Chapter 30
The cold weather arrived in early October the following year. The evenings lost their light by a few minutes each day, and the clouds seemed content to be grey that month, with rain falling frequently but for short periods.
Dublin was back to the ways of old, and the population had seen a further increase as more came in from the poorer counties in search of work or of a means to leave Ireland altogether. Almost every rented room in the city had an additional person living in it compared to the year earlier. There had been massive upheaval in France, and there was talk of rebellion in Ireland that added to the excitement. Businesses were doing better, though there did seem to be more destitute people on the streets than ever.
It was the savage killing of one of these same people that saw the return of the Dolocher after months of silence, when the city thought the massive culling of the pigs had gotten rid of it for good.
On a brisk Friday morning, a man was found—he had been severely savaged by something large. His clothes lay tattered and strewn about the place, and his limbs and torso had been slashed and ripped repeatedly. There was nothing left of the poor man’s face, and even his genitals had not been left undisturbed—parts of them lay a couple feet from the rest of the body. The place of the killing was a quiet lane well known those who remembered the Thomas Olocher story: Lesser Elbow Lane, the very same place where Olocher’s own body had been found, half gnawed away by ravenous pigs. The ground and walls were drenched in blood, and pieces of the man’s brain were coming from the hollow that was his face. It was a truly gruesome sight to behold, and one that the woman who first came upon it was unlikely ever to forget.
Alderman James stood at the scene with a sick feeling in his stomach. This was by far the worst thing he had ever seen, worse even than Olocher’s pig-chewed carcass. He was more tormented, however, by his thoughts as he looked over the lane for possible clues. Was this the same man whom Dublin had christened “the Dolocher,” or was this a new murderer setting his own cycle in progress? James thought it was more than likely the same man as last year, but he wondered where the killer had been for the last ten months and why he had increased his level of violence for this victim. Had he been somewhere he could not have harmed anyone, and this was the deadly result of months of pent-up, murderous rage? Was it going to begin again, just like last year? James didn’t know if he had it in him anymore to deal with something like this monster, who killed so viciously and was so elusive. The memory of almost falling from the rooftop that night he failed to catch the beast came to him. The one time he saw it and had gotten close to it. The sting of failure was still fresh on his soul.
The soldiers came back to him, one by one, with news of no witnesses or no one hearing anything. It was going to be another long, long winter if the terror of the murders had to be endured again. He would have to go to Edwards now and see what he knew, and he didn’t relish the thought at all. It brought back all the failures of last year and the resulting pig-slaughtering madness that had engulfed the city.
He got back in his carriage and had it go down along the Coombe and by Saint Patrick’s Cathedral; he looked at the impressive building as they slowly passed. He would pray to any God to not have the last year repeat itself. He became lost in thought as he listened to the slow clipping of the horse’s hooves as they went down Patrick Street, onto Nicholas Street, and into the grounds of Christ Church. He wondered which religion this man could belong to and yet still be able to do such a thing to another human being. Had he no sense of the hell that awaited him for what he was doing? Perhaps he was pig ignorant and thought hell was going to be full of taverns and brothels like the Hell they were in fact passing through right now. The carved Devil hung over his perception; the dark arch that housed it was black and endless in his mind. It seemed the man who was doing this would live there somehow.
When he got home, he saw Edwards’s coach outside, as he had known would be the case. He went into the house and was told Mr. Edwards was waiting in the drawing room. James went to him directly.
“So he’s at it again,” Edwards said with a smile as they shook hands.
“Possibly.”
“Only possibly?”
“It could be someone else.”
“Unlikely, though?”
“Yes.”
Edwards was looking at him with an expression that on anyone else James would call concern. “I can see that this is bothering you, but you have to see the opportunity here. If he did not come back, you would have no chance of catching him.” Edwards was looking at him in an animated way. James said nothing. “You nearly caught him once, and this time around you will catch him.”
“I’d rather he was gone forever and no one else had to die,” James said.
“That would be terribly boring, Alderman,” Edwards retorted with mock contempt. “People die every day in this hellish city, but that is all boring. These people are dying with gusto, and they are remembered as being victims of the Dolocher. They would never have been remembered by anyone if that were not the case.”
“I’m sure they would all rather be alive!” James said.
“Don’t be so sure, my good man. These people who have been killed weren’t living lives like yours or mine. They were scrounging from day to day, each day harder than the last, to feed themselves and their families,” Edwards said, and he seemed to be in earnest.
James wanted to change the subject. Edwards was enjoying goading him too much. “What do you make of this latest one?” he asked.
“You see,” Edwards said, delighted, “you are already on board with the notion that this is the same killer as last year.”
James sighed but didn’t object.
“This is a ramping up in ferocity, which leads me to think that he has not been able to do this for a while,” Edwards continued.
“I had the same thought.”
“I think we should check the prison lists for the last months and see who has been in there since the last murder took place and just got out.”
“Sounds reasonable. I was thinking we should look at the ships’ manifests as well and see if anyone has left and come back with a few months’ absence,” James said.
“That is good too, though you are bound to come up with a few names who will have been legitimately travelling to and fro. The killer, if he did leave and come back by ship, may have used a different false name on both trips.”
“Still worth a look, though,” James stated.
“Indeed!” Edwards enthused. “I have missed this. It was terribly exciting last time.”
“Please try not to sound so exuberant about this,” James said dryly, looking at Edwards coldly.
“Oh, save your looks and admonitions for your criminals,” he laughed in return. “I will go to the prisons, as I think they will dislike me less than you, and I have a few connections there and the money to make a few more.” He laughed again.
“So I will go to the docks and ask around on the boats that are there now.”
“Sounds good. It might not be a bad idea to ask around the market there as well. Some of those sellers can be quite vigilant when they want to be. I will go there after the prisons, and if you are still there, we might meet up.”
“Agreed, and if not, come to meet me here tonight, and we will see where we are.”
“Agreed.” And with a flourish, Edwards turned and headed for the door, waving over his head as he did.
When he was left alone, James poured himself a large brandy and sat down. His stomach felt ill as he pictured the body from today, and he couldn’t help but see the body of Thomas Olocher lying beside today’s corpse in that same mucky lane. He could even see the dog’s eyes from before and couldn’t convince himself that the same dog was not there today, watching all that was going on and waiting to feast on the meat of the dead. He shuddered at the thought and downed a gulp of brandy before calling for his carriage and making his way to the docks.