by Jim Eldridge
‘I can promise you there’ll be no risk to you from the college authorities,’ Daniel assured them. ‘For example, you could have been taking a shortcut on your way to a prayer meeting or any other similar activity, and I’m happy to back you up on that.’
‘You would?’ said Carstairs, the look of fear in his eyes being replaced by one of huge relief.
‘I would.’ Daniel nodded. ‘If you have any problems with your college, tell them to contact me through Inspector Drabble, and I’ll speak up on your behalf.’ He leant forward and added intently, ‘Provided you tell me the truth of what you saw.’
‘We will! We have!’ said Bingley.
‘The figure you saw who carried out the attack. It was bandaged?’
‘Around the head and arms,’ replied Carstairs.
‘But the rest? The clothing?’
‘Rough,’ said Carstairs. ‘Like a workman’s jacket and trousers and boots.’
‘So the bandages around the head?’ asked Daniel.
‘Wrapped around, like when someone wraps a scarf around their face and head to keep out the cold.’
‘But you felt it was a bandage, not a scarf?’
‘Yes.’ Bingley nodded. ‘One end of it was dangling down.’
‘There was a street lamp right by,’ put in Carstairs. ‘We could see it clearly.’
‘And it was also bandaged around the arms?’
‘Just the lower arms,’ said Carstairs. ‘From the elbows down to the wrists.’
‘But his hands were bare?’
‘Yes,’ said Bingley. ‘They were fists. Big fists.’ And he shuddered at the memory.
‘A big person?’ asked Daniel.
‘Yes,’ said Bingley. ‘Big and muscular. Tall. Wide shoulders.’
‘And he was beating his victim when you appeared?’
‘No. That came later. We were standing in the street, looking towards the tavern, when this man came past us, all very jaunty. Swaggering.’
‘Well-dressed?’
‘Oh yes. He had a top hat on, very much the gentleman. He seemed to be making for the tavern, when suddenly this figure leapt out from a side alley and threw a punch at him. The man staggered back and hit a lamp post, and then this figure struck him again, even harder, and the man fell to the ground.
‘Then he kicked him with those big boots,’ said Bingley, shuddering again. ‘I think he caught him in the head. It was awful! I’d never seen anything so … animal!’
‘What did you do?’
‘I shouted out “Stop!”, and then Jeremiah here yelled out “Murder!”’ said Carstairs. ‘At our shout, people came tumbling out of the tavern to see what was going on. The attacker sort of hesitated, then he gave a last really nasty kick at the man on the ground and ran off.’
‘I’ve no doubt at all that your prompt action saved the man’s life,’ said Daniel.
‘How is he?’ asked Carstairs.
‘Still unconscious, I’m afraid, but alive,’ said Daniel. ‘Can I ask how many people you told about what you saw? Student friends of yours. It would be only natural.’
The two students looked at one another, hesitant, then Bingley said, ‘We only told a few of our friends, when we got back to college. We were so shaken up by what had happened.’
‘Of course.’ Daniel nodded sympathetically. ‘The danger is now that what you saw may be taken out of context. I’m sure you’ve seen in the papers the story about the murderous Egyptian mummy.’
Both men nodded.
‘From what you’ve told me it seems fairly obvious that the attacker wrapped some sort of cloth around his head. It seems he used a length of bandage, and then did the same around his lower arms, all intended to confuse the situation. But everything else, the jacket, the trousers, the boots, the bare fists, show him to be just an ordinary man – albeit a brutal one – using them to disguise himself so he wouldn’t be identified. Does that fit with what you saw?’
‘Yes,’ said Bingley, and Carstairs nodded in agreement
‘But if someone just picks up the piece about bandages, everyone will get the wrong end of the stick, and that could place both of you in a difficult position with your college.’
Once again, the two young men looked alarmed.
‘Why?’ asked Carstairs. ‘We’ve told you what we saw.’
‘And very well told,’ complimented Daniel. ‘But if the newspaper gets word of this, they’ll want to interpret it for their murderous mummy angle. And to do that they’ll want your names, the reliable witnesses, and once your names appear in the paper against such a story, the college authorities won’t take kindly to it. Even though I believe what you say, and will back you to the hilt with the authorities, you can imagine how the college will see it: two students in an area considered to be unsavoury, giving backing to a story about a murderous Egyptian mummy …’
‘Never!’ burst out Carstairs.
‘That’s why it’s vitally important this story doesn’t appear in the press. Or anywhere else,’ stressed Daniel. ‘If anyone asks you, say you just saw someone attacked, and you reported it to the police. No mention of bandages. You can say the attacker had covered his face in some sort of cloth. That’s the truth, after all. But if anyone talks to you about a so-called mummy, you reject the idea completely. Say you’ve no idea where such a ridiculous notion came from. And if any of your friends ask, tell them the same. That’s vitally important if we’re to protect you.’ Daniel looked at them carefully as he added, ‘And I don’t just mean from the college authorities and your families. The last thing you want is your names getting in the paper, and the attacker finding out who you are. After all, you’re the witnesses against him.’
CHAPTER FIFTY
Daniel and Drabble watched Bingley and Carstairs leave the station.
‘I think you can rest assured neither of them will say anything to the press even hinting at a murderous mummy on the loose,’ said Daniel.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Drabble doubtfully. ‘You know what young men are like. They love to see their name in the paper. A bit of glory for them.’
Daniel smiled. ‘I think I persuaded them it wouldn’t be a good idea,’ he said.
‘Let’s hope so,’ said Drabble. ‘So who did it?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel.
‘And why attack Hardwicke? Or was it just a random attack?’
‘I don’t think so, not from the injuries that were inflicted on him. I haven’t seen him myself, but from their eyewitness report of the attack, and what I’ve heard from the sister at Addenbrooke’s, those sort of injuries are usually the result of deeply felt rage.’
‘So it was personal?’
‘That’s what I feel.’
‘And why use bandages to hide his identity? Why not a mask, or a scarf?’
‘My guess is he was using the story in the newspaper as his cover: the reanimated mummy. If anyone saw him, that would be the story that would spread.’
Drabble nodded, then said, ‘You said before that Hardwicke lied about when he came back to England, and you felt it might have an impact on the murders. D’you still think that?’
Daniel nodded. ‘I do.’
‘I’m guessing he’s the reason you went to London, to check on him. Did you find out anything about him?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ve got a friend of mine doing some digging, but this attack on him puts things in a new light. Right now, my concern is that the attacker might try again.’
‘While he’s in hospital?’
‘And defenceless. As I said, that attack suggests extreme rage. The sort of rage that won’t be sated until Hardwicke’s dead.’
‘He must have done something very bad,’ said Drabble.
‘Yes, he must have,’ agreed Daniel. ‘But what that might have been, I have no idea. But if I’m right, I think there’s a chance of catching the attacker. I think he’ll try again, maybe tonight. I’ll hide in the hospital room where Hardwicke is being treat
ed. If I can have one of your constables to lay in wait with me, that would be excellent.’
‘Why just one? Someone like this sounds like they’ve got the strength of an animal.’
‘Because too large a police presence might scare them off. Although it would be useful to have another couple of constables tucked away. As you say, the man who did this sounds like a real brute, so the more there are to overpower him the better. But we don’t want to scare him off. Tell them to hide themselves in a sluice, or a storeroom or somewhere, out of sight, but within earshot, and only to come out if they hear a police whistle.’
‘Do you have a gun?’ asked Drabble.
‘No,’ said Daniel.
‘Would you like one provided?’
‘No thank you,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ve found that when firearms are involved, innocent people are just as likely to be the victims. Provided the constable you can let me have is reliable, and tough and able to handle himself, we should be alright.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
The uniformed men Drabble roped in to help Daniel consisted of a sergeant, Jed Tucker, and two burly constables, Martin and Lewis. Daniel outlined the plan of action for them.
‘I’m expecting the man who attacked Hardwicke to try again while he’s in the hospital,’ he told them. ‘My guess is he’ll try and finish him off. But he’ll wait until well after dark before making the attempt, when there are fewer people around, mainly just the night shift.
‘Sergeant Tucker, you and I will hide ourselves in the room. Or, if that’s impossible, somewhere close enough so we can observe what’s going on in the room. You two constables will be out of sight, but not too far away, so you can hear a whistle if anything happens. It’s most important that the attacker thinks that Hardwicke is unprotected. To that end, in case he’s watching the hospital for signs of police activity, I suggest you change into your civilian clothes, and also that we go in by the rear entrance, and separately. We’ll go in while it’s still daylight and meet outside the room where they’re keeping Hardwicke, then we can make arrangements for our positions.’
‘Do we know which room he’s in?’ asked Tucker.
‘Room 35, on the third floor,’ said Daniel. ‘I’ll go into the hospital first, then you follow at intervals of fifteen minutes or so. If he does spot us, that should allay his fears about a police guard being on duty.’
‘You’ve done this sort of thing before, sir?’ asked Tucker.
‘I was on the force for many years,’ said Daniel. ‘One thing I learnt is that most police work is mainly waiting. For once, at least the place we’ll be waiting won’t be cold or wet.’
The three uniformed men exchanged knowing grins, and Daniel realised they were as old hands at the waiting game as he was.
Preparations made, Daniel returned to the hospital and made his way to Room 35. Abigail was sitting beside the bed, her watchful eyes on the still figure lying there. Daniel came in and looked down at Hardwicke. His face was badly battered and bruised with great swathes of mottled yellow, brown and black. A thick bandage had been wrapped around his head. But he was alive; Daniel could see his chest rise and fall with his breathing.
‘No sign of him waking?’ he asked.
‘None,’ said Abigail. ‘What did Inspector Drabble want?’
‘He wanted me to talk to the witnesses who saw the attack. It’s my opinion that Mr Hardwicke’s attacker will try again, and here, while he’s in the hospital.’
Abigail gave him a look of alarm. ‘But he will be defenceless …’ she said fearfully.
‘Rest assured we won’t let it happen,’ Daniel told her. ‘We’re setting a trap. I and some police officers will be on guard tonight here, hidden.’ He looked around the room. ‘We’ll find a place for ourselves. As soon as the attacker appears, we’ll pounce.’
‘What can I do?’ asked Abigail.
‘Go home,’ said Daniel. ‘It’s important that the attacker thinks there’s no one with Mr Hardwicke, that the coast is clear and he’s been left alone, unguarded.’
‘I’d like to stay,’ she insisted.
‘I know you would, but think it through. Everyone who’s been attacked is associated in some way with the Fitzwilliam. That suggests the killer knows who is who. It’s likely he’ll know you, even by sight. If he sees you here it might alarm him and make him abandon his plan.’
She hesitated, then asked, ‘You’re sure he’ll make his attempt tonight?’
‘I think it most likely,’ replied Daniel. ‘He’ll want to take advantage of the fact that Mr Hardwicke is either unconscious, or weak enough not to put up any resistance.’
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘But you will let me know if anything happens?’
‘I promise,’ said Daniel.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
The trap was set. Daniel checked the time. Half past midnight. The hospital had that early-hours-of-the-morning atmosphere: a limbo-world where daytime was replaced by the occasional clack of footsteps in empty corridors, then nothing. Now and then there was a moan, or an eruption of coughing from somewhere distant in the hospital, but in Room 35, Edward Hardwicke lay motionless.
Will he survive? wondered Daniel. Even if they caught his attacker tonight his injuries could signal the end for him. The fact that he hadn’t recovered consciousness was ominous.
Daniel had decided that there was insufficient space in Hardwicke’s room for him and Sergeant Tucker to hide successfully. There were screens to one side of the room, but they didn’t offer the protection against being spotted that Daniel wanted. There were no cupboards in the room, and even if there had been Daniel would have been reluctant to use them as hiding place. They needed to be able to move swiftly. Plus, a closed cupboard door gave no chance for keeping observation. Instead, he and Sergeant Tucker had chosen a broom closet opposite Hardwicke’s room, with a good view of the entrance to Room 35 through the door when left slightly ajar. Daniel had wedged a piece of paper under the door to prevent accidental closure. He’d done the same with the door of Room 35, putting a wodge of wet paper in the lock to prevent the door being locked from inside, just in case the mysterious attacker took that precaution.
Sergeant Tucker and Daniel took turns to sit in the one chair that afforded the clearest view of Room 35 through the crack in the broom closet door, while the other sat on a small chest of drawers. In his hand Sergeant Tucker carried his truncheon, a formidable weapon. He also had a pair of handcuffs in the pocket of his jacket. They’d been in position for nearly two hours. Constables Martin and Lewis were secreted in a sluice further down the corridor. It was now all a matter of waiting.
If he comes, Daniel thought. Say he’d been wrong. Say it hadn’t been a targeted attack on Hardwicke, just a random assault. In which case, this would be a trap that wouldn’t be sprung. Instead, the mystery attacker could be out on the streets of Cambridge right now, looking for another innocent victim to beat to a pulp.
No, thought Daniel, I’m sure I’m right. Joe Ransome wasn’t innocent. And Daniel still felt there was something wrong about Hardwicke. The real unknown was Dr Ahmet Madi. Had he been innocent, or was his death retribution for something?
‘This mummy business the inspector was talking about,’ whispered Tucker. ‘What the witnesses said they saw. And what it said in the paper. D’you think there could be anything in it?’
‘No,’ whispered back Daniel. ‘The two witnesses saw someone who’d wrapped a bandage round his head to hide his identity. For the rest, he was dressed normally. And mummies don’t wear big boots.’
‘No, I know, but …’ The sergeant hesitated, then said, ‘I was in the army before I joined the police. Out in India. You ever been to India, sir?’
‘No,’ said Daniel.
‘We saw some strange sights out there. Things not easily explained. They got these people called fakirs. The things they can do is uncanny. I saw one being buried in a coffin and the earth was shovelled on it, and two days later they dug it up, and h
e was still alive. Two days! How does that work?’
‘I don’t know,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But I saw some strange things myself when we were carrying out investigations in some parts of London, particularly the areas where the Chinese and the Arabs lived. I saw a man apparently disappear into a wraith of smoke and vanish.’
‘How?’ asked Tucker.
Daniel shook his head. ‘I don’t know. A trick of some kind, but we never caught him, so we never found out. His accomplices said he was a magician.’
‘Like a stage conjurer?’
‘No, a real magician. But I knew it was a trick. The problem was, I didn’t know how he did it.’
‘That’s what I’m saying, sir. It’s like this fakir I saw in India. If he could be buried and still be alive after two days under ground in a coffin, who’s to say the same ain’t true of one of these old mummies from Egypt?’
‘Two days is a lot different from two thousand years.’
‘Yes, but it’s the principle, ain’t it. Who knows how long this fakir bloke would have stayed alive, buried like that. I mean, animals do it. This hibernation business. Some animals sleep right the way through for six months, and if you looked at or touched them, you’d swear they were dead.’
Abruptly, Daniel held up his hand to silence the sergeant and gave his attention to the corridor outside. Footsteps were approaching, but not the overt clack-clack of the shoes of a nurse or a porter; instead this was slow and stealthy shuffling which moved, then stopped, before moving again, as if the person was checking rooms.