Gauntlet of Fear

by David Cargill

  Wearing his Crombie overcoat and armed with a street map of Old York, which he’d borrowed from the coach house lounge, Giles walked arm in arm with his Laura towards the city centre. Lots of people were wandering amid the lights from traffic. The engaged couple headed in the direction of the towers of York Minster and, studying the map of the alleyways of Old York, prepared themselves for a meander along the time-worn streets of a city which was reputed to harbour ghosts of yesteryear.

  They started their walk through the left-hand archway of Bootham Bar, most likely the oldest gateway into Roman York. This took them into the main cross-street of High Petergate where there was peace and tranquillity as there was in the Precentor’s Court. It was here, away from the hustle and bustle of modern traffic, that the towers of York Minster could be seen to advantage.

  From there they entered into the tree-lined path of Dean’s Court near where the fortress of the Roman Legions was established. Strange names like the “Hole-in-the-Wall Pub” and “Mad Alice Lane” conjured up images of a past which lingered still in this city. The occasional lamps in wrought-iron brackets, which lit the shadows of narrow alleyways, took each walker who ventured after dark, into a world where Dick Turpin and Guy Fawkes may have wandered.

  Huddling closer to Giles as they passed through Stonegate, Laura was informed by Giles, reading from the map he carried, that it was probably here where Fawkes was born; and that this was one place where on each 5th November, there was no bonfire burning the guy.

  The alleyways known to some residents as the snickets and ginnels of York eventually led to what was the city’s most noted street…the Shambles.

  The blurb, on the street map, stressed that this famous of all medieval streets was where the butchers displayed their produce on benches and meat-hooks. The hooks and benches were still there. It wasn’t difficult to imagine this narrow street with an open sewer running down the middle and the stench from that, plus the smells from the slaughterhouses which were probably situated behind the living quarters nearby.

  Imagination can play a lot of tricks on people in the dark if they are exposed to buildings which haven’t changed much over the years, and they are plied with gruesome details of how things were. But it required no stretch of imagination to notice and become aware of what was hanging from one of the meat hooks as they advanced down the Shambles.

  In the subdued light the lifeless body of a man could be seen to hang grotesquely from a hook. As they approached the hanging man it became clear to Giles that, attached to the body, a note was pinned to the man’s clothes. Then, and only then, did it become evident that, hanging from the hook, wasn’t the body of a man but the dummy that Ingrid Dahlberg had used as the target during her impalement practice. Giles looked at Laura and shook his head before removing the note which read…You may be next, Professor.

  ‘This isn’t at all funny, Giles. I’m scared. Really scared. Aren’t you the least bit afraid of what might happen?’

  Taking her hand in his Giles gave it a tender squeeze. ‘I don’t believe whoever played this practical joke intends carrying out this threat. This, I’m sure, is just another way of informing me that any success I may have in solving this problem could be dangerous, but only when it is clear that I am succeeding. The longer I keep secret, any success I have, the less danger I’m in. Someone is testing the water and although the threat may be real, I still have the whip hand. I’m being paid to solve a serious problem and if I let the guilty person know that I’m afraid to continue I’ll have given up the initiative. Trust me, Laura. When the time is right I’ll make my move…but not yet.’

  ‘What are you going to do now, Giles?’ Laura’s voice was shaky as shock and fear seemed to have set in.

  Putting a comforting arm around his trembling Laura and giving her a gentle squeeze Giles asserted convincingly. ‘I’m going to pin this notice back on the dummy, my dear, and pretend I never saw it… or, better still, pretend, like Rhett Butler, in Gone With The Wind, that…Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn!’

  The smile that lit Laura’s face in the subdued lighting of The Great Shambles, was like a breath of fresh clean air in a street of butchers which had previously ponged with terrible smells.

  Arm-in-arm they briskly continued their walk down the street where once upon a time, Margaret Clitherow, the wife of a young butcher had lived. She was found guilty of hiding a Jesuit priest and was later pressed to death beneath a door heaped with stones. Yet another tale of York’s demonic past.

  As they left the darkness of the street of butchery, a decision was instantly made to return to their lodgings at the old coach house and enjoy a nightcap to nullify the nasty experience with the hanged dummy.

  They had barely entered the brightly-lit bar when Giles was informed that there was a phone call for him. When he picked up the receiver the familiar voice of Freddie was on the other end.

  ‘Can you book a room for me for two nights? I’d like to come to York where I’ll be at the Spring race meeting in a few weeks time, but I especially want to see you again and that pretty girl of yours. I need you to fill me in with an up-to-date version of exactly where you are with your Holmesian efforts in the circus puzzle.’

  ‘I’ll do that right away, sport. The place is not too busy yet and I’d value the opportunity to explain how things are progressing. I also understand there is to be a dinner in the racecourse building the day after tomorrow and that will give you another chance to rub shoulders with those who are shortlisted as likely suspects. And that pretty girl of mine will be so glad to see you after that fiasco of a Grand National.’

  ‘No need to rub it in, Giles, old son. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  After breakfast on the following morning Giles reckoned a return visit to The Shambles, in daylight, might be productive. Their discussion in Bessie’s Tea Room centred on the disappearance of the hanging dummy. Who’d removed it was anyone’s guess. It could conceivably have been the local authorities, but Giles was in no doubt it was taken seconds after he’d pinned back the notice. Being watched was par for the course, but this was no game of golf he was engaged in.

  Whenever a happening occurs in life, whether it has a grisly or happy end, if it cannot be explained then the world of the supernatural or ghosts may be considered. York, being Europe’s most ghost ridden city, was a likely location to provide such an uncanny explanation when trying to rationalise the inexplicable death of Sebastion Capuzzo, the circus Ringmaster. With that thought in mind and the imminent arrival of Freddie that evening, the subject of ghostly interventions would be discussed when examining the ghastly ending of Sebastian’s life.

  Once Freddie was unpacked it didn’t take long for him to join Giles and Laura in the cosy lounge and the conversation turned immediately to the gruesome affair at the circus.

  ‘Can you describe everything you know of what might have happened in that trailer?’ asked Freddie, eager to get up-to-date information.

  Giles looked forlornly at his ex-RAF friend. I’m afraid I can only tell you what we saw when we entered the crime scene.’

  ‘You say we, Giles. Who were we?’

  ‘Ramon and I were the only ones to enter. We made sure no one else was involved.’

  ‘What was your first impression?’

  ‘The door was locked on the inside and the key was still in the keyhole. Ramon sent for technicians who eventually managed to free the lock after a struggle.’

  Freddie gave a nod of understanding before raising his eyebrows.

  ‘And…? He said.

  ‘Sebastian, who looked incredibly like Ramon, was seated behind the desk. His head was back, and the car mascot with the sharp wing, designed by Lalique, was embedded deep into the dead man’s exposed throat.’

  ‘Did you examine the man to check if he was dead?’

  ‘No! Ramon did that. But he was dead alright; his colour made that fairly obvious. I went over to the broken window.’

  ‘What did you discover ther
e?’

  ‘It looked very likely the glass was broken from the outside. The broken glass was on the inside of the trailer.’

  ‘Was the curtain open or closed?’

  ‘It was open. All the other curtains were closed.’

  ‘What did you do next?’

  ‘I went over to the desk and, using a handkerchief, I opened the cigar box. The cuspidor was pretty near full of large Cuban cigars, all of them still in their wrappers.’

  Another nod from Freddie begged Giles to continue.

  ‘Again, using the hanky, I picked up the cigar lighter. It was slightly warm, though that may not be significant.’

  The gentle shake of Freddie’s head and the puzzled expression was immediately followed by an obvious probe.

  ‘What were your conclusions after giving the situation some thought?’

  ‘It was similar to the other deaths I’ve been involved with…another mystery, defying logic. If the murder was committed by someone or something inside the trailer the victim would have been aware of the attack…unless.’

  ‘Unless what, Giles?’

  ‘Unless he was asleep…or was already dead! There was no sign of a struggle.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘You’re very persistent, Freddie. If Sebastian was asleep, the murderer would surely have recognised the victim as not being the intended Ramon. And, if he was already dead there would have been no need to use the Lalique mascot…unless’

  ‘There you go again, Giles. Unless what?’

  ‘Unless, my dear old Freddie. Unless the victim was meant to be Sebastian!’

  ‘That had never crossed my mind. But, if that was the case, why was the window broken as if from the outside?’

  ‘Unless, of course, to attribute blame to Ingrid Dahlberg.’

  ‘Who?’

  The circus impaler. And the use of the car mascot would add credence to that theory.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Go on, Giles.’

  ‘On the other hand, if everything was done from the outside the victim would have been alerted by the breaking of the window unless he was asleep or drugged.’

  ‘What if the window had already been broken before Sebastian entered the trailer?’

  ‘What if, Freddie? The entire episode is a mish-mash of what ifs.’

  There was a short pause as Freddie stared at his friend. ‘Who discovered the crime?’ He asked.

  ‘It was Ingrid, whose scream brought Laura, me and a few others, to the broken window. She said she’d found the window broken, had put an arm through and opened the curtain. In the act of doing so she’d received cuts on her arm. Laura attended to those.’

  ‘Tell me about the gap in the broken window…was it large enough to allow someone to enter?’

  ‘Not a normal human being!’

  ‘If she put her arm through the break in the window why would she do so when the curtain was closed? What would make her suspect that something was wrong on the other side if the curtain?’

  ‘That, I’m afraid, is one of those strange happenings that is so difficult to explain beyond reasonable doubt.’

  ‘Could she have thrown the mascot?’

  ‘I suppose it’s not outwith the bounds of possibility but she is right handed and the cuts from the jagged glass were on her left arm.’

  ‘Hmm!’

  ‘If the implement was thrown or projected, in some way, from outside the trailer then the deadly mascot must have been outside to start with.‘

  ‘And whoever was responsible had to be sure that the intended target would be totally unaware of the breaking glass in order to draw back the curtain.’

  ‘Unless, Freddie, the curtain on that one window was not drawn when Sebastian went into the trailer and locked the door. That would have allowed Ingrid a view of what was behind the desk. The problem with that is…if the curtain did not obstruct the view, why was it necessary for Ingrid to put her arm through the break in the glass?’

  ‘You and I, Giles, are not entirely convinced that ghosts play a part in the actions of the living but neither of us can discount their involvement when other explanations are impossible to reach.’

  It was Laura’s turn to enter the conversation after a lengthy spell of silence. ‘You did mention something you found on the dead man’s chest, Giles.’

  ‘So I did, darling! So I did!’

  ‘Well, Giles? It wasn’t fifteen men by any chance, was it?’ said Freddie with a wry grin on his face.

  ‘No, it wasn’t, Freddie. Nor was it a bottle of Rum, Yo, ho, ho!’

  ‘Well, let’s be having it, Giles. Don’t keep me in suspense.’

  ‘What I found doesn’t make things any easier, Freddie. In truth it tends to make things more difficult. What I found was some cigar ash!’

  ‘But there was no other evidence of a cigar having been smoked and no wrapper. Am I correct in saying that?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘The plot does thicken, my friend. And in a city renowned for its ghosts there are many who would put that theory to the test. I think this would be a good time for us to imbibe something a little stronger than the table wine. I believe it could be your turn, Giles, to order some Courvoisier brandy from the bar…for the three of us, while I have a chat with your intended. We can then continue our discourse when you return…and, by the way, it seems you have another locked-room mystery on your hands.’

  ‘The opposite of the magician’s assistant’s murder that took place in full view of several hundred curious onlookers.’ Laura chipped in.

  When Giles returned he said a waiter was bringing a tray of drinks. As he sat down Freddie leaned across to him and said, ‘Tell me, Giles. Are you any further forward with your suspicions? Do you still believe that the killer’s name is on that scrap of paper Ramon gave you with the names of the suspects?’

  Thanking the waiter, bringing the drinks, there was no response to Freddie’s question and Freddie knew that he often had to be patient and wait for an answer as Giles drifted off into his world of decision making.

  Sipping from his cupped glass Giles smacked his lips, smiled and, looking directly at his friend, gave his reply. ‘I am,’ he said. ‘More than ever convinced I know the identity of the killer I’m also convinced I will eventually have a confession…but not in writing!’

  ‘You never cease to amaze me, Giles. But, knowing your prowess with the art of misdirection, I have to take your word that you know where you’re going. Just be very careful. I don’t want to lose you as a friend!’

  ‘I don’t want to lose you either, Giles,’ Laura said, as she took Giles’ hand. ‘You now mean more to me than just a friend.’

  ‘Count me in on that as well,’ said a grinning Giles, as he raised his glass. ‘Let’s drink to that.’

  Chapter 20

  THE INVISIBLE EXECUTIONER

  After breakfast on the following morning a waitress called Giles to the phone. When Giles returned he found Laura chatting to Freddie in the lounge.

  ‘Well,’ said Freddie, leaning forward and jutting out his chin. ‘Laura tells me that was probably a very important phone call and the look on your face appears to confirm that. Are we about to hear bad news?’

  Licking his dry lips Giles gazed first of all at Freddie, and then at Laura, giving both of them, what could only be described as his utmost attention tinged with seriousness.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure whether it’s good news or bad news. That was a call from the York pathologist and he has asked me to come and meet him again as he has some news for me. His findings seem to suggest that the death of Sebastian Capuzzo could be more complicated than he first thought…and that was bad enough.’

  ‘Would you mind if I came along with you, Giles? To hear a pathologist giving his results of a post-mortem would be a first for me.’

  ‘I think we should all go,’ said Giles, clasping Laura’s hand. ‘If we have to analyse what we hear I’m sure three heads will be better than one.’

  On arrival
at the York County Hospital the trio didn’t have long to wait before the pathologist welcomed them, ushered them into a private room and closed the door. When everyone was seated the pathologist gathered some papers together and opened the meeting with an apology. ‘I don’t think I gave you my name at our last meeting,’ he said; his comments directed at Giles. ‘My name is Lionel Spencer and, as a pathologist, my job at a post-mortem is to examine the deceased and ascertain the cause of death. That can sometimes be very difficult and can take some time. However an answer is usually found and is accepted with a high degree of confidence. In the case of Sebastian Capuzzo the answers were more difficult to find and not easy to explain.’

  ‘No need to apologise Sir Lionel, your name was known to me when I visited you last time but you sound as if you are about to add a much deeper mystery to what was already a mysterious incident?’ Giles’ words registered with the pathologist whose wan smile and slight nod of the head suggested he was about to do just that.

  ‘I can provide the facts that contributed to a death and can, in many cases, explain how certain substances which are found in the body may have got there. Nonetheless what I cannot do is explain exactly who put them there. That is for you and the police to decide. The obvious instrument of death would appear, on the face of it, to be the metal object that pierced the ringmaster’s throat causing an obstruction that prevented him from breathing.’

  ‘In other words he might have died of asphyxiation?’

  ‘Yes, Professor, he might have died of asphyxiation; obstruction of the oxygen supply by occlusion of the air passages. But there is a further complication. In his body there is positive evidence that the man suffered from curare poisoning. Curare is a muscle relaxant extracted from the bark of a tree and used by South American Indians in blowpipes propelling a poisoned dart – later synthesised as d-tubocurare. I do not wish to confuse you with alarming medical terminology but I do want you to realise that this drug would paralyse all the muscles of the body – including the respiratory muscles – and so cause the subject to succumb after a few minutes of being unable to breathe. Asphyxiation would have resulted in that case. The drug could only have been administered intravenously by hypodermic needle…or more sinisterly by an arrow tipped in the substance or by a poisoned dart via a blowpipe. An arrow could have been fired from outside the trailer but as a blowpipe can only be accurate over a short distance and the needle must be used while beside the person; the drug would have to be administered by someone, or something, already in the trailer along with Sebastian.’