“Not any criminal. Only this one.” She got to her feet, causing him to do the same. “I would not ask if I thought it a waste of your time or mine, I promise you.”
She waited.
The inspector hesitated.
Hecate felt sure he was about to send her on her way, but instead, after a moment’s apparent deliberation, he said, “Come with me.”
She followed him as he led her from the dismal room, along another narrow corridor and down a flight of stone steps. She realized then that she had descended to the level of the proper cells. The basement was divided into four spaces of equal size, each with a miserably small barred window in the far wall. More iron bars separated the cell spaces from the basement area in which she now found herself. Inspector Winter beckoned her. She walked to the end of the row and turned to look into the cell. At first she thought it empty, but slowly a figure began to take shape in the shadows. A man, not tall, in dirty clothes, sat crouched in the corner. He was elderly, frail, and muttered continually to himself, his mouth moving as he formed words she could not discern. Sensing he was being watched, the man turned. On seeing the superior police officer he stopped his murmuring, one-sided conversation and got unsteadily to his feet. He walked the three strides to the front of the cell and carefully took hold of the bars. To Hecate it seemed he needed to do so if he were to stand for any length of time, so frail and gaunt was his appearance. As she watched him, however, his expression hardened and became so fierce she was shocked to see the transformation. His eyes widened and he set his teeth together, barely opening them to spit out his words as he spoke.
“Why, Inspector, a visit at last. I was beginning to think you no longer cared for my company.”
“You must get used to time spent alone, Joe Colwall. A deal of it lies ahead of you, before the hangman grants you final release from such loneliness.”
It was shocking to stand before a murderer, and Hecate had expected it to be so. But she had not been prepared for Joe Colwall’s appearance. He certainly fitted the description of someone raging, someone filled with violence. It was hard to see any trace of the mild-mannered good husband John and Mrs. Tribbet had described to her.
“You will be sorry to see me go,” Colwall declared. “I believe it delights you to come down here and poke the chained bear with a stick. Is that what sets the blood racing through your veins? Do you crave the proximity to that which you yourself cannot be, yet secretly, you admire?”
“That you consider yourself in the smallest way admirable is a clear indication of your own mania.”
“You may comfort yourself in believing me mad, but you and I are not so different. I know the base desires of all men. I’ve seen the blackness in their hearts.”
He turned suddenly then, springing to one side with the speed of a much younger, stronger man, snatching at the pair of bars directly in front of Hecate. He stared at her with a wildness in his eyes and an intensity to his gaze that she recognized, for she had experienced it before. She had felt the same shock once before, on that day when the figure on the map had turned and caught her in his glare. Despite her thundering heart, she would not let him see how shaken she was. She might never again have the opportunity to speak with an Embodied Spirit, for such she now was certain he must be. She must learn what she could.
“I will not call you Joe Colwall, for I fear he is long gone,” she said.
The man reacted to this, no longer furious, but intrigued. A grim smile did nothing to add warmth to his expression.
“Who have we here?” he asked, licking spittle from his lips. “I thought you some spectator, brought to see the caged animal.”
Hecate did not look away. “I know what you are,” she told him. “I know where you came from. What I do not understand is why? And why now? Who was it who summoned you?”
He gave a short bark of a laugh at this. “She is clever, your woman, Inspector,” he said. “Or at least, she thinks she is. Thinks she knows things. You would do better not to meddle, girl. I serve one with power such as you could never imagine. My master would crush you beneath his heel and not break his stride. He will not stop for you, nor anyone who gets in his way.”
Hecate looked at Inspector Winter to gauge his reaction. Surely Joe Colwall’s words would give him pause. Surely he could not dismiss such particular words as the random ravings of a crazed person.
“Who commands you?” she asked the murderer. “Who is it who brought you to this vile end?”
He shook his head then, slowly to begin with, then faster and faster, a frenzied gesture, crazed and mindless. “Your cleverness will not stop us! Nothing will stop us. Not this time!” He fell backward then, thrashing on the floor, the energetic movements too much for the frail, elderly body to withstand.
“Come.” The inspector put his hand on Hecate’s arm. “He cannot be helped,” he told her, leading her from the terrible sight, and up the stairs.
When she had refused a glass of water and satisfied Inspector Winter she was sufficiently steady to safely ride her bicycle, he escorted her to the front door. As she turned to go he spoke, not unkindly but firmly.
“A clear case of madness. Insanity can visit a person at any time, but increasingly we see it in the elderly. I wish that it were more uncommon. Alas, the opposite is true.”
“Here we differ in our opinions, Inspector. You see a madman. I see a man possessed.” So saying she hitched her skirt up and set to pedalling, steering her bicycle toward St. Owen’s Street, hoping she looked steadier and more capable than she felt.
She had gone no more than twenty yards when she saw John walking toward her. He smiled, waving his hand in greeting and stepping in front of her. She had no option but to stop and felt at once cross that he had presumed she would do so.
“Goodness, Hecate, you are in a hurry. But then, when are you not? Have you come from the police station?”
“I spoke with Inspector Winter.”
“About the events in the crypt?”
Hecate knew John was attempting to be supportive but she could not possibly launch into the details of her theory while standing on the pavement. Not only was she tired and rattled by her encounter with Joe Colwall, she was also mindful of her promise to her father that she would not share details of their new knowledge with John. Not yet.
“We spoke mostly of Joe Colwall. And now I shall be late home and Mother will fret about it. You know she does not like me being out unaccompanied at present.”
“Ah, yes. Of course. I will not detain you longer. I only wished to…”
“Forgive me, John, but can we talk another time?”
He looked at her a little sadly then. She understood his concern was for her as he could see she was unsettled by something. His kind heart only served to make her feel cross with herself for being ungracious.
“As long as you remember I am always here to listen to you, Hecate.” He let go the bicycle then and stepped from her path. “I myself am on my way to talk to the inspector,” he said.
“Oh?”
“I am finalizing the arrangements for Mrs. Colwall’s funeral. As her death is the subject of a murder inquiry, I need him to sign a paper so that her body might be released to the family.”
Now Hecate felt doubly bad.
“You will let me know when the date is fixed?” she asked. “I would like to attend.”
“Of course. I’m sure Mrs. Tribbet would find solace in your presence.” He appeared to be on the point of leaving but lingered, not yet content to let her go on her way without expressing his concern for her further. “There is more to this than you have shared with me. I know you too well, Hecate. Please know I wish more than anything to be a good friend to you.”
“And you are. Far better than I am to you.”
