Page 6 of Copper Script
“‘The law, in its majestic equality, forbids the rich as well as the poor to sleep under bridges, to beg in the streets, and to steal bread.’”
“Exactly!”Wildsmith said.“Did you just think of that?It’s jolly good.”
“Anatole France.”Aaron had been required to learn that line by heart.“I quite grant you that some people have fewer and harder choices than others, and that we could reduce crime if we reduced poverty.So let’s leave aside your hungry child, and look at your well-fed banker who’s planning to flee for South America having robbed his investors for years.Is he not a bad lot?Or do you decline to judge him too?”
“He stinks,” Wildsmith said.“But even so, it’s worth looking at the why and the wherefore, isn’t it?Otherwise you’re sayingThey’re a bad lot because they make bad choices, and they make those choices because they’re a bad lot.Whereas I think it’s more useful for me to say, oh,This person is writing with contempt, orThey don’t seem to believe they’re doing anything wrong, orThis feels like they’re telling lies.That way, perhaps my client can understand more about what’s going on, based on their own knowledge of the person and situation.Perhaps you might even work out how to change things—how to appeal to the better parts of their nature, or to understand what motivates them and offer something else.”
“You think so?”
“Well, it’s possible.I had a client who was having awful trouble with his employer, a very highly regarded professional man.He was a brute and a bully on my client’s word, but his hand reeked of fear.He felt deep down he wasn’t good enough, and he took it out on his staff.So I told my client to praise him.He said,Don’t be absurd, I’m a junior, my praise would mean nothing to such an important man, but all I could see was someone desperate to hear he was doing well.I said, just try it.He did, and the chap’s now eating out of his hand.”
Aaron frowned.“That sounds very like pandering to a man who ought to behave better.”
“Yes, he ought to, but he wasn’t,” Wildsmith said.“Andyoumight prefer to be screamed at daily rather than lower yourself to grease the wheels, but my client just wanted to go to work.What he needed from me was a way to do that, not a condemnation of his employer’s character.Do you see?”
Aaron saw quite a few things, one of which was that Wildsmith was very good at what he did, which was nothing to do with handwriting.He clearly understood people, and particularly the two most potent human desires of them all: to be found interesting, and to gossip about others.
“What about this chap?”he asked, and held out the third paper.Wildsmith took it, and started to read.
The difference was dramatic.Within a few moments his shoulders rose and hunched like a cat’s, and his jaw and neck tensed visibly as he read.His mouth worked silently, and then he said, “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“No.Absolutely not.Don’t hire him, don’t let him marry your sister, none of it.”
“Why not?”
“Christ, can you not read?”Wildsmith demanded, and then, immediately, “Sorry.Sorry.It’s—look, forget what I said just now, I’m making a judgement.This man is bad to the bone.”
Aaron sat very still.“Why?”
Wildsmith gave the letter a little shake, as if trying to dislodge dirt.“He’s wrong inside, horribly wrong.There’s a disconnection.This is someone who doesn’t care and who likes to do—to hurt— It’s pulling the wings off flies, but that’s all he does or wants to do.It’s cruel and it’s clinical—and he’sentertained— Oh my God.What the fuck.What is this?”He shoved the paper back at Aaron.“What the hell have you brought me?”
Aaron took it automatically, and rose to his feet as Wildsmith sprang to his.“Calm down.And look here—”
“No,youlook.If you know this man, then do something about him.You need the police, not a bloody graphologist!And do itnow, because I will bet you the contents of my bank account that he has hurt people, and he will hurt people again.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Wildsmith said through his teeth.“I suppose he’s what you really came about?Well, I’ve told you your suspicions are right, congratulations, now bloody do something.Take it away.Goaway.Pay me first,” he added.
Aaron fished out two ten-shilling notes, in the hope that paying up would lead to calming down.“Wait.Could you tell me more about this?”
“I do not want to—” Wildsmith stopped himself, inhaled very deeply, and went on with a thin veneer of control.“Please, just go to the police.Ask them to spare five minutes from their busy schedule of harassing the Irish and entrapping men in public conveniences, and look at this fellow.I’m sure you can make someone listen to you, you seem like the sort.If they investigate him they will find something.”
“What something?”
“Something horrible,” Wildsmith said flatly.“This man’s wrong all the way through.He’s done terrible things and he doesn’t care.If they hang him for it, he still won’t care.He needs to be stopped and he won’t stop till he’s made to, so go to the police andmake—them—look.”He jabbed a dictatorial finger on each of those words.“And if you need a starting point—oh hell, I don’t know.Helplessness.Children.Animals or children.You need to go.I’ve a headache.”
He shoved Aaron’s coat at him, then his hat, and Aaron found himself outside in short order.He stood in the night air, steadying himself for a moment and then set off home with a lot to think about.
There could be no doubt of Joel Wildsmith’s skills.This last display was proof positive: he was unquestionably a fraud, and a shameless one at that.A little bit too clever, Mr.Graphologist, Aaron thought savagely.
He’d known who Aaron was.That was the key to the whole thing, and all his explanations made sense in the light of that.Probably the spiritualist-confidence fraternity exchanged notes on police?Or maybe this whole thing was an asinine practical joke on Paul’s part, and if it was, Aaron was going to give his cousin the sort of dressing-down that led strong men to emigrate.There was an explanation along those lines, even if Aaron didn’t yet know exactly what it was, because Wildsmith had quite clearly known the author of the third letter.
Children.What a damned filthy thing to use as a deception.
They’d found four small bodies wrapped in sacking under Wilfred Molesworth’s kitchen floor, and he had shown no remorse, no guilt, nothing at all.He had been a mild-mannered little man, blinking behind his spectacles as they levered up the floorboards, and he had blinked mildly just the same way while the hangman put the rope round his neck.
