The Light Beneath the Cauldron, Page 2

  “Yes, yes indeed. I will stay on for some months yet I think.”

  “You feel the Devil in the city still?”

  “Maybe not the Devil, himself,” Deek said looking more serious now, “But his hand is at work. I don't know for sure where or how, but it will come to the fore and everyone will see it then.” Edwards hid his thoughts but it was as if Deek was describing the very acts Edwards was bringing about in the city. He intended to bring the cycle of serial killers to an end in Dublin, with Steven Olocher killing all those involved in the Dolocher case. Then when Olocher—whose true name was known only to Edwards- was revealed to be the son of Thomas Olocher, the city would never be able to stop talking about it. Or the hero who brought it all to a close.

  “That sounds like Dublin all the time,” he smiled at Deek.

  “It sounds like every city all the time,” Deek replied. “That’s the beauty of his work; it goes on everywhere there is man to do it.” Edwards could see the sense in this; he’d seen many a man commit great evils for no more reason than being a little drunk. Plenty of other’s would turn over their own mothers for even a little short term gain. It was a wicked world and the only person who didn’t seem to get this was Alderman James. The image of the mob gathering around earlier and James’ polite dealing with them came to mind. Animals.

  “How boring it would be if only God’s work was being done,” Edwards smiled taking up his hat and cloak. Deek laughed at this heartily, and was still laughing as he waved Edwards off for the evening.

  Chapter 4

  The whiskey cabin on Cook Street was full to capacity, with some men having to drink in both the alley to the rear of the building and on the street outside. If you were to look back over the recent history of Dublin, you would see that this level of a crowd drawn only happened when something big had occurred, or was about to. Today it was the escape of the killer Gaspard. Many of those present now had been at the gallows and their stories filled the air as they let others know of their heroic part in trying to catch the killer.

  The blacksmith Mullins and the fearsome Lord Muc sat at a table to the rear and looked on the joyful sight. Theirs was the only table in the place afforded any space around it. Everyone knew it was a bad idea to come close enough to upset either of these huge men.

  “Would you listen to all that rot!” Muc said cocking a thumb at the room in general, “Not one of them did a thing; chicken shits to a man.” A few men nearby heard this and shuffled away nervously.

  “Leave them be,” Mullins said waving a dismissive hand, “They’re excited and blowing it off tonight.”

  “They all seem to forget that if it wasn’t for me, that crazy French bastard would be out killing still!”

  “Everyone knows it was you who caught him,” Mullins said laughing, “As if you haven’t told them enough!” Muc shot him a look,

  “You watch yourself blacksmith,” he said, “You’re as close to my fists as any other man here tonight!” Mullins grinned at Muc and took up his drink. Mullins knew that at some point soon he was going to have to give the former gang-leader the fight he’d always wanted, but he also knew Muc wouldn’t accept until Mullins was back in better shape than he was now.

  “You’re beating will come soon enough,” he said as he put his drink down. Muc sneered at this and then looked out over the crowd again.

  As Mullins watched him, he wondered what was going to happen. Lord Muc always held the same scornful face save when he was laughing, and it was rare to know for sure if he was going to start a fight or not. Mullins could see that he was getting riled up but that alone didn’t mean anything.

  “So should you not be out on the street looking for him again, tonight?” Mullins asked.

  “Why should I?”

  “Well, if you don’t, whoever catches him tonight will be the one remembered and not you.” Muc looked like he’d just received a slap in the face.

  “You think so?” he asked. Mullins shrugged,

  “Maybe.”

  “Should you not be at home looking after your woman?” Muc then asked of Mullins. “You’re not worried she might be attacked again?”

  “There’s a couple of soldiers on the yard patrolling this evening. No one will get near my house without them knowing.”

  “Soldiers!” Muc scoffed, “Those idiots couldn’t catch a cold!” Mullins smiled at this and finished up his drink. It was unfortunate timing but he needed to go home now.

  “Well, you enjoy the rest of your night; I’m off home for my dinner.”

  “Not so confident about those soldiers anymore, eh?”

  “Not that at all, I’m just hungry.”

  “Off you go then,” Muc said, “I might have some corrections to make here tonight.”

  Mullins took up his coat and looked at the men all enjoying their evening. If Muc decided on a fight there would be a few men in here for whom the fun was about to end.

  Walking the short distance through the streets to his home, Mullins noted how many people there were about. No one seemed to be all that bothered about the killer who was back free and possibly roaming the city. Was this a simple trust in the army today? Did everyone think they would have their man by midnight? It was true that there were plenty more soldiers than usual out this evening and perhaps that alone was were the confidence of the average person came from. For his own part, Mullins didn’t want to be out for long. He was more than happy when he reached his own front door.

  Once inside the sweet aroma of home cooked food assailed him and the vision that was his wife, Kate floated over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek.

  “You were in that bloody whiskey cabin again?” she asked but there was no scolding in her tone.

  “Just a couple with Muc,” he said.

  “Is he still telling everyone how he caught Gaspard in the first place?” she smiled.

  “He’s worried now that someone else is going to get the credit when he’s caught again.”

  “And is he still telling anyone who will listen how Gaspard gave you a good licking before the murders started?” Kate was teasing him now and he smiled at her.

  “He’ll never stop on that story,” he said and knew it was true.

  “All the same, Tim,” Kate said with a more serious tone now, “I’m glad you’re home. Perhaps it would be best to stay home until he’s arrested again?” She was talking of Gaspard now. Mullins nodded in agreement.

  “Most likely you’re right,” he said, “But I can’t imagine they won’t have him by morning.”

  “They could be taking him to gaol right now,” Kate said hopefully.

  That would be the ideal, Mullins thought. He looked at Kate as she went to the pot to dish up the stew. It was great to have her back, and he hoped that nothing would ever come between them again. He thought of their idea of leaving and mentally counted the money he currently had and that which was owed to him. It would only be a few months now, and they could be off. He wanted this new life in a new place with Kate more than he wanted anything else in the world. He couldn't wait to get it started.

  Chapter 5

  Marcus Cabinteely was nervous. He knew what he was doing was wrong but the money from Edwards had made the difference. It was a month’s salary as the gaoler at Newgate Prison and he couldn’t turn that down. If Edwards had waited a few more moments before offering the money, however, it was possible Cabinteely would have agreed anyway. Edwards had told him something that was truly remarkable, and made him want to say yes to the request.

  Usually, when someone asked to see the cell in the tower of the prison, Cabinteely would say no. It was not a rare request; there were a lot of people interested in the tower because of its history, and some others just curious to see the view from up there. When Edwards came to him and asked Cabinteely would always find it hard to say no. Edwards was rich and powerful and generally got what he wanted. When he told Cabinteely who it was that wanted to see the tower, the gaoler couldn’t believe his ears.
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  “Thomas Olocher’s son!” he asked incredulous. Edwards nodded.

  “No one else can know about this,” he said, and this is when he handed the money over. Cabinteely looked at the sum and found himself pocketing it.

  “Not a word,” he said pressing his finger to his lips.

  “I mean it,” Edwards said, “No one should see you go up there, or coming back down. Not even the guards.”

  “Yes, I understand, I will send the guards on an errand in the Nunnery and sneak him in and then make sure he gets out without being seen too.”

  “That’s a good man,” Edwards said patting his arm, “He will be along this evening, close to midnight. Shall I tell him to use the back gate?”

  “Yes, that would be best.”

  Midnight came and Cabinteely stood at the rear gate on Back Lane waiting impatiently. He’d sent the guard off for a few minutes to get some food but he would be back soon. The gaoler peered nervously out in the lane. He didn’t know what to expect. Though he’d heard the name of Thomas Olocher many times in the past, Cabinteely wasn’t working here at the time of Olocher’s death. He had no idea what the man had looked like but he’d always imagined some kind of gargoyle what with the slashed cheeks and pulped nose he’d heard of.

  “Cabinteely?” a voice startled him and a young man stepped from the shadows across the laneway.

  “Did Edwards send you?” Cabinteely asked, afraid to use the name at the same time wondering how this man had come upon him unnoticed like he did.

  “Yes, I’m Olocher,” the man said quietly. Shivers ran up Cabinteely's spine at this but he ushered Olocher in with his hand. Olocher slipped inside the gate silently and it was shut quickly.

  “Wait in that alcove until the guard returns and then I will follow you,” Cabinteely said. As he watched Olocher move, he thought how strange it was to be sneaking around in his own prison.

  Only moments after Olocher joined the shadows of the alcove, the guard came back, smiling and took up his post once more. Cabinteely passed by Olocher and nodded for him to follow. They came to the main courtyard of the prison and now the gaoler talked to the front gate guard to distract him while Steven Olocher slipped into the winding stairway that led to the top of the tower.

  Olocher was already on the small landing at the top when Cabinteely caught up with him. The young man looked into the cell where his father had ended his own life almost six years ago.

  “So this is where he spent his last hours,” Olocher said still starting ahead.

  “That’s what is said,” Cabinteely answered trying to distance himself from the fact.

  “Not much of a place to end your days, is it?”

  “I suppose not, no.” Cabinteely was nervous now, and he didn’t like being here with the killer’s son.

  “Can I go inside?” Olocher asked.

  “Yes, it’s open.” Olocher looked down at the lock and pushed at the black bars. The door swung in to the circular cell.

  Cabinteely watched as Olocher stepped inside and stood in the middle of the room. Olocher had the look of a man who was trying to feel something in the air and Cabinteely thought he might be somehow trying to make contact with his father after all these years.

  “You never knew him, is that right?” Cabinteely asked when he could bear the silence no longer. Olocher answered without looking at him,

  “That’s right.” He walked to the window then and looked down on the courtyard and the street beyond. Cabinteely thought of something else to say; perhaps he should tell Olocher it was time to leave.

  Just at that moment, he saw Olocher take hold of the bars on the window and look more intently at something.

  “I think you’re going to have a problem there,” he nodded out the window. Olocher stepped out of the way as Cabinteely walked over to look.

  “What is it?” he asked not seeing anything out of order below. He’d thought that someone was perhaps trying to escape.

  “Murder,” Olocher whispered harshly and Cabinteely felt the blade slice across his throat in one quick motion. Both hands clutched to his neck and he turned with wide open eyes to stare at Olocher. Blood was flowing fast and his hands were doing nothing to stem the flow. He tried to call out but it seemed as though he’d lost the ability to do so. He dropped to one knee as weakness came over him. He saw the blood pooling around his feet and then looked up at his killer once more. If his voice couldn't do it, he asked with his eyes,

  ‘Why?’

  Steven Olocher wiped the blade with a cloth and looked around the room with disdain,

  “Not much of a place to end your days, is it?” and now he smiled at Cabinteely, who slumped down on both knees now.

  No more sensible thought would ever to come to Marcus Cabinteely, and very soon he closed his eyes for the last time.

  Chapter 6

  Alderman James was on Molesworth Street, investigating a possible sighting of Gaspard when the note reached him about Cabinteely’s death. His face was ashen grey and he felt nauseous as he folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

  “Thank you,” he said to the guard who had delivered it, “You can go now.” He didn’t have any reply to send back at this moment. Not thinking the lead on Gaspard was credible James said goodbye to the man who’d reported it and left. He wanted to be alone to process this news.

  Cabinteely was well known to James, he was a good man and a decent gaoler. So many men in that profession took their own miseries out on prisoners but Marcus Cabinteely hadn’t been this way. He did his best to make sure the prisoners were not mistreated and were looked after as best he could. James couldn't imagine anyone wanting to kill this man.

  As he searched for a possible reason, the niggling voice in the back of his head told him he should know better. Cabinteely was not the point here; it was the location of the murder that mattered. It could have been anyone, but in this case it was the gaoler because he was there when the killer needed him to be. The sick feeling in his stomach told him this was something starting again; in the same place it had started so many times before. They should level that tower to the ground, he thought angrily.

  Of course he knew, and turned out to be right, that everyone would assume that this killing was Gaspard picking up where he left off when he was captured. That was the level of imagination most people in this city had. James had a feeling that man was long gone and it was possible he’d never be seen in Ireland again. What would it take to convince the public of this, though? Nothing short of catching whoever was responsible for this. With this thought in mind, he went straight to Newgate Prison, the ‘Black Dog.’

  The sense of familiarity at the scene was overwhelming. It was as if he’d seen this very scene before only he knew it was different. Was it just the person who was different? He couldn’t be sure. This was the third time he’d been to a violent death scene in this very cell.

  “Did the prisoner escape?” James asked the guard with him.

  “There was no prisoner up here, Sir,” he answered. James looked at him in surprise.

  “No prisoner?” the guard nodded, “Then who was up here with him?”

  “We don’t know, Sir. None of us can make sense of it. I talked to him at the gate down there,” he pointed out the window, “and I saw him come into the tower but he was alone.”

  “Why was he coming into the tower if there was no prisoner?”

  “I don’t know, Sir. As he was the boss I didn’t ask him.”

  “You saw no one leave?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “And heard nothing?” James asked. He saw the man’s face flush in embarrassment,

  “Nothing, Sir.”

  “When was the body found?” The shade of red turned crimson,

  “Only this morning, Sir.” James sighed and nodded; this had been the way of all things lately. No information, no witnesses. How did anyone expect him to do his job if they couldn't tell him anything at all about the crimes? Even when committed right under t
he noses of the people he spoke to?

  James went on to ask all the pertinent questions he could about Cabinteely’s life, if he had any enemies, any recent prisoners who were unhappy with him. Of course the answers all came back as expected and it all lead to no more information. He would speak to the man’s wife, but as he would also be the one to break the news of her husband's murder, he didn’t expect he’d get much coherence there either in the short term.

  By the time Alderman James got home late that afternoon, the whole city knew about the gaoler’s death. People booed and shouted at his carriage as he passed, the name of Gaspard being called out angrily here and there.

  James did his best to try drown this noise out as he tried to concentrate on his work. The first murder had been committed, there was nothing he could do about that, but he could try to anticipate what was coming next. He intended to go back over his old diaries and files in relation to the ‘Shadow of the Dolocher’ murders supposedly committed by Spencer. He was sure the clue would be in there.

  James now believed, as only Mary Sommers did, that Spencer had been innocent and someone had set him up. Those killings stopped when Spencer was arrested but that was all part of the ruse. He felt that Gaspard’s inexplicable killing spree was the only reason the other killer had not struck as yet. He was waiting for all the attention.

  “But if that is the case why kill while Gaspard is free? He would surely know Gaspard would get the credit,” James mused.

  James remembered the letters this killer used to send to him, with the sketches within them. Would they start up again now? Spencer was dead but he could still have his name cleared; that was something important to James. He knew all about trying to unsully your name.

  When he got home, he ordered his dinner be brought to his study and went straight there. He assembled everything he could that might bear on the case and started reading straight away.

  Alderman James found that on reading all of this it was like he was right back there when it was happening. And, in fact, that was true, he was still here and always would be until this man was arrested and hanged. Whoever he was, he was clever and resourceful and very careful not to be caught. It was going to take all James had to track him down, and it would also mean Edwards was going to have to be involved again. His contacts would be needed and his own memories and insight on the case as it was at the time might also come in handy.