“It was mostly children for me,” Cinderhouse said. “The ones I killed. I mean, as you say, transformed. The ones I transformed.”
“Ah, that is not something I can appreciate. Not children.”
“But surely you…”
“Never a child. Children are already in the midst of transformation. They’re not yet ripe, are they?”
“Ripe?”
“Promise me you’ll leave the children be.”
“I… I’ll try.”
“You would not want to break a promise you make to me.”
“I won’t.”
“Was it only children?”
“No. I killed two policemen.”
Jack stopped looking at the canal. He had been just about to push Cinderhouse over the wall. “Policemen? You surprise me, little fly.”
“They were going to take a child away from me.”
“And so you lashed out, did you?”
“Yes.”
“But they caught you.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you can’t very well kill one policeman without expecting to be caught, let alone two of them. They’re a bit overprotective of their own, aren’t they?”
“They beat me. Broke my nose.”
“But they did not kill you outright in return for what you had done.”
“No.”
“That was unkind of them.”
“Was it?”
“Do you know their names?”
“One of them was named Day. Detective Inspector Walter Day.”
“One of the ones you killed?”
“No. The one who caught me. One of them.”
“I meant the dead ones. The ones you killed. Surely you kept their names. Out of respect.”
“One was named Pringle. He was a customer of mine. Constable Pringle. I don’t remember his full name. I don’t know the other one’s name at all.”
“You do them a disservice. They shared their experience with you, allowed you to be a part of it. The least you can do is remember them.”
“I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“More’s the pity.”
Jack turned and walked along the footpath toward the city and Cinderhouse followed. Jack didn’t turn around when the bald man spoke again.
“His wife’s name was Claire.”
“Who?”
“The policeman who caught me. The one who sent me to Bridewell.”
“His wife’s name was Claire?”
“I visited her one time. At their house in Primrose Hill. It’s not very far from here, actually.”
“Ah, you remember that, do you? Their house? The woman?”
“Quite clearly. She was lovely.”
“My dear little fly, you sound as if you have unfinished business to attend to.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do,” Jack said. He licked his lips and tasted rain. “I really do.”
“What should I do?”
“Don’t worry, Peter. I’ll help you figure it out.”