Chapter Four Scotland Yard

Anne followed along eagerly as James walked nervously into New Scotland Yard. An Inspector named Donald Jones led them to a small windowless room; the walls were stained with tobacco smoke, and James was told to sit on hard wooden chair. A scarred table was bolted to the floor between him and the inspector.

She hovered next to the young professor and listened as he gave both her description and the description of her killer to suspicious looking policeman. Occasionally Anne added details, doing her best to answer the questions the Inspector asked James. She happy for the first time since her death, sure her killer would be caught. She could go to her rewards, and James would be able to go on with his rather charming life, no longer the victim of a haunting.

Then she noticed James was becoming more and more nervous, and as the questioning continued Anne realized why. The bobby was beginning to suspect James had killed her, especially after he admitted he wasn’t a licensed spiritualist.

“So, Mr. St. Cloud where were you Thursday night?” The Inspector asked, leaning forward in his own uncomfortable-looking chair.

James rubbed his eyes. He wasn’t surprised by the question. “I was at Guildhall for a faculty meeting until about midnight. We were discussing new admissions at the end of the month.”

“Guildhall?” the inspector arched an eyebrow.

“Yes Officer, Guildhall University. I am a professor there. I gained the position shortly after earning my doctorates through Cambridge” Anne watched as the cop stared at James blonde hair and young face.

“Really?” The detective seemed to freeze, his gaze sharpening. “You’re a medical doctor?”

“Oh Heavens no! I am in the mechanical sciences department.” There was a note of pride in the man’s voice, despite his mounting worry. Anne smiled when she heard it. “I also design and build things to help make life more enjoyable or easier for people. Most recently I have been working on a new door, you step on a floor plate and the doors open without you having to so much as touch the handle. We just installed a prototype at the school.” James got a musing look on his face. “The only problem is locking them. If you don’t disconnect everything they just pop the…I wonder if placing the locks with the hinges would work better then the more conventional arrangement we’ve been using.” Anne could see the cop’s eyes glazing in boredom, while James’ seemed to drift off into space altogether.

“Okay, shut it.” The policeman snapped, stopping the inventors rambling seeming musings. “So let me make sure I have your fairy story straight! You claim you made a camera to photograph spirits?”

“No, not spirits, Psychic impressions, there is a difference.”

The copper waved him off, obviously unconcerned with whatever differences might exist. “And when you were playing with your new toy, you got a picture of the ghost of Anne Campbell? Who is now haunting you and demanding that you tell us about Jack?”

“Yes, Inspector.” James winced at the disdain in the cop’s eyes. Anne felt hope die in her chest. The man wasn’t just doubtful of the story James had told, he considered it complete poppycock.

The inspector slammed his hands on the table. “How convenient that no one but you can see or hear her, and you can’t prove she’s here since this camera is now broken.”

“Not the camera, the lens!” James corrected the man, trying desperately to get him to listen. “The special lens is what allowed me to photograph her. I can make another one; it’s just going to take time. As for other proof, it unfortunately seems that ghost stories are highly inaccurate, as the poor girl cannot touch anything nor make items move. She could walk through you, that produce’s quite a chill!”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“Thank you, but I’m chilled just enough sitting in this room with you, thank you very much!” The Inspector snarled.

“James, just stop.” Anne cried out; her voice heavy with pain. “They don’t believe you… us. You were right all along.” She wanted to scream, but all that would do was hurt James’s ear and possibly make him look even more foolish, or worse yet guilty, in front of the detective.

“Alright Mister Guildhall Professor, where were you the night before last?”

“I had a class in the morning and the afternoon; we are studying aerodynamics so both classes ran a bit over. I came home and went with my neighbors from next door to the pub for a few mugs and a bite to eat. I got home around ten and spent the rest of my evening grading papers.”

“You got sauced, and then graded papers?” the copper stared at him, incredulous.

“Officer, if you saw some of my student’s grammar you would drink too.”

“That’s about the first thing you’ve said I actually believe, Mr. St. Cloud.” The man stated. “Tell you what Professor; I’m going to leave you in our lovely accommodations for a bit while we check out your story. A quick telegraph to your alma matter and a trip down to the University for myself should do it.”

“You… you aren’t going to tell my employers why you’re inquiring about me… are you?” James asked, obviously intimidated by the idea. He didn’t resist as the bigger man pulled him up, out of his chair, by his right arm.

“I bloody well ought, but as it happens, we learned our lesson the first time out. When Jack is involved, the higher ups insist we make up some other reason to be asking questions to avoid the newspapers getting wind of it.” The inspector took James by the elbow and guided him to a grimy damp cell in the basement, barred with iron.

Anne drifted through the bars to stand next to James, “I’m sorry.” She whispered rubbing at her eyes. “I made an awful mess of things. I’ll wait outside, that way they don’t grow any more certain that you’re mad, paying attention to someone who isn’t even there.” She drifted out of the back wall, and up so that she was on the street. She watched people as they were coming and going, sitting on the sidewalk and letting tears slide down her cheeks.

She didn’t know what to do. It had seemed so simple! Convince James to talk to the coppers, let the Yard us her description to catch the man who killed her, and the killings would end!

In her heart of hearts she realized, now, why things had gone so pear shaped. Most people in the modern age didn’t truly believe in ghosts, or magic, or things that went bump in the night. The rattling and steam whistle’s cry of a passing horseless handsome carriage reminded her of why. Science had replaced magic; reason was the new religion. James had tried to tell her that, but she hadn’t believed him solely because she had wanted him to be wrong.

Over two hours passed, two hours Anne spent in abject misery, when James’s voice drifted down to her ears. “Enough of that then. We might as well set out for home.”

Anne jerked, surprised. “They released you?”

“Indeed, they did.” James muttered as he turned around to make sure no one was paying to close an attention to them. “It seems the Dean remembered the meeting going later then I did, which put your killing far too early to be anything I could do. As for the first Ripper killings, I wasn’t even in London at the time.” He shrugged. “Granted, I could have traveled up from the school often enough for their timetable, but the inspector seems to have accepted I’m just a harmless madman and not Jack himself.”

“I’m so sorry…”

“Stop. Right there, just stop.” James sighed. “You had every right to want something to be done. I should have suggested an anonymous note that first night, when you might have been more receptive. They’d have had to investigate it, as opposed to the description given to them by a man claiming to see ghosts. At this point, they’d just ignore a letter with my exact description as being another attempt by the mad professor.”

“Still, your reputation…”

“Is unbloodied.” James stated. “They claimed I fit a description for a robbery that happened the night you were killed. Warned me to say that was what I was being questioned for, and to not mention anything about Jack where some reporter might hear. Or else.” He waved his hands at the or else, as if the threat was unimportant.

“Thank you.” Anne said, rising from the cobblestones. “You tried, even knowing what would happen.” She sighed.

“What’s that sigh for, then? Disappointed it didn’t work? I can understand that.”

“I am disappointed, of course, but it was more… I don’t know what to do!”

“Come home and have a sit down. There’s nothing more to be done here.” James smiled. “Besides, I might just have had an idea!”

“That statement at once fills me with trepidation and hope.”

“That likely just means you’ve paid attention in the short time we’ve known each other.” James conceded with a wry, self-effacing, smile. “Now come along! I should have enough mugwort left over.”

“What the devil would you need with mugwort?”