Читать книгу Thaddeus Lewis Mysteries 4-Book Bundle - Janet Kellough - Страница 36

Spicer turned to Lewis as they rode away. “Would you like to tell me what’s going on? It’s hard to help you much when I don’t know what I’m supposed to be helping with.”

His tone was sulky and petulant and Lewis understood why he seemed to irritate so many people, but it was, after all, a fair enough point. The young man’s assistance had been invaluable and so far he had followed blindly. Yet he wasn’t sure he could quite bring himself to confide in him. Then he chided himself. He had made the decision to give the boy a chance, and if his decision was truly heartfelt, if he had sincerely vowed to change his attitude, then he would have to return some of the same kind of trust Spicer had shown in him.

“I think Isaac Simms is a murderer and I think he’s about to murder again.” As quickly as he could, he summarized what he had learned over the past four years. Spicer paled, especially at the mention of Rachel’s death, but then he appeared to gather his resolve.

“He’ll not have gone far. He was hoping to have something happen back there, but whatever it was it sounds like it wasn’t very satisfactory. If he really does act on his frustrations the way you think he does, then he’ll be at a boiling point and looking for some way to let off steam.”

“I agree. The question is, which way?”

Spicer thought for a moment. “I’m thinking he headed north, but maybe away from the river. There’s too much traffic along the water. Someone might see him.”

“Yes. He’ll look for a house that’s away from any others, and if there’s a young woman alone, he’ll do his filthy work and go on.”

Spicer finished the sentence for him. “Because he still has to make money to support his family. He hasn’t had much luck along the front, so he’ll likely go where he stands a better chance of selling. He won’t stray too far from the river because that’s where most of the houses are.”

Lewis felt that his trust had been rewarded already. Spicer had grasped the severity of the situation immediately and formulated a reasonable approach from it. There was definitely hope for this boy.

They rode as fast as they could, scanning each street and yard for the red and blue peddler’s wagon.

They followed the eastern bank of the Moira River as it thundered along, flowing over rocks and forming cataracts in its mad rush to open water. All of the rain that had fallen in the backcountry seemed to have found its way into this river, and it was threatening to spill over its banks. As they reached the outskirts of Belleville, where it was less built-up and the spaces between houses widened, Lewis happened to glance behind and notice the peddler’s wagon tucked behind a large barn. They would never have seen it if they hadn’t been looking so carefully. He pointed it out to Spicer.

“I’ll go and make sure he’s not still in it,” Spicer said, “but I doubt he is since his horse is gone.”

Lewis surveyed the surrounding area. Where was he? Which way would he go?

“We should try over there,” Spicer said when he returned, waving toward a wooded area ahead. “If I remember rightly, there are a lot of fairly lonely houses along that road.”

They had to slow down, searching carefully and asking as they went; Simms’s grey horse would be far harder to spot than the wagon, and they had to hope that someone had seen him pass. They were in luck; one old woman had been weeding her kitchen garden and had noticed the peddler.

“I called to him and told him to stop, for I’ve been wanting a length of cloth to make some new curtains. I’m a widow, you see, and it’s easier to buy from the peddlers than it is for me to get into town to the store. He wouldn’t stop though. He was in a right surly mood and was quite rude to me.”

He had ridden on down the road, she said, without another word.

They quickened their pace, and it was Spicer who led them to the little cottage that stood away in the woods. Usually all the trees around a house were cut down, to guard against the danger of wind blowing them over onto the dwelling and to allow for gardens, but for some reason the builder of this cottage had left a number of tall pines standing. Lewis had to look closely to see if there was a house at all.

“I’ve been here before,” Spicer said. “There’s a young woman lives here with her husband and a new baby. The woman looks a little like Rachel.”

They followed the winding path through the trees, and as they rounded a bend, they could see a grey horse tethered to the verandah. They kicked their horses into a gallop, Spicer quickly pulling ahead.

Lewis had a moment when he hoped that they would go storming in through the door and find the young woman and her husband peacefully eating their dinner, the new baby gurgling happily in its cradle. Then he wondered if they should storm at all. Wouldn’t it be better to approach cautiously? What if Simms was merely making his regular round and they burst in to discover nothing more than a financial transaction taking place? How could they explain themselves without Simms knowing that they had discovered his secret? On the other hand, if they did barrel through the door and surprise him in mid-murder, he would be a desperate man. What would he do?

Spicer had no such reservations. He reached the cottage, leapt from his horse and wrenched the door open.

“No-oooo!” he screamed as Lewis rushed up. “Stop!”

Simms bolted out the door, shoving Spicer aside. Before Lewis could even get down from his horse, he ran off into the heavy woods that backed onto the cottage. Spicer ran after him. For a moment Lewis debated following them, but his horse would be a hindrance in the thick trees and he knew that he could never match their speed on foot — they were both far younger men than he. Besides, he needed to see what had happened in the cabin. Hoping they had interrupted Simms in time, he went inside.

The table had been set for a meal, just as he had briefly imagined, and the baby was in its cradle, not gurgling, but sleeping peacefully. The young woman, who did indeed look like Rachel, was laid out on the bed in the corner, just like all the others had been. Her face had a bluish sheen, her tongue protruded and there were ugly marks beginning to form at her neck. Simms had not had time to perform the atrocities he had committed on the other bodies. Lewis lifted the woman’s limp arm and felt for a pulse. He could find none. There was a small mirror hanging above a washbowl beside the bed. This he lifted down and held over her mouth. No cloud formed on its surface and Lewis felt an overwhelming defeat. They had not been in time!

He decided that the baby was probably fine for the time being and set off in pursuit of Spicer and Simms. He did not have far to go. Spicer, being the youngest and fittest, had caught up with Simms a few hundred yards or so from the cottage, and as Lewis neared, he saw that they were engaged in a desperate struggle.

Spicer had managed to knock Simms to the ground; Spicer was at a disadvantage by a good twenty pounds, but was far quicker. He made no attempt to pin the bigger man, but every time Simms attempted to rise, Spicer was on him, knocking his feet out from under him then quickly retreating. As Lewis ran toward them, one part of his mind registered the surprising fact that Spicer would probably have made an excellent wrestler — of course he would, he thought, he’s probably been fighting bullies all his life.

Lewis leapt on Simms, grabbed his arms, and used all of his weight to hold him down. The man struggled beneath him.

“Isaac! Stop! It’s over.”

Simms looked up at him with a chilling blankness. It was as if there wasn’t a human being there at all, just a strange nothingness behind the eyes, as if all human spirit had departed and left an unthinking beast in its place. Then, abruptly, the eyes focused and the blankness was replaced with a look of raging hate, a boiling loathing on the face, and a foam of spittle at the mouth. Lewis could have been convinced that he was wrestling with Lucifer, so depraved and violent was the look. He must have loosened his grip in his dismay. Simms rolled abruptly to the left and swung his right fist in a smashing blow against Lewis’s head. He caught the arm just before it could land a second blow. Spicer threw himself on Simms’s legs and held him down again.

“Are you all right?”

Lewis’s head was spinning from the blow and he blinked furiously, trying to clear his blurred eyesight. “I think so. Let’s get him back to the cabin.”

They hoisted Simms to his feet. As they marched him along, he began to speak, but it was speech such as Lewis had never heard before. He moaned and coughed and howled and in between he spouted every foul word that crossed his mind, and all the while he writhed and struggled to get free. It was only when they reached the cabin again that he quieted and then he became so limp that they had to drag him the last few yards.

Lewis grabbed a length of rope that had been hanging from a hook on the outside wall and with Spicer’s help, bound Simms’s arms and — as extra insurance — tied him to one of the porch posts.

“Ride,” Lewis said to Spicer. “Take my horse and get the constable as fast as you can. Tell him to bring an extra man.”

Simms slumped against the ropes that bound him, and appeared to be in a stupor. Lewis dashed into the cottage and retrieved the baby, who had woken and was screaming its discomfort. As he jounced and cuddled it, Simms’s head jerked up, his eyes glittering, fixed on the screaming infant. Only when the child’s cries had settled to a whimper and Simms closed his eyes again did Lewis begin to speak in a low even tone. “Why, Isaac? Why? I understand the pressures you were under. I understand that you were carrying a terrible burden. But why visit your rage on these poor innocent women?”

Simms eyes flew open again. “She is no innocent. She is an abomination and unclean and God will punish her with everlasting hellfire.”

Lewis struggled to understand. “This woman? This woman in the cabin here? You had dealings with her?”

“This woman?” Simms looked wildly around him and Lewis realized that the man had no recognition of where he was. “This woman is the same. They are all the same. Instruments of the devil and the only thing that will satisfy is death. I can smell the blood from here, I can smell it and I know that it means the Lord is taking his revenge. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth. My God is a jealous God and he will punish the daughters of Eve for time out of mind. He smells the blood, too, and when the blood starts to flow there is no stopping it. It must be fed, a never-ending stream that washes clean the foulness of the earth.”

Simms raved on, and Lewis realized that this was indeed the madness he had been seeking, the madness that would make sense of five senseless murders. How does someone hide this, he wondered. How does someone live what seems a normal life, selling pots and pans and tools, travelling from house to house, passing the time of day with honest, hard-working folk, when all the while there is this fury waiting only for a crack that would allow it to bubble to the surface? Was Simms possessed? Was Satan himself directing these foul deeds? Had the devil taken control of Simms and forced him to murder again and again? There were some who would subscribe to this notion, many in his own church, and it was a tenet that he himself had thundered in many a sermon. But watching Simms, knowing what he had done, groping toward an understanding of his reasons for the crime, he had to wonder if the devil lived not in hell, but in men. Evil ever there, ever awaiting its chance to spring.

He had seen it in a lesser way in others and, all too often, a germ of it in himself. There was no talisman against this taint, only vigilance. No charms could guard against it, no number of prayer pins or books of Bible verses could hold it at bay, and nothing could vanquish this evil but the recognition of its presence and the will to overcome it.

Simms continued to babble, muttering a perverted litany that Lewis could only just make out: “And God shall smite thee … Thrust in thy sharp sickle and cast it into the wrath of God … the abominable and the murderers and whoremongers and sorcerers shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire …”

“It’s all right, Isaac,” he said. “The last blood has been spilled.” But in this he was mistaken.

Spicer returned with two constables, and another five men followed. Lewis wasn’t sure why such a number was required, and suspected that the extra men were merely curious and wanted to see the carnage in the cabin. The constables were vigilant though, and made the others wait outside while they inspected the murder site —even afterward they refused them entry.

“Trust me, you don’t want to see it,” one of them said. “I don’t want to see it, but I have to.”

As succinctly as he could, Lewis related the series of events that had led them to Simms and recounted the capture, giving full credit to Morgan Spicer for having given chase and wrestling the man to the ground. One of the constables wrote it all down, with Lewis’s help, for he wasn’t quite practiced enough to spell everything correctly.

“You say you suspected this man in connection with other murders?” the second constable said. “Why didn’t you notify the authorities?”

“I tried,” Lewis said. “But they all occurred in different jurisdictions, and in two of the cases no one believed it was murder at all. With the others there was no hard evidence to point to Simms.”

“Well, we’ve got him to rights on this one, and after all, we only need one to hang him.”

This outcome hadn’t occurred to Lewis, although he supposed it should have. “This man is quite mad,” he objected. “Surely it would serve a better purpose to simply lock him away.”

“That’ll be up to the magistrate and a jury, but the law is quite clear. There’s been a murder done and he must pay the price.” And Lewis watched with a heavy heart as they took Simms away.

They took their time going home. Their horses were exhausted and they fell into a rhythm of riding for a half mile or so, then climbing down and leading the animals along to give them respite. Neither spoke for the longest time, but when they were within a mile of Demorestville, Spicer finally turned to Lewis.

“What would make a man do that?”

“I don’t have all of the answers yet. I found out who, I’m just not entirely sure why. Frustration is part of it, guilt another. Desire, I suspect. There was a heavy weight that bore him down, and it slipped sideways somehow and twisted.”

“That could describe a lot of people.”

“That describes most of us.” Lewis smiled a little, for the first time in what seemed like months. “For a time, you know, I thought it was you.”

He expected Spicer to protest, but the day’s experience had sobered the boy. “I expect you did, now that I think about it. What were you looking for in the beginning? Someone who had had a tough time in life and who wanted some sort of revenge?”

“No, I was on the wrong trail altogether for a long time.” He thought of Francis Renwell, and hoped that he had managed to slip into New York unnoticed and had found a new life there. “I let some of my own burdens get in the way. Then I did what I should have done in the first place — I thought about who would have had opportunity in the greatest number of murders, and that led me to two people — you and Simms. If I’d done that sooner, some of those women might still be alive.”

“No, I don’t think you can blame yourself for that. Who would ever have thought that such a monster was on the loose? It’s not your fault you didn’t realize it sooner.”

In his head, Lewis knew Spicer was right, but in his heart he still berated himself for not recognizing Simms for what he was. So many things had clouded his mind — Renwell, Spicer himself, the notion that evil looks like evil when so often it masquerades as something else, and he brooded about this as they travelled. He didn’t know all the details yet, the things that had led Simms to his desperate acts, but he knew that the sister, Esther, was tied up in it somehow — there was something unholy and unclean between the two and it was this that had given bloody birth to further unholiness. He stood little chance of ever speaking to her, given the reception they’d received at the brick house in Belleville, but he hoped that at some juncture he could question Simms, try to find what had driven him to seek such horrific release.

They were almost home when another question occurred to him. “How did you persuade the girl to come and talk to me?” he asked. “The girl at Simms’s house?”

Spicer looked sheepish. “I told her I was a preacher and that I knew she was in possession of knowledge that could prevent a crime. And … I sort of told her that she would end up in hell if she didn’t come forward with it.”

“Morgan! That’s just the sort of thing you’ve got to stop doing!”

But then he let it go. If it hadn’t been for Morgan Spicer he would probably never have found Simms. We are sometimes given strange tools to further our work, he thought. Who am I to argue with that?