The Strings of Murder Read Online Free Page A

tossing my coat aside.
    ‘Aye, sir.’
    ‘Should I go to his office or Warren’s?’
    ‘Neither, sir. He wants to see you in the main hearing room –’
    ‘ What! ’
    Wiggins dropped his dipping pen and ink pot. ‘The – the commissioner called for a cabinet meeting at ten o’clock, sir,’ he said, as I helped him mop up the black ink, ‘but he wants to see you in private before the chief bailiffs arrive.’
    ‘Getting rid of me first thing in the morning … Hewon’t waste a bloody minute, the old man,’ I grunted, leaving the office with huge strides.
    I made haste and found the hearing room looking as gloomy as a grave. The place had wide windows but was dimly lit by a half-hidden sun so that, despite the hour, it seemed as though it was late in the evening.
    There was only one man in the room: James Monro, a robust man in his fifties, with a square face, a grey moustache and white mutton chops of a hideous kind. I found him comfortably seated on the master chair, at such ease as if he’d been commissioner for years.
    ‘I believe I must congratulate you … sir,’ I said, making my best display of hypocrisy.
    ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Frey,’ he replied. ‘Have a seat. I have a great deal to tell you and very little time.’
    I sat down and interlaced my fingers on the long table, waiting, but Monro kept his nose on the disarray of documents in front of him. I spoke only after the lapse of time that courtesy demanded: ‘Excuse me, sir. You implied there was some urgency …’
    Monro only lifted his index finger to silence me.
    How he must be enjoying it! I thought, but all I could do was to remain in my seat, gnashing my teeth and hating his bristly mutton chops, his deviated nose and his stupid, bovine little eyes.
    He finally spoke, looking at me with great severity.
    ‘I will say it simple and straight. As you are aware, your friend Sir Charles has … resigned. Now that I am in charge, I plan to implement substantial changes, beginning with the dismissal of any superfluous elements retained only because of Warren’s sentimental disposition.’
    So this is how it ends , I thought, withdrawing my hands to clench my fists freely under the table.
    ‘It is no secret that your position is overpaid and that you find it hard to cooperate with some of your colleagues. For instance, not long ago it came to my ears that you called Berry, the photographer, a … what was it? Stinking piece of rancid mutton? ’
    How could I have called the man anything better? Photography was immensely expensive, only used in extraordinary cases like the Whitechapel murders, yet that ham-fisted troglodyte treated the equipment with ludicrous disregard; he constantly broke the tripods of his Gandolfi camera, and his lenses and plates were always smeared with grease from his bacon-stuffed luncheons. I’d failed to compose myself when he handed me photographs of a crime scene scattered with dry pieces of half-chewed sausage.
    I cleared my throat. ‘I am aware that my reaction may have been regarded as … severe by some people; nevertheless, I am not in the habit of mistreating –’
    Monro was casting me such a killing stare that I thought it better to save my comments.
    ‘In brief,’ he said, ‘I cannot keep you in service.’
    Just as Sir Charles had predicted …
    Monro clearly planned to replace all the high officials whose allegiances were with Sir Charles Warren. His ‘substantial changes’ were simply an exercise to surround himself with allies and secure his own authority. It was all a pathetic game of politics; one that sadly would send my career to the cesspit.
    ‘I understand you perfectly,’ I managed to utter, not a single tremor in my voice.
    ‘If you have nothing further to say I must ask you to leave. I am expecting a very important visitor at any moment and I don’t want him to find you here. God knows I have grim news to tell him.’
    I stood up and could not restrain myself. ‘Is it about the