Rivers of London (Rivers of London #1)(2)

‘I’m going for a coffee,’ she said. ‘Want one?’

I looked over at the covered market and saw her wave.

‘You’re a life-saver,’ I said, and watched as she darted off towards James Street.

She hadn’t been gone more than a minute when I saw a figure by the portico. A short man in a suit tucked into the shadows behind the nearest column.

I gave the prescribed Metropolitan police ‘first greeting’.

‘Oi!’ I said. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

The figure turned and I saw a flash of a pale, startled-looking face. The man was wearing a shabby, old-fashioned suit complete with waistcoat, fob watch and battered top hat. I thought he might be one of the street performers licensed to perform in the piazza, but it seemed a tad early in the morning for that.

‘Over here,’ he said, and beckoned.

I made sure I knew where my extendable baton was and headed over. Policemen are supposed to loom over members of the public, even helpful ones. That’s why we wear big boots and pointy helmets, but when I got closer I found the man was tiny, five foot nothing in his shoes. I fought an urge to squat down to get our faces level.

‘I saw the whole thing, squire,’ said the man. ‘Terrible thing, it was.’

They drum it into you at Hendon: before you do anything else, get a name and an address. I produced my notebook and pen. ‘Can I ask your name, sir?’

‘’Course you can, squire. My name’s Nicholas Wallpenny, but don’t ask me how to spell it because I never really got my letters.’

‘Are you a street performer?’ I asked.

‘You might say that,’ said Nicholas. ‘Certainly my performances have hitherto been confined to the street. Though on a cold night like this I wouldn’t be averse to bringing some interiority to my proceedings. If you catch my meaning, squire.’

There was a badge pinned to his lapel: a pewter skeleton caught mid-caper. It seemed a bit goth for a short cockney geezer, but then London is the pick ’n’ mix cultural capital of the world. I wrote down Street performer.

‘Now sir,’ I said, ‘if you could just tell me what it was you saw.’

‘I saw plenty, squire.’

‘But you were here earlier this morning?’ My instructors were also clear about not cueing your witnesses. Information is only supposed to flow in one direction.

‘I’m here morning, noon and night,’ said Nicholas, who obviously hadn’t gone to the same lectures I had.

‘If you’ve witnessed something,’ I said, ‘perhaps you’d better come and give a statement.’

‘That would be a bit of problem,’ said Nicholas, ‘seeing as I’m dead.’

I thought I hadn’t heard him correctly. ‘If you’re worried about your safety …’

‘I ain’t worried about anything any more, squire,’ said Nicholas. ‘On account of having been dead these last hundred and twenty years.’

‘If you’re dead,’ I said before I could stop myself, ‘how come we’re talking?’

‘You must have a touch of the sight,’ said Nicholas. ‘Some of the old Palladino.’ He looked at me closely. ‘Touch of that from your father, maybe? Dockman, was he, sailor, some such thing, he gave you that good curly hair and them lips?’

‘Can you prove you’re dead?’ I asked.

‘Whatever you say, squire,’ said Nicholas, and stepped forward into the light.

He was transparent, the way holograms in films are transparent. Three-dimensional, definitely really there and fucking transparent. I could see right through him to the white tent the forensic team had set up to protect the area around the body.

Right, I thought, just because you’ve gone mad doesn’t mean you should stop acting like a policeman.

‘Can you tell me what you saw?’ I asked.

‘I saw the first gent, him that was murdered, walking down from James Street. Fine, high-stepping man with a military bearing, very gaily dressed in the modern fashion. What I would have considered a prime plant in my corporeal days.’ Nicholas paused to spit. Nothing reached the ground. ‘Then the second gent, him what did the murdering, he comes strolling the other way up from Henrietta Street. Not so nicely turned out, wearing them blue workman’s trousers and an oilskin like a fisherman. They passed each other just there.’ Nicholas pointed to a spot ten metres short of the church portico. ‘I reckon they know each other, ’cause they both nod but they don’t stop for a chat or nothing, which is understandable, it not being a night for loitering.’

‘So they passed each other?’ I asked, as much for the chance to catch up with my note-taking as to clarify the point. ‘And you thought they knew each other?’

‘As acquaintances,’ said Nicholas. ‘I wouldn’t say they were bosom friends, especially with what transpired next.’

I asked him what transpired next.

‘Well the second, murdering gent, he puts on a cap and a red jacket and he brings out his stick and as quietly and swiftly as a snoozer in a lodging house he comes up behind the first gent and knocks his head clean off.’

‘You’re having me on,’ I said.

‘No I’m never,’ said Nicholas, and crossed himself. ‘I swear on my own death, and that’s as solemn a swear as a poor shade can give. It was a terrible sight. Off came his head and up went the blood.’