hair and an attractive face. Had he been taller, Hood had no doubt the young women of Whitby would beat a path to his door.
Alan’s features resembled that of a sewer rat. He was the most light-fingered member of the group and would steal from his own mother given half the chance. There was a curious honour among thieves, but unfortunately, it did not extend to Alan who never bought a round of drinks and cadged beer, spirits, and tobacco off the others. Hood had always been wary of Alan. It was petty thieves with no honour or principles like Alan that could easily become police informers.
Hood had already killed one police informer. He had no qualms about killing another.
Alan gave a knowing wink to Hood. “I’ve had a close look at the print. Looks like you’re going to be murdered and Jack will cop it at end of a rope. I know all about Tate.”
Hood tightened his grip on his cane. Why was he getting unnerved about the supposed psychic claims of the Tate camera when he’d made up most of the claims himself? Patrick Tate was nothing more than a crook.
“You’ve smudged it with your dirty fingers, more like,” added Jasper.
“I can’t see nowt on it,” said Percy.
“I’m not surprised with yer bloody big beard,” sniggered Alan.
As the men’s conversation turned to other topics, Hood took another sip of his whisky and brushed his nagging doubts about the Tate camera to the back of his mind.
Demo version limitation, this page not show up.
Chapter 19
Friday 31 st August 1894
D AVID TOSSED HIS COPY OF The Whitby Herald down on the ground, wishing he’d never bought it in the first place after leaving the library. Reading the details of Eleanor’s murder made him shudder.
Farther down the promenade, he could hear the shrieks of children’s laughter as they watched the Punch and Judy show. Frank Hawk was in fine form as usual judging from the shrieks of laughter coming from the children.
David went into a grey, canvas-topped bathing machine for male swimmers and put on his swimming trunks, swimming cap, and goggles. It didn’t seem right to go swimming so soon after Eleanor’s murder, but in the sea, he got peace, contentment and relaxation—even his persistent headache abated.
Swimming kept him sane.
The bushy-moustached attendant in the bathing machine looked up and smiled. “You take care of yourself, and don’t upset Melvin Shank, whatever you do.”
“I’m not going to let him swim faster than me just to please him, if that’s what you mean.” David walked over to the sands and could see the familiar sight of Melvin’s distinctive black-and-white striped cap a few hundred yards away, just past the far leg of the pier. He disliked the man intensely but enjoyed the unspoken contest between himself and the gangster, particularly since it was clear David was his only serious swimming rival locally.
Melvin’s notorious criminality even surpassed Hood, but when David and Melvin were both in the sea, none of that seemed to matter. He was just a swimmer, enjoying the waves as much as anyone.
For a few minutes, when they competed and splashed through the waves together, there was a bond between them. However, as soon as the man left the sea, it was a different matter. He became a vicious criminal once again. David waved at Melvin as he strode into the sea. But, as usual, the man never acknowledged it.
David made his way to the far end of the pier. No other swimmers would go there, apart from Melvin. It was too dangerous. Last year, a massive wave tossed a swimmer’s body against one of the legs of the pier and the huge, rusted bolts attached to the pier had smashed through the man’s skull. Since then, Whitby Town Council had placed a large sign in red letters reading, D ANGER A REA . K EEP A WAY .
David could still hear the laughter from the Punch and Judy show on the shore. He wiped some dirt away from his goggles, smelling the rubber, and felt the sea breeze. The sun’s rays
Alan’s features resembled that of a sewer rat. He was the most light-fingered member of the group and would steal from his own mother given half the chance. There was a curious honour among thieves, but unfortunately, it did not extend to Alan who never bought a round of drinks and cadged beer, spirits, and tobacco off the others. Hood had always been wary of Alan. It was petty thieves with no honour or principles like Alan that could easily become police informers.
Hood had already killed one police informer. He had no qualms about killing another.
Alan gave a knowing wink to Hood. “I’ve had a close look at the print. Looks like you’re going to be murdered and Jack will cop it at end of a rope. I know all about Tate.”
Hood tightened his grip on his cane. Why was he getting unnerved about the supposed psychic claims of the Tate camera when he’d made up most of the claims himself? Patrick Tate was nothing more than a crook.
“You’ve smudged it with your dirty fingers, more like,” added Jasper.
“I can’t see nowt on it,” said Percy.
“I’m not surprised with yer bloody big beard,” sniggered Alan.
As the men’s conversation turned to other topics, Hood took another sip of his whisky and brushed his nagging doubts about the Tate camera to the back of his mind.
Demo version limitation, this page not show up.
Chapter 19
Friday 31 st August 1894
D AVID TOSSED HIS COPY OF The Whitby Herald down on the ground, wishing he’d never bought it in the first place after leaving the library. Reading the details of Eleanor’s murder made him shudder.
Farther down the promenade, he could hear the shrieks of children’s laughter as they watched the Punch and Judy show. Frank Hawk was in fine form as usual judging from the shrieks of laughter coming from the children.
David went into a grey, canvas-topped bathing machine for male swimmers and put on his swimming trunks, swimming cap, and goggles. It didn’t seem right to go swimming so soon after Eleanor’s murder, but in the sea, he got peace, contentment and relaxation—even his persistent headache abated.
Swimming kept him sane.
The bushy-moustached attendant in the bathing machine looked up and smiled. “You take care of yourself, and don’t upset Melvin Shank, whatever you do.”
“I’m not going to let him swim faster than me just to please him, if that’s what you mean.” David walked over to the sands and could see the familiar sight of Melvin’s distinctive black-and-white striped cap a few hundred yards away, just past the far leg of the pier. He disliked the man intensely but enjoyed the unspoken contest between himself and the gangster, particularly since it was clear David was his only serious swimming rival locally.
Melvin’s notorious criminality even surpassed Hood, but when David and Melvin were both in the sea, none of that seemed to matter. He was just a swimmer, enjoying the waves as much as anyone.
For a few minutes, when they competed and splashed through the waves together, there was a bond between them. However, as soon as the man left the sea, it was a different matter. He became a vicious criminal once again. David waved at Melvin as he strode into the sea. But, as usual, the man never acknowledged it.
David made his way to the far end of the pier. No other swimmers would go there, apart from Melvin. It was too dangerous. Last year, a massive wave tossed a swimmer’s body against one of the legs of the pier and the huge, rusted bolts attached to the pier had smashed through the man’s skull. Since then, Whitby Town Council had placed a large sign in red letters reading, D ANGER A REA . K EEP A WAY .
David could still hear the laughter from the Punch and Judy show on the shore. He wiped some dirt away from his goggles, smelling the rubber, and felt the sea breeze. The sun’s rays
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