The Insanity of Murder (20 page)

The village hotel had probably never been stuffed to such capacity before, Dody reflected as she glanced around the dining room, three days after Fogarty’s death. Someone, at least, was profiting from the investigation into the Elysium Rest Home for Gentlewomen.

Singh and Hensman had been sent from London to help the local police with staff interviews, the combing of files for criminal activity, and the tracing of patient’s relatives. Likewise, Dody and Doctor Lamb worked with local health officials to determine each patient’s health needs, and to arrange transfers or discharges where necessary. They also consulted with the board of directors over the reorganisation of the administration of the rest home. Doctor Lamb had been appointed temporary physician in charge.

All this meant that Dody and Pike had to resume the charade of being nothing more than professional colleagues. Pike shared a room with Singh, and Dody roomed with Florence, making a romantic tryst impossible. They usually managed to sit at the same table for their evening meal, however, which produced an exquisite kind of torture — a lingering glance or the covert brush of a leg the most either could hope for.

Over the last three days it had become their custom to hold an informal case meeting over dinner. Before one such meal, while they were waiting to be served, Dody made an announcement to the men of her table: Pike, Singh, Hensman and Doctor Lamb. Florence was absent, having opted to take her supper with the remaining patients at the home.

‘I received word from Doctor Spilsbury this afternoon, gentlemen,’ she said. ‘He’s completed the autopsy on Mrs Laurentia O’Brien and concluded that the lady died from a massive electric shock.’

‘As you suspected, Doctor McCleland. Do we have a time of death?’ Pike asked.

‘He thinks she’d been in the barrel from four to eight weeks.’

‘She’d been missing for nine weeks,’ Hensman remarked with smug satisfaction.

It was obvious to Dody that he was the type of policeman who remained sceptical of forensic science, despite the milestones that had been reached over the last few years.

‘The body had been immersed in formalin, Sergeant,’ Dody said. ‘The exact time of death under those circumstances is impossible to ascertain. As it is, one has to take a large tissue sample, slice it, put it under the microscope, and estimate the degree of formalin penetration according to tissue colouring. The superficial tissue will be greyish-green, but the red brown of fresher flesh will be retained.’

‘Thank you, Doctor McCleland,’ Pike said, with a wink anyone but Dody would have taken as an involuntary twitch.

Dody glanced at Hensman. His complexion, much to her satisfaction, had itself turned a greyish-green.

‘Did Mrs O’Brien have an existing heart condition?’ Doctor Lamb asked Dody.

‘No.’ Inside, Dody shuddered. Florence had been but a hair’s breadth away from a similar fate. She looked across the table at Lamb, who must have read her expression as accusatory.

‘He asked my permission to use the Clerk’s machine to administer some harmless electrotherapy,’ he said in defence of himself. ‘And that is all. I knew nothing about the modifications, I swear it.’

‘I believe you, Doctor,’ Dody said, meaning it. Over the last few days she had got to know Doctor Lamb well, and been impressed by his compassion and his dedication.

‘Fogarty was as loopy as his patients,’ Hensman said, his ruddy complexion revived by several long draughts of ale.

‘There are many in the home whom Doctor Lamb has found to be quite sane, Sergeant,’ Singh reminded him with over-emphasised courtesy.

Hensman glared at the Indian gentleman, but held his tongue. Pike had told Dody how he’d suspected Singh had suffered a beating at the hands of the policeman, and this was the reason he had not allocated them to the same bedroom in the hotel. The bad blood between them had become clearly evident to Dody during the past few days.

A waitress arrived with a tray laden with plates containing generous servings of steak and kidney pie, gleaming meat spilling from sheets of mouth-watering flaky pastry. Once everyone had been served and helped themselves to baby peas and glazed carrots, Pike cleared his throat and began.

‘How did the staff interviews go, Singh?’

‘None claim to have had any knowledge of what Fogarty was up to, sir.’

‘What about the young attendant, Beamish?’ Dody asked.

‘Why him?’ Hensman interrupted.

Dody wasn’t about to tell him how she’d been hiding in the storeroom when Beamish had helped Fogarty with the Clerk’s machine.

‘My sister said she thought Beamish was in league with Fogarty, only in as much as he was the one who escorted her to the electrotherapy room. At one point she thought he might have been abusing some of the patients, though she’s not so sure now.’

‘No offence, ma’am, but your sister has had her problems recently,’ Hensman said.

Dody felt herself flush. ‘You are suggesting that my sister is making this up?’

Hensman shrugged. ‘Oftentimes women do misinterpret a gentleman’s intentions. And being in a place like this, all women like, it’s not hard to imagine ’em indulging in a bit of wishful thinking, if you get my drift. Maybe she wanted a bit of action her —’

Before Dody or Pike could interject, Singh jumped to his feet. ‘In my religion, women are honoured as equals, and no more likely to make things up than a man. I find your attitude extremely offensive, sir!’

Hensman lifted his palms. ‘Keep your turban on, mate.’

‘Sit down, Singh,’ Pike said in a long-suffering tone. ‘Hensman, apologise to Doctor McCleland for your boorish remark, and then keep your mouth shut.’

Hensman’s coal dark eyes flashed at Pike, then lingered on Singh, undisguised hatred glowing from their depths.

‘No need to apologise,’ Dody said. ‘I fear it was me who started it.’ She should not have been so defensive of her sister; Hensman seemed the type who brought out the worst in everyone. Talking to Annie about him was a meeting she was not looking forward to.

‘Back to Beamish,’ Pike said to Singh.

‘While he knew about the cage, he swears he had no idea about Fogarty tampering with it.’ Singh shrugged. ‘We have no proof that he had anything to do with either that or Mrs O’Brien’s disappearance. All the staff we spoke to said Fogarty insisted on treating the patients alone. As you know, Beamish was nowhere near Miss McCleland when she was in the cage.’

Dody met Pike’s eye. There wasn’t much he could do without evidence.

After a few minutes of silence, Pike addressed Lamb. ‘How are you progressing with the patients’ files, Doctor?’

‘I’ve handed several over to the officers, Chief Inspector, that show a higher than normal level of fees paid.’

‘What about Mrs Eva Blackburn?’ Dody asked. ‘Had Fogarty been paid to keep her locked up too?’

Lamb frowned as he wiped a spot of gravy from his chin with a starched linen napkin. ‘Funnily enough I haven’t come across that lady’s file yet.’

‘B for Blackburn,’ Pike said. ‘It should be near the beginning.’

Lamb shrugged. ‘It might have been misfiled.’

‘Help the doctor tomorrow, please, Singh.’

He nodded.

A waitress approached the table carrying a telegram on a silver salver. She handed it to Pike who slit it open with his butter knife.

‘Good Lord,’ he murmured.

‘What is it Matt … Chief Inspector?’ Dody asked, concern for Pike almost making her forget herself. Had something happened to Violet?

Pike pushed himself away from the table, looked at Singh as he spoke. ‘I have to leave immediately for London. Fortunately we are almost finished here. You and Hensman will have to tie up the loose ends on your own. Report back to me. If you have any difficulties, I’ll do my best to return.’

To everyone’s surprise, Pike handed the telegram to Hensman, who frowned at what he read.

‘May I ask what the problem is, sir?’ Singh asked with an anxious pull of his beard.

‘It appears that Superintendent Shepherd has suffered a heart attack,’ Pike replied. ‘And as I am next in seniority, I am to stand in as his temporary replacement.’

Singh was in Fogarty’s office combing through the last of the files. Dody was also in the office, receiving a telephone message from the coroner. She stood as she held the receiver to her ear, gazing out of the window. Beyond the deadly roses, Sergeant Hensman had taken the place of an attendant, dozing in one of the deck chairs, apparently supervising the patients on the croquet lawn.

Dody replaced the earpiece and turned away from the window. ‘Beamish has been exonerated of any unethical conduct,’ she said to Singh. Perhaps Florence and Eva will now see him in a different light, she thought. She nodded towards Hensman and sighed. ‘But I suppose you should tell
him
the news.’

‘Perhaps I could leave that task to you, Doctor?’ Singh asked, pulling at the tip of his beard.

Dody had developed an affable respect for Singh during their time together at the Elysium Rest Home. Although he spoke little, she appreciated his gentle nature and was not surprised that Pike found him so easy to work with. At this moment, however, he was not his usual unflappable self; something appeared to be bothering him.

‘I would rather keep myself scarce,’ he added. ‘I think the news might come better from you.’

Without waiting for her reply, Singh bowed and took several steps backwards from the office before hurrying out and turning in the opposite direction to the front door, towards the lavatories.

What a strange reaction, Dody mused as she walked outside and approached Hensman across the rolled turf of the croquet lawn. Perhaps Singh is finding the hotel’s rich diet too much for his stomach.

She stood above the policeman, hoping her shadow would wake him up. He went on dozing, mouth twitching as he slept. Dody frowned, shaded her eyes and looked down on him. There was something not quite right about his appearance. It took a moment to work out what it was.

Her hand flew up to her mouth. His police tunic was open and his white undershirt exposed. Loose black hairs clung to the flannel.

And one side of Hensman’s magnificent moustache was missing. It must have been snipped off while he lay sleeping.

Her gasp woke him. His eyes shot open and he jumped up from the deck chair, hastily doing up the buttons of his uniform. ‘Doctor McCleland, what can I do for you?’

He looked absurd. Dody bit her bottom lip, trying desperately to kill her smile. Who had dared do this, she wondered — one of the patients? Surely the group on the lawn would not have had access to scissors. Staff? No, they had been on their best behaviour in front of the police for fear of losing their jobs. It must be one of the policemen themselves.

And then she knew.

No, she would not tell Hensman about his moustache. It would be interesting to see how long he could keep functioning, oblivious to the missing appendage. What a wicked girl she was! Sometimes she even surprised herself.

About a week had passed since Fogarty’s electrocution. Dody, Violet, Florence and Mary were sitting by the fountain in a private residents’ garden, about fifty yards away from Sir Michael Heathridge’s home. Florence had come up with the idea that Violet could stay at the house as a live-in companion for Lady Mary while she was waiting to commence her nurse’s training. The idea seemed to suit everyone: Pike, who had been fretting about where his daughter would stay during the interim; Sir Michael, who now at least had a temporary solution to his mother’s wanderings, and Violet herself, who seemed to be having a thoroughly enjoyable time.

An iron fence festooned with climbing roses surrounded the garden, topiaried shrubs and bushes screening it further from the street. If not for the muffled sounds of motorcars and the creak, rattle and clop of carriages, they could have been in the country instead of Belgravia.

The sun moved behind a cloud. Dody shivered and buttoned up her jacket. ‘We should think about going in, Violet. We can’t afford to let Lady Mary catch a chill,’ she said.

Mary seemed brighter than ever. It was if her near drowning had even improved her brainpower to a small degree. Perhaps there really was something to be said for the cold bath treatment. Dody made a mental note to take this up further with Doctor Lamb.

But while her mental state had improved, Mary’s physical recovery had regressed somewhat since she’d found out about the horrific deaths of her two friends, as well as Fogarty’s demise. Generalised weakness meant that she was unable to leave her bath chair for the time being, which made Violet’s job as ‘gaoler’ (Mary’s words) a lot easier that it might have been.

‘Please let’s not go in. Not yet, dear, not yet,’ Mary pleaded. ‘I do so much prefer being outside.’

Violet moved to rearrange the rug across Mary’s legs. The old woman squeezed her hand affectionately. Violet’s assignment appeared to be going well. She had been living with Mary for less than a week and already the pair seemed fond of one another.

‘Have you been seeing much of your father recently, dear?’ Mary asked Violet.

‘No, not much, he’s been awfully busy since he was made acting superintendent. They’re not sure when Superintendent Shepherd will be coming back to work, if ever. He suffered a huge heart attack apparently.’

‘And the Cynthia Hislop business hasn’t helped — that’s kept Pike busy,’ Florence added. ‘Pike thinks he can get Mr Hislop for bribing Fogarty to keep Cynthia locked up, but he’s had no luck so far in adding her murder to the charge-sheet. No real proof, you see.’

Mary tut-tutted and shook her head.

Florence bent down and kissed Mary’s pale cheek. ‘But it’s getting late and I must go now. I’ll come and see you again next week.’

‘Off to some nightspot are you, Florence? Absinthe at the Cave of the Golden Calf perhaps?’ Dody asked with a gentle tease.

‘No, it’s far too early for that,’ Florence said, as if Dody ought to know better. ‘Actually, since my time at Elysium that sort of thing has lost some of its appeal. If you really must know, I’m meeting a friend to discuss aeroplane flying lessons.’

Violet and Mary clapped their hands simultaneously.

‘Eva wants to learn to fly, too?’ Dody queried.

‘Did I say the friend was Eva? I don’t believe I did.’

‘Who is this friend then, or are you going to leave us in suspense?’

Florence shot Dody a cheeky wink. ‘I am indeed.’ She opened her parasol with an assertive push and sashayed towards the garden gate, twirling it above her head.

Violet giggled and whispered to Dody, ‘Is she in love?’

Dody shrugged, unsure. Her sister was happy, and that was all she cared about.

Mary called out. ‘When you learn to fly, will you please take me with you?’

‘Of course I will,’ Florence said. She blew them all a kiss and then, with a clank of the gate, she was gone.

Dody shook her head and rearranged herself on the bench next to Violet.

‘How is Father going with Eva’s case, Dody?’ Violet asked. ‘Will her husband be prosecuted? Will she get her inheritance back?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps with a good lawyer.’

‘Florence told me Eva’s story. It sounds dreadful.’

‘If anyone can get justice for her, your father can,’ Dody reassured her. ‘I know he was going to be visiting her again today, and he hopes also to be calling in on Mr Bevan Blackman. It will be interesting to hear what kind of a defence that gentleman comes up with.’

Dody and Pike had made a tentative arrangement to see one another that night and Dody was looking forward to hearing the latest developments of the case.

‘Eva should learn to fly like Florence,’ Mary said. ‘It might help her take her mind off things.’

‘It is also very expensive and probably something she could not afford to do at the moment,’ Dody replied.

‘That’s something she should have thought about before she tried to kill her husband,’ Mary said with a tilt of her chin.

Dody frowned and looked at Mary. ‘It was kill or be killed, Lady Mary,’ she gently corrected. ‘She wounded him in self-defence.’

‘Drivel. Of course it wasn’t self-defence. The woman’s mad as a loon. She’s been scheming to do her husband in since she first came to the home. Told me once he was in league with the devil and was out to get her. Why do you think she wanted the place shut down? So she could be set free to finish what she had started, that’s why.’

‘Mary, what are you talking about?’ Dody asked, her voice edged with concern.

Violet picked up on it, locked eyes with Dody, and raised a quizzical eyebrow, as her father might have done.

‘Look, look!’ Mary pointed to a nondescript bird in a bough above their heads. ‘A nightingale! If we stay out longer we might hear it sing!’

‘Mary,’ Dody said, gripping the old lady’s bony hand, ‘what were you saying about Eva scheming to murder her husband?’ They had never found Eva’s medical notes and she had been released on Doctor Lamb’s assessment alone. At once it felt as if a bucket of iced water had been tipped over Dody’s head. And with the shock came realisation.

Had they made a terrible mistake?

‘Scheming — what do you mean, dear?’ Mary asked.

‘You were saying something about Eva’s husband.’

‘That? Oh … let me see.’ Now was not the time for Mary to have one of her moments, Dody thought, stopping herself from shaking the old woman.

Violet came to Dody’s rescue by asking Mary a direct question. ‘Lady Mary, is my father in any danger from Eva?’

‘If he gets in between Eva and what she wants, of course he is,’ Mary said, matter-of-factly. ‘After all, she killed Cynthia, didn’t she? Cynthia was a talker. She knew about Eva’s plans and Eva worried she would blab, so she went to the train station and poured bleach down the poor woman’s throat to shut her up. And she tried to kill me too, don’t you remember, dear? She pushed me out of the boat!’

Mary paused and gave a little shriek, as if in horror at what had just spilled from her mouth. She twisted her fingers in her lap. ‘Oh, no, that can’t be true! Did I imagine it?’

Violet put her hand on Mary’s arm to stop her from leaping from the bath chair.

Whether all this was indeed a figment of Mary’s imagination or not, the information had to be investigated. Much as Dody did not wish to believe it, it all made chilling sense. She had to find Pike and warn him.

She stood up. Anxiety clenched at her throat, making her voice shake. ‘Excuse me ladies, I have to go.’

Violet stared back at her, eyes big and round. She rose from her seat and gripped Dody’s arm. ‘It’s Father, isn’t it? He’s in danger!’

‘It’s all right, Violet, don’t worry,’ Dody added as convincingly as she could. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I find him.’

‘But I want to come too!’

‘You can’t. You must stay with Lady Mary.’

‘Eva really is mad, isn’t she?’ Violet all but whispered.

Mary relaxed into her chair and cupped her ear. ‘Did you hear that, my dear Violet? What a beautiful sound. There is nothing as pure and sweet as the song of a nightingale.’

Pike pinged the bell at the empty reception desk of the Royal Hotel, glad that he was back in his rooms and no longer in residence. The unshaven concierge appeared from the backroom, giving no hint of recognition.

‘Can you please ask the bell boy to deliver this note to Mrs Eva Blackman?’ Pike slipped an envelope from his jacket pocket and placed it on the front desk. The note asked that Eva meet him for a moment in the hotel lobby. The concierge clicked his fingers. A bellboy sloped over, took the note, and made his way over to the rickety lift.

Eva’s lawyer had found a small nest egg put away for her by a rich uncle. Through Pike’s urging it had been released and provided her with a small allowance to get by on while she waited for her affairs to be sorted out. Pike had suggested she use the Royal Hotel as her temporary residence and she had followed his advice.

The lobby was no more comfortable than a hospital waiting room. He settled into a hard wooden chair to wait, next to a browning pot plant filled with cigarette butts.

When the bellboy finally shuffled back he reported that Mrs Blackman was not in her room. Pike looked at his fob with annoyance. The exercise had wasted twenty minutes of his time. He wanted to call it a day and meet up with Dody as they had planned, but his work had doubled since taking on Shepherd’s job and he could not afford to clock off now. He commandeered the concierge’s telephone for ‘police business,’ telephoned Annie and asked her to inform her mistress that he was running late.

For once Annie went out of her way to be polite to him — probably the result of the dressing down she had received from Dody, he thought. According to Dody, the maid had been tearful and then furious over Hensman’s deception, and promised never to see him again. Well, they would have to wait and see about that. Pike suspected the sergeant would now desist from exposing Pike’s relationship with Dody in case his unprofessional conduct with the maid was revealed. Like Samson losing his strength when he lost his hair, Hensman minus his moustache had lost much of his menace. Similarly, Pike surmised, the superintendent’s poor health meant leaks to the higher-ups would most likely be stoppered too. The activities of his inferior officers would doubtless be the last thing on Shepherd’s mind in his present state of ill-health.

Pike smiled to himself as he stepped out into the street – things were looking up. His luck continued when his efforts at hailing a taxicab met with immediate success. After giving the cabbie Mr Blackman’s Kensington address, he sank back into the upholstered seat.

Kensington was a mostly salubrious area, but number 82D hardly denoted the luxurious mansion that Eva’s story had implied. Pike had compared the version he had been given by Eva with what Florence had been told and both stories matched. Mr Blackman must already have squandered the fortune left to him by Eva’s father. His father-in-law’s influence can’t have amounted to much either. According to Pike’s intelligence, Mr Blackman had never made it into Parliament, instead maintaining his long-standing position as clerk in a modest law firm. Mr Blackman’s heinous plans seemed to have backfired on him.

The townhouse in which Blackman resided had been converted into flats. Blackman’s flat was on the lower ground floor, accessed by steep stone steps with iron railings. Pike negotiated his way around a rusting bicycle half blocking the front door to what had once been the tradesman’s entrance. His hand grasped the knocker and the door swung open on its own accord. Strange that a door so close to the street would be left unlocked at this hour of the evening. Pike frowned.

A thread of suspicion tugged at his gut.

‘Police! Anybody home?’ he called as he stepped over the threshold and onto a well-swept oilcloth floor. Electricity had not reached the bowels of this residence. Gaslights spluttered from brackets on the walls of the small, simply furnished sitting-cum-dining room. Warily, Pike moved through the room, taking in the worn but polished furniture. A photographic portrait of a younger Eva Blackman rested on a sideboard near the dining table. He picked it up. It was a strange keepsake for a man so apparently keen to keep his wife locked away. She had been a beauty, Pike reflected, as he gazed at the image staring at him from the silver frame. Blackman must have kept it to boost his flagging pride, as one might hang on to a sports trophy.
This was mine once
.

Through a curtained arch off the dining area, Pike found a small kitchen. A teapot and a used cup and saucer stood on the scrubbed table. Pike put his palm to the pot — warm.

He poked his head out of the back door and called out again. Dry washing flapped about on the line. The privy door hung unevenly off its frame advertising its vacancy.

Pike headed towards a narrow staircase, the first step creaking under his weight.

And then he heard it — a low moan.

It must have come from the upstairs bedroom. This time he did not call out, instead he trod the staircase on the tips of his toes making as little noise as possible. The flat was two up and two down. At the top of the staircase, leading from a small landing, he had the choice of two doors, both closed.

Another low moan.

He could smell it now — blood. Gripping his cane in his left hand, he turned the handle of the door to his right and pushed.

‘Oh my God, help me, help me!’ A man lay on the floor next to the bed. He was curled in a foetal position, hands pressed to his stomach, eyes filled with panic and pain. Never had Pike seen so much blood associated with one living person. Blood streaked the walls, stained the white bed-sheets and pooled around the body of the man on the floor.

Pike flung off his bowler and dropped to his knees beside him. ‘Bevan Blackman?’ he asked as he tore off his own jacket.

‘Yes, help me,’ he gasped. ‘I don’t want to die.’

‘You’re not going to die,’ Pike lied. ‘Help is on its way. Pull your hands away so I can staunch the bleeding with my jacket.’

‘Don’t. Touch. Me!’ the man screamed. Pike noticed the gleam of an intestine pushing its way through the man’s spread fingers.