“What’s in it for me I answer these questions you got?”
“Could we come in, ma’am?” Day said.
Blacker widened his eyes and shook his head at Day. He was on the other side of the doorway, his shoulder pressed against the outside wall of the flat, and thus was out of Mrs Little’s line of sight. Day had no way to respond to him without Mrs Little’s seeing. He had no more desire to enter the flat than Blacker did, but he smiled at her and nodded as if she’d already agreed to let them come in.
She shrugged and turned and they followed her inside. Her grubby housecoat ended well above her thick ankles. Day looked up at the water-stained ceiling.
The stench of old food and human waste hit them like a physical force as soon as they entered the dingy flat. The floorboards were worn so smooth and colorless that the men could have skated across them but for a faded threadbare rug in the center of the front room. A battered, dun-colored sofa, buttons dangling like fruit from its back, hunched against the wall under a curtainless window where a single ray of sunlight fought its way through the smeared glass. Three chairs stood upright, grouped around a barrel. A large pearl-colored doily was draped over the barrel in a vain attempt to disguise it as a table, and peanut shells and dust were scattered across it. Day recognized a cigar box in the center of the table as the same one Sir Edward had brought to the squad room. A fourth chair was tipped over on the floor, its upholstery unraveled from the top, cotton batting spilling out. A baby lay on the chair back, its arms and legs stretched out toward the ceiling. It hiccuped and coughed when it heard their footsteps, then began to cry again.
A naked moon-faced boy was strapped to a wooden chair in the corner of the room. Drool ran in rivulets over the boy’s chin and down his chest. He rocked back and forth, the leather straps digging into his flesh, his eyes rolling wildly in their sockets as he gibbered and howled at the baby. A smaller child, wearing nothing but a filthy pair of knickers, was attempting to silence the monster boy, patting his arm and clucking at him. Day realized that the boy in the chair was singing to the baby in some strange, unrecognizable language.
Day drew back. “Good Lord,” he said.
The woman chuckled and her black eyes sparkled. “Hard to look at, ain’t he?”
“Let that child free from there right now.”
“I undo ’im and he’ll fall straight onto his face, see if he don’t.”
“But this is barbarous.”
“Only looks to be. He’s a happy boy, ain’t you, Anthony?”
At the sound of his name, Anthony let out a fresh wail and bounced up and down in his seat. The other boy, Gregory, whooped and danced around his brother’s chair, which excited Anthony even more. The baby fell suddenly silent. Day and Blacker stared, entranced and disgusted, as the two boys worked themselves into a contained frenzy, colonial natives dancing for rain.
“’At’s enough,” the woman said. “Enough, I say. Gregory, you settle ’im down now.”
The smaller boy stopped hopping about and laid a hand on Anthony’s head, which seemed to calm him. In the fresh silence, Day could hear the baby wheezing.
“Gregory, see to that baby.”
Gregory scampered over to the infant and stuck a dirty finger into its mouth. He fished out half of a peanut shell, dripping with spit. The baby let out a long wail and immediately began to snore, which excited the boy in the corner. Anthony began rocking his chair once more, beating his head against the wall behind him.
Gregory threw the shell on the ground, where the baby could presumably pick it back up when it awoke, and ran back across the room. While the others watched Gregory stroke his older brother’s head, Day reached down and picked up the wet peanut shell. He slipped it into his pocket and wiped his fingers on the leg of his trousers.
When Anthony had calmed down again, Mrs Little turned her attention back to the detectives. Day nodded toward the boy in the corner.
“What’s-?”
“What’s wrong wiff ’im? Hell if I know. Come outta me that way and been that way ever since. But he’s a good boy.”
“Has he seen a doctor?”
“’Course he seen a doctor. Ain’t savages, is we? Too much fluids, says they, too much blood. They bled ’im near dry, cupped ’im and leeched ’im and leff ’im so’s he couldn’t hardly move no more. Ain’t takin’ ’im to no more doctors. He’s happy here, and anyway, he ain’t likely to live too much longer. Money’s better spent than on doctors.”
Day was filled with a mad passion to run from the room.
“Gregory, you seem like a responsible young man,” Blacker said.
The boy blushed and looked down at his feet.
“But I don’t see how you can hear anything with that growth in your ear.”
Gregory looked up, wide-eyed. His hands flew to his ears.
“I don’t feel nuffink there,” he said.
“Come here, lad.”
Blacker dropped to one knee and reached out to the boy. Gregory went to him, his expression frightened.
“Nothing to fear,” Blacker said. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
He looked at the boy’s left ear.
“Well, that’s odd,” he said. “I was mistaken. That’s not a growth. Now why would you keep money in your ear?”
Gregory gasped. Blacker grinned at him and his fingers flitted through the air next to the boy’s head, barely grazing his ear. He brought his hand up to show Gregory a shiny penny.
“I think you’ll be able to hear much better now.”
Gregory gulped and stared at the penny in Blacker’s hand.
“Well, go on and take it,” Blacker said. “It was in your ear, so it must be yours.”
“Cor, that’s magic, that is,” Gregory said.
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Blacker winked at the boy and Gregory finally smiled back at him. The boy took the penny from Blacker’s hand and goggled at it.
The Widow Little took two steps toward them and snatched the penny from her son’s hand. She made it disappear somewhere within the folds of her housecoat.
“Any money comes into this flat is mine,” she said.
She glared at the detectives, daring them to contradict her. Gregory shrugged and smiled at them. Blacker patted him on the head and stood back up. He frowned and cleared his throat.
“When’s the last you saw your husband, Mrs Little?” Blacker said.
“Can’t recall. Maybe a week, maybe more.”
“Is that unusual, not to see him for a week?”
“He hardly never come home no more. The sight of Anthony made him sick to his stomach.”
Anthony wailed again and Day noticed that the tonal shift he’d heard before was present again in the boy’s voice.
“He asked you where our daddy’s at,” Gregory said.
“You understand him?”
“Sure. He ain’t dumb. Just different’s all.”
“Don’t matter where yer daddy’s at. Hush now and let these gennemen talk. They’s friends of yer daddy.”
“He was a fine man, your father,” Blacker said. “One of the best the Yard ever saw.”
Gregory switched his gaze from Blacker to Day and stared unblinking at him.
“He only come home most times when he got his pay,” Mrs Little said. “Leff enough with me for the groceries and such. He dint spend much time ’ere, though.”
Hardly a surprise, Day thought.
“Did you talk to him? Did he discuss any cases with you or anything that might have been bothering him? Anyone who may have threatened him?”
“You lot’d know better’n me. He was up there alla time. Never tole me nothin’. One of them killers he was after most likely done ’im.”
“I see. Well, thank you for your time, ma’am.”
“Where I’m gonna get paid from now?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Without Mr Little’s pay, how I’m gonna take care of these young’uns? You think on that. Without food money, I’m gonna have to take young Anthony and drownd ’im in the river.”