Chapter 25: Dark Dealings
“Have they found Willocks’ body?”
The middle-aged superintendent frowned at the statement. “You mean to say it wasn’t our people?”
The officer nodded. “Correct, someone got to him before we did.”
The superintendent stood up and paced slowly in the office. “Who could have done it? A buyer? An enemy? Or maybe a rival?”
The officer lowered his voice, asking, “Do we need to initiate a public investigation? The body hasn’t been dealt with yet.”
“No.”
The superintendent waved his finger. “Scotland Yard is already under too much scrutiny. All eyes are on us. If news of a sergeant’s murder comes out now, it’ll only escalate things further and who knows what trouble will follow.”
“Then a secret internal investigation? We’ve confirmed the last person to see Willocks was Constable Dennis Lloyd from Greenwich. We could start with him if necessary.”
“Don’t touch him for now. First, get rid of Willocks’ body, cleanly, leaving no traces. By the way, have you sorted out his social connections? We don’t want any complications.”
The officer placed a file from under his arm onto the desk. “Here are his records. Willocks was orphaned young, joined the army at fourteen, and served as a sergeant at Scotland Yard after retiring. He had a wife but divorced shortly after; they had no children.”
The superintendent smirked. “Very straightforward social ties. I like people like him—brutal, violent, all brawn and no brains. Apart from a strong vengeful streak, no major flaws. Easy to dispose of with no loose ends.
Once the body’s dealt with, report back to me. I’ll initiate an investigation within three days, framing him for absconding due to guilt.
I’ll pin all the firearms and stolen goods we’ve been smuggling from Scotland Yard over the past six months on him. It’s fitting for a dead man to take the fall.
The equipment procurement list for this fiscal year will be finalized soon. This will be the perfect opportunity to cover any discrepancies.
With Officer Arthur’s heroic deeds as a precedent, the Parliament and the Home Secretary are unlikely to obstruct Scotland Yard’s budget request.”
The officer hesitated. “But… won’t Sir Peel become suspicious? We’re talking about dozens of guns, and the value of the stolen goods can’t even be estimated. Even if we clean up thoroughly, if the Home Office decides to investigate, they might uncover the truth.”
“The Home Office won’t investigate.”
“Why not?”
The superintendent glanced at the officer with a disdainful smile. “Sir Peel has worked hard to turn around Scotland Yard’s reputation. Do you think he’d tolerate a scandal about lost firearms and stolen goods in the Metropolitan Police?
Such a scandal would not only undo all his efforts but also invite a fierce public backlash.
The Whigs in the House of Commons have long sought an opportunity to impeach him. He won’t let this happen.
Don’t be fooled by Sir Peel’s mild and kind demeanor; his mind is more scheming than anyone’s.
He’ll surely be suspicious and might investigate, but it won’t be a high-profile investigation under the Home Office’s banner. As long as we’re careful, we can easily evade detection.
Ideally, he’ll pretend to be ignorant. That way, he remains the Home Secretary, and we continue our police work. It benefits everyone.”
The young officer was still scared, and the superintendent noticed his hesitant, evasive gaze.
Instead of criticizing, he simply patted the officer’s shoulder. “Jones, you need to understand, the Home Secretary won’t hold the position forever; it can change any time. But you, you’ll be working at Scotland Yard for a lifetime.
Are you content with twelve shillings a week? Do you like your rundown home?
Summer is coming. Take this and buy a nice dress for your wife, some new toys for your kids.”
With that, the superintendent took out his wallet, folded ten crisp pound notes into a triangle, and stuffed them into the officer’s pocket.
“You’re a very capable young man. You deserve more, and I have high hopes for your future.
Now that Willocks is dead—no, I should say he’s absconded out of guilt.
But anyway, there’ll be a vacancy for a sergeant in Greenwich. Jones, you understand what I mean. Don’t mess this up.”
The young officer trembled but, feeling the weight in his pocket, he snapped to attention and saluted. “Yes, sir!”
The superintendent nodded in satisfaction. “Now get to work. By the time you report back, your promotion papers should be drafted.”
The young officer clenched his fists, trying to suppress his excitement but couldn’t help a faint smile.
As he was about to leave, he suddenly remembered something.
He pulled a bloodstained playing card from his trouser pocket and placed it on the desk. “By the way, sir, I found this on Willocks’ chest. It might be useful.”
The superintendent picked up the card—it was a pierced Jack of Hearts.
Lying back in his chair, he held the card up to the window, letting the sunlight shine through.
The red heart looked vivid.
“Interesting…”
……
In the Scotland Yard confinement room, Tom and Tony were locked in the same cell.
They lay on the floor, staring at the pitch-black surroundings, feeling suffocated even by their own breathing.
“Tony, do you think we’re done for this time?”
“Who cares, getting a shot at Willocks was worth it.”
“But weren’t we the ones who got beaten?”
“Shut up, Tom! It’s all your fault. I told you to bag his head, and you missed! Even missing, you couldn’t club him properly from behind?”
“Tony, that’s unfair! I broke the club; what more could I do? Willocks is like iron. I should have used a hammer.”
“You hit the wrong spot! One hit to the back of his head, anyone would be down. But you hit his back! Now we’re beaten and locked up!”
Tom felt hopeless. “Oh God! Save me. I was trying to redeem myself for Arthur. Why punish me?”
As Tom finished, the cell door creaked open.
Light flooded in, illuminating Arthur’s strong figure and his shining sergeant’s badge.
Tony, back to the door, waved impatiently. “Is it meal time? Leave it on the floor; we’ll get it.”
Tom stared in shock at Arthur, smiling at him, and nudged Tony’s hip.
“Tony, Tony.”
Tony was irritated. “What now!”
“Look who’s here.”
“Who else could it be, Arthur?”
Tom, dazed, murmured, “No, not Arthur, it’s… God.”
(End of Chapter)