“I was attacked by a murder suspect,” he said.
“Oh, do tell,” Florence said with relish.
“Her lover was poisoned with strychnine, but she swears the man took the pills himself. Absurd.”
“Bizarre,” said Florence.
“Quite.”
“Took them himself?” Dody queried. “It is possible, you know, Pike.”
He drew deeply on his cigarette. “Why would anyone want to do that? It is a terrible way to die. I’m sure the victim wasn’t suicidal, and even if he was, there must be many less painful alternatives.”
“In small doses, strychnine is not a poison,” Dody told him. “In fact, it is considered by some to have curative qualities as well as being a powerful aphrodisiac when mixed with zinc phosphate and gold chloride. In that form it goes under the name nux vomica.”
It was rare for Pike to become flustered. Dody enjoyed watching him struggle with his thoughts—the creasing of the brows, the rubbing of the forehead, the stubbing over again of his cigarette butt in the ashtray. “An aphrodisiac, you say?” he said at last. “I suppose that is possible. He was an elderly gentleman; his passions probably exceeded his capacity.” Pike’s gaze moved from Dody and settled somewhere midway across the room. “So she might have been telling the truth after all,” he said as if to himself.
“You look relieved,” Dody said, glad, too, that she had discovered the cause of his anxiety.
“I am, in a way. I still have more details of the case to sort out, but your information has been a great help. Thank you.” He turned and stared deeply into her eyes.
Dody felt the heat rise in her face. “My pleasure.”
Florence sprang to her feet. “You will stay for dinner, won’t you, Pike?” Pike opened his mouth as if to protest, but Florence cut him off.
“I’ll just pop downstairs and tell Cook.” This was an unnecessary move, the call bell was hanging right by her side, but Dody appreciated the opportunity for some time alone with Pike. Their silly pride had led to more than two wasted months and there were many questions she needed to ask. She hoped he could be persuaded to stay.
“Meanwhile, if I may, I’ll put some antiseptic cream on your scratches.” She rose to fetch her Gladstone bag from the hall before he could object.
“Here, please move to the light,” she said when she returned, directing him to a chair next to the standard lamp. From her bag she removed antiseptic lotion and gauze swabs.
“This nux vomica—it can be purchased legally through a chemist or pharmacy?” Pike asked.
“Yes, but it is only legal in small quantities, and the strychnine side of it is recorded in the poisons registry.”
“So, to substantiate my suspicions, I would need to find the dead man’s name in the supplier’s book?”
“Technically, yes, but legally he could not have been sold a lethal dose. Indeed the tablets are usually sold individually. He may have obtained them from an underhand operator.” Dody’s thoughts tripped over each other. “In what kind of container were the tablets found and was it labelled?” she asked, smearing a gauze swab with antiseptic lotion.
“Labelled? No. I found them in what looked to be a cosmetics jar.”
“How many?”
“Over twenty.”
“Definitely illegal then. This will sting a little,” she said, dabbing at Pike’s cheek. “Illegal supplies are dispensed in any containers that come to hand: matchboxes, food packets. Esther Craddock’s were wrapped in muslin,” she said.
“I have a sample of the tablets in my pocket. Would you mind having a look?”
“Certainly, but let me finish here first.” She put her hand on the side of his head and tilted his cheek to the light to ensure she had not missed any of the scratches.
He covered her hand with his. “It’s all right now, don’t fuss.” He took a breath. “I’ve missed you, you know, Dody.”
She turned her hand in his and squeezed back. “And I you. I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your calls. Stubborn pride. Stupid of me.”
“It is I who was stupid.” He rose from his seat and gently wrapped his arms around her.
During the nightmare of the last week, she had refused to admit her need for him, even to herself. Now she wondered how she could have been so stubborn, so certain she was right.
“Are we friends again?” he asked as he pressed his cheek against hers.
They had never been in one another’s arms quite like this before. She breathed in his clean, comforting scent. He felt so right; he smelled so right. Lord, the feelings he stirred when he was close to her—if this was how it felt to be supported and cherished, she did not want to let him go.
“We could be more than friends—if you wish it, that is.”
The words slipped from her mouth without thought. Good God, what must he think of such forwardness? Even her freethinking mother would not have condoned such a brazen invitation. She was wondering how she might take the words back, when he tightened his embrace and murmured into her ear, “Of course I wish it.”
He was moving his lips towards hers when a scream reached them from the street. Pike knocked her to the ground and threw himself on top of her just as the front window shattered, spraying their backs with shards of glass. “Stay down,” he said, covering her head. Dody smelled petroleum fumes, heard the crackling of fire, felt the press of Pike’s body on hers.
There was a sudden whoosh and he jumped to his feet.
The door flew open and Florence rushed into the room, crying, “The curtains are on fire!” Pike pushed her to the floor next to Dody, ripped off his frock coat, and started beating the flames with it. “Stay down, both of you!”
Neither sister obeyed. Florence tore flowers from a crystal vase and successfully doused one of the curtains. “I’ll run downstairs and get more water,” she said as she rushed off.
“There’s someone hurt in the street. I’m going to help,” Dody called as she picked up her bag and ran from the room.
“No, Dody, no!” Pike cried.
“The fire’s under control; there’s no need to stop me.”
Pike threw his hands into the air. “But the mob isn’t—stay here!”
Dody dashed into the hall and flung open the leadlight door. She flew down the steps, across the short path, through the gate, and into the street.
A straggle of troublemakers took off at her approach, bolting across the road and disappearing into the cool shadows of Cartwright Gardens. She found the man alone, huddled in the foetal position on the footpath outside the front of her house. Several vehicles pulled over to the side of the road to observe the goings-on. Passengers and drivers gawped from motorcars and carriages.
The man on the ground moaned, “I’m burnin’ up, I’m burnin’ up.”
“It’s all right. I can help you. I’m a doctor.”
“It hurts, miss—”
“That’s the risk you take when you throw firebombs through windows.”
Dody looked up from her crouched position to see Pike looming above her, blocking the murky sky with his back.
“Likely he dripped fuel onto himself when he was making the bomb, and when he lit the petroleum-soaked rag, he flared up, too.”
Pike’s theory seemed to explain the man’s injuries, the charred shirtfront, the weeping flesh that oozed beneath one of his ragged sleeves.
“Help me bring him inside,” Dody said.
Pike remained where he was. “He could have killed you.”
Dody repeated her command and rolled the man onto his back. She drew a sharp breath as she stared down at the familiar, concave face. “I’ve seen this man before,” she said, “once hanging around the mortuary and again today in the East End. I need to talk to him.”
Pike bent to examine his face. The man clamped his eyes shut. “I’ve seen him
before, too, during my Scotland Yard days. In fact, we’re well acquainted, aren’t we, Mr. Dunn? Dr. McCleland, meet Daniel Dunn, known troublemaker and thief.”
“Whoever he is, he needs medical attention,” Dody said.
Dunn’s eyes popped open.
“Wait just a minute, Dody,” Pike said, his gaze not wavering from the man. “Why were you here causing a disturbance and firebombing Dr. McCleland’s house? Who put you up to it?”
Dunn screamed and tossed his head from side to side. “I dunno, I dunno!”
He brought his uninjured hand to his chest. Bony fingers twitched at the fabric of his shirt. And then, before they knew it, he’d jumped to his feet, a steel blade flashing in his hand.
Pike pressed Dody to take a step back. “Don’t be a fool. Drop it,” he said, his eyes fixed on the trembling knife.
“Your burns need seeing to, Mr. Dunn. You need to be taken to the hospital,” Dody said. It was worth a try, despite her feelings that the man’s strange, electric charge seemed to have eclipsed all sense of reason. “Left untreated, you might die.”
She tried to take a step towards him. Pike gripped her arm and held her back.
“I’ll die if I do and I’ll die if I don’t—what difference does it make?” Dunn shrieked.
Pike called to one of the gawping motorists, “Fetch the police,” and took a step closer to the injured man. The motorist, Dody noticed, made no attempt to move. This was probably more entertaining than anything on offer at the Variety.
“Pike, be careful,” Dody cried.
And then a zippy little black Crossley pulled up, honking its horn. The driver, wearing cap, goggles, and scarf, flung the front passenger door open and yelled, “Get in!” to Dunn.
Dunn took advantage of Pike’s distraction and let loose a kick to his bad knee. Pike hit the footpath with a curse. Dunn threw himself into the black motorcar, which then chugged at speed towards the main thoroughfare, Euston Road.
Pike was on his feet in no time, commandeering one of the other idling vehicles, a baker’s van, and its driver. Before Dody knew it, she was left alone on the footpath, her eyes straining as she followed the van disappearing into the bustle of the street.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Pike focused on the car they were chasing until his eyes hurt. The road was jammed with almost identical black motorcars, hansoms, and taxis, and they lost sight of the Crossley on several occasions.
“Oi, Chief Inspector, looks like he’s heading east to Pentonville Road. Should ’ave known him for an East-Ender, sewer rats, the lot of ’em,” the driver, Cuthbert, said.
But just as they passed the twin arches of Kings Cross Station, Dunn’s car took a sharp right, changing south down Grays Inn Road, parallel to where the chase had originated. And then they turned right into Guildford Street. Pike understood the Crossley driver’s intentions as soon as he turned left at the Foundling Hospital. Here the road was much narrower with smaller streets wavering from it like wispy roots. The baker’s van would have difficulty getting through if they became any smaller.
They came upon a delivery cart piled with empty barrels at a standstill halfway through the brewery gates. The cart was overloaded, too high to pass under the hanging sign, and several barrels had crashed to the road and split. Even if the road were wider, Pike thought with exasperation, they would never have got past this crowd. Workmen yelled as passersby stopped to scoop up the frothing liquid, carrying it away in shoes, hats, and anything else that came to hand.
Pike ignored the throbbing of his knee and jumped from the van, cursing as he landed in a river of beer. He handed the driver sixpence, telling Cuthbert there would be more where that came from if he would wait.
Then, on the other side of the cart, Pike saw something that made him smile. Luck at last! Under his gaze and as if to his will, the Crossley backfired, began to slow, and then puttered to a halt at the top of the cobbled lane, its engine flooded with beer, Pike supposed. He silently cheered. Give him a bicycle or a horse over a motorcar any day.
The driver leaped from his stricken vehicle and, with the tails of his white coat flapping, attempted to crank-start the car. Dunn remained in the vehicle until he saw Pike hurrying towards him. He shouted a warning to the driver then lurched from the passenger door. The driver turned quickly. He was of about average height, Pike noted, with no distinguishing features visible on account of the motoring outfit.
The flying crank missed Pike’s head by a whisker. He changed direction, deciding to aim for the target of least resistance. Daniel Dunn stumbled towards an alley. Pike closed the distance in no time and tackled him to the ground.
Dunn did not require much restraining; a hand on his collar was the only force required to navigate him to the van. Pike shoved him in next to Cuthbert and then hopped onto the running board, using the higher vantage point to scan his surroundings. He saw no sign of the goggled motorist with the flapping white cotton coat.
* * *
Pike dismissed Cuthbert outside Dody’s house with another sixpence and his heartfelt thanks. With Dunn’s good arm draped around his shoulder, Pike commenced to haul him up the steps.
“I want the doctor to have a look at you here before the police take you to hospital,” Pike said in a low, steady voice. The sooner they could get some information from him, the better.
“I don’t wanna go to no hospital,” the man whined.
“You might die if you don’t.” Pike paused for a breath; this was hard work. “Then again, you might also die if you fail to answer my questions.”
Pike abhorred the bullyboy policemen he came across so often, and rarely put the boot in himself, but there were occasions when even he believed the end justified the means. This man could have killed Dody and there was still someone out there who might yet succeed. He needed a name.
“What questions?” Dunn asked.
“Who paid you to firebomb the doctor’s house?”
“Dunno.”
“Was it the same man who picked you up here in the motorcar?”
Dunn paused. “Maybe.”
Pike gripped the man’s burned arm until he screamed. “I dunno, I dunno!”
Pike hissed him silent as the front door opened and Dody appeared on the porch. “Of course you know—you might be an idiot, but you have to know something about the man who employed you.” Again Pike moved his hand. The man released a bloodcurdling scream before he had even touched it.
“No, Pike!” Dody said with a raised hand and a fierce look. “I know we need answers, but that’s not the way—let’s get him into the house first.”
Pike turned his eyes skywards. He’d lost his chance now, damn it.
Between the two of them they lifted Dunn up the front steps into the house and lowered him onto the chaise in the morning room. The room smelled of burned fabric. The parquetry floor was puddled with water and the oriental rug was sodden underfoot. Annie was attempting to mop up and grumbling to everyone who got in her way. She gave the man on the chaise a sharp look and wrung the mop in the bucket as if she wished it were his neck.
Pike felt the same way.
Florence looked first at Dunn and then at Pike. “Well done, Pike,” she said, then turned her attention to Fletcher, who was busy hammering boards across the jagged windowpane. “And after you’ve done that, Fletcher, you can fetch the glaziers.”
“Everyone, please clear the room. I need space,” Dody ordered. “Annie, the floor can wait. Get me a large bowl of water, bicarbonate of soda, and some soft, clean rags; Florence, telephone for the police.” She would have made an excellent army officer, Pike decided.
Soon, Dody and Pike were alone in the room with Daniel Dunn. Dody gave him some laudanum from a sherry glass and waited for the drug to take effect.
Pike took out his handkerchief and wiped his face clean of sweat and soot, flicking the
tablets from the admiral’s murder scene to the floor. Dody picked them up and examined them.
“Those are the tablets I was telling you about, identified on the spot by the police surgeon as strychnine,” Pike said.
“He managed to do that very quickly, I must say. I would have ordered a laboratory test.”
“The police surgeon is old-school, like so many of my colleagues. He tasted them.”
“How dangerous.” She turned the tablets over. “Ah. I should be surprised, but somehow I am not.” She pointed out some strange indentations on the tablets’ surface. “I’ve seen these markings on tablets before—lead tablets distributed from pubs in the East End for abortion and infanticide. These marks are also identical to those on the lead tablets that Esther Craddock was taking.”
“They are from the same supplier?” Pike asked.
“I think so; at least they were produced by the same press.”
Pike smiled. “Now that is the kind of proof I’m looking for—for both of our cases. But I suppose it now means we will have to inspect the presses of every dispensing chemist in the area.”
“It’s not that simple. Some doctors still make their own tablets and apothecaries do, too.” A moan from her patient caught her attention. “But let’s forget about that for a moment. The laudanum should have taken effect by now and it’s time I got to work.”
Pike shook his head at her ability to block out her own problems to tend to the needs of another.
She cut the sleeves from Dunn’s arms and exposed patches of angry, weeping flesh. “My house is cleaner than a hospital. Tended here first, we will reduce the chance of infection,” she said as she worked.
The man responsible for employing Dunn must have something to do with Dody’s accusation, Pike thought as he watched her deft fingers, might even be the abortionist himself. Getting the truth from the injured man would be a much simpler solution than testing every pill press in the East End. And yet there was something niggling his mind, gnawing away at it—something that he had not yet had the chance to discuss with Dody.
Antidote to Murder Page 19
