Mind of a Killer

by Simon Beaufort

  ‘She was found dead after a beach arcade was set ablaze.’ Hulda forged on. ‘Sounds rather like what happened to Donovan, don’t you think?’

  Bradwell gaped at her in horror. ‘You can’t think that I’m—’

  ‘Is it a coincidence that you leave for Brighton and a similar murder occurs there?’ she pressed relentlessly. ‘We don’t know if Godley had her cerebrum taken out, but we will find out.’

  ‘Good,’ said Bradwell unsteadily. ‘I hope you do. But remember who first mentioned the excised cerebrum to Lonsdale. What possible motive would I have to do so if I were involved?’

  ‘That’s a good point,’ said Lonsdale to Hulda.

  ‘But I’m afraid I can no longer help you on this case or any other,’ Bradwell said. ‘I’ve resigned my post with the Metropolitan Police.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m tired of long hours for little pay in a broken-down building. Bart’s offered me an appointment that’ll suit me much better, and I’ll be able to spend more time with my family. Now, please excuse me. My patient—’

  ‘Has someone threatened you?’ asked Lonsdale, moving to block the surgeon’s way as he turned to leave. ‘Is that why you’re so frightened?’

  ‘I’m not frightened.’ Bradwell glanced around uneasily again. ‘But I do have a wife and children to think about.’

  ‘So someone has threatened you?’ pounced Hulda.

  ‘Please stop,’ begged Bradwell, the fear now obvious in his face. ‘Leave me alone!’

  He turned from them and strode down the corridor.

  ‘Well,’ said Lonsdale thoughtfully. ‘That’s not the ebullient, friendly man I met a few weeks ago.’

  ‘No,’ Hulda agreed. ‘Something’s terrified him.’

  ‘I wonder if Iverson reached him,’ said Lonsdale.

  There was no more to be done, so while Hulda returned to The PMG, Lonsdale went to see Inspector Peters. The policeman’s willingness to talk to Lonsdale – without chastising him about interference – indicated his own investigation was not going well.

  ‘I had another encounter with Iverson,’ Lonsdale told him. ‘Yesterday at the Midland Railway Station.’

  ‘Really?’ asked Peters, raising his eyebrows. ‘Are you certain it was him?’

  ‘Oh yes. Positive.’

  ‘Then we have a most peculiar problem,’ said Peters, puffing clouds of blue-grey smoke. ‘Because I saw Iverson, too, the day before you did. He was floating face down in the Thames. He was very dead, and had been for some time.’

  Nothing Lonsdale could say would induce the policeman to believe he had seen Iverson. The inspector simply pointed out that a large moustache and a scar often made quite different men appear similar, especially when only a fleeting glance was possible. The two parted on friendly but sceptical terms.

  Upon arriving home, Lonsdale was initially disappointed not to find a response from Dr Quayle, but then he heard Jack talking to the sisters in the sitting room. He felt a surge of pleasure when Anne looked as delighted as he felt when he joined them.

  ‘What happened to you?’ demanded Emelia. ‘We came to invite you to Pagani’s, only to find that you had left with another woman.’

  ‘Not another woman,’ Lonsdale said. ‘Just Friederichs. She’s a colleague.’

  ‘A pretty one, though,’ remarked Jack, watching Anne mischievously.

  ‘If you like that sort of thing,’ responded Lonsdale stiffly, disliking his brother’s teasing.

  Emelia had watched the exchange with a puzzled frown. ‘Do you have many female colleagues?’

  ‘Just the one,’ replied Lonsdale. He turned to Anne. ‘Let’s not talk about Friederichs. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Did you enjoy Pagani’s?’

  ‘It would have been better with you there,’ said Jack bluntly.

  ‘No,’ contradicted Emelia. ‘It was better without him. The three of us never argue when we’re alone, but we often do when he’s here.’

  ‘I like a lively debate,’ countered Anne.

  ‘I had planned to stay home today,’ Lonsdale said, ‘but Friederichs suggested that we locate a certain doctor at St Bartholomew’s, and—’

  ‘You went off the moment another woman beckoned?’ snapped Emelia. ‘Without leaving a message to say where you had gone?’

  ‘Why would I leave a message, when I was out for an undetermined period following up on my investigation?’ Lonsdale asked reasonably.

  ‘So you didn’t want anyone to know where you had gone?’ Emelia looked him up and down in some disgust. ‘How often do you disappear with that kind of woman?’

  ‘Steady on, Emelia,’ said Jack, startled by her venomous tone. ‘There’s no need to react like that.’

  ‘Please, Em,’ said Anne softly, mortified by her sister’s outburst and trying to make peace. ‘Tomorrow’s the day that we’re all to go to the park together, and as there’s a red sky outside, the weather should be fine. I think we should have a picnic there, rather than eating here.’

  ‘I don’t want to go,’ said Emelia waspishly. ‘Not with him.’ She eyed Lonsdale malevolently.

  ‘Why not?’ demanded Lonsdale. He had had enough of Emelia and her unpleasantness. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong by having a female colleague, and I don’t know why you would have so unfairly taken against her.’

  ‘I see,’ said Emilia stiffly.

  ‘She’s a perfect lady,’ he stormed on. ‘And would never stoop to besmirch the reputations of those she doesn’t know.’

  ‘Well,’ said Anne in the awkward silence that followed, ‘I’ve heard there are lots of ducklings on the Serpentine this year.’

  ‘I shan’t go,’ said Emelia sulkily. ‘I don’t like ducks.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Jack, rather sternly. ‘It’ll be pleasant to spend an afternoon in the sunshine, and I will have Mrs Webster prepare us the picnic Anne has suggested.’

  ‘Or you can stay here, and we’ll tell you about it when we come back,’ suggested Lonsdale.

  ‘Very well, I’ll come,’ said Emelia, yielding when she saw that Jack and Anne were ready to go along with Lonsdale’s suggestion. ‘But Alexander had better not decide to run off—’

  ‘How about a little music before we go,’ interrupted Anne.

  The four trooped into the drawing room, where Anne selected a lieder by Brahms. Lonsdale was ordered to play the piano, while Anne and Emelia sang. Lonsdale did not like Brahms, but was prepared to suffer as long as Anne was happy. Emelia, he decided, could go to the Devil, and he brazenly risked more censure by attacking Jack’s brandy. Emelia watched sullenly, but said nothing.

  Lonsdale woke the following morning when his brother burst into his room and threw open the curtains, letting in a stream of golden sunlight.

  ‘Don’t you know it’s Sunday?’ groaned Lonsdale, trying to pull the covers over his head. There was a brief tussle when Jack tried to haul them off him. ‘It is the one day we can sleep in. Why are you up so early?’

  ‘Because it is Sunday,’ said Jack, beaming happily. ‘We’re going to church, then we’re going to have a pleasant afternoon in the park.’

  The prospect of a day with Anne pleased Lonsdale. He promised himself not to give the murders a moment of thought, but to enjoy the glorious spring day. He dressed with more than his usual care, and Jack had to drag him away from the mirror.

  After enduring an unusually long and complex sermon, and five fervently patriotic hymns, the brothers strolled back through Kensington Gardens. They had just arrived home when they were hailed by a familiar voice – Hulda. Lonsdale regarded her in astonishment. She was sitting astride a bicycle, wearing a skirt short enough to reveal a full four inches of leg above the ankle.

  ‘You’re looking unusually smart today, Lonsdale,’ she said, dismounting and wheeling the contraption towards him. ‘Are you going out?’

  ‘To Hyde Park, with my fiancée Emelia and her sister Anne,’ said Jack cheerfully, oblivious to her provocative apparel. ‘It’s an excellent day for a picnic.�
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  ‘I was going to ask if you wanted to come cycling,’ said Hulda, crestfallen. ‘I’m sure you know cycling is good for the constitution.’

  ‘I don’t think my constitution would survive long on that thing,’ said Lonsdale, eyeing the bicycle doubtfully.

  ‘Well, don’t exert yourself, then.’ Hulda gave her bicycle a shove, and flung her leg over it to mount in much the same way that Lonsdale had seen men do. She was around the corner at a furious speed before Lonsdale could tell her about Peters claiming Iverson was dead.

  ‘She’s quite a lady,’ said Jack ambiguously, watching her disappear.

  When Emelia and Anne arrived, the four of them walked to Hyde Park’s Italian Water Garden, and picnicked near the statue of Jenner.

  ‘Emelia and I have been discussing taking her parents to Raunds, so they can meet Mother and Father,’ Jack told Lonsdale as they ate. ‘We were thinking of August. Would that appeal to you, Alec?’

  ‘Certainly,’ he replied. ‘I’ve not seen Mother and Father nearly as much as I expected when I returned to England, and I’m sure they’d enjoy meeting the Humbage family.’ He was certain they would be hospitable and kindly, although – based on Jack’s descriptions – he suspected his gentle, intellectual father would be disappointed in his future in-laws.

  ‘Good, it’s settled then,’ said Jack. ‘But look – the sun’s going behind a cloud. Shall we go for a walk before it turns cooler?’

  But it was already too late: as soon as they began to stroll along the Serpentine, a chill breeze picked up. Some of the clouds drifting towards them were heavy and dark; despite Anne’s prediction of fine weather, a downpour was in the offing.

  Jack and Emelia walked ahead, arm in arm like a married couple, while Lonsdale and Anne dawdled behind. Anne talked about her childhood in India, then, seeing several women in three-quarter-length dolmans, switched to a commentary on fashion. After a moment, she stopped suddenly and turned towards him.

  ‘I can’t believe that I’m blathering about fashion! I’m sorry. I’m not usually so silly.’

  Lonsdale smiled and reached for her hand. ‘I don’t think you are silly, and if we were somewhere on our own, I’d kiss you, Annie.’

  ‘And if we were somewhere on our own, I’d let you.’

  He smiled at her, and they continued walking, hand in hand. Ahead, Lonsdale could hear Emelia’s strident voice as she held forth about the price of satin. He wondered how Jack – or Anne – could bear to spend so much time with her.

  Anne, on the other hand, was such easy company – unlike Hulda, whom he found himself also thinking about, to his surprise. He compared them: Hulda was strong, flaxen-headed and driven, like some Viking, whose sole aim was conquest, while Anne was slim, also light-haired and eager, although just as serious and intelligent. But, despite his growing attraction to Anne, Lonsdale could not but help notice that she was not as challenging as Hulda – in both the positive and negative senses.

  They had reached the part of the Serpentine that was used as a boating lake. There was a wooden pier on which sat a number of men and boys, many proudly displaying tiny craft and happily criticizing those of others. It was here that Donovan came on his days off. Lonsdale gazed at the boat owners, wondering if any had known him.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, springing up the steps that led to the pier, and forgetting his intention to put Donovan’s death from his mind for the day.

  Anne hesitated. ‘You want me to go with you? With all those men?’

  It had not occurred to Lonsdale that Anne – independent and curious – would hesitate, or that she would be alarmed at the prospect of people discussing model boats.

  Stemming his impatience, he offered her his arm. ‘I’d like to see the boats more closely.’

  ‘No.’ Anne was firm. ‘You go, and I’ll wait here. I don’t feel comfortable clambering out there.’

  Lonsdale hesitated. It was ungentlemanly to abandon a woman, even in as public a place as Hyde Park. But it was only for a moment, and the pier was only a few yards from the shore.

  One of the men saw him looking, and beckoned him over in a friendly fashion. Lonsdale’s mind was made up. He walked briskly onto the jetty, and stood facing the bank so that he could still see Anne. She was well away from the water, and Lonsdale wondered if she were frightened of it. But his attention was not on her for long, as several men were more than pleased to show him their boats.

  ‘An acquaintance – a chap named Donovan – recommended I come here,’ he said after he had admired and complimented their vessels. ‘He often told me how splendid your boats were.’

  ‘Donovan,’ sighed one, shaking his head sadly. ‘Poor codger died in a fire. He was a lovely fellow, too. He came here without fail every Sunday and Wednesday, although he never had a boat himself. Said he didn’t have the talent to make one, but I think he’d have done all right, if he’d tried.’

  ‘He came twice a week?’ asked Lonsdale, watching carefully to make sure that Anne was not being disturbed by an elderly man with a cane, who was strolling past her.

  ‘Usually, but he was less regular just before he died,’ said a young man with a peculiarly shaped felt cap. ‘He was taking part in some survey or other.’

  ‘Was he?’ queried the first man. ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Well, you know Donovan,’ said Felt Cap. ‘He wouldn’t tell anyone anything. I asked him where he’d been, but he just said something about business. I said it must be pretty important to keep him away from the boats, but he wouldn’t tell me anything else.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ said the first man. ‘You’d no right asking him questions. He was a private man, was Donovan.’

  ‘He was a bit too private, if you ask me,’ said Felt Cap. ‘It wasn’t normal. And I only asked so I could look out for him, like friends do. I thought I ought to find out what was keeping him away from the boats.’

  The first man shook his head again. ‘It must’ve been sommat important, that’s all I can say. And you’re right – friends do look out for each other, and he had no friends except us. The snobs at Salmon and Eden never cared about him.’

  ‘Did you find out what kept him from coming here?’ asked Lonsdale, all his attention on them, Anne forgotten.

  ‘I did,’ said Felt Cap, unable to disguise his pride. ‘You see, Harold’s boat sank, and Donovan took off his jacket to help him get it back.’

  ‘He did,’ acknowledged Harold sadly. ‘I wouldn’t have got Endeavour back if he hadn’t helped me. What did you do, Fred? Look in his jacket pockets?’

  Fred looked offended. ‘What do you think I am? I don’t rummage through people’s things. But I did notice a piece of paper sticking out of one pocket. Because he was a friend – and I look out for friends – I looked to see what was on it.’

  ‘What did it say?’ asked Harold, keenly interested.

  ‘There was a date,’ said Fred. ‘It was in his fancy handwriting – Wednesday the nineteenth of April at three o’clock.’

  Lonsdale’s interest quickened. That was when Donovan had told his colleague at Salmon and Eden that he was going to watch the boats. He had died the following morning.

  ‘So did Donovan come boating that day?’ he asked. Harold shook his head. ‘The last time we saw him was the Sunday before. What else did this piece of paper say, Fred?’

  ‘After the date and time, it said, “survey at the Imperial sommat or other Institute, Brunswick Gardens.” That’s where he went instead of coming here.’

  ‘The Imperial Statistical Institute?’ asked Lonsdale, recalling reading about a grand opening of such a place in the distant past.

  ‘That’s the one!’ exclaimed Fred.

  Lonsdale was disappointed. He could not imagine that an appointment at some obscure academic department could have anything to do with Donovan’s death.

  ‘Did he say what he was going to do there?’

  ‘No, but he was furious when he saw me with the paper in my hand.
He snatched it away and said it was none of my business, and that I shouldn’t tell anyone, or I’d put him in an embarrassing situation.’

  ‘And have you told anyone else?’ asked Lonsdale.

  ‘Not until now – you can’t embarrass the dead, can you? Anyway, I didn’t see why it should be cause for embarrassment, but then it struck me. It probably wasn’t this statistical institute he was visiting, but a hospital. Men’s diseases – you know. He must have had a tart somewhere.’ Lonsdale was glad Anne was not with him.

  ‘You think he had the clap?’ asked Harold in wonderment. ‘Never! Not him.’

  ‘Can you think of a better explanation?’ demanded Fred. ‘Can you see old Donovan missing an afternoon here to talk about numbers or some such thing?’

  ‘Maybe he was having money problems,’ said Harold. ‘He lived in a fancy house on Wyndham Street, but when his father died, he didn’t inherit as much as he thought he would, and his windows needed replacing. He told me his neighbours are the type to complain about a bit of shabbiness, and that he’d have to fork out for them to be replaced.’

  ‘So he may have taken paid work at the Institute,’ mused Lonsdale, ‘to pay for house repairs?’

  Yes,’ said Harold firmly.

  ‘No,’ said Fred at the same time. ‘He had the clap. And if he was short of money, it was because he needed it for his fancy piece.’

  Lonsdale left them debating and turned to hurry back to Anne. But she was not there.

  Lonsdale looked around quickly, trying to see where she could have gone, but she was nowhere to be seen. He ran to the end of the pier and was about to start asking passers-by if they had seen her, when he spied both sisters with Jack on a bench.

  Emelia gave Lonsdale a nasty look when he rejoined them, but Anne just laughed and did not seem to mind that she had been abandoned.

  ‘Really, Alec,’ muttered Jack crossly as they began to walk home, Emelia and Anne lagging behind when they stopped to admire some bluebells. ‘How could you leave Anne alone?’

  ‘Hardly alone! I could see her the whole time.’

  ‘Not the whole time, or you would have noticed her coming to sit with us,’ said Jack pointedly. ‘You should be more thoughtful. They had a brother who drowned when they were young, so neither of them likes water.’