The Broken Trilogy Page 10

  Inspector Matthews frowns. "And which one are you, Sir?" he inquires after a moment.

  "I have told you!" I say, raising my voice. "I am Mr. Blue!"

  "Don't shout at me, Sir," he replies calmly. "I'll have you in a cell so fast, you won't know what hit you."

  "I'm sorry," I reply, "but you really have to believe me. Every single thing I'm telling you is true!"

  "And these three individuals. They're all a hundred years old, are they?" He smiles.

  "No!" I say firmly. "As I have already explained to you, different people occupy the roles at various times. For example, at the present moment, Lady Henrietta deHavilland of Grosvenor Square is Lady Red. When she dies, another person will assume that role within the game. The same thing happens with Mr. White, except that he must always be a middle-aged gentleman. And Mr. Blue must always be a younger gentleman, such as myself."

  Inspector Matthews stares at me for a moment. "So these three people play this game..." he says eventually. "And as Mr. Blue, what would be your particular role?"

  "Mr. Blue chooses the girls," I explain.

  "And what does that entail?"

  "I identify a girl who seems as if she might be suitable for the game, and then I begin to involve myself in her life. I look for a weakness in her personality, or a flaw, and I exploit that. I suppose you could say that I manipulate her. There are no limits to how I might do this, but the overall aim is to make her emotionally dependent upon me. In that way, I can draw them in deeper and deeper so that I can eventually test them and see if they have the necessary strength to progress to the next level of the game."

  "What do you mean by that, Sir?" he asks. "How exactly are they tested?"

  I pause. "Sexually tested," I reply after a moment. "The game requires girls who are mentally strong, and who can withstand certain challenges to their personality and to their body. They are pushed beyond the limits of sexual endurance."

  He frowns.

  "I confess I do not know the true aim of the game," I continue. "That is for Lady Red alone to know. All I understand, in my capacity as Mr. Blue, is that I must find a girl and push her beyond all norms of civilized behavior. I must take her into my bed and see how far she can go before she recoils in horror. Only if she passes this test can she move on to the next stage of the game."

  "And if she wins," Inspector Matthews says dourly, "what is her prize?" He smiles again. "A nice hat, perhaps? Some flowers?" He settles back in his chair. "A teapot?"

  "I do not know what would happen," I say. "No girl has ever progressed very far within the game. Most fail at the first hurdle. Some do not, and they then face Mr. White. Very few have ever got further than that, but a select few have made it all the way to Lady Red. And then..." I pause for a moment. "No girl has ever got past Lady Red."

  The room falls silent. I am aware that I must sound as if I am insane, babbling about all these facts that seem not to entirely make sense, but fortunately I have brought proof. Were it not for the leather case of documents, I am quite certain I would already have been driven out of here and labeled a madman. I took a huge risk by coming here today, but I fear that there is nowhere else in London where I can be safe. Over the past few days, it has become increasingly apparent that Lady Red has decided to terminate my involvement in the game, which means that she plans to have me killed. My only hope is to persuade the police to help me.

  "So in order to test these girls," Inspector Matthews continues eventually, looking through the documents from the leather case, "you engage them in sexual activity." He raises an eyebrow, as if he does not approve. I'm not surprised: such activities are far, far beyond the purview of ordinary men.

  "Yes," I say. "I take them to my bed, and I aim to determine if they can handle certain... unconventional approaches."

  "Such as?" he asks.

  I take a deep breath. "At first, nothing too unusual. But as time goes on, I start introducing other items. Straps, for example. Ties and bonds. I restrain them. I blindfold them and introduce a certain element of pain. Things that most right-thinking people would never imagine belong in the bedroom. Sometimes these sessions last for hours, sometimes even for days. The aim is to push the girl to an extreme and determine whether or not she can handle the challenge. Only those who can prove their worth in this regard are considered suitable for the next level of the game."

  "And the next level is..." He pauses. "That would be this fellow named Mr. White, would it not?"

  "It would," I say.

  "And what does he do to the girls?"

  I pause. "I am not entirely certain," I explain, "but I believe it is more extreme even than anything I have done."

  "So he tortures them?"

  "Not torture," I rely quickly, keen to ensure that Inspector Matthews understands that none of the girls are coerced into participating. "It is all consensual. The girls know they can stop things at any moment. However, I do believe there is a certain amount of..." I try to think of a way to explain this properly. "I believe a whip is involved," I say eventually, "and other... equipment."

  Detective Matthews shifts in his seat a little, evidently feeling rather uncomfortable. "Sounds positively barbaric. Medieval, even. And what happens to the girls who fail?" he asks.

  I take a deep breath. "The ones who fail at the first hurdle are simply sent on their way. As far as they are concerned, they have merely experienced a rather unfortunate sexual episode. But the ones who progress through the game, and who become aware of the game's existence, must be..." I pause yet again. I must choose my words very, very carefully from this point, since I have to avoid incriminating myself too deeply. "If a girl has progressed and has willingly joined the game," I explain, "she cannot be allowed to simply walk away at any point. The game must remain entirely secret, which is why... Which is why these girls end up in the river."

  "Right," Detective Matthews says carefully. "Now you must understand, Mr. Lockhart, that it is this part about the river that interests me the most. As you can imagine, I am not too concerned about the sexual proclivities of a bunch of weirdos who like to dress up and do strange things to one another. Even if I believed your story, I would be minded to think that ladies and gentlemen are permitted to do what they like in the privacy of their own home." He clears his throat. "But if dead girls are being dumped in the river, then that is a police matter. Are you making a confession, Mr. Lockhart?"

  "I have indicated on the map where the bodies are placed," I say, trying not to let my hands shake as I reach across the table and slip the map from among the documents. "I myself have seen half a dozen young ladies disposed of in this manner, but I wish to make it absolutely clear that I did not kill any of them. It is always Mr. White who wields the knife, and perhaps Lady Red. My only crime is that I did not step in to stop all of this from happening sooner."

  Inspector Matthews peers at the map. "So the girls are killed and dumped here," he says. "What do you expect me to do with this information, Mr. Lockhart? Drain the river so I can have a look at them?"

  "I am sure you have your methods," I reply.

  He pauses for a moment. "Do you know what happens to a body when it's dumped in the Thames, Mr. Lockhart? It doesn't just sink and stay put like a convenient little secret. To be blunt, they get eaten. Fish. Eels. Have you ever seen what an eel can do to a corpse? Believe me; a body won't last long in those waters. The bits that are left'll float up and get carried away in the currents, probably wash up in the estuary a few miles away."

  "But surely -"

  "But surely nothing," he continues, picking up another of the documents I have given him. "As for this list of dead girls, it would take you just a few hours to compile the names of a few unfortunates who have gone missing in the city in recent months. And I see that you have dragged the good name of the late Robert Marchant into the situation. A nice touch, Mr. Lockhart, especially since he's no longer around to defend himself, on account of having died in a fire a few nights ago." He sighs. "This is
all very overblown, Mr. Lockhart. Perhaps you should be a dramatist for the theater."

  "Every word is true," I say. "You must investigate Lady Henrietta deHavilland. You will quickly see that she is involved."

  "And what about this Mr. White fellow?" he asks.

  "The previous Mr. White passed away a few weeks ago," I say. "I'm afraid I do not know the name of the current occupant of the role, but I must warn you that he is a very dangerous individual. He was the one who used gasoline to destroy the Marchant residence."

  "Oh, well that's very convenient, isn't it?" He says. "This friend of yours -" Suddenly he pauses, staring at me. "What did you say?" he asks after a moment.

  "I said he was the one who burned down the Marchant residence."

  "And how did he do it?" Inspector Matthews asks.

  "With gasoline, I believe." I pause. "Why do you ask?"

  "Well you see," he says eventually, "that is a point that rather interests me, Mr. Lockhart. We have deliberately not revealed to the press that gasoline was used, so I'm interested in finding out how you've come to know this."

  "Mr. White told me how he did it," I reply.

  "Perhaps," he says, "or perhaps you're a fantasist, coming up with a bizarre conspiracy theory to explain your own actions."

  I reach over to the documents and pull out one that I believe will convince him. "About fifteen years ago," I say, trying not to panic, "the role of Mr. Blue was filled by a young medical student named Dr. Cecil Harlingham. He was a surgeon. He took to the game with great enthusiasm, but he rapidly spiraled out of control. Eventually, in 1889, the current Lady Red decided that Dr. Harlingham had overstepped the bounds of the game, and she arranged for him to be murdered. If you look at this document, you might be interested to learn the names of some of his victims."

  "I really don't think as I need to -"

  "Look!" I say, raising my voice again.

  He takes a look at the list. "Mary Ann Nichols," he says, reading from the document. "Annie Chapman. Mary Jane Kelly." He pauses for a moment. "Mr. Lockhart, are you contending that the Whitechapel murders were a part of this game of yours?"

  I nod. "The only time prior to today that the game has come close to being made public."

  He smiles. "Jack the Ripper?"

  "Absolutely," I continue. "It was before my time, of course, and the press has distorted the true facts of the case, but everything I am telling you is true. Harlingham's tastes were too barbaric, even for the game. That is the reason why the Ripper's crime suddenly stopped and no trace has been found of him. Lady Red disposed of him and enlisted a new, calmer Mr. Blue in my own person. Since then, Lady Red has instituted a number of changes designed to protect the game and ensure that no single player can ever again get out of control in such a manner. It is for this reason that I now believe my life to be in danger."

  "You want me to believe that Jack the Ripper was -"

  "I'm not asking you to simply believe what I'm saying," I tell him. "I'm asking you to look at the evidence that's right in front of you and see for yourself."

  "These papers?" he asks, looking down at the documents I've presented to him. "As far as I can tell, Mr. Lockhart, these are all written by your own hand."

  "They are my sworn testimony," I remind him, raising my voice.

  "Still, Sir, it's just your word." He pauses. "Am I supposed to go and disturb Lady Henrietta deHavilland at her home and ask her to confirm or deny your wild ravings? Am I supposed to put this nonsense before her and trouble her for a response? She'd have my badge." He shrugs. "Unless you've got some better evidence, I don't see that there's much I can do. You've got no evidence. No proof. Nothing. Frankly, Sir, I'm starting to wonder about your mental health."

  I stare at him for a moment. "What would it take?" I ask eventually. "What would it take to prove to you that everything I'm saying is true?"

  He sighs. "Sir, I really think -"

  "What if you could catch them in the act?" I ask. "What if I could arrange it so that you can witness the whole thing for yourself? Just give me one chance, Inspector Matthews, and I'll show you that it's true!"

  He opens his mouth to reply, but I can see that I've caught his attention. He's actually considering my offer.

  "Why would I make all of this up?" I ask. "Why would an upstanding member of society come here today and spin such a fantasy to you? I'm a respectable man, Inspector Matthews, or at least I was before all of this started. I allowed myself to be drawn into this game, until finally it was too late to recover. I merely wish to extricate myself from a situation that has become intolerable, and also to save future generations of young ladies from meeting the same fate as those who have already been fed into the river." I pause. "You're a man of the world. You've seen the vile things men can do to one another. Can you really not believe that this game could be real?"

  We sit in silence for a moment. "I'll give you one chance," he says eventually. "Just the one. Make sure you don't abuse it, or I'll have you strung up for wasting police time, do you understand?"

  "And if I deliver them to you," I continue, "will you promise that they will hang, but that I shall not?"

  "If things are as you described them," he replies after a moment, "we shall see what can be arranged."

  "I swear, you won't regret this," I say, gathering up the documents and stuffing them back into the leather case. "Keep hold of these," I say, getting to my feet. "I shall be in touch in the next few days with the information you'll need in order to catch these people red-handed. I promise you, all will become apparent. I only wish the truth were not so horrific."

  Elly

  Today

  "Maybe you should turn your phone off," Rob says, as we stand outside his house and wait for his band-mates to pick us up. "It's kind of annoying how it keeps ringing like that."

  "Yeah," I say, "sorry." Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone and see that once again my mother is trying to get hold of me. I understand that she's worried about me and that she wants to know what time I'll be home, but I've told her that I'm with friends and I don't see why she can't just accept that fact. I haven't told her, however, that I'm going to Exeter and won't be coming back for my father's funeral, but I figure I can wait until I'm out of town before I drop that bombshell. Something tells me she's not going to be too pleased.

  "Seriously," Rob continues. "It rings, like, every ten minutes."

  "I'll put it on silent," I say, making a quick change to the settings. To be honest, I don't know why I haven't turned it off entirely, but there's a part of me that feels like somehow that would be a mistake. I guess I still feel, deep down, that there's a chance I might change my mind and go running back to my mother's house in time for the funeral. As long as I at least have that option, I can keep telling myself that my decision isn't final. Still, I keep thinking about my mother sitting at home, waiting for me to walk through the door.

  "Are you sure about this?" Rob asks suddenly. "I mean, your Dad's funeral is a pretty big deal."

  "It's nothing," I say. "It's just some big tradition. Why does it matter if I stand in a room and stare at a box? My Dad's body is there, but his soul is gone, and that's all that matters."

  "Good girl," my father's voice whispers in my ear. "Be a rebel. It's what I would have wanted. Who cares about a stupid funeral? Go and live the rock and roll lifestyle."

  Rob stares at me for a moment. "I like you," he says eventually. "You're not like most girls. You cut through all the bullshit and just make a stand for what you believe in. It's pretty fucking refreshing."

  "Thanks," I say, feeling as if I've never been more certain of anything in my life. There's no way I'm going to that funeral. My mother can kiss my ass if she thinks I'm going to be a good little mourning daughter.

  "You're cool," Rob says, slapping me on the back so hard that I almost jump out of my skin. "You know that, right?" He smiles at me. "You're really fucking cool, Elly."

  "Hear that?" my father's voice whispers.
"You're cool, Elly. Isn't that what you've always wanted? To be cool? If you're really lucky, he'll let you join the gang soon!"

  Taking a deep breath, I watch as a beaten-up old van pulls into the parking spot next to us. I guess this must be our ride to Exeter, which means it'll be a miracle if we get there at all. I watch as Rob starts hauling his guitar and equipment over to the back of the van, and as the back doors open I get a strong whiff of stale sweat. This is going to be a long, unpleasant journey, and I'm not entirely sure why I'm getting myself mixed up in what amounts to a road trip. Still, anything's better than going back to my mother's house and sitting around, making cucumber sandwiches and waiting for my father's funeral. I just have to keep reminding myself that my father would approve of me going off like this.

  "This is Elly," Rob says, introducing me to the others. "She's blowing off her Dad's funeral to come and watch us play!"

  "Seriously?" asks one of the other guys.

  "Seriously," I reply, climbing into the van.

  "That's pretty fucked up," the guy says.

  "Well," my father's voice whispers, "these morons are certainly impressed."

  As Rob gets in and the van starts up, I look out the window and watch as we start on our journey. Reaching into my pocket, I check my phone and see, to my surprise, that my mother hasn't tried to call me for a few hours. I guess maybe she's got the message at last. If she wants to go ahead with some stupid funeral, that's her choice, but I don't have to indulge her. I'm living my own life, and no-one can stop me.

  Edward Lockhart

  1895

  "It's me," I blurt out as soon as I hear Lady Red's voice on the other end of the telephone. "It's Edward. I need your help. I must dispose of Elizabeth."

  "Already?" she asks. "I thought you had barely begun with her?"

  "I pushed her too hard," I reply, desperately trying to think of a convincing story. "I'm afraid she has shown herself to be weak, but she suspects that something is amiss and I believe it would be in our best interests to dispose of her as soon as possible."