Campbell

Five days later, the Inspector was summoned back to Green Hall. This time he found himself less shy of looking around. He noticed a long-case clock displaying the cycles of the moon, a mezzotint of a biblical scene, a fading Turkey rug, and a fireplace crammed with logs in anticipation of autumn. In the study he was less alarmed by the glassy-eyed moose, and registered leather-bound volumes of The Field and Punch. The sideboard held a large stuffed fish in a glass case, and a three-decanter tantalus.

Captain Anson waved Campbell to a chair and remained standing himself: a trick of small men in the presence of taller ones, as the Inspector well knew. But he had no time to reflect on the stratagems of authority. The mood this time was not genial.

'Our man has now started taunting us. These Greatorex letters. How many have we had so far?'

'Five, sir.'

'And this came for Mr Rowley at Bridgetown station last evening.' Anson put on his spectacles and began to read:

Sir, A party whose initials you'll guess will be bringing a new hook home by the train from Walsall on Wednesday night, and he will have it in his special pocket under his coat, and if you or your pals can get his coat pulled aside a bit you'll get sight of it, as it's an inch and a half longer than the one he threw out of sight when he heard someone a sloping it after him this morning. He will come by that after five or six, or if he don't come home tomorrow he is sure on Thursday, and you have made a mistake not keeping all the plain clothes men at hand. You sent them away too soon. Why, just think, he did it close where two of them were hiding only a few days gone by. But sir, he has got eagle eyes, and his ears is as sharp as a razor, and he is as fleet of foot as a fox, and as noiseless, and he crawls up on all fours to the poor beasts, and fondles them a bit, and then he pulls his hook smart across 'em, and out their entrails fly, before they guess they are hurt. You want 100 detectives, to run him in red-handed, because he is so fly, and knows every nook and corner. You know who it is, and I can prove it; but until £100 reward is offered for a conviction, I shan't split no more.

Anson looked at Campbell, inviting comment. 'None of my men saw anything thrown away, sir. And nothing resembling a hook has been found. He may or may not mutilate animals like that, but the entrails do not fly out, as we know. Do you want me to watch the Walsall trains?'

'I hardly think that after this letter some fellow is going to turn up in a long overcoat in the middle of summer, inviting to be searched.'

'No, sir. Do you think the £100 requested is a deliberate response to the lawyer's offer of a reward?'

'Possibly. That was a gross piece of impertinence.' Anson paused, and picked another sheet of paper from his desk. 'But the other letter – to Sergeant Robinson at Hednesford – is worse. Well, judge for yourself.' Anson handed it over.

There will be merry times at Wyrley in November, when they start on little girls, for they will do twenty wenches like the horses before next March. Don't think you are likely to catch them cutting the beasts; they are too quiet, and lie low for hours, till your men have gone… Mr Edalji, him they said was locked up, is going to Brum on Sunday night to see the Captain, near Northfield, about how it's to be carried on with so many detectives about, and I believe they are going to do some cows in the daytime instead of at night… I think they are going to kill beasts nearer here soon, and I know Cross Keys Farm and West Cannock Farm are the first two on the list… You bloated blackguard, I will shoot you with your father's gun through your thick head if you come in my way or go sneaking to any of my pals.

'That's bad, sir. That's very bad. This'd better not get out. There'll be panic in every village. Twenty wenches… People are worried enough for their livestock as it is.'

'You have children, Campbell?'

'A boy. And a little girl.'

'Yes. The only good thing in this letter is the threat to shoot Sergeant Robinson.'

'That's a good thing, sir?'

'Oh, maybe not for Sergeant Robinson himself. But it means our man has overstepped himself. Threatening to murder a police officer. Put that on the indictment and we'll be able to get penal servitude for life.'

If we can find the letter writer, thought Campbell. ' Northfield, Hednesford, Walsall – he's trying to send us in all directions.'

'No doubt. Inspector, let me summarize, if you have no objection, and you tell me if you disagree with my thinking.'

'Yes, sir.'

'Now, you are a capable officer – no, don't disagree already.' Anson gave the slightest smile he had in his repertoire. 'You are a very capable officer. But this investigation is now three and a half months old, including three weeks with twenty specials under your command. No one has been charged, no one arrested, no one even seriously taken aside and looked over. And the mutilations have continued. Agreed?'

'Agreed, sir.'

'Local cooperation, which I am aware you compare unfavourably with what you experienced in the great city of Birmingham, has been better than usual. There is, for once, a wider interest than normal in aiding the Constabulary. But the best suspicions we have obtained so far have come in anonymous denunciations. This mysterious "Captain", for example, who lives so inconveniently on the other side of Birmingham. Should we be tempted by him? I think not. What possible interest might some Captain miles away have in mutilating animals belonging to people he has never met? Though it would be poor detective work not to take a visit to Northfield.'

'Agreed.'

'So we are looking for local people, as we have always assumed. Or a local person. I favour the notion of more than one. Three or four, perhaps. It makes more sense. I would imagine one letter writer, one postboy to travel to different towns, one person skilled at handling animals, and one planner to guide them all. A gang, in other words. Whose members have no love for the police. Indeed, take pleasure in trying to mislead us. Who like to boast.

'They name names to confuse us. Of course. But even so, one name comes up again and again. Edalji. Edalji who is going to meet the Captain. Edalji who they said was locked up. Edalji the lawyer is in the gang. I have always had my suspicions, but so far have felt it proper to keep them to myself. I told you to look up the files. There was a campaign of letter-writing before, mainly against the father. Pranks, hoaxes, petty theft. We nearly got him at the time. Eventually I gave the Vicar a pretty heavy warning that we knew who was behind it, and not long afterwards it stopped. QED, you might say, though regrettably not enough to convict. Still, if he didn't own up, at least I put a stop to it. For – what? – seven, eight years.

'Now it's started again, and in the same place. And Edalji's name keeps coming up. That first Greatorex letter mentions three names, but the only one of them the lad himself knows is Edalji. Therefore, Edalji knows Greatorex. And he did the same the first time round – included himself in the denunciations. Only this time he's older, and not satisfied with catching blackbirds and wringing their necks. This time he's after bigger things, literally. Cows, horses. And not being much of a physical specimen himself, he recruits others to help him do the work. And now he's raising the stakes, and threatens us with twenty wenches. Twenty wenches, Campbell.'

'Indeed, sir. You will allow me to put one or two questions?'

'I will.'

'For a start, why should he denounce himself?'

'To put us off the scent. He deliberately includes his own name in lists of people we know can have nothing to do with the matter.'