in Shadwell, I do not think that was within his usual orbit. He may have come from the East End originally, we cannot know. But if he made his living as a renter, as the state of his anus suggests, then I believe his occupation will have drawn him closer to the West. Piccadilly. Tottenham Court Road. Hyde Park. And yes, Soho. He must have had friends, associates. These are the places where we will find them.’
‘And you mean to go undercover, sir?’ Macadam was uneasy.
‘Yes.’
‘Posing as a sodomite?’ wondered Inchball.
‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that. My objective will be to draw as little attention to myself as possible. So I will not be posing as anything. However, I shall endeavour to blend in. I expect I will play it by ear.’
‘Dangerous,’ was Inchball’s judgement.
‘It need not be. I shall simply be asking a few questions. I shall have to think of a plausible cover story, of course.’
‘Very dangerous.’
‘What are you worried about, Inchball?’
‘For one thing, that we might find you with your throat slit and your arse full of spunk.’
‘I will be careful, of course.’
‘It doesn’t matter how careful you are. If you go in like this, you’ve got no protection. Anything could happen to you, sir. With respect and all that.’
‘I shall simply be trying to get the lie of the land. I shall not even have with me a photograph of the dead man to show.’
‘I am glad to hear that, sir. Because that would be very dangerous.’
‘No, I shall stick with my plan to create an artist’s rendition of the dead man. Instead of releasing it to the newspapers, I shall use it in my enquiries. I shall speak to one of the police artists – Petter would be the man. I’ll have Petter draw a living portrait from the post-mortem photograph. I shall have it framed. My cover story will be that I am looking for a friend . . .’
‘A friend whose name you don’t know?’ objected Inchball.
‘A friend whom I believe gave me a false name.’
‘Not much of a friend then?’
‘We met at . . . Victoria Station. In the public bar.’
‘Public bar or public convenience?’
‘Public bar. I do not want to appear too overtly deviant. We met while waiting for our respective trains – or so I thought.’
‘Yes, good,’ said Macadam. ‘You should appear rather innocent, sir. Perhaps even naive. You didn’t realize that he was there to pick men up.
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