Terror by Gaslight (12 page)

‘I
S THERE ANYTHING
more I can get you?’ asked the waitress, and Mason thought he saw a twinkle in her eye.

Thus encouraged, he said, ‘Yes, love. I reckon you could get me excited. But I’ve got a wife waiting at home, so I’d better settle for another toasted teacake. Plenty of butter, please.’

The waitress moved off, not displeased, and Steele said, ‘Is that wise? You had three biscuits with your coffee at the Austins’.’

‘Got to keep my strength up, guv’nor. I don’t suppose this Frankel will offer us anything.’

‘I’m sure you’re right about that.’ Steele drank some tea and looked at his watch.

The detectives were back in the Hill Top Cafe, waiting until it was time for their visit to Dunblane.

Clare Austin had urged them to stay on at Hillside but Steele preferred not to be seen leaving the Austin house and going straight to Dr Frankel’s. He was convinced that someone at Dunblane kept a close eye on local activity.

Also, they needed some quiet time to consider the startling news they had just heard. At Hillside all was chatter and excitement. Mrs Butters had found more words and was distributing them generously. Harriet, too, was jubilant with relief.

Only Clare had managed to remain calm, almost as if the Heath Maniac was a side issue. Her main concern seemed to be that the detectives should continue probing her father’s affairs. Steele had assured her that they would.

Now, over a pot of tea, and back in their normal clothes, the men were considering their position.

‘Are you sure we should go ahead with the Frankel call?’ asked Mason. ‘I mean, now that things have changed? It looks like the hunt is over, doesn’t it?’

Steele was unequivocal. ‘We should most certainly stick to our plans,’ he said. ‘I’m very keen to speak to a doctor who is not on the list of London GPs but who regularly prescribes strong sedatives to a young girl, especially one who appears to have nothing basically wrong with her.’

‘But we’re going there to discuss the Heath Maniac. Will he answer questions about himself?’

Steele smiled. ‘Come, Jack, we’re experts at learning about certain things while apparently talking about something else. And we’ve always managed to extract information from people who thought they weren’t co-operating. It’s part of the challenge.’

Mason grinned. ‘You’re thinking of the man at the Foreign Office.’

‘Amongst others, yes. He certainly gave us a good account of Middle East policy while thinking he was being questioned about his foreign travels. Anyway, we must definitely call on Dr Frankel. Apart from anything else, I don’t think things have changed.’

Mason peered into the other man’s eyes. ‘You don’t believe the Maniac’s been caught, do you?’

‘I think it’s very unlikely. I didn’t want to spoil the rejoicing at the Austins’ just now but I’ve a feeling in my bones that this is too sudden. When we spoke to George Willoughby yesterday, he didn’t say they were following any new leads.
If there’d been a serious suspect, he’d have known. And, if there’d been an arrest today, he’d have got a message to us by now.’

‘You think the local police have made a mistake?’

‘Or the paper got it wrong. Both things have happened before. Until someone’s been charged, we continue our investigation.’

The waitress brought Mason’s second teacake. ‘It’s got extra butter,’ she announced.

‘Ta,’ said Mason. ‘That looks almost as tasty as you do.’

‘You’re very cheeky,’ said the waitress, but as she moved off she was smiling.

‘I wish you’d refrain from vulgar badinage when we’re working together,’ Steele observed mildly. ‘I think we should maintain a little dignity.’

‘Sorry, guv’nor,’ said his assistant. ‘I thought she might be a useful contact; she must know everything that goes on around here. I was just softening her up.’

‘Ah. Was that it?’ said Steele, without much conviction.

Mason returned to the main topic. ‘The thing is, will Frankel see us, now everyone thinks the Maniac’s been caught?’

‘He may not know yet. Not everyone has an evening paper delivered. If he does know, we shall say we still need background information, to help the police bring their charges.’

The cost of the extra teacake had turned Mason’s mind to fiscal matters. ‘There’s another point. If the Heath Association reckon the job’s done, they won’t want to pay us any more.’

‘It seems you didn’t read the contract, Jack. They pay our fees until the culprit is convicted.’

‘Let’s hope for a long trial, then.’

‘Don’t be mercenary. The government bonus for the Portsmouth job will keep you in beer and baccy for a good while yet. Personally, I’m not letting go of this case till the
real Heath Maniac is on his way to the gallows.’

‘All right, guv’nor. Point taken.’

‘Furthermore, I shan’t rest till Meredith Austin’s schemes have been scotched.’ Steele swallowed the last of his tea. ‘That’s another thing. Frankel may let slip something about his crony. Oh yes,’ he concluded, ‘I think an interview with the bad doctor is essential.’

Dunblane was separated from the Highgate Road by a space that may once have been a front garden. But now there was no trace of greenery: the entire surface was paved with slabs of tombstone grey.

Between heavy brown drapes, net curtains shrouded the front windows, and both men had the feeling that there was a presence behind the net: a person watching their approach. Somewhere at the back of the house a dog began barking in a sharp, aggressive way.

A thick iron ring hung in the middle of the front door. Mason rapped it twice on the dark plate beneath, with only moderate force. But with such a heavy knocker it was hard not to sound aggressive.

The dog’s barking became fiercer. Then it seemed the hound was being restrained, its noise reduced to a low grumbling, and then to silence. Mason could not help wondering if it had been thrown a human limb to munch.

After a short delay the door was opened by a tall man with close-cropped hair and a hostile expression. He looked at the detectives but said nothing.

Steele’s manner was affable. ‘Good afternoon. Major Steele and Mr Mason to see Dr Frankel by appointment.’ He handed over their card.

Still without speaking, the man opened the door wide for them to enter and, as they did so, Charles Stone came walking briskly down the hall.

‘All right, Prosser,’ he said. ‘The Heath Association requires Dr Frankel to see these men. I’ll take them to the laboratory. Come there in fifteen minutes to escort them out.’

The silent servant handed back Steele’s card, and then melted away into one of the downstairs rooms. Both detectives felt an inward glow of relief. Clearly, news of the alleged Maniac’s arrest had not yet reached Dunblane.

‘Come this way,’ said Stone, a command rather than an invitation. He led the detectives up four flights of stairs to the second-floor landing, where he knocked on a door.

‘Come,’ said a voice.

Stone opened the door and the three went in.

‘The Heath Association’s inquiry agents,’ the secretary announced. ‘Have you time to see them now?’

On the far side of the room, by the window, the large, heavy man in a white overall was mixing things in an earthenware dish. He spoke over his shoulder, in a deep peremptory voice, with a hint of some European accent.

‘As well now as later,’ he said. ‘Better to get it over and done with. Come back for them in ten minutes.’

The secretary left, and Dr Frankel turned to face the visitors. He said nothing.

The business card was still in Steele’s hand. He gave it to Frankel, who put it down on a workbench without looking at it. He remained silent.

‘As you know,’ said Steele, ‘we have been asked to look into the atrocious crimes recently committed on the Heath. As part of our investigations—’

Frankel cut him short. ‘If you have legitimate questions for me, you must put them quickly. I am in the middle of an experiment.’

Still striving to be genial, Steele smiled. ‘Ah yes, of course. We realize you’re a busy man. I believe you are engaged on research.’

‘Yes.’

‘Very interesting. May I ask in what area?’

‘No.’

There was complete silence for a moment. The man in the white coat stood motionless and impassive, his arms folded across his chest.

Steele ignored the affront. ‘I see. No doubt it’s confidential. Work for the government, perhaps?’

There was no response, so he tried a new tack. ‘We think the murderer may be seeking revenge on one or all of the Heath dwellers, by disrupting their lives and creating a climate of fear. So we are learning all we can about local residents. I believe you have lived here for only eighteen months?’

‘Nineteen.’

‘And prior to that, you were conducting your research elsewhere?’

‘My life before I came here has no relevance to your inquiries.’

Steele bit his lip. His failure to dent this brick wall was making his boasts in the cafe sound hollow, and he suspected that Mason was chuckling inwardly. But he pressed on. ‘It might be relevant, Doctor, if you acquired an enemy in previous years.’

‘I am a man of science. I cannot waste my time on trivial speculation.’

‘Very well. If we must confine ourselves to the basic issue, have you any theory about the Heath murders?’

‘A lunatic. It is time the police caught him. Then he must be hanged.’

Frankel’s words were familiar, and Steele recalled that Meredith Austin had said almost exactly the same thing. He continued doggedly.

‘Dr Frankel, I believe you cross the Heath frequently on the way to your club with Mr Austin. Have you ever noticed
any suspicious or unusual behaviour?’

‘No. At this time of year it is dark when I go to my club.’

‘Have you ever felt threatened?’

‘Only by people seeking to distract me from my work with stupid questions.’

Steele swallowed hard, then took a deep breath and tried again. ‘Have you ever had occasion to—’

He was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door, which brought an instant shout of ‘Come!’ from Dr Frankel. Charles Stone hurried in.

‘Dr Frankel, the Heath Maniac has been arrested. Prosser heard the news at the butcher’s, and he got hold of an evening paper which confirms it.’

Frankel showed no emotion. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘Then the matter is closed. I am not obliged to give these men any more of my time. You can show them out now.’

Steele was not giving up easily. ‘Even if the Maniac has been caught, a case will have to be built up. It would help if—’

‘I have helped you enough. You must go.’

‘Dr Frankel, we need to know if—’

‘You need to know nothing. Stone, if these men do not leave immediately, tell Prosser to bring the dog.’

Prosser was still wordless, as he closed the front door behind them.

Mason, on the other hand, could not resist a comment. ‘My word, guv’nor! It’s remarkable how you manage to extract information from people who think they’re not co-operating.’

Steele was unperturbed. ‘The interview wasn’t wasted. Did you notice that Frankel is left handed?’

‘I did, guv’nor. Also he has a scar on his right wrist.’

‘Well done. Two things that might be useful if we have to trace his past life, which I rather think we might.’

As the detectives walked down the path, a man who had been approaching along the Highgate Road opened the front gate and turned in. His eyes met Steele’s, and there was surprise and recognition on both sides.

‘Well, well,’ said Steele. ‘Tommy Slaughter.’

The newcomer was middle-aged, well built, in a check suit, grey overcoat and felt hat. ‘Yeah,’ he said, and his craggy features registered unease. ‘Have we met?’

‘Indeed we have,’ said Steele. ‘At the National Sporting Club. And at various racetracks around the country. And in another place, as well.’ He paused a moment to study the effect of his last phrase: more unease. Then he continued. ‘I’m Henry Steele.’ He fixed Slaughter with a steady gaze, which brooked no denial.

‘Oh yeah,’ said Slaughter. ‘Inquiry agent, aren’t you?’ What brings you here?’

‘We have some business with Dr Frankel. As no doubt you have.’

‘Yeah.’ Slaughter looked at his watch. ‘Better not keep him waiting, eh?’ He knocked at the front door, which this time was opened quickly. Prosser had been observing events through the front window. As before, he said nothing. Slaughter evidently didn’t need to introduce himself: he walked straight in and Prosser closed the door behind him.

‘Not very chatty, is he?’ Mason observed. ‘He and Frankel should get on well. Like a monks’ night out.’

‘I don’t think Slaughter was pleased to see us. He’s allergic to people connected with the law.’

‘I think I remember him now. Some sort of dealer, isn’t he?’

‘Sometimes. Also racehorse trainer. Unlicensed bookmaker. And occasional boxing promoter. Allegedly involved with one of the Brighton race gangs.’

‘Oh yes,’ said Mason. ‘I’ve got him now. Wasn’t he a witness at the Boscombe fraud trial?’

‘He was. By a strange quirk of the legal system. By rights, he should have been in the dock.’ Steele was pondering as they walked off down the road. ‘Now, I wonder what connection the unscrupulous Mr Slaughter has with the unspeakable Dr Frankel?’

The curiosity was mutual but, in Slaughter’s case, it was mixed with anxiety.

‘What were them two narks doing here?’ he demanded. ‘Did you know they’re the law?’

Frankel was a little more communicative when talking to clients, but no less cold. Obviously, Slaughter was not someone he regarded as a friend.

‘They are private detectives, hired by local busybodies to help our bungling police catch the Heath Maniac. I was required to see them.’

‘Your flunkey says they’re often in this neighbourhood.’

‘They’ve been spending time at the house next door. It seems they’re interested in my neighbour. Don’t worry, they’re as incompetent as the police.’

‘Don’t kid yourself – those two aren’t incompetent! That bleeding Steele is as sharp as a ferret down a rat-hole! And just as dangerous! He spotted me straight off just now.’