Page 46 of Dead Beside the Thames
When Barnaby stopped beside Stokes, Stokes nodded toward the Cole Stairs. “A boatman heading home from the local public house saw two large, heavy bruisers wrestling on the stairs.”
Stokes started down the cobbled street, and Barnaby fell in beside him. As they walked, Stokes described what the boatman had seen.
“So,” Barnaby concluded, “it seems highly likely that your witness saw Sedbury being strangled.”
Stokes nodded. “The boatman’s recollection was clear, and he seemed quite certain of what he saw.” They reached the embankment wall and stepped over the low stone parapet onto the rock shelf that formed the main part of the stairs. “Therefore,” Stokes continued, looking about the uneven surface, “it appears that Sedbury came down here for his meeting, and it was here that he died.”
Barnaby joined Stokes in a thorough visual examination of the stone platform, but there was no hint of a struggle or fight to be found.
“Also no sign of the whip,” Stokes said, “but even if it was here, it wouldn’t have remained here for long.”
It was Barnaby’s turn to smile with satisfaction. “As it happens, I, too, have a breakthrough to share.”
“Ah-ha!” With an expectant grin, Stokes returned, “As ever with investigations, it never rains but it pours.”
“Indeed. And I’m here to report that it seems my lads have found what we believe to be Sedbury’s whip.”
Stokes’s expression lit. “Where?”
“A pawnshop in Aldgate High Street.”
“So not far away?”
“No. I came here first to see if you wanted to come with me on the off chance it is Sedbury’s whip and therefore the murder weapon. If it is and we can get the pawnbroker to say from whom he received it, then…”
“Indeed.” Stokes nodded. “And if we can tie it to somewhere around here, that will further help our cause.” He turned to the buildings. “Come on.”
They walked back up Gold Street, cast around through the nearby lanes, and found O’Donnell conferring with Morgan, who had informed the sergeant of the boatman’s revelations. Stokes brought the pair up to date with the news about the whip and directed them to see who else they could find who’d seen the fight in the small hours of Sunday morning.
O’Donnell’s expression turned even more dogged than it usually was. “Now we know it was on the stairs, we can press the locals harder. There’ll be others who saw what the boatman saw, and hopefully, someone saw more.”
Morgan offered, “I’ll check with the other boatmen who ply their trade in the small hours. Plenty of them on the river of a Saturday night, even along this stretch.”
Barnaby nodded approvingly. “It sounds as if the fight would have been readily seen by anyone on the river.”
O’Donnell and Morgan saluted. “Right you are, sir,” O’Donnell said. “We’ll get on with it.”
Stokes nodded a dismissal, and he and Barnaby walked briskly to where Barnaby had left his curricle in the care of Jeremy, one of his lads. “He’s from the local area,” Barnaby explained as he and Stokes neared the curricle, “and it was he who tracked down the whip.”
On reaching the carriage, Stokes smiled at Jeremy. “Good work on finding the whip.”
Jeremy colored and bobbed his curly head. “Wasn’t hard. Just had to ask.”
Stokes smiled. “Nevertheless.”
Barnaby grinned and took the reins and, with Stokes, climbed to the box. At Barnaby’s tip of the head and his “Come on!” Jeremy eagerly scrambled up behind. Barnaby flicked the reins and set his chestnut trotting. Following directions from Jeremy, Barnaby navigated the narrow streets, eschewing the crowded byways around the docks and striking north to turn onto Commercial Road. From there, they made their way to Whitechapel and followed the road west until they reached Aldgate High Street.
Jeremy pointed out Sullivan’s Pawnshop, and Barnaby drew the curricle up to the curb.
“It’s old Mr. Sullivan in there,” Jeremy said. He accepted the reins and Barnaby’s instruction to wait for them there, then Barnaby led the way inside, with Stokes hanging back in his shadow.
Mr. Sullivan was a round man, dressed in browns, whose hair and whiskers gave him the appearance of a badger. With the briefest of glances, he assessed Barnaby’s station in life and smiled toothily. “Good day, sir. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Barnaby smiled easily back. “I am, indeed. A whip. I’m told you have one that arrived recently?”
“Indeed, indeed!” Mr. Sullivan reached below the counter and brought out a short-handled horsewhip, coiled and tied with a leather thong. “You’re in luck. This came in a few days ago. Lovely specimen, it is.”
Almost reverentially, Sullivan laid the whip on the glass counter.
