The First Detective

Newgate Prison

I hunched my shoulders against the cold, my dark blue uniform jacket offering little protection against the damp chill of the May evening. Though it was spring there was still a nip in the air. England was such a cold, damp place. I would be happy to be back in the highlands. Until then... I would do my Da proud and put in honest work for honest wages. Something didn't quite sit right with me about the assassination of the Prime Minister. Sure most politicians had enemies, but I couldn't imagine such a blatant attack being orchestrated by a political rival. I had looked into the dead man's finances. They were bleaker than mine. The poor sot only had about one hundred pounds in the bank. He had a wife and many children to support. Nothing seemed to point to his having a mistress, but that couldn't necessarily be ruled out. For all his successes in the Commons he wasn't quite as popular as one may have thought. Many people didn't support his proclivity for war with Napoleon, the people were hurting from the taxes needed to support the army. The King didnt much care for him, but he had gotten the job done and so the Prince Regent had kept him in the Commons.

That left the great question. Why? I mulled over the facts as I knew them. My long legs quickly covering the cobbled street as I made my way to Newgate Prison. Before I knew it I stood before the great stone tower. The torches casting errie shadows across the uneven stone edifice. The barred windows were black, the prisoners were not afforded the luxury of candles. I knocked loudly upon the thick wooden door, taking care not to strike my fist upon the iron spikes that bound the thick wood together.

"Who goes there?" Came the muffled shout from the other side.

"Nightwatchman, Ian McGregor." I replied equally as loud.

A muffled curse and then I heard the scraping of keys within a lock. "Oy, what are you about this hour?" He rasped as the door swung open.

"I've a bit of follow up from the assassination case." I replied. "Can you show me to his cell? I've a few questions I'll be needing answers to."

The guard nodded in understanding. "He's been sleeping like a baby he has. Not a care in the world."

"Aye weel I won't be long, but I've a need to disturb his sleep." I said easily. "If you'd be so kind as to lead the way?"

He nodded and shuffled off town a dark corridor. The dampness seemed to luxuriate in the dark hallway. The distant drip of water could be heard and the smell of filth and mildew was overwhelming. A few chains rattled within the cells. A man coughed, another snored, one man I could hear quietly weeping. Our footsteps echoed loudly on the flagstones and the hallway seemed a mile long. Then we came to a tight staircase. We had to walk single file, and I stumbled on the uneven steps. They were worn from use, and some crumbling at the edges. The guard led me upwards, the light from his torch casting flickering light over the bleak walls. Once we reached the top of the steps he motioned me to the third cell on the right. He held the torch aloft and I peered into the darkness of the cell to see the prisoner.

He was curled up on a dirty straw pallet, his back to the door. He was snoring softly, his well worn jacket draped over him as a makeshift blanket. He stirred at the guard rattled the key in the lock. He turned his head and squinted into the torchlight. His eyes were red rimmed and his face blotchy. "Who's there?" He asked us a rough voice.

I turned to the guard. "You can leave us."

He grinned at me. "As ye will." He lit a torch with his and then turned and shambled down the steps.

I stood there a moment staring at the man who regarded me with fear. He remained perfectly still on his pallet. His dark eyes guarded.

"Mr. John Bellingham?" I asked.

"Yes." He nodded.

"I am Mr. McGregor of the watch, I'd like to ask you some questions." I spoke gently keeping my tone neutral.

"I dont want to talk to you." He spat. "I've already told them everything. I acted alone!" His tone was gruff but his eyes were darting about in terror.

This peaked my interest. "Why do you say you acted alone?"

He looked at the dirty floor. "I acted alone." He repeated stubbornly.

"Now John, I've read the case notes and it just doesn't make any sense. I know you're a merchant, you spent some time in Russia which was none to pleasant. But you've gone through all the proper channels up until now, you dont seem the type for murder." I pressed.

"Please, I can't." He begged, wringing his hands nervously in his lap.

I arched a brow as I squatted directly in front of his dirty pallet. I looked him in the eye, "Who put you up to it?" I asked firmly.

The mans eyes filled with tears. "I, I cant tell you. He'll kill her." He whispered. His face was contorted in pain.

"Who John?" I prodded softly.

"My daughter, Anna." He sighed defeatedly. "He took her, the Marquess. He said if I didnt kill him..." he took a fortifying breath, "He said he'd rape her and throw her naked in the Thames."

I rocked back on my heels, unable to mask the surprise on my face. I knew there was more to the story! I believed him immediately, his sorrow so real it was almost tangible. "Dear God!" I exclaimed. "Ye must tell me all, I'll do what I can to save yer daughter " I vowed emotion making my brouge quite thick.

John wiped his moist eyes and began to speak.