Chapter Text
"Who sent you?! Who sent you?!"
"You know who sent me, you German shit."
The pliers stayed on the edge of her nail. The red polish chipped away ages ago, and they’d gotten dull and short. That was why the needlenose pliers ached before they even clasped the fingernail. Dark figures hung over her, their faces concealed due to the overhanging lights keeping them in shadow. Rough German voices called out questions to her in between pulling: 'Who sent you?' 'What are their plans?' 'Tell us where we can find the preparation plans'. She didn't answer. She'd rather die than betray Arnold. Without an answer, the officer pulled at the pliers and her nail tugged off with it. The stinging, aching pain shot through her hand, sending it through the rest of her.
When they finally removed the next nail, it wasn't a German officer. It was a faceless figure with a thin silver knife. Underneath the cloaked hood, there was a black hole where a face should be. She saw only the crack of a smug smile.
"Ring around Janey," it said in a sing-song voice, "Pocket full of pennies. Slashes, slashes, she then fell down."
She never felt a knife so sharp.
Jane jolted out of sleep in a scream. A draft cooled the thin layer of sweat sticking to her skin, causing stray hairs to cling to her temples and forehead. The faceless figure stayed before her in that place between nightmares and reality, the sensation of a blade in her chest keeping her from breathing. She blinked back her eyes to get a better view of her surroundings. Not in the concrete bunker with its single overhead light and wooden chair, but the comfortable room in The Garrison. She was home. She was in England.
“It’s alright,” his voice said to her, though it barely reached her. “You’re home now. You’re okay.”
The fear lingered inside her chest like phlegm, sticking to her lungs and making it hard to breathe. Clammy hands shook, and she wiped them on the damp sheets. She shut her eyes and took her deep breaths. Whoever brought her home removed her dress, but kept her in her chemise and stockings. She faintly recalled what happened; Roberts used a drug to subdue her.
Copycat doesn’t need drugs.
“Easy,” Tommy said, smoothing hair from her forehead, “Easy now.”
“Wha-What hap…We shouldn’t have gone,” she said shakily, pushing the faceless figure back. “We should’ve gone and watched the races instead or stayed or…I was so wrong and so stupid…”
“No, no, I shouldn’t have let you go,” he shook his head. He’d taken off his jacket and hat, sitting in only his shirt and pants. “I knew something was off and still went through with it. Look at me,” he cupped her cheek, “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
“Did I get him?” she asked, vaguely recalling slashing someone.
“A scratch.”
It was then she noticed the bandage on his right hand. Specks of blood dampened the white gauze, but nothing too extreme. She knew exactly how he’d gotten it.
“Your hand,” she said softly, taking it gently between her own to see it closely. “You didn’t kill him, did you?”
“No, but I gave him a new face, that’s for sure,” he told her. He turned his hand over to hold hers, “Kimber told me you weren’t the first, so it seems he’s more than aware of what Roberts planned for you. We shook on it and vowed never to bring it up again. He warned me against bringing you to our next meeting.”
“Trust me, I have no interest in seeing either of them any time soon. Wait…Samantha,” she suddenly remembered her old school friend, “Where is she?”
“She went home after lots of convincing and reassurances of a phone call from Vivian,” he told her, putting his free hand over hers.
“And your deal with-”
“-Don’t worry about that, alright? It’s been squared away,” he assured her. “Vivian,” he moved to her desk, “Suggested some tea to calm your nerves, but I’m prescribing something a bit stronger.”
“Please…”
She swung her legs over her bed and grabbed her robe from nearby. She’d slid it on by the time he came back with two whiskey glasses. With a nod of thanks, she took the glass and downed it. The hard liquor brought her senses back, and he poured her another. She slid her left thumb across the fingernails, taking deep breaths and sipping the next glass.
‘Slashes, slashes, she then fell down.’
She squeezed her eyes closed, pushing the deep voice out of her head.
“I dream of the tunnel.” His voice made her lift her head, but she didn’t speak. “I dream of it every night. I dream of the blood and the mud,” he swirled his whiskey around but didn’t drink. “I dream of the sweat, and the heat. The silence before it happened was like watching a bomb about to go off. Every night I dream of that moment just before it happened, clear as day, but the rest moves too quickly to recall.” He met her eyes, sad and serious, “Sometimes, I think I came back with the smoke still in my lungs.”
Jane watched him, holding her drink between her hands. She’d never spoken it out loud. Nobody asked. It was a nightmare she wished to keep locked in her head. Yet, the words came out.
“I have one foot in that bunker and one in the real world. It’s like…Like I’m straddling the past and the present with no chance of ever picking a side” she took a deep breath. “I can still feel the pliers on my nails sometimes. I feel the nail sliding off the bed and…” she felt over her fingernails with her thumb again. Short and unpolished. It took convincing and patience from Vivian to go through with it. “I never gave them up once,” she said. “I kept my mouth shut no matter what they did. They whipped me, beat me, burned me, drowned me, and I never said a word to them. I knew if I gave anything away, innocent men would die.”
Her stomach twisted around into knots and she put the drink down. The words peeled away layers and layers of walls until she was exposed to him. Jane felt sudden shame. She couldn’t imagine what he must’ve thought seeing her so weak and vulnerable. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen, but here she was. She bared her soul to a man she’d only known a few weeks. Yet, seeing him across from her, stuck in his own thoughts, she wanted to reach for him. Simply having him close felt right to her, but she said nothing. Tommy finished his drink and moved towards the door.
“I’ll tell Vivian you’re aw-”
“-Don’t,” she reached for him, “Go.”
The glint of silver and the mocking smile came back to her, chilling her down to the bone. This man who was part cold and part warm became the anchor she needed to stay on the side of reality. When he took her hand, palm cupping hers, it was like being guided out of her nightmares. The foot constantly sitting in the bunker lifted and stepped over the line when he slid onto the bed and cradled her close to him. It didn’t feel as it did with the pretty faces she brought home. Their distraction lasted for a few hours. Tommy’s felt endless. In his embrace, she found a softness in him that he kept hidden from others; the side that cared for his family and would do anything to protect them. His fingers sliding up and down her back scars did not worry her. The lips kissing her hairline and staying there didn’t make her push him away. In his arms, the monsters in her dreams couldn’t reach her.
She’d never slept so soundlessly before.
****
Neither her nor Tommy brought that night up afterwards. Thinking about it brought a sense of embarrassment and longing. He’d been gone by the time she woke the next day, like so many lovers before him, but they weren’t lovers were they? No, they’d simply found solace in each other’s company. They’d shared tea-cake sized bits of their souls, and dragged up things they wished to forget. Maybe a man, so unused to vulnerability, might also feel a twinge of shame at having let the walls lower themselves. But, as she sat by her room window a week later, she couldn’t help but hope he’d turn up. Not to talk to her, but to simply have him close by.
Jane couldn’t remember the last time she depended on someone that way.
“I still don’t understand what possessed you to follow that man,” Vivian said from the nearby desk, steaming cup of tea next to her as she overlooked her notes. “He could’ve killed you, Jane.”
“Killing wouldn’t have been the worst of it,” she said quietly. Tommy normally visited the pub around this time. Odd.
“You’re lucky my brother was there,” said Ada, who lounged on her bed with a book about human anatomy Jane lent her. “He came back home with bruises all over his knuckles. You would’ve thought he’d beaten someone to death.”
“He hinted he’d given Roberts a new face,” said Vivian.
She did not doubt it. She’d seen the marks on his hands, red and angry against his fair skin. How many more times would he protect and defend her before he grew tired of it?
“Besides, we have Campbell pinned for this,” Vivian continued. “We just need to figure out his whereabouts that night. Ada and I thought about talking to Harrington again…”
That kiss. Oh, that blessed kiss. Jane couldn’t remember the last time somebody kissed her that way.
“...It’s highly unlikely Peter will know anything about it. It’s not as if he followed Campbell around all the time. I think we should talk to Sergeant Moss. He’s a lot closer to Campbell and might know things he doesn’t realize are important…”
Yes, she did. William Mason, Christmas 1912, right before the war. He’d pulled her under the mistletoe at Mrs. Avery’s holiday gala. She remembered the champagne influencing many of the night’s decisions, including kissing Willie, an old flame. Still, that kiss hadn’t been half as good as Tommy’s.
“...Jane? Jane, are you listening to us?”
Hard men tended to kiss hard. Tommy kissed her so lightly and deeply that she wouldn’t have believed it if it hadn’t happened to her. She kept her eyes on the road, watching the people of Small Heath go about their days, and wondered if he’d show up at all. Not that she’d say anything to him. What could she say? ‘I don’t recall the last time I shed the layers of my heart, please kiss me again’?
“Jane!”
“Moss is coming?”
She phrased it like a question, since she hadn’t seen her client since she arrived. Moss, in full uniform, walked down the street amongst his people without causing any notice or worry. Despite being a police sergeant, he didn’t seem to stir any fear or use intimidation. Perhaps that was why they called Campbell in for the guns. They didn’t think Moss had the sand for it.
“Oh good,” Vivian said, “We can give him a report.”
“I don’t think he’s going to like hearing his superior is a prime suspect,” Ada noted, putting the book down.
“Clients aren’t always going to like the results or the progress,” Vivian told her. “It’s best if we're honest with him about what we know. Jane, if you care to get out of your head for a few minutes and get dressed, we’ll be downstairs.”
Once alone in her room, Jane forced herself to leave the window and dress for the day. She remembered being in her chemise and stockings when she woke up that night. Vivian likely undressed and put the covers over her, not Tommy. Though, the thought of him handling her so gently made her heart flutter. As she removed her headscarf and brushed out her hair, the image of him laying so close to her pulled out more longing. The nightmares that created fitful rest didn’t show up when she laid in his arms. Did he feel the same way? Did her presence keep away the terrors that haunted him at night?
She went downstairs in a soft pink blouse and cream colored trousers, heeled shoes tapping the wooden floors. The sound of voices reached her ears from the staircase.
“-That’s ridiculous!” She heard Moss say incredulously, “Inspector Campbell may be a hard man, but he isn’t a butcher.”
“We have theories that suggest otherwise.”
“Aye, theories and nothing more. If you ladies don’t have concrete, physical evidence, you have no reason to be going after Campbell. He’s a good man who only does what’s right regardless of the means.”
“Men like this one always think what they’re doing is right,” Vivian caught sight of Jane at the bottom of the stairs, “Ah, look who’s decided to join us. Janey, please explain to Sergeant Moss why Campbell is our top suspect in the case.”
“Yes, please do, Ms. Dawes,” Moss said a bit roughly.
Jane began listing all the traits they suspect Copycat of having; she told him about his background and how similar it is to Chief Inspector Campbell’s. Moss’s expression grew harder with each fact she gave him. His blind loyalty to his boss became obvious once she finished.
“Campbell has done a lot of good in this town since he’s arrived,” Moss said. “All the scum who fill these streets are hiding in their rat holes. The communists and workers strikes are done, and he’s got the Peaky Blinders running for their lives. Why would a man dead set on stopping crime be doing such a heinous one himself?”
“To avoid suspicion,” she shrugged, leaning on a chair beside Ada who was taking notes. “He might not even be aware he’s doing it. There have been cases of people who black out of their consciousness and do things they normally wouldn’t. There’s this one man-”
“-There’s nothing wrong with Campbell,” he cut across her. “You’re only pointing the finger at him because of what you’ve got going on with Shelby. Aye, everybody’s seen you two. You’ve gotten rather cozy with the Peaky Blinders, but then again, you women are easily swayed by good looking men.”
“I beg your pardon, Sergeant,” Jane began, offended by his assumption, “But I don’t let personal feelings or opinions lead my investigations. I-”
“-I should’ve known better than to let a woman get involved,” he huffed as he snatched up his hat from the table. “You’re wrong about this. Dead wrong.”
He turned on his heel and stormed out the doors. Jane, Vivian and Ada stared at each other in shock. Moss never struck her as a man to lose his temper that way. Harry, wiping down the bar, was the first to speak up.
“That was strange, wasn’t it?”
“It was…” Jane stared at the closed pub doors as if she could see him walking away.
“Ada, what on earth are you writing down?” Vivian asked, seeing that the young woman hadn’t put down her pencil once since Moss arrived. “We didn’t need this conversation transcribed.”
“Didn’t you hear him just now?” Ada asked, distractedly. “What he said about women?”
“Yes, but that’s a general statement lots of men make about us,” she responded, taking a seat at the table. “It’s nothing special to write about.”
“And did you see how offended he was that we accused Campbell?”
“Because that’s a man he looks up to.”
“No, no, I see what Ada’s talking about,” Jane nodded, still staring at the doors. The pieces started flipping over, though she didn’t know the picture yet. “What do you know about Moss, Ada?”
“That he’s a religious man who goes to St. Peter’s Church every Sunday," she said, “Polly sees him there all the time during morning mass. I also know he lost his wife to a fever, and he had to raise his son, Gregory, alone before he died in France. They said it was an ambush; that Moss witnessed it himself since they were in the same trench together.”
Jane’s jaw dropped, and she stared at Vivian. “That’s new,” she said, sitting down slowly beside Ada. “Anything else?”
“Not much. Moss has never really been on my radar,” she put down her notepad. “I could talk to Freddie and Peter. Freddie’s dad and Moss used to be mates, and Peter was best friends with Gregory. They might know some things we don’t.”
“It’s a good place to start. Harrington might even know Moss’s whereabouts the night Kelly was murdered, if we’re lucky. Excellent work, Ada,” Jane grinned at her who beamed.
“Did you happen to write down what he said about Tommy?” Vivian sneered, eyeing Jane from across the table.
“Something about getting cozy with a Peaky Blinder, right?” Ada said thoughtfully, pretending to look through her notes. “He came back home early that morning. I wonder what kept him out all night.”
“They were in bed together when I came to check on her,” Vivian told her and Ada gasped, giving a soft laugh as she turned to Jane.
“It wasn’t like that,” Jane immediately defended. “We got to talking about things and fell asleep. I had just been drugged, if either of you remember.”
“But he was pretty concerned when he brought you back. He didn’t leave your side for a moment, saying something about protecting his investment, but I think he sees more than that in you,” she wagged her eyebrows. “When are you seeing him again?”
“When another body turns up, I suppose,” she shrugged, and stood up. “Harry, is there coffee by any chance?”
“Oh yes, use caffeine to ignore the obvious.”
“In the back.”
Jane walked through the door behind the bar and found the small kitchenette Harry used on occasion. The small pot still on the stove, she poured herself a cup whilst thinking about Moss and Tommy and everything that Ada said. Moss grew up in Small Heath. He knew the streets better than Campbell would. He’d know the victims from church and the times they’d been arrested. He went through the streets unnoticed. He was a large man who wore a bowler hat outside of work and had a long coat to fight off the Birmingham chill. It made sense. The death of his son and atrocities of war might’ve pushed him over the edge. Losing someone he loved so dearly in such a horrific way would spark any kind of madness. His wife’s “fever” might have been something else entirely.
Why had she not seen it before?
“Oh, Inspector Campbell! How fortunate of you to stop by,” she heard Vivian from outside the door. “Jane was on her way to see you.”
Time to throw the dog a bone.
“His tobacco wharfs,” she said right as she left the back room, coffee cup at her lips for a careful sip.
“Pardon?”
“The Peaky Blinders have tobacco wharfs along the canal where they keep their stolen goods,” she sat down and pulled out her cigarette case and matchbox. “I can’t promise they’re there, but it’s a starting point.” She struck the match and had her first cigarette of the day.
“What led you to his conclusion?” he asked, eyeing her suspiciously.
“Digging around their shipyard,” she answered, shaking the flame off the stick. “Tommy mentioned to me they have one, and I figured it was a good place to start. I would’ve thought you’d already checked there, but a second look never hurts anyone.”
It wasn’t uncommon for murderers to put themselves in the middle of an investigation. Tommy might have told Moss about her, but it was Moss who decided to hire her. Whether he was aware of the killings or not escaped her.
“He mentioned it to you, eh?” Campbell said, and she heard the judgement in his voice. “I supposed feminine wiles work after all,” he said, “If I’d known all it took was a pretty face, I would’ve hired one of those whores who peddles herself on the street.”
“You truly cannot help yourself, can you?” Jane remarked, a stream of smoke following the question. “Is insulting women an impulse or is it only when I’m within earshot?”
“Seems impulsive,” Vivian chimed in, picking up the newspaper from a nearby empty table.
Campbell would not be concerned about it if Moss made similar comments around him. Men of religion often felt that way about women. It would not have raised any flags with Campbell. Moss wouldn’t partake in the brothels, however.
“I’m only calling them as I see them, Ms. Dawes,” he said, putting his hat back on. “You ladies have a lovely day.”
“Which one do you see, Inspector?” Jane called after him. “Surely an unmarried man such as yourself visits a disorderly house or a private tavern once in a while? Especially so far from home.”
“I’d never soil myself with women who’ve been had by every man on the street…”
“There is no shame in dipping your pen in the ink pot, sir,” Jane smirked, sipping her coffee and earning giggles from Vivian, Ada and Harry behind the bar. “We’ve all done it at one time or another.”
Campbell hesitated, and Jane knew it. No doubt Tommy’s man will tell her which one he visits when he’s “at church”. He gave her a cold, piercing look and then walked out of the pub without another word. With that, Jane crossed him off her list and turned her attention elsewhere.
****
“It’s called The Lotus Garden, Miss,” a man called ‘Scudboat’ told Jane later that day. “It’s this place in Chinatown. It looks like a tailoring shop, but this is just one of their special services. I reckon someone at the station told him to ask for a ‘special fitting’, and now he’s there nearly every other night from what the owner told me.”
“Do you know what time he was there?” Jane asked Scudboat, “Could anyone there tell you?”
“One of the girls he visits told me,” he said, “And yes, he was there that night. The whole night, she says.”
“So, not at church…”
Arthur chuckled, taking a sip from his hip flask and sitting at the table next to Vivian, “I bet he does a lot of worshipping at that place.”
“Oh Arthur, this is serious,” Vivian giggled softly. “I suppose we’re back to square one, Janey.”
Tommy sent a message through Finn to come to their betting shop before nightfall. In the empty room of tables covered with slips of papers and books, Jane, Vivian and Ada listened to Scudboat’s report on Campbell. Tommy claimed there was no better place to discuss it. Jane did her best not to meet his eyes throughout the meeting; he didn’t look her way either. She intently listened and stared at the large man while Tommy casually smoked in the corner. She wanted to reach out to him again, if only to hear his voice. For some reason, his agreement would solidify everything for her.
“What about Moss?” Ada brought up from her spot beside Polly. “We all agree that his behavior this morning was odd.”
“What about him?”
“Does he go to places like that?”
Arthur scoffed, “Never.”
“Are you certain of that?” Vivian asked him.
“Well, I’ve never seen him at any that I go to.”
“He doesn’t.” It was Polly who’d spoken from her side of the table. Her eyes appeared slightly wider in realization. “Ms. Dawes, Ada mentioned to me that your killer likely visits the same church that Kelly and the others did?”
“Yes,” Jane was glad someone caught the wavelength, “Is it the same one you attend?”
“It is. I see him there lighting candles all the time, and sitting near the front during services,” she said. “The church sometimes hands out food to the poorer families when they can afford it and Moss always volunteers. Mary-Anne often went too, and so did Elizabeth, Kelly and Emma. Moss is very active in the church; he told me once he thought of being a priest himself before he met his wife.”
Jane looked at Polly. Clearly, it’d been a mistake not to visit the Shelby residence more often. She turned to the well-dressed woman with her thick curls and painted blue eyes, so much like Tommy’s. “Did you know his wife, Mrs. Grey?”
“Just so happens I did.”
“Polly, you never told me that,” Ada said, surprised as she flipped a new page in her notepad. “That’s important information!”
“You never asked,” she shrugged. “Her name was Catherine, but everyone called her Cat. Her customers called her Alley Cat on a count of, well…surely, you can guess why.”
“Was she a religious woman?”
“She was. The three of them went to church every Sunday, but I suppose there are some things even God cannot help with.”
“You mean her addiction?”
“Yes,” Polly nodded, sadness filling her eyes. “She always claimed she never touched the stuff, but you saw it in her face. You saw it in her body: her dark circles, her jittery hands, and how thin she’d gotten. It killed Anthony to see her wilt away like a dying flower, but I imagine it angered him as well. She had Gregory to look after. He once confided in me that he worried about leaving her alone with their son; he worried something might happen to him while she was passed out or not home.”
The picture became clearer and clearer. Jane pictured a younger Anthony Moss, stony faced as his wife withered away in front of him. She imagined the woman’s erratic behavior whenever she snorted it, and him unable to gauge whatever mood might sway her next. A small boy, possibly resembling Moss himself, would be standing nearby and wonder what was becoming of his mother. How many incidents did it take before he had enough?
“What did she die from?” Vivian asked curiously.
“He told everyone it was a fever that took her,” Polly said, though she sounded unconvinced, “But there’s been other reasons that weren’t as natural.”
“Oh?”
“That it was the cocaine that did her in.”
“Do you know anything about his family? His mother and father, I mean?”
Polly thought for a moment, then answered, “Nothing much. It was so long ago, and they kept to themselves a lot of the time. Anthony didn’t play with the rest of us back in those days. He was always around his mother’s skirts.”
“I can only assume she was a church woman as well…”
Jane’s eyes focused on a piece of paper in front of her, but she did not read it. Her mind floated to the puzzle put before her. Every little fact placed one piece to another, creating the picture that alluded her these past two months. Thumbs rubbing over her smooth fingernails, she pictured a shell-shocked Moss returning to an empty home. She imagined visions of his beloved son being blown to pieces might have unleashed something inside him. The killer in him might have always been there, only locked up behind bible verses and a sense of duty to his job and his son. Without that, there was nothing holding him back.
“...Jane?”
“She does this sometimes…Just give her a moment or two…”
Hearing someone else was being given credit for his work upset him. He wanted the same infamy and mysteriousness of his idol, Jack the Ripper. He wanted people to know, but also keep it a secret. Could he not stop himself? Did he want Jane to find out and have him locked up? He’d hired her after all. It would be logical.
“...Sorry, ladies, but I can’t see Moss doing something like that,” John had said from his stool nearby. “He ain’t the butchering type.”
“His father was a butcher,” Polly said. “Ada said that’s one of the things you’ve deduced, right?”
“He’s more likely a surgeon or has the knowledge.”
“He helped out in the medical tents in France,” Arthur said.
“He did?”
More jigsaw pieces coming together. A whirl of excitement came with the realization that stirred in her chest. Anthony Moss, Small Heath local that looked down on prostitutes and visited church every night. Why had she not seen this before? She’d focused so much on Campbell, then the blip with Roberts, that he didn’t cross her until now. If her accusing Campbell truly upset him, then he’d do something to throw her off the trail. He might do it out of anger. Jane never considered his feelings before or during. In the darkness of the neighborhood backalleys and sidestreets, he stalked his victims like a lion in tall grass. He’d wait for his moment, anticipation and arousal burning inside him as he thought of the act. It must be like electricity flowing through his body. Better than any drug, drink or woman in the whole world, cutting into his victims and taking parts of them fulfills that gratification he cannot achieve on his own. He keeps the organs to relive the moment over and over again, regaining that adrenaline all over again until he needs fresh parts.
“He’s going to kill again,” Tommy’s voice came to her, though much closer than the others.
“Yes…” he’d be fuming right now. Anger was not an emotion Moss could easily push aside.
“I’ll keep men-”
“-Don’t bother,” Jane said, still staring straight ahead in her near catatonic state. “Unless you know every single person in Small Heath, it’ll be like trying to catch smoke.” She was already worried who his next victim was. It could be anyone.
“I’ll put them on regardless.”
Anyone. Swarms of women walked the streets of Small Heath and attended the local church. He’d be familiar with a lot of them, and it wouldn’t take much to prey upon them. But, Moss was picky with his victims. He’d have a girl already chosen for his next ritual, because that was it. A ritual. Intercourse itself acted as a ritual between couples. That was what this was to him, and what was a better stress reliever than sex?
“Oi,” John said as the group kept on with the conversation, “Something’s going on out there.”
“What?”
Jane and Tommy went to the street-facing window together, staring out the grimy glass to the people outside. While not fully crowded, seeing them all go down the same direction looked unusual. In the dim twilight hours, she sensed urgency and excitement running through some of them as they passed the window. Once she spotted a pair of police officers running underneath the street lamps, her stomach twisted.
“It’s happened already,” Jane said in barely a whisper, quickly putting on her coat and snatching her handbag from the table. “It’s happened. He’s done it again.”
“He had to soon enough,” said Vivian, who was already in her coat.
“Today might have set him off,” Ada said as she put on her hat, “But it’s too early in the night.”
“He doesn’t care.”
Jane headed the trio out of the betting shop, though she heard other footsteps coming behind them. Her heart pounded deep in her chest as she forced herself to follow the crowds. Already, images of a bloody corpse left out on display came to mind. She could feel her hands sweating in her gloves, and her body growing warmer underneath her clothes. The people at the end of the street packed around the entrance to an alley way between two buildings. The sounds of police whistles and barked orders reached her ears through the unrest around them.
“You lot are useless!”
“Who is it?!”
“Can we see the body?!”
Jane pushed through the mass of people to the human barrier the Special police tried creating. She went around the crowd to a corner between one man and the wall, then slunk inside the alleyway. The shouts and noise behind her echoed down between the brick buildings, and her shoes stepped in the damp puddles from the last rain shower. The sun not fully gone, she could see her way much more clearly than last time. As she drew closer, she took deep breaths once the scent of blood caught in her nose. She followed it like a hound dog around a corner leading into a side street and found the source.
It was Chief Inspector Chester Campbell. Slumped down against a brick wall, his hat discarded to the side, deep crimson painted the front of his waistcoat. Jane bent down to examine him closely. Lifting his head upwards, she saw the two slashes across his throat. Both deep enough to hit close to his vocal chords, nobody would have heard him once it was cut.
“Oh sweet Jesus.” Polly came up first, Ada and Vivian right behind her.
“This couldn’t have been Sergeant Moss,” Ada said, “Could it?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence to be,” Vivian said.
Yes, it was. Jane scanned the area around his body, knowing her enemy too well by now. He wouldn’t want others thinking this was him, but he did want her to know. He’d done this for her especially. The lack of disembowelment and stab wounds told her this was not sexual for him. This was a statement.
“Was this him?” Polly asked Jane, coming closer but keeping her distance from the scene.
“Yes,” she nodded, looking carefully over every stone. He may have dropped something nearby. He’d want her to find it. “He slashed his throat twice from behind. The blood splatter on the wall proves that much. It was somebody his height, who could easily subdue and restrain him long enough to slice his throat. He killed him here,” she looked up and down the street, seeing the open ends.
“But, he didn’t carve him up,” Ada pointed out.
“Because this wasn’t like his other killings…”
Polly stared at the body, though she did not have the same green face her niece did just then. A seasoned veteran of crime, she’d seen plenty of death to face it head on. “He did this close to Watery Lane,” she said slowly.
“Yes, he did.”
“He wants people to think it was us,” she said, “Everyone who’s important enough to know is well aware of Campbell’s problem with the Peaky Blinders. The devil…”
“What is it? Who’s died?” Arthur and John came up from behind the women, and she heard them both go silent. “Bloody hell…”
“Looks like we ain’t gotta worry about him anymore,” said John.
“No, we’ll have bigger worries now.”
Jane expected a coin or a cocaine packet somewhere. It'd be small and unnoticed by a normal person.
“Looking for this?”
A slender hand held something in front of Jane’s face. A five-pence coin. Jane took the coin from Tommy and examined it.
“Where did you find it?”
“Near his feet,” he said. He stared at the body with her, “He’s a smart bastard, I’ll give him that. People are going to think this was us and look the other way. He gets the Peaky Blinders and continues whatever he’s doing in the same stroke.”
“Your aunt said the same, but this was more for me than you. He did it close to here because he knew I’d see you because…” the words lodged themselves in her throat, and she cleared them out quickly. “He’s going to kill again, and this time he’ll complete the ritual and in his head there’s nothing I can do to stop him. Killing a high ranking inspector proves that nobody is above him.”
“I want to tell you to step back and let the coppers handle this mess,” he began, “But we both know that isn’t going to happen.”
“They wouldn’t investigate one of their own, especially their leader.”
“I meant because you won’t step back,” he corrected her. “You can’t even if you did want to.”
“I’ve come too far to turn away now. I have a job to do, remember?”
Tommy paused, “Jane, if Moss can kill grown men in near daylight like this, a woman like you at night isn’t going to be a problem.”
In her gut, she knew this to be true. “Do you plan to place bodyguards around me, Mr. Shelby?” She tried adding her usual banter, but it fell flat once she imagined a knife to her throat.
“Not directly,” he admitted, “But my men won’t object to spending the day in the pub instead of the shop.”
She met his eyes and knew what he really wanted to say.
“I’d just told him about your tobacco wharfs this morning,” she said. “If he’s already raided them, this will only put more guilt on you. The police would be after you and your brothers. Do you…” she stepped over the words before they could stop, “Do you have somewhere to stay? You know, to hide out until it’s over?”
“I do,” he said, getting closer to her.
He glowed underneath the burning street lamp, eyes darkened by the peak of his cap. She felt the urge to kiss him again, wanting that closeness, but she restrained herself.
“So you’d be gone for a while?” She asked, trying not to sound disappointed.
“No.”
“No?”
“You’re coming with me.”
“Excuse me?”
“Moss is going to be coming after you. Your brother is going to be coming after me, and we both have things that still need to be done,” he explained, putting his arm around her waist and guiding her away from the scene despite her protests. “The Lee family have taken up an encampment in the countryside. We can stay with them for the time being until everything’s blown over.”
“I can’t catch Moss if I’m not in the city,” she objected, sliding from his arm.
“You can’t catch him if your insides are spilled all over the cobblestones,” he pointed out to her. “I’ll pass the information off to the newest Sergeant, and he’ll handle the business from there. Your job in Birmingham is done.”
This felt awfully rushed. Jane studied him at the entrance, people around them craning their necks and shoving one another for a glimpse of the scene. She saw the way he didn’t fully meet her eyes, and the way he shifted around where he stood.
“My job isn’t over,” she said, “And yours is just as dangerous as mine. Aren’t you in deep trouble with these Lee people?”
“I was. I recently struck up a deal with them, and it’s getting carried out on the weekend,” he told her. “After that day, we’d be kin to them.”
“We?” She paused, “Oh good lord, are you making me your wife again?”
“Better to say you’re my wife than an outsider,” he explained. “Gypsyies don’t like outsiders very much. Vivian can be your sister, if she wants.”
“Vivian gets a choice, but not me?”
“She’s not the one Moss will be targeting,” he said, “But I know you’ll want her with you. Ada’s coming too, so you’ll have your little secretary as well.”
“Ada’s more than a secretary. Notes help her keep everything together, that’s all,” Jane said quickly.
She took a deep breath and stared at him. The entire world had suddenly gone into a tailspin, and Tommy Shelby somehow brought it to a stop. With Campbell dead, he’d likely end up in hiding once Arnold comes to town. Moss would no doubt start lingering in alleyways or empty streets in hopes of making her an exception to his rule. She’d been targeted by culprits before, but she didn’t have people like Solomon or Sabini back in London to scare them off. Moss wouldn’t be scared by anyone, and as much as she favored the snubnose in her handbag, her enemy used the element of surprise. Jane looked down the street to the family heading back to the betting shop. Ada walked with her aunt and Vivian.
“Harrington,” she said out loud. “We can keep the boy as a look out for now. If he learns anything, he can send it to us in the country.”
“There are no phones out in nature, Jane, in case you didn’t already know.”
“The Lees must have some sort of city connections,” Jane said. “We’ll figure it out later.”
Her head weighed a ton. She felt like a puppet being flung around by its strings.
“Does this mean you’re agreeing to come?” Tommy asked her, getting closer.
“It doesn’t seem I’m getting much of a choice,” she then gave him a sideways smirk, “I have a feeling you’d tie me up and throw me in your car if I chose not to go.”
“Aye,” he nodded, “I would. Come on. I want to show you my new horse.”
“Your what?”
“I bought a new horse a few days ago. I’d like your opinion on her before I put her on the track.”
Jane smiled despite the muddled thoughts in her head. Her mind put down the puzzle pieces and followed Tommy back down the road. Yes, she’d have to spend the next few days playing husband-and-wife with him, but as he started walking, she realized she didn’t mind it so much anymore.