Page 52 of Dead Beside the Thames
“The only possibility—and it’s barely even that—is if Sedbury stopped off at one of the buildings along the way.” Barnaby looked in the direction the jarvey had indicated. “Let’s go to Gold Street and concentrate our efforts around there and see if we can find anyone else who can shed light on Sedbury’s movements that night.”
Half an hour later, Barnaby and Jonathon came out of a shop and found Stokes and Bryan waiting in the street.
Earlier, Barnaby had dispatched one of the constables who had been supporting him and Jonathon to convey the jarvey’s information to Stokes.
“So,” Stokes said, as Barnaby and Jonathon joined him and Bryan, “any further sightings?”
Barnaby glanced around at the sad-looking houses. “No. We couldn’t turn up anyone who saw him or anyone else after Saturday midnight.”
“However,” Jonathon said, looking rather grim, “as to what brought him here and the likely reason for his meeting, it seems he’d taken to playing his games of intimidation and coercion on a larger scale and to a much deeper, darker degree in this neighborhood.”
Bryan, whose complexion had turned a trifle pasty, nodded. “That sounds the same as the stories we’ve heard, and you can tell that no one’s making them up—the passions are too raw.” He, too, glanced around. “I wouldn’t have thought it possible,but Sedbury was even more loathed and detested around here than he was in the ton.”
“With reason,” Stokes growled. “If even half the tales we’ve been told are true, Sedbury had taken to treating this area as his personal fiefdom. In more genteel society, he risked running afoul of all manner of social and similar strictures, but here?”
“Here,” Barnaby responded, “he could do whatever he wished, and no one was in any position to even bring pressure to bear against him, much less say him nay.”
“In other words,” Jonathon said, “assuming he was killed by a local—someone he pushed too far—then the suspect list will run into the hundreds.”
“If not thousands,” Bryan put in. After a moment, he admitted, “And having heard all we have, I don’t even know that I want whoever did for him caught.”
Stokes grunted. “On a more positive note, we now have three more witnesses who noticed the fight. The one with the clearest view of the action and who, therefore, gave the best description of the man who killed Sedbury was another boatman. He was out on the river, but closer to the opposite shore than this one. Sadly, he was too far away to be able to identify our murderer, but he said the man was a trifle taller and broader than Sedbury—overall, definitely larger.”
Barnaby whistled. “There can’t be that many men of such stature around here.”
Stokes dipped his head in agreement. “The boatman also said the murderer had dark hair, and he thinks it was curly. Our unknown man wore a long, heavy-looking dark coat, but no hat. The boatman saw both men arrive and step onto the platform. Sedbury first—although, of course, the boatman didn’t know who he was—then the other man lumbered out from the shadows at the east end of the stairs. The boatman says the other man nodded to Sedbury, but they didn’t shake hands.”
“Well, Sedbury wouldn’t, would he?” Bryan said. “He barely acknowledged anyone in the ton as an equal.”
Stokes continued, “The boatman said the pair faced off about a yard apart, and they talked. The boatman thought the exchange lasted for several back-and-forths, then Sedbury stepped back and flicked out his whip. He paused, then raised the whip and struck at the other man. But the man raised his left arm—the boatman thinks he was wearing leather gauntlets—and the whip wrapped around his forearm, and he wrenched hard, but Sedbury didn’t let go. The murderer jerked Sedbury closer and smashed his other fist into Sedbury’s face.”
Barnaby nodded. “That accounts for the damage to Sedbury’s face.”
“Yes. And it tells us that the boatman’s information is reliable,” Stokes said. “Sedbury staggered, but didn’t go down. The murderer used the moment to unwind the whip from his arm, then Sedbury flung himself at the man, lashing out with his fists, although the boatman didn’t think he managed to land many blows. That said, he didn’t stop until the murderer thrust him off, and when he came in again, the murderer looped the whip about Sedbury’s throat, stepped behind him, and pulled.”
“The boatman saw Sedbury strangled?” Jonathon swallowed.
Stokes waggled his head. “Not quite, and he didn’t truly realize what he was seeing until it was all over, because a laden barge passed down the river and cut off his view of the platform for the critical moments. When he could finally see the stairs again, only the other man—our murderer—was still there. He was standing on the edge of the platform and looking into the river downstream, then he turned and walked away into the shadows.”
“In which direction did he walk?” Barnaby asked.
Stokes shook his head. “All the boatman could see was him leaving the platform, and he thinks it was more or less in the middle, near the end of Gold Street.”
All four of them turned and stared down Gold Street toward the Cole Stairs.
Jonathon huffed. “So the murderer could have gone in any direction—east, west, or north—into the lanes.”
No one argued the obvious.
“Well, from all we’ve learned today,” Barnaby observed, “it seems that any number of denizens of this area had excellent reasons for wishing Sedbury dead.”
Stokes sighed. “No matter how much he deserved to die, we still need to find the man who actually did the deed.”
“A hired killer or someone local?” Barnaby mused. “He could be either.”
Jonathon stirred. “Regardless of who he is and how much gratitude I feel he’s owed not just by the family but by so many others, I suppose we have to find him in order to clear our own names.”
The Hale brothers exchanged glances; neither of them looked all that keen to expose their half brother’s murderer.
