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.’
‘You’re known to him, are you?’
‘Yeah. And his mate. They wrecked a nice little jig of mine a few years back. Earning me good money, that was, till those two got on to it. The rozzers would never have sussed. Those two bastards got my pal sent down for two years.’
‘Perhaps he was careless.’
‘Well, I’m not. I got to think what to do about that pair.’
‘Now the Maniac’s been caught, they shouldn’t be coming this way any more.’
‘Don’t you believe it! I could see that bastard’s mind working when he saw me, wondering what I was doing here. You shouldn’t have made me show up.’
‘I cannot talk business with underlings. And, speaking of business, we have financial matters to discuss. I take it you want our arrangement to continue?’
‘Of course I do. And so do you. We’re both doing well out of it. But not if those two vultures are going to be on my back.’ Slaughter thought for a moment. ‘Where’s his business, that Steele? I might have a few friends call on him. Where’s he live?’
‘I have no idea. They are of no interest to me.’
‘Well, they should be. If they make trouble for me, they’ll make trouble for you.’
Then Frankel remembered. ‘Ah. The man gave me his card.’ The big man picked up the card and gave it to Slaughter. ‘This should tell you what you want to know. And now perhaps we can talk business.’
They did, and ten minutes later reached an agreement that was beneficial to each of them, though not to various unsuspecting citizens.
When the business was concluded and Frankel was slightly more amenable, Slaughter asked him for more details about Steele and the Heath Association.
Harriet Austin stood by the window, contemplating a fine early-winter night. She was in a melancholy mood, thoughts of Robert Kemp constantly intruding on her reverie: he had loved the prospect that now spread out before her. Yet it was here that he had met a brutal death. And then there was Ella. Was she lost somewhere out there, facing cold and starvation?
Behind her, Clare was busy at the bookshelves, peering at titles, trying to find what she needed. Some of the volumes were in poor condition, their covers torn or missing, and she had to remove these and study them closely.
Harriet pulled herself together, determined to be positive. ‘It’s a beautiful night, Clare,’ she said. ‘One can see the lights of Holborn twinkling in the distance.’
Clare continued her search. ‘I would expect that, Harriet. It’s what lights are supposed to do.’
‘And the moonlight stretches right across the Heath. It’s almost as bright as day.’
‘Not good for wildlife. There’ll be no hiding from predators.’
Harriet sighed, her effort at cheerfulness deflated. ‘How sad it is that beauty is so often mixed with cruelty.’
‘I fear that is part of life, dear sister. Have you seen Hawthorne’s Nature Walks of London anywhere?’
‘No. I’m afraid I didn’t know we had such a book.’
‘Of course we have. Unless someone’s taken it. Hawthorne gives a good account of Hampstead Heath in the last century.’
‘Oh. I should like to read that.’
‘I shall pass it on to you when I’ve finished with it. If I find it.’
‘Thank you.’ Harriet was admiring the evening star, which Robert had taught her to identify.
‘I can’t think where it’s got to. I need some facts for a piece I’m writing. The Heath was a wilder place a hundred years ago.’
‘I suppose it would be. Wilder, no doubt, but at least there was no murdering maniac at large. What a shame the police were wrong about that man yesterday. I really thought the danger was over.’
‘Did you? I can’t say I did. And I coul
d see Major Steele was not convinced. It’s pathetic that the police should make such a mistake! A drunken braggart telling lies in an alehouse!’
‘I suppose they had to arrest him to find out the truth.’
‘Perhaps. But why release the news to the press? They should have known the papers would blazon the story as if it were fact.’
‘Is it certain the man was lying?’
‘Apparently. When questioned, he got the details wrong. And it was proved he was in Birmingham when the man Tate was killed. So they let him go.’
‘And left us all as frightened as ever.’
‘There’s no sense in being frightened, Harriet. We have to get on with our lives. “The coward dies a thousand deaths, the brave man dies but one.”’
9
SINCE HIS WIFE’S death, Steele had lived in a serviced flat in St John’s Wood. This suited his lifestyle. He wasn’t troubled by domestic tasks – cleaning and maintenance were all taken care of – and meals were always available in the restaurant. In fact, in good military fashion, the major brewed tea and coffee for himself in his tiny kitchen. He even grilled his own breakfast toast. (Though he was sometimes grateful for one of life’s more benign coincidences: that, when the milk boils over, it often extinguishes the burning toast.) Apart from that, Steele usually dined, and occasionally lunched, at his club.
The main assets of the apartment were a pleasant bedroom overlooking Regent’s Park, and a neat but spacious sitting room, which he used as his office. Not officially, for this was a residential building, with no business or trading allowed, so there was no plate outside his door. But it was here that Mason joined him each morning and it was here that their files and records were housed, and where they sat down to plan their work. The manager of the block, an old army friend, turned a blind eye.
Steele’s arrangements would seem satisfactory to most people, but one individual disapproved. John Mason’s wife, a motherly soul, felt that no man should be allowed to live on his own, since the male sex were incapable of looking after themselves.
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