Future Mothers! Young Housewives! Did you know that Tuberculosis kills 25 per cent of infants born to parents with the disease, or growing up in infected surroundings?
Johnny turned the wheel at the side of the machine so that more of the writing would show.
It also kills, sooner or later, many children born of healthy parents, and brought up in healthy households.
But did you know that there is something you can do to protect your children?
You can VACCINATE them.
He recognized the style. He had read claims like that about everything from tonic wine to disinfectant. He guessed that Mrs Langford was typing an advertisement. Dr Howell must be making her do it as part of his plan to sell the BCG vaccine. Johnny wanted to read more.
Then he heard a voice outside. It was Mrs Langford. She had come, as she had promised, to meet him there. He’d just have to explain that he’d climbed through the window because the door was locked. She would understand. But as she turned the key he heard someone else; and he recognized that voice too. Dr Howell was with her. There was no way he would forgive Johnny for breaking in. There was only one place to hide. Johnny turned off the lamp and slid down from the chair. As Mrs Langford switched on the main light, he crawled into the arched footwell under her desk. It smelled of furniture polish, perfume and shoes.
‘What’s that window doing open?’ said Mrs Langford, striding across the room. ‘I could have sworn I closed it earlier.’
Dr Howell laughed. ‘Maybe Professor Campbell’s been in. You know what a demon he is for the healing power of fresh air.’
Johnny was surprised at how friendly they sounded. Mrs Langford chatted happily as she shut the window, ‘Well, I’m not ill,’ she said, ‘and I don’t like a draught.’
‘I see you’ve got the leaflets done,’ said Dr Howell.
Mrs Langford sat at the typewriter. Johnny had to squash himself even deeper into the tight space to make sure she couldn’t feel him with her feet. He hoped she’d have the presence of mind to say nothing if she realized he was there. He listened hard. He couldn’t see anything now. Mrs Langford’s legs blocked off what little light had come through the arch, and the footwell had no opening on the side facing the door. But at least that meant no one could see Johnny.
‘Here you are,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘I’ve just finished the last translation.’ The typewriter gave a mechanical ripping noise as she pulled out the page. ‘You see. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s ready to go.’
‘Just as well,’ said Dr Howell, sounding anxious. ‘Time’s running out. Are you certain that absolutely everyone will be in the theatre?’
‘Of course. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? It took me ages to talk Professor Campbell into including the entire staff. Mind you, I convinced myself in the end. It’s silly to have a beautiful theatre and not to make use of it. And it’s true: nothing will make the children laugh louder than the sight of all the doctors and nurses dressed up in silly costumes. Old Campbell thinks you’ve made a real sacrifice, offering to be the only doctor on call. You’ve done yourself some good there.’
Johnny was confused. Why was Mrs Langford being so nice to Dr Howell? Why did she seem so relaxed, and he so nervous? It sounded as if they were planning to do something while the pantomime was on; but what?
The corridor outside started to fill with childish chatter and the rattle of beds being wheeled into the theatre. Johnny could hear Dr Howell pacing the room and muttering.
‘I wish they’d hurry up,’ said the doctor. ‘We need everyone out of the way.’
‘Calm down,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘And for goodness’ sake stop biting your nails. Now listen. Don’t be alarmed, but there’s something else we’ve got to deal with first.’
‘What?’ said Howell, clearly annoyed. ‘There’s little enough time as it is.’
‘Remember that boy you saw me with in the theatre?’
‘The one who was helping you with the programmes? Not really. I wasn’t taking much notice.’
‘Well, he’s coming here in a minute.’
‘What! Why?’
Johnny couldn’t understand. Why was Mrs Langford talking about him?
‘He’s not one of the patients. He’s from Stambleton—’
‘What! Have you lost your senses?’ Dr Howell thumped his fist on the desk somewhere near Johnny’s head.
‘I said calm down. We can deal with him. He’s come here looking for me.’
‘But how did he find you?’
‘Never mind that. He doesn’t know anything, I’m pretty sure of that. He’s got it into his head that you are holding me here against my will.’ She giggled. ‘He wants to rescue me!’
‘Why on earth …?’
‘He’s the son of that cleaner. The one they’ve arrested. He wants me to go to the police, to prove that she didn’t do it.’
Under the desk, Johnny was beginning to panic. Why was Mrs Langford telling Dr Howell so much? How could she be so stupid? Even though he couldn’t see Howell, Johnny could tell that he was jumpy. Maybe he’d strike out if things didn’t go his way. Couldn’t Mrs Langford imagine what he might do to them both; especially with everyone else out of the way?
Dr Howell’s next words started the awful explanation forming in his mind. ‘So he doesn’t know the truth?’
‘Absolutely not, it seems. It’s rather sweet really, little Johnny coming all this way to ask me, of all people, to help his mother. He has no idea how important it is for us that the police think she did it.’
‘But where is he?’ asked Dr Howell. ‘What have you done with the boy?’
‘Nothing, yet,’ said Mrs Langford, ‘but I’ve asked him to meet me here once the pantomime has started. He should come any time now.’
‘Have you gone mad? We don’t want anyone around—’
‘He won’t be here for long. Or he needn’t be, if you’ve got the courage to do something about him.’ Her next words terrified Johnny. ‘A little injection perhaps? It would only take a jiffy.’
Chapter 38
DEATHWATCH
Dr Howell sounded shocked. ‘Now look – I can’t just—’
Mrs Langford’s voice grew cold and stern. ‘But you have to. There’s no alternative. We can’t risk him surviving. He’s determined to save his mother. He might start asking questions.’
Johnny was frozen with fright. All he could see was Mrs Langford’s legs, casually crossed at the ankles, with one foot twirling in circles as she calmly plotted his death.
‘But we can’t. It’s not that simple. For one thing, we’ll have to deal with the body.’ Howell sounded horrified.
‘And can you think of a better place in the world to do that? We’ve got sheets and blankets, wheelchairs, trolleys, miles of parkland and a rushing river. Even a drip like you could make someone disappear here!’
Howell lurched round the desk and grabbed Mrs Langford, pulling her up out of her chair. Johnny could tell by the way her feet twisted and rose onto tiptoe that Howell was using all his might against her; but her voice stayed strong as she took control, saying icily, ‘The boy might walk in at any moment. Is this what you want him to see? It’s no more than he’d expect, you know. He thinks you’re out to hurt me. He’d run straight off to get help.’
Howell slackened his grip, and Mrs Langford’s feet steadied again.
‘Look, we haven’t got much time,’ she said. ‘Have you got a key to the dispensary?’
‘Of course.’
Mrs Langford walked over to the door and listened. ‘It’s all quiet out there. Everyone’s in the theatre now.’ She spoke with great authority. ‘Go quickly and get something that will do the trick straight away. I’ll keep him here if he arrives before you get back. Don’t worry. He trusts me. He thinks he’s protecting me. He has no idea that he’s the one who’s in danger.’
But of course Johnny now knew only too well, and under the table he was quaking.
Dr Howell
opened the door to leave, and the sound of the pantomime overture burst into the room, followed by joyous laughter as the Ugly Sisters took to the stage. For a moment Johnny contemplated the idea of coming out from his hiding place while Mrs Langford was alone. He might be able to reason with her, or to overpower her and run away. But he couldn’t be sure. She might grab him and hold him till Dr Howell got back with whatever he was collecting from the dispensary. He couldn’t take the risk. Shivering and sweating with fear, he curled up even tighter as Mrs Langford returned to her chair and stretched out her legs. The toe of her shoe was a hair’s-breadth from his face. He dared not breathe too deeply in case she felt the warm damp air against her skin.
Then the door handle rattled, and she was on her feet again as a burst of hisses from the theatre accompanied Dr Howell’s return.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘But this boy of yours had better come soon. We haven’t got long, remember.’
Johnny heard clinking glass, and things being put down on the desk, just above his head. He pictured jars of poison and hypodermic needles waiting for his arrival in the room.
Mrs Langford was calmly planning out how the ambush would work. ‘You stand behind the door,’ she said to Howell, ‘then I’ll coax him over here. You can grab him from behind. It will all be over in an instant.’
Dr Howell and Mrs Langford stopped talking. They waited for Johnny with only the faint sounds of Oohs and Aahs from the pantomime to break their silence. All Johnny could do was try to stay still, and hope that somehow something would happen to make him safe.
Eventually Dr Howell spoke. ‘I thought you said the boy was on his way,’ he snapped, from his position beside the door.
‘He’ll come,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘He’s probably just making sure the coast is clear.’
Under the table, Johnny’s terror was mixed with curiosity. He still wanted to know what it was that Mrs Langford and Dr Howell had originally been planning to do while the pantomime was on. It was obvious that Mrs Langford had organized the play simply to make sure that the two of them could be alone together. They kept saying that there wasn’t much time, and that they had to get Johnny out of the way first. But before what? What were they talking about?
After a few minutes, as a song struck up in the theatre, Dr Howell started pacing again. ‘Come on! Come on, boy!’ he muttered impatiently. He started rearranging the paraphernalia of death on the desk. Every shuffle and clink made Johnny’s heart thump harder. Then Dr Howell rushed back over to the door. ‘He’s here!’ he cried.
‘Oh my goodness!’ said Mrs Langford, flustered for the first time that night.
Under the desk, Johnny wondered what they meant. Suppose it was Olwen, come to report back to Johnny and Mrs Langford on her mission to Professor Campbell? There was no way Johnny could warn her – nothing he could do to stop her entering the room. Please, Olwen, he prayed. Please don’t come in! He heard the squeak of the handle, and a chorus of ‘Look behind you!’ from the children at the pantomime as the door opened. He felt sick, expecting a scream as Dr Howell grabbed Olwen and administered the poison.
Instead, a man spoke. The police! Of course! It’s the police. They’ve come! thought Johnny as a wave of relief swept over him. But no. It didn’t sound like a policeman.
‘Hello, you two.’
Johnny knew that voice. He’d heard it on Remembrance Day and again the day after Dr Langford’s body was discovered.
‘That was a hell of a drive! Got anything to drink?’
It was the voice of Johnny’s landlord, Frederick Bennett. But what on earth was Mr Bennett doing at Craig-y-Nos?
Chapter 39
A MATTER OF PRINCIPLE
Back in Stambleton, Hutch had closed up the shop for the night. He was on his way upstairs to the flat when the doorbell rang. Hutch limped back down and pulled on the string of the brown roller-blind that covered the glass in the front door. It snapped up to reveal a policeman. Hutch’s thoughts went straight to Johnny. He unlocked the door and let the officer in. He was relieved that the policeman hadn’t brought bad news – or at least not bad news of that type.
The officer took off his helmet and addressed Hutch in a portentous tone. ‘Mr Hutchinson, I regret to say that I have been sent to investigate a very serious matter.’
‘I’ll be delighted to assist you, Officer, if I can. I have been trying to help for some time, but have received only rebuffs.’
‘This is not about the murder, sir. We have received a complaint.’
‘A complaint? About me?’
‘Not about you, sir. About one of your customers.’
‘Which one? Who? What have they done?’
‘I can tell you, sir, that this is an allegation of fraud. Of obtaining money by deception. But I’m afraid I cannot tell you the name of the culprit.’
‘I quite understand if it is a matter of confidentiality. But how can I help?’
‘It’s not a question of propriety, sir. I’m not telling you the name because I do not know it myself. That is why I have come to you.’
‘I don’t understand. I have hundreds of customers,’ said Hutch, adding, under his breath, Or I did have until recently. ‘I’m afraid I know little of what they do outside this shop. I certainly am not aware of anyone trying to defraud me.’
‘As far as I know, you have not been defrauded, sir. But I think you will sympathize with the victim if I tell you the nature of the evidence. The complainant asserts that he has twice sent money to someone using a private postal box at this post office – and both times he has been the victim of a trick.’ The policeman consulted his notebook. ‘The complainant paid sixpence to find out how to save money on tea. Fair enough, you might think. In this day and age we’re all looking for ways to make economies, and the gentleman was hoping to be put in touch with a supplier charging reasonable prices. All he got was advice that he should “stop using sugar and milk”. He might have overlooked that, had he not received another note, in the same handwriting, when he paid a shilling for an appliance to take the backache out of cutting his toenails. That note said, “Get someone else to do it for you.” ’
Of course, Hutch knew immediately what the policeman was talking about, but he wasn’t going to let on. He waited for the officer to say more.
‘Now, I have been given the number of this private box,’ said the policeman. ‘It is the link between the two advertisements, and I am asking you to tell me the identity of the person who has rented it. Then I will be able to proceed with my enquiries.’
Hutch paused. He was in no doubt what his reply should be, and it would be the same whether the matter involved Johnny or not. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you,’ he said.
‘But surely you know who holds this box? No doubt they come in here to collect their mail?’
‘I dare say they do. And I dare say I know the name. But I have to tell you that his, or her, identity is a matter between that person and the Post Office.’
‘But this is a serious allegation.’
‘That’s as may be. And if it is serious enough, no doubt you can persuade a judge to issue you with a warrant permitting you to acquire the information you seek. But until then, I’m afraid my duty is to protect it.’
The policeman was beginning to get cross. ‘But, Mr Hutchinson, you are already co-operating with us over Dr Langford’s mail. You’ve let me and my colleagues examine that every morning.’
‘May I remind you, Officer, that Dr Langford was murdered? Now, that is a serious matter. And of course, Dr Langford is dead. His relationship with the Post Office is now profoundly altered.’
‘But be reasonable, man. The chances are that we’ll get to the bottom of this fiddle, if fiddle it be, in the end anyway. We’ll just find out sooner if we don’t have to go through the rigmarole of getting the courts involved. Come on, Mr Hutchinson. It’s PO Box number nine. Now, you know whose box it is, don’t you?’
Hutch tried not to let his face show a thing.
&
nbsp; The policeman tried again. ‘Is it somebody local, or someone passing through?’
Again, Hutch stood silent.
‘Am I going to have to take this higher?’
‘It seems so. Officer, if you had paid for me to protect your privacy, I expect you would want me to keep my word?’
The policeman was exasperated now. He turned to go. ‘I will be consulting my superiors. I’d rather you didn’t leave the premises, Mr Hutchinson. I may be back before too long.’
‘Certainly, Officer,’ said Hutch. ‘I was not planning to go out anyway, and that is why I will be here. I think that if you ask your superiors you will find that you have no more right to restrict my movements than you have to demand the information you desire. We will talk again when you have satisfied yourself as to the legal position.’
The policeman left, muttering under his breath. He was fed up with Hutch and his pomposity. What right had he to be so proud, when he’d taken in that kid – the son of a killer?
Chapter 40
CONSPIRATORS
‘What do you mean, a complication?’ shouted Mr Bennett.
Mrs Langford tried to explain. ‘There’s a boy,’ she said calmly. ‘He’s come here from Stambleton. He’s Winnie Swanson’s son. He’s been looking for me.’
‘What! How on earth did he find you?’
‘I don’t know. But he’s coming to this room at any moment, and we’re ready for him.’
Johnny could imagine her motioning towards the deadly drug waiting on the desk.
‘Look, I don’t need to be part of anything like that,’ said Bennett. ‘You deal with the boy. Give me the next batch of vaccine and you can have your share of the money for the last lot. Get a move on. I don’t want to hang around.’
‘Here’s the box,’ said Howell.
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