The Insanity of Murder (13 page)

Doctor Fogarty introduced the younger as Mrs Eva Blackman and the elder as Lady Mary Heathridge. Dody reacted to the name with no hint of recognition, just a neutral smile and a ‘How do you do?’

So, this was Pike’s ‘mad’ Mary.

‘Are you ladies from London?’ Lady Mary asked. Upon their affirmation, she replied, ‘Have you seen my friend, Cynthia?’

Louise and Dody glanced at one another. ‘No, m’lady,’ Louise replied. ‘I’m afraid we have not.’

Mrs Blackman rose to her feet and whispered to them. ‘She calls almost every woman she knows ‘Cynthia’. Think nothing of it, ladies.’

Dody nodded, thinking to herself that on this occasion, the old lady indeed might be correct.

‘I don’t call you Cynthia, dear. Or Laurentia. And where do you think Laurentia is, Eva?’

Laurentia? Was Laurentia one of Lady Mary’s so-called imaginings too?

‘I’m not sure, dear,’ Mrs Blackman answered. ‘Perhaps the doctor here can …’

Doctor Fogarty made some hushing noises, took Mrs Blackman by the arm and guided her back to her chair. ‘Thank you, Mrs Blackman, you may return to your work.’

As they walked from the room, he said, ‘It’s best not to let that Blackman woman become too familiar. I will try to keep her out of your way when you return to visit Miss Florence. She tried to kill her husband, y’know.’

‘But obviously didn’t succeed,’ Louise said with humour. ‘Please, there is no need to keep her away from us. We did not find her at all offensive.’

‘She’s manipulative,’ Fogarty said, looking back over his shoulder and wiping his brow with his handkerchief.

They returned to the office. This time, Dody noticed a door in the right-hand wall, located between two bookcases. Where did this door lead to, she wondered — another treatment room, an examination room, a place to store files? Again she caught Fogarty looking at her, and resisted the urge to squirm. There were times when she felt as if he was staring right into her.

‘Doctor Fogarty,’ Dody said quickly to cover her discomfort, ‘I’d like your reassurance that my sister will not be subject to any form of operation or therapy in this home without my written permission.’

Doctor Fogarty rummaged in his desk drawer and removed a manila file with Florence’s name on it. ‘I can’t see any specific instructions from her doctor other than rest and healthy diversions.’

‘Good. Do you ever resort to operations here, Doctor?’ Dody asked, rather too interrogatively, if the look on her mother’s face was anything to go by.

Fogarty cleared his throat. ‘Well, I removed a patient’s in-grown toenail last week.’

‘You neglected to show us your operating theatre, Doctor,’ Dody said.

Fogarty hesitated. ‘I didn’t think a layperson would be interested. It’s in the treatment building.’

‘But Dody’s not a —’

‘Would you mind finding the spare key and showing us the building now, Doctor?’ Dody interrupted her mother.

Fogarty made as if to open his desk drawer, then pulled out his fob watch instead. ‘My apologies, ladies, but that excursion will have to wait until your next visit. Time is marching on, and I like to take tea with my patients. They often unburden themselves at tea time, and it’s a good opportunity for some casual counselling.’

‘When will I be able to visit my daughter again, Doctor?’

‘In one week’s time, Mrs McCleland. No visitors for the first week, I’m afraid, and then you can ring for an appointment.’

‘But I would like to see Florence too, Doctor, and I have to be back at work next week,’ Dody said.

Fogarty paused. ‘You work, Miss McCleland?’ His expression suggested she’d just declared herself a practising devil worshipper.

It was time to admit her occupation, Dody decided; it might make him more frank with her. And she
really
needed to know what went on in that building.

‘I am a doctor, sir. That is why I am interested in your treatment building. I don’t like referring patients to places I have not seen.’

Her reasoning seemed to placate him somewhat. ‘Oh, I see. Then when you return to visit your sister I will ensure the building is open for your inspection, miss, I mean, err, Doctor.’

Dody nodded graciously. ‘So again, when might
I
next see my sister?’

Fogarty opened his palms. ‘I’m sorry, Doctor. Experience has taught us that isolation from friends and relatives — even if they are medical people themselves — is the best policy for at least the first week of a resident’s stay.’

“We got to Waterloo at eleven, and asked where the eleven-five started from. Of course nobody knew; nobody at Waterloo ever does know where a train is going to start from, or where a train when it does start is going to, or anything about it.”

Pike often called to mind this piece from
Three Men in a Boat
when circumstances necessitated a trip to the station. It was somehow comforting to know that the place was just as infuriating to an eminent author such as Jerome K Jerome as it was to an ordinary police officer like himself. Waterloo Station had always been chaotic. But since work had commenced on its rebuilding it had metamorphosed into a whirlpool of disorientation and ill temper, with the occasional stampede thrown in for variety.

Pike and Singh fought their way through the crowd until they found themselves queue-jumping a line of disgruntled people waiting outside the assistant duty manager’s office. They flashed their warrant cards in order to get to the top of the queue, calmly taking the insults hurled and the dirty looks shot at them.

The overwhelmed assistant duty manager of the L&SWR line did not look up when the policemen entered the office.

‘The porter is wrong. The 3.05 is leaving from Platform 10 today, and not Platform 18 as stated in the timetable. There is no Platform 18 today because the numbers have been changed.’

Hardly surprising, Pike thought. Everyone knew that Waterloo Station had eighteen platforms and only ten numbers.

‘Police, Mr Carr,’ Pike said, slipping his warrant card under the manager’s nose. ‘We need to talk to the man who found the vagrant woman’s body in the Ladies Conveniences on Tuesday the twenty-fourth.’

Carr jumped to his feet when he registered who was talking to him. ‘Good afternoon gentlemen – the vagrant, you say?’ He cast his eyes aloft, as if trying to recall which vagrant Pike was referring to. The discovery of a homeless person’s body was hardly an unusual occurrence in London.

‘I wasn’t working on that day, sirs, but if you’ll bear with me I’ll check the log book.’ He removed a heavy book from a shelf behind the desk, blew away a fine coating of soot from the cover and began to leaf through it. Pike glanced down at his palms, already a shade darker since they had first stepped foot in the station.

‘Ahh, here we are, the twenty-fourth. Mrs Smart, the cleaning lady in charge of that particular block of conveniences, discovered the body at 5 am when she was unlocking the lavatories for the day. She called the Head Porter, Mr Ponsomby, who called the police.’

Pike glanced over to Singh who was checking the facts against the typed report from the constable who originally handled the call. The report was less than half a page long — one more non-event in a long day of police work — and why Pike had decided to re-interview the witnesses himself.

Mr Carr said, ‘I believe they have already been interviewed by your man, may I ask …’

‘Are both the witnesses working today, sir?’ Singh interrupted.

Carr referred to another book with a soft cover and dog-eared pages. ‘This is the staff roster. Let me see … Ponsomby is not at work this afternoon, but Mrs Smart should be in the vicinity of the Ladies Conveniences or else in the staff canteen. She works from 5 am to 10 am, and then from 4 pm to midnight.’

Singh looked at the roster and copied Ponsomby’s address into his notebook. They thanked the manager and exited the office, Pike holding the door open for the next in line, a harassed women with a babe in arms and three ragged children at her feet.

‘I don’t envy him that job,’ Pike commented as they headed back down the stairs, keeping his hands well away from the filthy banister.

‘Nor I the cleaning lady’s shifts,’ Singh said.

‘You take Ponsomby and I’ll take the char. I’ll meet you back at the Yard.’

Singh gave Pike a small bow and negotiated his way through newsstands and piles of luggage towards the station exit. Pike slowly pivoted until he glimpsed the sign to the Ladies, and followed the pointing finger. One full-height turnstile door led into the lavatories, and one led out. To the side of the building there was a door with
Staff Only
stencilled upon it.

Pike approached a smart young woman dressed in boater and tie, pushing her way out through the exit.

He lifted his hat. ‘Excuse me, miss.’

Upon her wary look he showed her his warrant card and she relaxed.

‘A cleaning woman in there?’ she repeated his question. ‘Yes, there is. I just gave her a tip.’

‘Would you mind fetching her for me?’

‘Not at all, Chief Inspector.’ The young woman’s mischievous smile reminded him of Florence. She probably worked in a dull office and talking to a policeman was the most interesting thing that had happened to her all week. She reappeared with a plump woman wearing carpet slippers, an apron over her uniform, and a scarf from which grey curls spilled like cigarette ash. The young woman introduced the char as Mrs Smart.

‘I can’t be long, Mr Pike, I can’t leave me trolley unattended,’ Mrs Smart said. The Gibson girl nodded with enthusiastic agreement, making no move to leave.

Pike addressed the girl, ‘Ahh, Miss …’

‘Cooper,’ the girl replied with a radiant smile.

‘Miss Cooper, I can manage from here. Thank you for your help.’

‘Are you sure there’s nothing —’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Well, if you ever need me again, I’m always at the station at about this time. It’s when I change trains, you see.’ The girl smiled and pointed with her foot to the portable typewriter on the ground next to her. ‘If you ever need anything typed on the commuter train, you bring it to me. I have my own little compartment with
Typing
Office
written on the door.’

‘She always spends a penny ’ere before she catches her next train,’ added Mrs Smart. ‘My lavs are cleaner than the trains’, aren’t they love?’

Pike was unsure who coloured more, him or Miss Cooper. The young woman put one hand briefly to her cheek, then excused herself, picking up her typewriting machine and rapidly disappearing into the rushing crowd.

Mrs Smart laughed, a wheezing rattle of sound. ‘Looks like you’ve got yerself an admirer, Mr Pike.’

Hardly. The girl wasn’t much older than his Violet. Pike ran a finger under the stiff collar of his shirt. ‘Madam, is there anywhere where we can get a cup of tea, have a talk?’

‘In the staff canteen, if you like, sir. But I’ll ’ave to collect me trolley first.’

She unlocked the side door of the conveniences and reappeared seconds later pushing a trolley of cleaning utensils: buckets, broom, brushes, clean towels, soap, and several earthenware bottles of bleach.

Pike followed her the few yards it took to reach a small stand-alone building within the great dome of the station. It resembled a cabmen’s shelter, with green paintwork and a shingled roof. Mrs Smart parked her trolley next to the door, muttering that it should be safe there what with all the staff coming and going into the canteen.

The room was packed with porters enjoying tea from battered enamel mugs and tucking into Chelsea buns. No one looked up when Pike and the woman entered, even though Mrs Smart was the only female in the cramped space — other than the tea lady who stood at a counter at one end of the room behind a teapot the size of a watering can.

They collected a mug each and found a bench to sit at. Pike invited Mrs Smart to tell him what happened, starting with her routine the night before the discovery of the body.

‘I always check that there’s no one in the lavs before I lock up, and there she was, ’iding in one of the cubicles. I smelled ’er before I saw ’er, even above the pong of the WCs. I told ’er to scram, and as far as I knew she did. Must ’ave crept back in when me back was turned.’

‘Had you seen that particular woman before?’

Mrs Smart nodded, and drained her cup. ‘Want another, sir?’

Pike shook his head.

‘Well I do, I’m still parched.’ Mrs Smart had her mug refilled and sank back into her seat.

‘How often did you see this woman?’ Pike asked.

She shrugged, not meeting his eyes. ‘Every now and then.’

‘It must have been hard, tossing her out when you knew she had nowhere else to sleep.’

‘She’s not the only pebble, Mr Pike. There’s thousands like ’er round town.’

‘If your boss knew you allowed her to sleep in the public conveniences, you’d lose your job, wouldn’t you?’ Pike asked softly.

Mrs Smart folded her arms and focused on a newspaper cutting of the king tacked to the wall next to a Union Jack.

Pike reached into his pocket and produced his wallet. From that he partly slid a one-pound note. He placed the wallet on the table with the edge of the note just protruding.

‘That’s less than my job’s worth, Mr Pike.’

‘The woman had a name,’ Pike said. ‘Her name was Cynthia. That’s a beautiful name, don’t you think? Did you know her name, Mrs Smart?’

No reply. Pike knew all he had to do was wait, and hope they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Finally the woman nodded. A range of emotions passed over the doughy face: fear, guilt, compassion.

‘It weren’t right, ’er being alone like that. Someone should’ve been looking out fer ’er.’ Mrs Smart pushed Pike’s wallet away. ‘I don’t want yer money, neither.’

‘Then tell me what you know and I’ll do my best to protect your job.’

Mrs Smart sniffed. ‘As I said, I saw ’er when I went to lock up.’

‘You gave her a cup of tea, in a mug like this.’ Pike lifted his mug, pointing to the station crest. According to the report, the mug was found empty sitting next to the body, tea leaves still on the bottom of it.

‘Yeah, I usually brought ’er a cuppa. She often slept there, said she felt safe there. She wasn’t safe that night though, was she, Mr Pike — not safe from ’erself, anyway.’

Pike passed her his clean handkerchief. She blew into it, inspected the contents and then offered him it back.

‘Keep it, Mrs Smart,’ Pike said. ‘So, you locked the lavatory door, expecting to let her out in the morning when you started your early shift.’

‘Yes, sir, that’s right. Only when I called out first thing, like I usually do, there was no answer. I went into the cubicle expecting to have to wake her up, and well … I think you know what I found. I locked the lavs again, rushed to find Mr Ponsomby ’oo called the police.’ She began to softly weep. ‘And it were my bleach she drank, weren’t it? She took it from me trolley.’

‘I’m afraid it was. When you rushed to find the head porter, was the side maintenance door locked or unlocked?’

Mrs Smart adjusted her headscarf and frowned. ‘Unlocked. That was a bit silly, wasn’t it? To lock the lavs but leave the side door open?’

‘I expect you were alarmed.’

Mrs Smart nodded. ‘Panicking, more like.’

‘Where was your trolley parked for the night?’

‘There’s a small corner off the conveniences where I keeps it, just near the maintenance door. With the lavs closed at night it’s quite safe from thieves. ’Ow was I to know she’d drink it! Oh God, I as good as killed ’er!’

People were beginning to stare. ‘There, there, Mrs Smart,’ Pike patted her hand. ‘Let’s go back to the conveniences now. There are still a few things I need to clarify.’

They exited the building and Mrs Smart collected her trolley. As they walked, Pike consulted the constable’s notes.

‘I want you to show me exactly how you locked up the night before the body was found,’ Pike said. ‘Go through the motions as if I’m not watching.’

‘You can’t follow me into the ladies, Mr Pike.’

‘No, but you can tell me what you did.’

‘I knew Cynthia was in there, so I collected a cuppa from the canteen and took it in to ’er. She was —’

‘Which entrance did you go through, the turnstile or the side maintenance door?’

‘The turnstile, sir.’

‘Was the side door through which you push your trolley locked or unlocked at that time?’

‘Unlocked. Don’t ask me why but I always lock that door last.’

Pike moved to the side door and pushed it open.

‘Oi, you can’t go in there!’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Smart, just a quick look.’ Pike poked his head through the opening, saw what he needed to see and quickly withdrew.

‘I can’t see the cubicles from there — not past the partition that you use to screen the trolley.’

Mrs Smart turned fiery red, a volcano about to explode. ‘No, well, I should hope not. It’s still not proper. A gentleman doing that an’ all.’

‘A convenient hiding place, don’t you think, Mrs Smart?’

‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph — I’m not ’aving you ’ide nowhere in there, Mr Pike — folks would think you was spying on the ladies!’

A woman about to enter the turnstile turned and gawped. ‘You all right, love?’

‘She’s fine,’ Pike said, placating Mrs Smart as best he could, reassuring her that hiding in the ladies lavatories was not his intention. ‘What I’m trying to say, Mrs Smart, is that someone crept into the conveniences through the side door when you were giving Cynthia her tea. When you left for the night they took your bleach from the trolley and forced Cynthia to drink it, then put it back on the trolley. I assure you, madam, you had nothing to do with her death.’

Ideally, Pike would have had the bleach bottle dusted for prints, but the crime had been committed nearly two weeks previously and the bottle could be anywhere by now. As it was, he had counted four identical bottles on Mrs Smart’s trolley alone. Goodness only knows how many similar trolleys with similar bottles of bleach on them were situated at the different lavatories scattered around the station.

‘According to the constable’s notes,’ Pike continued, ‘the only thing near the body was the empty mug of tea. That mug did not smell of bleach and still contained tea dregs. There were definitely no bleach bottles. I can’t imagine anyone who had just drunk bleach would bother to return the bottle to the trolley where they’d got it from, can you?’