badger bristle – and tombstone face still looked the same. Did the man not sleep, he wondered? Hatton had never seen such darkened circles under the eyes, not even in the mirror when he’d been up for two nights on the trot, which was normal at the morgue.
Mr Tescalini pulled the tatty tails of his ancient frockcoat about his rump. He made a hasty apology in Italian mixed with faint mutterings of English to say that Inspector Grey had gone ahead to Highgate several hours ago, as he was so concerned about ‘
la bella
’ – Hatton presumed the widow.
Hatton shrank into the far side of the coach, uncomfortable at being so close to a man who had once been a suspect in a particularly brutal murder case, even though the Italian had been declared entirely innocent of all charges. This accusation being a particular cause for concern, during a meeting in Inspector Grey’s office Hatton had brought the matter up.
They’d been alone in the Criminal Investigation Department sipping coffee at the time, as Hatton had ventured, ‘Not many policemen have their own servant, Inspector.’
‘Hmm … what did you say?’
‘I said, not many …’
‘Yes, yes,’ the Inspector answered, turning away and looking out of a nearby window. ‘I’m very lucky, I suppose. Mr Tescalini has been my assistant for quite a while now. Five years or so. There are a great many Italians in Wales, did you know that?’
‘No, Inspector, I didn’t know that. So, may I ask, how did you come to hire him?’
The inspector smiled, clearly reminiscing as he said, ‘I met him down at the docks in Cardiff. It was a beautiful day, July 24th, 1853. Off a boat, he’d come, from a far-flung island called Sicily, where families have strong ties. Blood ties, Professor. But blood ties can go array and he’d faced a terrible danger there, which we can never speak of. He’d stowed away on a brig and found himself stranded in Wales of all places, working as a stevedore. He has strong arms, big muscles, have you noticed?’
Hatton shrugged,
Not particularly
.
‘Well, Professor, he does. And he has a nose for fashion and the cut of my jib, which is so often the way with these Latins, which is why he does the valeting. I had a very difficult case on when I met him, involving a number of nasty individuals and a gang of thugs who were on my tail, threatening my very life, and I was in need of some protection, and my errr … Auntie Sally …’
Hatton leant forward. ‘Your Auntie Sally? Where does she come in?’
Grey twisted a gold cufflink. ‘Nice lady. Presbyterian. Well, she left me a little rhino and as a detective, I have needs, Professor, which The Yard doesn’t cater for. This job comes with certain dangers, I make enemies, and as a bachelor I have little time to take care of my toilette, which is something I take considerable pride in. In short, I needed an assistant who could look after me, in more ways than one.’
‘I see,’ said Hatton.
Grey leant across the table. ‘Of course, he’s not officially part of The Yard, but as the years have gone on, Mr Tescalini has made himself indispensable and I’ve grown rather attached to him, despite these scurrilous rumours about him being a killer, which is pure rubbish! He’s an excellent fellow, which is why I brought him to London, because Mr Tescalini is a truncheon, Adolphus. A human whistle. If there’s danger about, Tescalini will protect me, for he has eyes in the back of his head and he’s as loyal as a dog.’
In the past, Hatton had often wished that Mr Tescalini was at least versed in more than just a smattering of the mother tongue, but as he looked at him now – ashen, sweating, and prodding his gums with a toothpick – it occurred to the Professor that this lack of English was, in fact, a blessing.
They sat in stony silence all the way to Highgate Hill, until the Italian shifted on his seat and pointed. ‘Aaah!
Bellissimo cimitero. Ammirevole,
no, Professor
Mr Tescalini pulled the tatty tails of his ancient frockcoat about his rump. He made a hasty apology in Italian mixed with faint mutterings of English to say that Inspector Grey had gone ahead to Highgate several hours ago, as he was so concerned about ‘
la bella
’ – Hatton presumed the widow.
Hatton shrank into the far side of the coach, uncomfortable at being so close to a man who had once been a suspect in a particularly brutal murder case, even though the Italian had been declared entirely innocent of all charges. This accusation being a particular cause for concern, during a meeting in Inspector Grey’s office Hatton had brought the matter up.
They’d been alone in the Criminal Investigation Department sipping coffee at the time, as Hatton had ventured, ‘Not many policemen have their own servant, Inspector.’
‘Hmm … what did you say?’
‘I said, not many …’
‘Yes, yes,’ the Inspector answered, turning away and looking out of a nearby window. ‘I’m very lucky, I suppose. Mr Tescalini has been my assistant for quite a while now. Five years or so. There are a great many Italians in Wales, did you know that?’
‘No, Inspector, I didn’t know that. So, may I ask, how did you come to hire him?’
The inspector smiled, clearly reminiscing as he said, ‘I met him down at the docks in Cardiff. It was a beautiful day, July 24th, 1853. Off a boat, he’d come, from a far-flung island called Sicily, where families have strong ties. Blood ties, Professor. But blood ties can go array and he’d faced a terrible danger there, which we can never speak of. He’d stowed away on a brig and found himself stranded in Wales of all places, working as a stevedore. He has strong arms, big muscles, have you noticed?’
Hatton shrugged,
Not particularly
.
‘Well, Professor, he does. And he has a nose for fashion and the cut of my jib, which is so often the way with these Latins, which is why he does the valeting. I had a very difficult case on when I met him, involving a number of nasty individuals and a gang of thugs who were on my tail, threatening my very life, and I was in need of some protection, and my errr … Auntie Sally …’
Hatton leant forward. ‘Your Auntie Sally? Where does she come in?’
Grey twisted a gold cufflink. ‘Nice lady. Presbyterian. Well, she left me a little rhino and as a detective, I have needs, Professor, which The Yard doesn’t cater for. This job comes with certain dangers, I make enemies, and as a bachelor I have little time to take care of my toilette, which is something I take considerable pride in. In short, I needed an assistant who could look after me, in more ways than one.’
‘I see,’ said Hatton.
Grey leant across the table. ‘Of course, he’s not officially part of The Yard, but as the years have gone on, Mr Tescalini has made himself indispensable and I’ve grown rather attached to him, despite these scurrilous rumours about him being a killer, which is pure rubbish! He’s an excellent fellow, which is why I brought him to London, because Mr Tescalini is a truncheon, Adolphus. A human whistle. If there’s danger about, Tescalini will protect me, for he has eyes in the back of his head and he’s as loyal as a dog.’
In the past, Hatton had often wished that Mr Tescalini was at least versed in more than just a smattering of the mother tongue, but as he looked at him now – ashen, sweating, and prodding his gums with a toothpick – it occurred to the Professor that this lack of English was, in fact, a blessing.
They sat in stony silence all the way to Highgate Hill, until the Italian shifted on his seat and pointed. ‘Aaah!
Bellissimo cimitero. Ammirevole,
no, Professor
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