Chapter 11 – Sergeant Blake

She is in the river again. The water is still and shallow, crisp daylight all around. Quietly, almost unnoticed, the water begins to rise. Then the light begins to fade, storm clouds cover the skyline.

There is an object floating in the water. She walks towards it: a severed hand floats, pale and deathly white, but for a bloody serration where it has been removed from the rest of the arm.

Then up bobs a leg to the surface, then another, followed by a pair of arms. She breathes heavily. The shoreline seems to have retreated further and further as the water keeps rising. Two severed feet appear on the water's surface too.

She feels trapped, surrounded by body parts, floating all around her. Her breathing begins to betray a feeling of panic. The water line is now reaching her chin. She feels agitated, scared. She turns and, as if orchestrated by some unknown force, the body parts circle her and trap her. She is surrounded and a long way from the shore. She ducks underwater to embrace the quiet netherworld. She swims for a few yards back towards the shore then ascends back to the surface. She turns and no longer sees the severed limbs. A calmness returns and her breathing steadies.

Suddenly, as she turns back to see how far towards the shoreline she has swam, she is face to face - nearly touching - face to face with a floating, severed head. A female head. A head possessing her face...

She awoke and looked towards the shaft of light beginning to crawl beneath the entrance to the bridge. Morning was coming. Something lingered in dark, however. Something was there - there in the heart of the remaining darkness. As she exhaled deeply, it inhaled. She could hear its response - a loud sucking in of breath echoing beneath the bridge. It was after her breath she realised. Even from this distance, it felt like it was trying to steal her breath, suck the very life from her. She began to breathe ever more rapidly. And once more, the thing in the darkness echoed her breathing. She closed her eyes once more, forgot about her breathing...

Soon she re-opened her eyes again. She felt hazy and unfocused. She shivered and awoke as if still tormented by her dreams. It was early. The floor beneath the bridge was hard and cold. She no longer paid much attention to the bruises on her buttocks, back and arms - her reward for sleeping on hard surfaces. But they were still there.

The sun started to rise and light crept across the dark spaces beneath the entrance to the bridge - the place the children had decided to bed down late the night before. For a moment her mind drifted back to the bed in Mr Tuner's home, but she quickly crushed that image of contentment and began to think about their next move.

She nudged Tom awake. "Come on my brave little man. It's time to wake. Time to get justice for Mr Turner."

***

The police constable led Maggie and Thomas into the station house.

"Here, tell my governor what you just told me out there on the street," he commanded Maggie.

The man behind a large desk looked back at his subordinate and then to Maggie. They chased after the police constable while he was on his morning beat, walking along the Gray's Inn Lane. He seemed to ignore what they told him at first. Then, after Maggie pleaded that he listen, he took them back to Holborn station house.

"Well, what is it?" asked the Sergeant from behind a desk.

"We wish to report a murder." Maggie said.

"A murder indeed," snorted back the police sergeant, nodding his head and smiling back at his junior officer. Sergeant Blake was in a playful mood. He had earlier learned, just as he began his shift that very morning, that he had been promoted to the newly established plainclothes detective unit. Indeed he had held it in his hand, in writing, from the Metropolitan Police Commissioners. His time as a uniformed officer was over and he would begin working within the new unit in the very near future.

"Yes, that's correct," said Thomas.

"And tell me young chap, who is the victim of this crime?" he turned from Maggie and addressed Thomas.

"He was a family friend, although we didn't know him well.

"You didn't know him well but he was a family friend?" He replied.

"His name is Mr William Turner," answered Maggie, her arm on Tom's shoulder as if to indicate she should take charge. "He lives - or rather lived - not far from here. Fetter Lane. Last night two men beat him, took him away, and murdered him. They threw his body into the river."

Tears now filled Maggie's eyes.

Sergeant Blake's mood changed, he was struck by Maggie's matter-of-fact telling of the story and her tears seemed to convince him of her truthfulness. He then formally introduced himself to the children and said he would do all that was possible to help them through their ordeal.

After further prompting from Sergeant Blake, Maggie recounted their story in more detail, with the occasional corrections and interventions from Thomas. Other officers began to crowd around as her gift for narration took them, too, on a journey from the mudflats of the Thames to Mr Turner's home in Fetter Lane; and finally to his eventual watery grave back in The Thames near Blackfriars Bridge. She told them of her dead mother, skated over the truth about her father, and omitted completely the part about her own episode of criminality with Charlie Deptford's gang.

"Can you remember the names of the men who took Mr. Turner away," asked Blake.

Maggie strained but the terrible events of the night before had happened so quickly. "I'm afraid I can't recall," she answered. She did her best to describe the two men's appearances and their distinguishing features.

"Could you take me to Mr Turner's home now?" asked Sergeant Blake.

"Yes," she answered. Then she hesitated before continuing. "But would you be able to provide us with some food first? We have been on the cold streets all night and have no money, Sir."

Blake stopped and looked closely at Maggie. "Certainly, I will give you as much food as you wish. But first take me to Mr Turner's home - just to verify the address - then we can return here and I will gladly let you eat. It's important we get as much evidence as quickly as possible," he explained. "Time is of the utmost importance in cases such as these."

He then waited and watched and imagined the cogs turning inside Maggie's mind. She was not the hungry, naïve waif that he first thought her to be when she began her story. There was something calculating in this young lady, he thought.

She agreed and escorted Sergeant Blake and his colleagues back to Fetter Lane.

When they arrived, she left it to Sergeant Blake to knock upon Turner's front door. Maggie stood well back, in case Mrs Harrison let loose with the bedpan again.

This time the housekeeper opened the door in a more subdued manner. She looked startled at first - looked to the police officers - then her eyes caught Maggie's. "Where have you been - and where is Mr Turner at?" she asked hurriedly. "He has come to no harm I hope?"

"May we come inside for a quiet word please?" asked Sergeant Blake.

Inside the house, they all sat down in the living room. Under instruction from Sergeant Blake, Maggie once more began her recollection of the night before. Mrs Harrison confirmed much of her story, up to the point when she herself had left Mr Turner and children to return home to her own family.

"Did you see any suspicious characters hanging around outside? Asked Blake.

"No, not that I can recall. My home is not far, I was back home within five minutes." She replied.

"Nothing? No strange carriages, no unfamiliar faces or -"

"But, Margaret, what has all this to do with Mr Turner?" asked the housekeeper impatiently avoiding Blake's questions.

"If you wouldn't mind, I think you will become aware of the importance of what this young lady has to tell, and more importantly of Mr Turner's fate, when she finishes her story," replied Sergeant Blake. "Now Margaret, I know this is not easy for someone so young, but could you continue with your story; something you say might jog Mrs Turner's memory from last night."

Maggie continued her story, skipping over their discussion with Turner about Sanctuary and the letters sent by her father to the both of them. When she finished, with the image of the bludgeoned and discarded body of Turner being dumped into the Thames, Maggie looked towards Mrs Harrison - her hands covering her face - and the sound of uncontrollable sobbing filling the otherwise silent room.

A shudder slipped its way down Maggie's back.

After her grim tale, Blake came to realise any further questioning of Mrs Harrison would be fruitless.

Blake examined the part of the room where Maggie said the attack on Turner had begun. He saw droplets of blood upon the wall and noted this down in a small notebook.

"We need to get back to the station house. We need someone with a bit more skill in these matters. Skills that I, unfortunately, do not yet fully possess," admitted Sergeant Blake. "Come, Mrs Harrison, there is nothing to do here anymore. My men will do a quick search to see if they find any more evidence. We shall take you home."

The officers walked a tear-filled Mrs Harrison back to her home and then began the journey back to the station house. On the way, Maggie sidled up to Sergeant Blake and asked "You will provide us with some food now, won't you Sir?"

"Off course, Margaret. You've been most helpful, considering the difficult situation you found yourself in."

"Call me Maggie, if you please, Sir."

***