The Body at the Tower

Thirty





He didn’t. Instead, after helping Barker to load James’s shivering, barely conscious form into the carriage, Mary jumped down again. At Barker’s questioning look, she shook her head. “I’ll write.” She didn’t wait to hear his response, or bid James a proper goodbye.

Neither did she return to the bloody scene at the foot of the tower. She’d seen bodies enough in her time, and she had no place there, besides. Already, even from a distance, she could see a good-size throng gathered about it: uniformed policemen, a police surgeon, detectives from the Yard, probably someone representing the Agency. Even Peter Jenkins. And, unless she was much mistaken, there was a scruffy, fair-haired chap nosing about in a discreet fashion: Octavius Jones. The liar – so much for resting on Sundays.

She didn’t linger. Her task, now, was to return to the Agency and report fully. Physical exhaustion was now overlaid by so much nervous tension that less than half an hour later, she stood once more before Anne Treleaven and Felicity Frame in the austere attic. Anne managed to appear dignified even in a nightgown and robe, with her pale reddish hair swinging down her back in a tidy braid. The effect was startlingly girlish and, for the first time, Mary wondered whether Miss Treleaven wasn’t a good deal younger than she’d always assumed. Felicity was dressed as for a particularly elegant party, in peacock-blue silk and with ornately curled hair. In sharp contrast to her employers, Mary was dusty, bruised and, only now, beginning to shake with suppressed shock.

“Are you certain you’re uninjured?” asked Anne. “Our physician is ready to see you at any time. Perhaps before you report…”

“No, thank you.” Mary dropped into a chair and said, “Harkness claimed responsibility for Wick’s death, Reid’s disappeared, I don’t know what’s to happen to Jenkins, and Jones knows I’m female.”

Felicity frowned.

Anne blinked. “You may be unhurt, but you’d better have a drink, my dear.”

Her stomach churned at the idea, but Anne was insistent. And indeed, after a stiff measure of brandy, Mary felt warmth returning to her hands and feet, and a degree of organization to her thoughts. “I beg your pardon,” she said, blushing at her own incoherence. “I’ll begin again.

“According to my source, a labourer’s assistant called Peter Jenkins, Keenan, Reid and Wick were stealing materials from site stores and selling them on. Harkness discovered their thefts, but was somehow persuaded to overlook them; indeed, in exchange for a share of the income, Harkness began to falsify the site accounts to allow Keenan and Wick to continue their scheme. I’ve seen Harkness’s bank book, and he was seriously overdrawn; I expect he had other debts, too, which he had no means of repaying on his salary alone.”

“Indeed,” nodded Anne. “We’ve confirmed a number of loans, all on extortionate terms, with one of the more notorious moneylenders in London.”

Mary nodded. “This arrangement might have worked. However, Wick – possibly prompted by Keenan – realized he could profit at both ends of this arrangement: he began to blackmail Harkness, threatening to expose his involvement with the scheme. It was a foolish idea: had Harkness called his bluff, Wick would only have put an end to his own illegal earnings. But for some reason, Harkness agreed to pay – possibly because the initial sum Wick demanded was manageable, and because his own debts seemed increasingly urgent. But as Wick’s demands got larger – by the end, Harkness was paying him ten pounds a week – Harkness became increasingly desperate. Keenan’s black-market income was no longer enough to justify paying off Wick, yet he couldn’t extricate himself without getting caught.

“Wick demanded a meeting with Harkness, after dark, in the belfry. It’s a sign of how deeply enmeshed Harkness felt that he agreed to meet Wick at all. But he did. That night, Wick proposed going to Mrs Harkness and forcing her to find the money. He also threatened to force her to have sexual relations with him, as a form of payment.”

“This is Harkness’s own account?” asked Felicity.

“Yes. Wick may have wanted only to frighten Harkness, but he went too far: Harkness was incensed, they fought, and, as everyone knows, Wick went over the edge. It’s still unclear whether he fell or was pushed.

“The week following Wick’s death, Harkness paid Keenan one final blackmail instalment. Their arrangement seems to have been for Keenan to take the money himself from Harkness’s desk; at least, I saw Keenan enter the site after hours last Monday night. But that week, the First Commissioner declared his intention to conduct a safety review of the building site. Harkness must have known, at that point, that he was caught. Any competent safety review would reveal the short cuts he’d taken, the low building standards he’d accepted, in order to set aside more raw materials for Keenan to steal. James Easton’s review also uncovered his highly dubious accounting practices.”

“James Easton again,” murmured Felicity. “What an interesting young man.”

Mary had no idea how to respond to this, except by ignoring it. “With his professional integrity and personal reputation destroyed, Harkness believed his only choice was suicide. He decided if possible to take Keenan with him. So he lured Keenan to the belfry for an after-hours meeting.

“Keenan seems to have been close to Wick, and Harkness taunted him with the details of Wick’s death. He successfully goaded Keenan into attacking him. And he might also have succeeded in dragging Keenan over the ledge with him, except that Mr Easton caught them – caught Keenan, at any rate, and dragged him back to safety.” Mary swallowed. She could still hear that scream echoing in her ears. “Keenan deliberately let go of Harkness.”

After an pause, Anne asked, “How did you and Mr Easton manage the arrest of Keenan? You can’t have had time to send for help.”

“That was a lucky accident,” said Mary slowly. “I ran into Jenkins on Sunday afternoon, after Reid went missing. I asked Jenkins to check whether Reid had disappeared of his own accord. He had: Reid paid for Jenkins’s lodgings, and on the evening he disappeared, settled with the landlord for the next two months. When Jenkins came to site, as I’d told him to, a couple of policemen patrolling the area saw a boy run into the building site after hours, gave chase, and ended up catching Keenan on his way down the tower stairs.”

“Quite ridiculously fortuitous,” smiled Felicity.

Mary smiled, for the first time since entering the Agency. “Mr Easton’s coachman was also on the scene and realized that things had become violent. He was ahead of Jenkins and the policemen by a storey or two, and I believe he was able to lend a hand.” She released a long, slow breath. “I think those are the most important points…” She was suddenly unspeakably weary. Her eyelids were leaden. Her muscles ached and burned. A thick patch of dry blood on her chin stretched and stung each time she spoke. And an angry red crease along her throat, like a noose, was a stinging reminder of those terrifying minutes she’d hung suspended from Keenan’s grip.

Anne nodded briskly. “There are a few loose ends, of course, but I expect we’ll be able to tie those up tomorrow before we meet with the Commissioner. By the by, his assessment of Harkness as ‘reliable’ couldn’t have been further off the mark.” She turned to Felicity. “D’you think the Commissioner was testing us?”

Felicity blinked, surprised at the question. “I – I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“Mmm.” Anne’s jaw took on an obstinate angle. “We’ll have to find out. There’s just too much we don’t know about him. About this case, overall.”

Felicity’s mouth was stubborn. “We’ll discuss this further, of course.” She turned back to Mary. “There’s just one more thing.”

Mary froze, half-way out of her chair. “Yes, Mrs Frame.”

“James Easton. What d’you intend to do about him?”

“I – I hadn’t – that is, I don’t yet know exactly what I’ll say.”

“But you intend to see him again.”

“I can’t just run away, or disappear.” The twin gazes of her employers seemed to bore through her. “I – I owe him a goodbye, at least.” She felt a painful, unexpected bump of disappointment as the words left her mouth. Was there another solution to their situation? Not likely. Not if she valued her work, indeed her life, here at the Agency.

“You’ll report to us the outcome of that interview.”

“Of course.”