A Talent For Murder

by Andrew Wilson

  ‘What accident?’

  ‘He was involved in a collision with another motor car. He had been to deliver a baby in the middle of the night when a car spun out of control and hit him. The woman was maimed for life, terribly disfigured, and her male friend was killed outright. Patrick was left unconscious – the doctors thought that he must have hit his head on the steering wheel. Although it seemed as though he made a full recovery, I noticed that a few months after the accident his behaviour started to change. His breath began to smell quite foul, he was quick to lose his temper and his black moods were terrifying. Thank goodness we didn’t have any children. Of course, he wanted them, well, a son. But we couldn’t have them. After the accident, that’s when he really began to punish me.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘He could not understand how God or nature or I, or a combination of all three, could deny him what he considered to be his right. The right to have a son. His image on this earth. He became obsessed with the idea, and made me undergo some awful treatments. The things he put me through. I’ll spare you the details, my dear, but let me just say this: the reason I am how I am today is because of what he did to me.’

  The room fell silent. I could hear the wind in the trees outside. In the distance a dog began to howl.

  ‘Are you really very ill?’

  ‘Yes, I am afraid so.’ She ran her bony hand across her forehead. ‘I haven’t told anyone in case the news gets back to Patrick, but there is no hope.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I have a growth, a tumour. In my womb. It’s too late, there is nothing anyone can do.’

  Flora tried to smile bravely, but I could see the pain, both physical and psychological, biting into her face.

  ‘So you see, you can make use of me after all,’ said Flora.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

  ‘Your original plan. I don’t see why you can’t go through with it.’

  ‘On you? No, that’s out of the question.’

  ‘But, my dear, let’s face facts. I’ve got less than a few months to live. If I can help you save the life of your daughter then you must let me. It’s the only sensible thing to do.’

  I looked into Flora’s green eyes, eyes which seemed to possess infinite depths of kindness. ‘And if there is only a slight risk of it going wrong,’ she said.

  ‘I wouldn’t be confident of having the necessary skills to guarantee saving your life, I’m afraid.’

  ‘But you were prepared to risk it when you first came in here. Am I right?’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘But nothing. You know yourself there is little other option. Answer this question: do you want your daughter to suffer at the hands of—’

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, feeling the anger rise within me. ‘I don’t see how—’

  ‘You don’t see how that monster could possibly hurt your daughter? As you know, my husband has at his disposal a number of rather unsavoury individuals. I could never prove it, but I’ve always believed that he, or one of his associates, was in some way responsible for the death of my parents. Of course, everyone including the police thought it was a straightforward car accident. Indeed, the coroner recorded a verdict of accidental death. But I’ve always had my suspicions that Patrick, or one of his men in the criminal underworld, had something to do with it.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘My mother and father had been to the theatre in Leeds, and then out to dinner. My father, who did like a drink, I must admit, well, he was driving back here when he supposedly lost control of the car and they hit a tree.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. The poor things. And what makes you think—’

  ‘That it wasn’t an accident? I just feel that it might have been Patrick’s twisted form of revenge. Perhaps he realised that his own accident had stolen something from him. He could not have a child and blamed me even though he must have known it was not my fault, and so he wanted to punish me. Of course, I couldn’t prove anything. And he might well have had nothing to do with it. But I learnt not to underestimate Patrick.’

  I felt a shiver play down my back.

  ‘Oh my, you’re shaking,’ said Flora, taking my hand. ‘And you are frozen. Here, just a moment.’

  She walked over to the other side of the room and, from the back of a chair, retrieved a dark-red-and-purple Paisley shawl.

  ‘Please, put this on,’ she said, draping it around my shoulders.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I am feeling rather cold.’

  When I told her that I thought it was lovely she insisted that I keep it. But I couldn’t, I told her, shaking my head.

  ‘You seem to be making a habit of refusing my requests,’ said Flora with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘I would be deeply offended if you refused – on both counts.’

  I did not know what to say. I was reminded of a time when I was a little girl – I must have been only five – when my parents gave me a Yorkshire terrier for my birthday and I was so overwhelmed that I had to go and lock myself in the lavatory because I didn’t know what to say.

  ‘It suits you very well,’ said Flora. ‘Now, I think it’s about time you started to tell me exactly what you had in mind, don’t you?’

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Una put that morning’s copy of The Times back on the dining table and opened her notebook. She underlined Dr Kurs’s address and added him to her list of things to do that day. Yesterday, after fleeing the home of Nancy Neele in Croxley Green, she had finally located a public library in Watford where she found out a little more about the doctor. He had, she learnt, studied at London University; after graduation he had worked in Leeds before moving down south, first to Guildford and later he established a practice in Rickmansworth; and he had published a couple of papers relating to pain relief and palliative care. Surely there could be no harm in paying him a visit?

  When she had telephoned Davison last night from her comfortable but quite simple hotel in Guildford she had filled him in on some of her findings. She had not wanted to tell him everything because she knew that he would disapprove of her methods. Imagine him knowing that she had stolen into Colonel Christie’s house under an assumed name. That she had deliberately pulled at the hem of her skirt and then gossiped with a local dressmaker to find out the address of Miss Neele, the Colonel’s mistress. And that she had called on Miss Neele’s home under the guise of one of Mrs Christie’s relatives. No, it was best to try to keep certain things secret. When she had finally won her scoop and the story had made a real splash then she could inform Davison of some of the less than honest means she had employed along the way. But not until then.

  After breakfast she left her hotel and drove from Guildford back to Rickmansworth, careful not to take the route through the centre of the town in case she was spotted by the dreadful Mrs Peabody. She parked at the top end of Rectory Lane and walked until she located the house that Dr Kurs used as both his surgery and his home. The Scottish lady who worked as his receptionist told her that the doctor would be back at around midday. Una did not leave her name but said that she would come back later. Instead of returning to the centre of the town she walked down towards the canal, where she spent an hour or so thinking over the case. She was sure she was on to something, something that could change her life.

  Back at the surgery, Una gave her name to the receptionist. As she waited for the doctor to return, Una looked around the bay-fronted room. Its overall feel was one of order. Everything here was in its right place. A large bookcase behind the reception desk was filled with medical textbooks and journals. There was a shelf with a vase of flowers and another one used to display a selection of what looked like old-fashioned examination instruments. There was a glass-fronted cabinet, inside of which stood a number of blue ridged bottles. As Una squinted to make out the indented lettering on one particular bottle a bearded man strode into the surgery.

  ‘Good morning again, Mrs Johnston,’ he said. His voice was deep and
rich, just the right kind to inspire his patients to share all sorts of confidences.

  ‘Nearly afternoon, Doctor.’

  ‘So it is, so it is.’

  ‘And who do we have here?’ he said, looking at Una. ‘I don’t think I know you, do I?’

  ‘No, no, you don’t,’ said Una, standing up. ‘I am visiting from London, but I am staying with friends near by. There is a – a matter on which I would value your opinion.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said the doctor, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘This way,’ he said, ushering her into the consulting room at the back of the house. ‘Please sit down. And how can I help?’

  Una had recently discovered that her deceptions often worked best when they involved a nugget of truth. Perhaps it was better to apply the same strategy here.

  ‘I – I have been having problems with my nerves, doctor.’

  ‘In what regard?’

  ‘Well – they have been bothering me since the death of my father eighteen months ago.’

  ‘You were very close?’

  ‘Yes, we were. I was his favourite child. Well, I always liked to think so. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I always thought we had a special bond. Anyway, since his death I feel I can never be happy. I just can’t imagine smiling, never mind laughing, ever again.’

  ‘That is a perfectly normal feeling, my dear,’ said Kurs, walking around his desk and coming to stand by Una. As he started to talk Una smelt the awful stench of his breath. She wanted to reach into her handbag and pull out her handkerchief, but then she remembered she no longer possessed one. ‘We all deal with loss in our own individual ways. Some of my patients have been floored by the death of a parent, while others regard it as an opportunity.’

  ‘An opportunity?’ said Una.

  ‘Yes, peculiar as it may sound, some people seem to flourish after the death of a mother or father. Perhaps they feel that they never got the chance to be quite themselves while their parent was still alive. And now that they are dead, well, they feel a new sense of freedom.’

  ‘What a strange idea. I really can’t imagine it. No, the feeling I have is, I don’t know quite how to describe it, but it’s an awful sense of impending doom. Like there is a blackness, a hollowness, within me that will never go away. Is there any way you could possibly help me?’

  ‘Well, there are certain tonics I could prescribe. Certain sedatives that can help calm the nerves. But may I ask you a few questions first?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Kurs took hold of Una’s fine wrist and felt her pulse. ‘Your heart is beating a little faster than I would have expected.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. Can I ask, are you experiencing any other kind of difficulty in your life? Apart from your feelings of loss relating to your father?’

  ‘No, not that I can think of,’ said Una. ‘Well, one of my friends is going through the most beastly time of it at the moment, so I could be feeling the effects of that, I suppose.’

  ‘What kind of situation is that?’

  ‘Oh, simply terrible. She’s the one who recommended you to me, actually, so perhaps you know something of the case?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yes. Miss Neele. Nancy Neele.’

  Una observed a spark burn in Kurs’s dark eyes.

  ‘I presume she told you something of the difficulties she is in,’ she continued. ‘I feel so terribly sorry for her. I am sure she never envisaged anything like this might happen when she embarked on her, her friendship, with Colonel Christie.’

  ‘I am sure you realise that what my patients tell me within the confines of these four walls remains completely confidential. I know nothing of the case apart from the little I have read in the newspapers. Mostly tittle-tattle, I must say.’

  ‘And Miss Neele has said nothing to you?’

  Kurs took out a stethoscope from his black leather bag, slowly placed it in his ears and gestured towards her chest. She bit her lip as she became enveloped by a poisonous cloud of halitosis.

  ‘May I?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Una, beginning to loosen her blouse. The shock of the cold metal on her skin took her breath away.

  ‘Yes, your heart is showing a certain tendency to race. Perhaps it is best if I give you a little something to calm your nerves.’

  ‘A tonic?’

  ‘Yes. Would you excuse me for a moment?’ Kurs opened the door and started to talk to his receptionist. Una heard the sound of a bunch of keys being taken out of a drawer, followed by a muffled conversation.

  ‘Now, what I am going to give you should do the trick,’ said Kurs, walking towards her with a small colourless bottle and a glass of water.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Una. ‘What is it?’

  ‘There is no need to worry about that. It seems from what you have told me that you have had too much on your mind recently. It’s time you had a rest. All those thoughts rushing around in your head, no wonder your pulse is racing and your heart is speeding.’

  From one of his desk drawers, Kurs took out a pipette and used it to draw up a few drops of colourless liquid which he then deposited into the glass of water. As the two solutions merged the liquid turned a cloudy white.

  ‘You mean to give it to me now?’ said Una. She could not help sounding more than a little terrified. She wished she had never brought up the subject of her anxiety now.

  ‘Yes, from what you’ve told me, I think there is a danger that your nerves could be all shot to pieces if you carry on as you have been.’

  ‘And I couldn’t take this – this tonic when I get home?’

  ‘I think it’s best that it is taken under medical supervision,’ said Kurs, smiling.

  Una did not like that smile. In fact, she didn’t like this doctor one little bit.

  ‘Now, if you just drink it,’ he said, passing the glass to Una. ‘It may not be to your taste, but I can guarantee that you will start to feel better within minutes.’

  ‘It sounds like a miracle cure,’ said Una, putting the glass down on the desk. ‘Almost too good to be true.’

  ‘Some of my patients have told me that this particular remedy has helped them in ways they could never imagine. It not only calms the nerves, but it also forces the body to relax. It breaks the vicious circle of anxiety that can be so debilitating.’

  ‘I think Miss Neele told me something of the sort,’ said Una. ‘She said that you gave her something that really helped her nerves. Perhaps this was the same sort of tonic?’

  ‘It may well have been, Miss Crowe,’ said Kurs, passing the glass to her. ‘Now if you take a few sips you will begin to feel for yourself the effects of the medicine.’

  Una lifted the glass to her lips. Although she did not like the doctor, surely, she reasoned, he could do her no real harm? He was a general practitioner, after all, whose job it was to safeguard the health of his patients. And he knew nothing about her real intentions, after all. Perhaps it would be best if she were to swallow a little of the draught? It might actually do her a spot of good. And in taking the dose she would gain the doctor’s trust.

  ‘She said that after taking the medicine you prepared for her she felt like she was, how did she put it, like she was floating on air. Sounds heavenly to me. Really, what with the death of my father and then the troubles surrounding Miss Neele, I could do with that kind of release.’

  Una placed her lips around the edge of the glass and raised the beaker a little more. She could feel the cool liquid begin to bathe her lips in its soporific wash.

  ‘She told me she wished she had never got involved with that man, the Colonel,’ she said, lowering the glass to her side. ‘What a scandal it is. What do you think of it all, Doctor?’

  ‘Think of it?’

  ‘Yes, of this awful case,’ said Una, placing the glass back on the desk. ‘This disappearance of Mrs Christie.’

  ‘Oh, not very much.’

  ‘You don’t have any professional insight?’

&n
bsp; ‘Professional insight?’ said Kurs, taking hold of the glass and passing it back to his patient.

  ‘Yes, I wondered whether, as an expert, you might be able to offer something that could help explain it.’

  ‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,’ said Kurs. ‘Now, I really must insist you drink this. It will be for your own good. Your mind, by your own admission, is under the most terrible stress. And these thoughts about this case are doing nothing to help. It would be best if you tried to forget the whole thing.’

  ‘Yes, I am sure you are right.’

  With trembling hands Una raised the glass to her lips once again.

  ‘You will feel lethargic and a little sleepy, but within the hour, after a period of rest, you should be back to normal. You should be able to go about your life without being gripped by that awful sense of doom and gloom. That blackness should have lifted, for the time being at least. And that is what you came to see me for, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said. ‘You are very kind.’

  What could she do? The doctor’s eyes were fixed on Una’s hands and her mouth.

  ‘Now, take a sip or two,’ he said. ‘Please.’

  The muscles in Una’s throat tightened and constricted.

  ‘I just feel—’

  The doctor placed his hand under the glass and moved it closer to her mouth. Una tasted the bitter liquid.

  ‘Very good, and now swallow,’ said Kurs. ‘That’s right. And another sip. Yes, and one more.’ Kurs took the glass from her hand and placed it on the desk. ‘Can you feel the drug beginning to do its work?’

  Una immediately felt the tension drain away from her body. But then she felt awfully tired, as if she wanted to go to sleep. She observed herself as if from the other side of the room: what a silly fool she had been. She saw Kurs’s beard come closer. She could smell his metallic breath, but she could no longer react. She felt her eyes closing and imagined being enveloped by a shroud of black velvet.

  Twenty minutes later she began to stir. ‘Where? What?’ she said, her hand rising to her head.