Broken Blue: The Complete Series Read online

  "I'd invite you," Rob says, "but obviously you've got your own shit".

  I smile. He's right; I have my own 'shit', specifically my father's funeral on Monday morning. Not only that, but I have to help my mother prepare for the funeral, which means cleaning the house and sorting out some food and probably billions of other tiny jobs. I'm not looking forward to it, and I'm pretty sure she'll already be pissed off at me for spending the night at Rob's house. It feels like I'm about to get sucked into this massive eddy of confusion and panic and banality, and I have no choice other than to dive in head-first and just see if I can survive the onslaught. I'd give anything to be able to just pack up and leave it all behind. Anything.

  "Will you still be here when I get back?" Rob asks.

  "What, in your bed?" I say with a smile.

  "In London," he says. "You know what I meant. Why do you always give smart-ass answers to questions, Elly?"

  "Well I guess it all depends when you get back," I say.

  "Wednesday or Thursday".

  "Maybe," I say. "Maybe not. I'm going back to Bristol on Thursday morning, so I guess I probably won't be around much on Wednesday". I pause, realizing that I could find some time to see him when he gets back, but only if I think he really wants to hang out. The last thing I want to do is just throw myself at him all over again

  "Huh," he replies. "So maybe I won't see you again after today". He grabs his pants from the floor and starts getting dressed, and I realize with horror that I'm going to have to go back to the 'real' world pretty damn soon. Rob has his own life, his own stuff to be getting on with, and I need to get back to my mother's house and help her get ready for the funeral. I wish I could just postpone reality forever and stay here, even if it means mindlessly fucking Rob a few times a day. Sighing, I try to remind myself how important the funeral is: I have to go and support my mother, and to show the other mourners how much I loved my father. Still, it feels like little more than an empty ritual. I did love my father, and I guess I still do, but why should I go to some stupid funeral just to prove that love for the benefit of other people? The more I think about it, the less I feel like going to some over-hyped traditional ceremony that's only going to make me feel bad.

  "I want to come to Exeter with you," I say suddenly, surprising myself.

  Rob turns to me. "You want to what?"

  "I want to come to Exeter," I say firmly. "With you and the band. I want to come. Is that okay?" I take a deep breath; I have no idea why I'm saying these things, but the thought of escaping London for the next few days makes me feel almost giddy with relief. It's as if I've suddenly taken all my problems, wrapped them up in a bag, and thrown them away.

  "What about your Dad's funeral?" he asks.

  I pause for a moment. "Fuck it," I reply eventually. "I don't need to go. I mean, what's the point of just sitting around at some crematorium and watching as a box gets burned with my father's body in it? It's just a load of bullshit. My father was the kind of guy who likes it when people live their lives to the full. He wouldn't want me to pass up a chance to go and see your band in Exeter. He'd be proud of me for ditching the funeral".

  "Are you serious?" he says. "I mean, it's pretty fucking crazy to not go to your own Dad's funeral. It's not like you can change your mind and go some other time".

  "Don't you want me to come?" I ask.

  He smiles. "Sure. If you're absolutely certain".

  I take a deep breath, feeling an immense sense of relief at the thought that suddenly I've got an excuse that means I don't have to go to the funeral at all. "I'm sure," I say, realizing that my hands are trembling. "Fuck it. I've never been more sure of anything in my life".

  Two

  1895

  "Let me get this straight," Inspector Matthews says, staring at me as we sit in the cold, dank interview room at New Scotland Yard. A well-built middle-aged man with a no-nonsense look in his eyes, he clearly thinks this interview is a waste of his time. "Just so as I've got it fixed in my mind. You're claiming that for over a hundred years, some kind of game has been played in the streets of London. Am I correct so far?"

  "You are," I reply, "but the important -"

  "Let me finish!" he says firmly. "Just let me finish. So there's this game, and the players are members of the aristocracy and the nobility. Correct?"

  "Yes," I say, determined to get into the details. "They're -"

  "Wait!" he says, raising his voice a little. "Let me continue, Sir. Please. The nature of the game is sexual. In some manner. And because of this game, rather a lot of young ladies have died, and their bodies have been hidden. This is what you're trying to tell me, Sir, is it not?"

  I nod. "Every word is true. I know it must sound incredible, Inspector, but I have seen it with my own eyes. I have been told details of the history, and I have allowed myself to be seduced by everything that is offered. I have even been dragged into it. I have witnessed the players themselves".

  "And you have been a player?" he replies, a cautious grin on his face. He clearly does not believe me, and I imagine he thinks me to be someone who derives enjoyment from spinning such incredible tales. "At least, Mr. Lockhart, that is what you're claiming, is it not?"

  "There are three players in the game," I say, choosing my words carefully so as to avoid incriminating myself. "The most senior is Lady Red, who organizes the game and makes the most important decisions. She keeps the book that contains all the rules. Then there is Mr. White, who is usually a close associate of Lady Red. He tends to be an older gentleman. And finally, very much the junior member of the trio, there is Mr. Blue, who tests the girls and chooses which ones get to progress further into the game".

  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 am 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 know, 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?"

  "I do not know what would happen," I say. "No girl has ever progressed so 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 Mr. White gentleman, 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. They 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. "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. 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, there's things down there what eats them. Fish. Eels. Have you ever seen what an eel can do to a corpse? Believe me; a body won't last long in them 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 what 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 ain't around to defend himself no more 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 got 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.

  "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!" I wait for him to reply, and I can't help thinking that perhaps I have a small chance to change his mind. "Think about it," I continue. "You think I'm crazy, but what if I'm not? What if I give you the information you need to not only blow this whole game wide open, but also to clear up the Jack the Ripper murders? My God, man, you'll be the most famous detective in the world. You'll be feted from here to Timbuktu! You'll probably even be knighted! And all you have to do is take a chance that perhaps what I'm saying is true. I'm not some madman from the street. My name is Edward Lockhart and you must surely know that I am a respected member of my profession. If you accept my word, the worst that could happen is that you waste a few hours of your time, but think about what it will be like if I'm telling the truth!"