Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(66)

“What about the banker?”

“Brown.”

“And Sergeant Keats?”

Landis stared up at the dock. “Dark brown, I’d say.”

“Did any of the men who visited your mistress on that day have black hair? Or, perhaps, any of the servants?”

“No.”

“To your knowledge, had Sergeant Keats ever visited Miss Hallcox’s bedroom before?”

Landis stiffened. “Not that I am aware.”

“Then how did he know where it was?”

“I can’t say, my lord. Perhaps the mistress told him.”

Wescomb shifted closer to the man. “I visited Miss Hallcox’s residence and I inspected that set of stairs that lead to the second floor and your mistress’ bedroom. The only vantage point from which you might have seen the killer was from the side hall. Is that where you were?”



“Yes, sir.”

“By the time someone is climbing the stairs, only his back is visible. How can you account for your initial testimony to the police that you saw the sergeant’s face?”

“Ah, I…”

“Mr. Landis?” Wescomb prodded.

“I thought I saw him.”

“Mr. Landis, I remind you that you are under oath.”

“Ah…” The butler went pale. He swallowed heavily as his eyes tracked around the room. “I—”

“Mr. Landis, please answer the question,” the judge interceded.

“I didn’t see his face, only the back of him.”

“Was he wearing his hat and coat?” Wescomb asked.

“Yes. I called out to him, but he ignored me.”

“So all you saw was the back of a man clad in his outer garments climbing the stairs. Why did you think it was Sergeant Keats?”

“He was short.”

“So are a lot of men in London, Mr. Landis. In fact, in this courtroom there are a number of men of reduced stature.” Wescomb tugged on his waistcoat. “One final question, Mr. Landis. What was it that kept you so engaged that you missed the killer’s departure?”

The butler’s face flushed. “I was…instructing the downstairs maid in domestic matters.”

“Domestic matters?” he asked in a jovial tone. “I think not, Mr. Landis.” He swung away from the man and addressed the courtroom. “On the contrary, is it not true that while your mistress was suffering her death agonies, you were engaged in sexual liberties with the maid?”

“I didn’t know!” the man howled. “God, I didn’t know he would kill her!”

“No, you didn’t, just as you cannot be sure that it was Sergeant Keats upstairs with your mistress.” A palpable pause. “I have no further questions.”



Arnett rose. “Has someone put pressure upon you to change your original testimony?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why did you say you saw Sergeant Keats’ face when you were questioned by the police?”

“It was him. It had to be! No one else would hurt her.”

So you’d like to believe.

“No further questions, my lord.”

The next witness stood rigidly in the witness box, her eyes darting nervously eyeing the people around the room. When she was handed the Bible, she swore the oath in a quaking voice.

Arnett rose. “Is Annie Crickland your real name?”

“Yes,” she replied, “though I’m called Red Annie on account of my cheeks.”

“Where in Whitechapel do you live, madam?”

“Oh, here and there, wherever I can find a place to lay my head.”

“No fixed abode then?”

“No, sir,” she mumbled, looking down.

“Do you frequent the doss houses?”

“If’n I have the money, sir. They’re better’n the streets. Rozzers won’t let you sleep if you’re out there.”

How true. As a constable, Keats had been ordered to keep the poor wretches on the move all night. It was no wonder they were exhausted and couldn’t work the next day. He’d skirted the rule every chance he got.

“On the evening of the thirteenth of October, did you encounter the prisoner at any time?”

“Yes, sir, near the White Hart.”

“That’s on Whitechapel High Street, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“What were you doing in that area?”

Keats ground his teeth. Arnett was going to make this hard for Annie, and the woman didn’t deserve it.

“I was having a wee nip to keep the cold away,” she told him, raising her chin in defiance.



“Even though the Whitechapel murderer is still at large?”

She shuddered at the mention of the Ripper. “Yes, sir.”

“What did the prisoner say to you?”

“He wanted me to go down an alley with him.”

Keats groaned to himself.

“For illicit purposes?” Arnett asked, pouncing on her response.

Wescomb was up again. “Leading the witness, your lordship.”

“I agree. Do watch that, will you?” Hawkins requested.

“As your lordship pleases,” the prosecutor replied smoothly. “What was the prisoner’s purpose with you, Miss Crickland?”