Read The Three-Body Problem Online
Authors: Catherine Shaw
The Three-Body Problem (12 page)
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘I have learnt from the police
that you were the doctor who was called yesterday to see the mathematician who died yesterday at St John’s College, Mr Crawford.’
He acquiesced with a short nod. ‘Yes. When he was found they sent out immediately to fetch a doctor. People always do it, even though obviously there was nothing I could do.’
‘I knew Mr Crawford very well,’ I began, quite untruthfully, ‘and was arriving at his rooms to visit him when I learnt that he was dead. The police were still present in his rooms. I simply wish to ask you how he died, and above all –
was he murdered?
It is of fundamental importance!’
‘Ah, now that, I cannot tell you,’ he replied simply.
‘Why not?’ I began, preparing to plead, persuade and cajole.
‘Quite simply because I have no idea. He died of heart failure, that is all I know. It may have simply been a heart attack, which itself may have been caused by a shock of some kind, or simply by a weakness of the heart.’
‘But could it possibly have been a murder? Could such an attack be caused by some poison?’ I insisted, wishing to hear the possibilities from his own lips rather than tell him what I knew.
‘It could, certainly, although I cannot make any statement to the effect that such was the case.’
‘What kind of poison could cause such an effect?’
‘It could be a derivative of belladonna, or a product of the foxglove, such as the typical heart medicine digitalin, taken in an excessive dose; those would be the most likely candidates, if any poison was used at all.’
‘Ah!’ I cried. ‘But tell me now; cannot the doctor tell which of these, if any, is the cause of a death by heart failure?’
‘It is sometimes possible, for instance if the medicine was taken pure, some smell may remain on the patient’s lips. But Mr Crawford’s whole room smelt overwhelmingly of whisky, and there was an open, empty bottle upon the table.’
‘Could the poison have been in the bottle?’
‘It is not impossible.’
‘But can it be determined?’
‘Yes, certainly, and it will no doubt be determined or already has been, by chemical analysis of the remaining drops in the bottle, as well as by a post-mortem of the dead man’s body. The case is completely independent of me now; as soon as I saw that the death did not have an obvious, natural explanation, I called in the police, and they of course brought their own doctor, who will perform all further medical examinations.’
I understood that the medical man who accompanied the police must have been this doctor. I hopefully asked the Doctor if he knew him personally, but he did not. I was about to take my leave, when suddenly I turned back.
‘Doctor, if you could not smell or otherwise detect any trace of poison, what exactly made you think that Mr Crawford’s death was not a natural one?’ I asked. ‘After all, many people die from heart attacks, do they not?’
‘Now, that is a tricky question, my dear,’ he said, and his severe, narrow face actually creased into a somewhat embarrassed smile. ‘You are certainly of a very enquiring cast of mind. I must admit that under normal circumstances, it is more than likely that I would have simply diagnosed heart failure, made out a certificate for the poor gentleman, and that would have been the end of the story.’
‘And what exactly about Mr Crawford’s death constituted abnormal circumstances?’ I insisted.
‘Oh, well,’ he hemmed and hawed. ‘Nothing medical, at all, really. It was just … well, really, it was the fact of this death of a mathematician following so shortly after the previous ones. Why, nobody seems to be dying at all in Cambridge, lately, except for mathematicians, it seems!’
‘Oh!’ I said. ‘I see. But then why should you feel uneasy about your own suspicions? Your reason seems valid enough.’
‘Oh, well, it makes you wonder, really, how many of the deaths you pass along as normal are really murders, don’t you know – only the possibility simply never occurred to you. Now get along, get along, my dear. You are an alarming one for getting things out of people. I really must get back to my patients!’
‘Thank you so very much, Doctor,’ I said warmly. ‘You have helped me enormously. Good day,’ and I backed out of the door into the matron whose turn it had been to see the Doctor, and who was on the point of opening it in order to complain about the unjustified delay.
‘Oh, I am so sorry!’ I said.
‘I should hope so, indeed,’ she answered in high dudgeon.
I took my leave speedily to avoid more scolding, and walked back towards St Andrew’s, this time in the hope of finding out the identity of the other doctor, and anything that was to be found out about the post-mortem. It was not yet ten o’clock, and I felt that the officer at the police station might not appreciate my returning with further questions so soon after he had already helped me. So I compelled myself
to stop rushing about, and turning into Petty Cury, I directed myself to my favourite tea room in Peas Hill, where I am presently sitting, writing to you and hoping that if I delay somewhat, another officer will in the meantime have come to relieve him. My cup of tea sits in front of me, round, kind and comforting, and I stir it slowly, while lending an ear to the conversations going on around me.
Oh, Dora, everywhere I go, street, waiting room, tea shop, I hear people discussing and gossiping about the murders. And half the time, oh dear, they seem to be saying that fortunately the murderer appears to have been apprehended by the police with lightning speed, and is already under lock and key. I have been straining my ears in vain; not once have I heard a single person respond that the unlucky being under the aforementioned lock and key might be no more than an innocent victim of error. I still cling to the hope that Mr Crawford’s death has some other, more natural explanation. Oh, surely the police will understand this! Yet I feel worried; if only I could find out if what I suspect is right or wrong.
I have just come out of the police station, where I drew a terrible blank. They claim that I have no right at all to know anything about the results of the post-mortem, which are communicated only to the lawyers involved in prosecuting and defending the prisoner. There was really nothing to do; the policeman behind the counter was not the same one as this morning, but he was a stolid creature resembling nothing so much as a wall, and there
was clearly nothing to be extracted from him. I was compelled to leave gloomily, and now it is midday, and I must post this letter and begin the work by which I earn my daily bread. It is beginning to seem rather irksome to me …
Write to me soon, dear
Vanessa
My dearest Dora,
I have spent the whole of this week in a state of intolerable nerves. I cannot sleep, and my teaching suffers, although I try as hard as I can to use it to distract myself from the coming trial.
The court has appointed counsel to defend Arthur. He is a rather cold-natured, dry, elderly gentleman named Mr Haversham. He has questioned Arthur at length, of course, and has told him that he must base the defence either on lack of evidence, or on an alternative theory. I asked to speak to Mr Haversham, and he questioned me about Arthur and about the dinner at Mrs Burke-Jones’s home, and about Mr Crawford, especially his conversation with Mr Beddoes on the day of the garden party, and how he had expressed the intention of dining with him soon. Rather timidly, I presented him with my theory of Mr Crawford’s guilt and suicide, and asked him if he thought it could not possibly obtain. Not that I want to destroy the poor man’s memory, God forbid! But it could hardly hurt him now, whether true or false, and could still serve as an alternative theory. Mr Haversham said that
this theory may provide a valid line of defence, and that he would make use of it. It was odd, however – he did not seem to consider, even for a moment, whether one might care to determine what really happened. It seemed as though all that mattered to him was the possibility that each theory might or might not convince a jury. Such is the nature of lawyers, I suppose. About Mr Crawford, he said there was really no need to prove anything, but simply to show that it was a possibility just as valid as that presented by the opposition. He says that my memories of the conversation between Mr Crawford and Mr Beddoes on the day of the garden party might serve at least as a faint corroboration of Arthur’s assertion that his dinner with Mr Beddoes was planned by Mr Crawford; he would like to call me as a witness, but he thinks that Mr Bexheath may do so first. Mr Haversham says that opposing counsel, Mr Bexheath, representing the Crown, is known for his cruel accuracy, and that nothing vague must be put up to him, or he will tear it apart. The judge, he told us, is Sir William Penrose, who is known, though not for leniency, at least for fairness, open-minded willingness to listen, and lack of prejudice.
Mr Haversham says that the prosecution must be developing a theory of its own, which he does not know, but that he will find it out at the prosecutor’s opening statement, which begins the trial, and then will be able to develop responses to the various points in the following days. He began to make a list of witnesses he shall call for the defence. Alas, it is rather short, as there is no real line of defence except for the lack of evidence and the unsubstantiated hypothesis of Mr Crawford’s guilt. But he says that his procedure will
become clearer after the prosecution’s opening statement. He seems a trustworthy man, although distant. I do hope he will handle everything for the best!
I continue to visit Arthur in prison regularly; I have the right to bring books and papers for him, which are examined carefully before being handed to him parsimoniously by the Wardens. The condemned prisoners do not have the right to such things; they are allowed to send or receive a letter or a visit only every three months. Some of the prisoners here are condemned to hard labour, and they spend the day wearily treading on a treadmill; others are confined to their cell, alone, for twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four, the remaining hour being spent circulating round and round the tiny courtyard in silence, which is called ‘exercise’. There are quite young children among the prisoners, some no older than Emily, I think! Sometimes we hear them crying as we talk. But the warder never allows me to move an inch from my precisely prescribed path: direct to the visiting door with its grille, and directly back out again. With Arthur, we no longer talk much about the ordeal awaiting him, but of the books we read, and the things we would like to do when this is all over. It has become almost a natural evidence that we will do them together. It is strange, that although the grille divides us, and our every word is overheard by the warder, and the future is clouded, we have drawn infinitely closer to each other; it is as though the circumstantial separation has allowed the souls to come together, whilst they were timid and hesitating when the way was clear.
I remain ever, your
Vanessa
Dear Dora,
Arthur’s trial began this morning. It will run every weekday until all the witnesses have been questioned. In fact, it really began yesterday, with a great long ceremony of selecting the jury, which took all day, and the continuation, which is really the beginning of the actual proceedings, was then set for this morning.
They are open to the public. Oh, Dora, what a horrible thing it all is – you cannot imagine! There is a public gallery in the courthouse, and there sit a great many idle people who come there out of pure morbid curiosity. Arthur sits in the dock, and they stare at him, and whisper to each other perfectly audibly. No one seems to believe he might be innocent, and there is constant talk of hanging. Oh, how I hate that loathsome ‘public’! There they sit, whispering and mumbling and sometimes eating food which they bring in bags so as not to have to leave during the proceedings. I try to sit as far away from anyone as possible.
The very start of the proceedings had nothing to do with Arthur at all; the judge, a very gracious,
human
-seeming man, for all that he was dressed in the traditional crimson robes and white wig, addressed himself at some length to the members of the jury, giving them instructions about what it was their duty to know and to do. They must listen to counsel for both sides, but accept all that they say
only as a matter of opinion
, whereas the sworn testimony of the witnesses must be taken as fact. And he explained to them at some
length the matter of ‘proof beyond a reasonable doubt’, and reminded them that the defendant was presumed innocent until his guilt had been convincingly demonstrated. They sat listening and nodding, quite expressionless for the most part. There they are, twelve of them, some fat, some lean, some idiotic, none smiling, and in their nasty hands lies the power to condemn Arthur – even to death. Yes, I write it, although of course it may not – it
cannot
happen. Yet the power is there, unavoidably.
The judge then explained to the jury that Arthur is charged with three counts of deliberate, premeditated murder, and that Arthur pleaded Not Guilty. Finally, he announced that the trial would begin with the opening speech for the prosecution, given by Mr Bexheath, counsel for the Crown. As I said I would note down every word and every detail concerning this dreadful mystery, in order to scrutinise it and study it with your help, I decided to take down as much as I can of the trial proceedings in shorthand – I am
so
glad I took the trouble to study it, long ago in our little room at home. For I cannot but feel that the secret truth must, somehow, be hidden in the words that will be spoken here.
Opening Speech for the Prosecution, by Mr Bexheath
‘May it please you, my Lord, gentlemen of the jury. You have heard the charge against the defendant, which is that he deliberately murdered three
prominent mathematicians, Mr Akers, Mr Beddoes and Mr Crawford, all of the University of Cambridge. I will show you, gentlemen, that the prisoner had opportunity, possibility and motive for all three of these grievous murders.
‘First let me give you the facts of the case.
‘Mr Akers, a lecturer at St John’s College, died on the evening of February 14th. After having dined with the prisoner at the Irish pub, they walked, together, back to Mr Akers’ rooms in college, and there Mr Akers’ body was found the next day, lying on the floor of his entrance hall, still wearing his coat and scarf, his hat hung upon the stand. Barely a moment after arriving home, he was killed, by a powerful blow to the head dealt with the poker taken from his own fireplace, which was left upon the scene.
‘Mr Beddoes was killed in very similar fashion. On the evening of April 30th, he dined with the prisoner, who then accompanied him home. After some hours, as it was drawing late, his wife, surprised that he did not return, opened the front door of her house to look out and see if she could spot him arriving. Instead, she perceived the dark mass of her husband’s body lying across the garden path, near the gate. He had been struck down by a blow from a heavy rock, taken from the garden itself; it formed part of the rocky border of the flowerbed, and was pried out from a position almost next to the path leading to the house. Again, the weapon remained at the scene.
‘The third murder, that of Mr Crawford, occurred on the 4th of May. As the prisoner was arrested in the night of April 30th, after the murder of Mr Beddoes, you may think that he cannot have been responsible for the murder of Mr Crawford. But, gentlemen of the jury, that was a murder of an entirely different type, for Mr Crawford was poisoned, by drinking half a bottle of his own whisky, into which a large dose of the heart medicine digitalin had been introduced, equivalent to several days’ worth of normal doses. This digitalin could have been introduced into the bottle of whisky at any time in the past. I will prove to you that the accused had access both to digitalin and to the bottle of whisky in the weeks preceding the murder, and thus that it would have been perfectly possible for him to commit this third murder.
‘You may think, gentlemen of the jury, that the prisoner must have been a fool, to believe that he could, twice in the same manner, dine with a man and then brutally slaughter him, without being caught. But think again – why not? The first murder had succeeded impeccably. The prisoner was not arrested after the murder of Mr Akers for the simple reason that not a single trace of proof remained against him. It must have been quite natural for him to decide that a method which had proved so excellent once should work a second time. But the suspicion which surrounded him after the death of Mr Akers became certainty after the death of Mr Beddoes. Factual proof
is not easy to come by, but we will adduce it little by little; traces of the earth from Mr Beddoes’ garden were found on the prisoner’s shoes, he was observed entering the rooms of Mr Crawford, his conversation over dinner with Mr Beddoes was partially overheard. The motives of his secret discussions with both Mr Akers and Mr Beddoes will be revealed, and the manner of his acts explained.
‘You have now already seen that the accused had ample opportunity to kill both Mr Akers and Mr Beddoes as they returned home, by the simple expedient of manoeuvring each of them into a position where they were alone together, unobserved, in a quiet place with a heavy object at hand. Before proceeding to discuss the motives for these grievous crimes, let us consider the opportunity and manner of the murder of Mr Crawford.
‘For this, we must enquire into the planning of the manner of death, the possibilities for the prisoner to introduce poison into Mr Crawford’s bottle of whisky, and the possibilities for him to obtain such poison in the first place.
‘The first point is a crucial one. For you must know, gentlemen of the jury, that the post-mortem examination of Mr Crawford showed that he had a full half-bottle of whisky in his stomach at the moment of his death, and that this half-bottle of whisky contained a lethal dose of digitalin. But what if the victim had been in the habit of drinking
whisky in small quantities, for example an occasional glass before dinner? The amount of digitalin in the half-bottle was naturally spread throughout the liquid, and if such a small quantity were consumed, the only effect would have been a temporary fluttering or quickening of the heart, unlikely to produce death.
‘Now, I will call a witness, a friend and colleague of the deceased, who will testify that Mr Crawford has been seen to consume large quantities of whisky, typically a good half-bottle, on particularly festive or exciting occasions, although he is not known to have consumed it regularly otherwise. As he lived alone, we found no witnesses who could actually testify to the frequency with which he drank in such quantities, but we have some specific, dated examples when he did so.
‘Knowing that the dose of digitalin introduced into a half-bottle of whisky was sufficient to kill
only
if that half-bottle was consumed in its entirety,
we can conclude that the murderer was someone who was well acquainted with Mr Crawford’s drinking habits; someone who belonged to his rather restricted circle of friends, as the prisoner most certainly did.
‘This deals with the first point, that of the planning of the manner of death, and showed that the murderer was undoubtedly one of Mr Crawford’s familiars.
‘Let us proceed to the second point, that of the prisoner’s access to Mr Crawford’s bottle of whisky. To begin with, we need to determine when the poison was introduced into the bottle. The 4th of May is the
latest possible date. What about the earliest possible date? It cannot have been done before the bottle was opened. I will present a witness, Mrs Wiggins, the charlady who takes care of the daily cleaning of Mr Crawford’s rooms. She will testify that at some time which she estimates as being ‘at least two months ago’, she cleared away traces of a small party from Mr Crawford’s rooms, washing up whisky glasses and throwing away an empty bottle. This witness will further testify that she has dusted a whisky bottle in its usual place on Mr Crawford’s kitchen shelf every day since that time without noticing traces of any further unusual consumption. We have no proof, of course, that the present bottle, which will be presented in evidence, is the very next one which Mr Crawford opened, as he
may
well have thrown his own bottles away in the meantime. But it is no matter; what is proved is that the poison may have been introduced into
this
bottle after the witness threw away the previous one, which means
any time within the last several weeks
. As to the actual introduction of the poison into the bottle, that was an easy matter. The accused had free access to Mr Crawford’s rooms at any time, both in his presence and even in his absence, as he was not in the habit of locking his door. We will present witnesses who will testify that the prisoner entered Mr Crawford’s rooms on at least two occasions within the last several weeks.
‘We now come to the third point, the question of the prisoner’s opportunity to obtain such a poison as
digitalin. This question appears delicate at first sight, for the accused is not ill, has no symptoms of heart disease, and has a doctor who asserts that he has never prescribed digitalin for him. Furthermore, this medicine cannot be simply purchased over the counter. However, I will now introduce the crucial clue to the whole affair, which will prove that
the prisoner had knowledge of and access to a bottle of digitalin
.
‘Indeed, one of the protagonists of the dreadful story I am unfolding before you
did
suffer from heart disease, and
was
in possession of a bottle of digitalin. That person is the first victim, Mr Akers. We claim that the prisoner was aware of Mr Akers’ disease and attendant medication, and that he had the opportunity of obtaining some of it for his own use.
‘Indeed, according to the prisoner’s own deposition, when questioned by police, he saw Mr Akers take his medicine at the very dinner they took together, before Mr Akers’ brutal murder. He has testified that Mr Akers began to pour his drops into a glass of water – he does not say specifically that it was digitalin, but we can imagine that he already possessed this knowledge or obtained it naturally in conversation – and then put the bottle of medicine back in his pocket. The accused testifies that he did not lay eyes on the bottle again throughout the evening.
Yet, gentlemen of the jury – this is the key fact – the bottle of digitalin was not found in Mr Akers’ pockets after his death!
Does it not seem clear what happened? The murderer strikes,
waits for the body to slump to the floor, verifies that it is dead. He then slips his hand into the very pocket where he has seen the precious bottle put away, and seizes it, his mind already possessed by another murder, to be committed on the very heels of the first!
‘Now that I have explained to you, gentlemen of the jury,
how
the murders were committed, I turn to the problem of
why
they were committed. For this, we need to know something of the personality of the accused. He is a young man, twenty-six years of age, who was orphaned at the age of nine, and was sent to school and subsequently to university on scholarships, after which his excellent results in his studies enabled him to obtain a Fellowship in Mathematics at the University of Cambridge.
‘For his success and settlement in life, gentlemen of the jury, this man has no relations to look to, no family, no inheritance, no capital, no annuity, not a single one of those comforting resources which allow a man to follow his vocation in a state of security. His entire future depends on nothing but his very own personal work, and very much on the work he does at this very time, when the university has offered him a temporary fellowship which may or may not be renewed. Small wonder, then, if he sometimes feared that his abilities may not turn out adequate for such a task. For a fellowship, gentlemen of the jury, is not like a scholarship; it is not awarded for excellent levels of study, but in order to stimulate and support the
full-fledged researcher. And research in mathematics is a dangerous terrain, which can lead to disappointment and failure even in the case of those whose studies have been brilliant. It will be impossible to discover and reveal the motive for murder, gentlemen of the jury, without making a detour into the unfamiliar world of mathematical research and its psychology.
‘The devotion to mathematics, and the reactions to its successes and failures, can lead the mathematician mentally far astray, even to the point of madness. This phenomenon has been observed only too often in the history of the subject; the greatest scientist ever to have frequented our own university, Sir Isaac Newton, suffered intensely from persecution mania. The monomania of the mathematician, the continual withdrawal into a world of total abstraction, the urge to create, the ever-increasing demands on oneself conjugated with the intense disappointment of failure, only too naturally tend to produce an effect of psychological imbalance. Gentlemen of the jury, madness lies in wait, ready to strike any mathematician. It may not be visible, but may seethe inside, silently seeking an outlet.
‘Outwardly, the prisoner is well-known among his colleagues for his quiet, affable manner, and his ability to preserve friendships with even the most difficult or unsociable members of his profession. He was quite alone, in fact, among all of his colleagues in cultivating close friendships with some of them. I submit to you, gentlemen of the jury, that the accused
had a reason, and a deep one, for behaving thus. As the only friend of certain important, renowned mathematicians, he was in a unique position to encourage them to talk to him about their researches, and to obtain interesting ideas for himself, which he otherwise might never have discovered. I submit that the prisoner made this technique the basis for all of his mathematical research.
‘Let me describe to you how, by carefully observing his behaviour, one naturally reaches this conclusion.
‘The accused is quite young, and took his degree only two years ago; since then he has published two articles. Let us consider if those articles correspond to the manner of approach I have described above.
‘The first article was published under his name alone. However, the contents of the article stem largely from the doctoral thesis of the prisoner, and that thesis, like any doctoral thesis, was written
under the influence of a director
, in this case the illustrious Professor Arthur Cayley. You may find that this is a very natural state of affairs in what concerns a doctoral thesis, and I certainly do not dispute it. I simply point out that Professor Cayley will testify that he himself was responsible for a significant part of the ideas presented in the article published under the prisoner’s name. In principle, young researchers are supposed to use the fact of being helped by their director in their first efforts at research as a springboard to reach independence, and fly with their
own wings. The prisoner, instead, appears to have used it as a model for his regularly adopted attitude.
‘The second article published by the prisoner bears the name of a co-author, Mr Charles Morrison, whom we will also call as a witness. Let us consider Mr Morrison’s own list of publications. Although hardly a year older than his friend, you will see, gentlemen of the jury, that he has already published six or seven articles of his own. What can we deduce from this? Quite simply, quite naturally, that one of two authors possesses a more fertile mind than the other.
‘Apart from Cayley and Morrison, the prisoner had other sources. He carefully cultivated Mr Akers, a mathematician whose reputation for unfriendliness and unpleasantness was well-known. I will present witnesses who will testify that Mr Akers was a very skilful mathematician, but that he indulged in the unfortunate habit of freely and snidely insulting those of his colleagues whose minds he considered inferior to his own. There is no reason to suppose that the accused was exempt from such treatment. I submit, gentlemen of the jury, that he put up with frequent humiliation, and obsequiously continued friends with Mr Akers, because of his hidden, deeper goals; those of furthering his career and extending the duration of his fellowship, thanks to research on ideas produced by Mr Akers’ powerful mind. The same underhanded motivation lay behind his apparent friendship with Mr Beddoes and Mr Crawford.