Dody McCleland 02 - Antidote to Murder

by Felicity Young

  She thought back to the exultation she’d felt when Spilsbury had first offered her the job as his assistant. She was sure she had been chosen on merit, but it was obvious now that that had not been the case. Spilsbury had employed her because he had an urgent need for an assistant and no men were available at the time. Autopsy surgery was not a popular medical speciality.

  Now it was clear that the recruitment of Everard a few months after hers had sealed her fate—she was destined to remain little more than a secretary for the remainder of her career.

  How could she have been so naive? Of course a male employee would be given preferential treatment over a female. Of course Everard would have been promoted above her as soon as he had obtained the necessary experience.

  But if her fate was sealed, and Everard already knew it, why had he written the letters? There was no further gain for him, only risk of discovery. Could he hate her so much? Why? It made no sense.

  Start again. Why would he accuse her of being the abortionist? Because he was the abortionist himself? Surely not, but it was the most obvious answer. Pray God the police could sort this sorry mess out.

  She dashed away a tear. She must continue as if the conversation with Spilsbury had never happened. Charges against her were about to be dropped, and that surely was cause enough for celebration. She had spent the last two nights shedding tears for Pike, but she would not shed them for her job. She would make these premises familiar again and find a way to demonstrate her worth. If Everard was sent to prison, Spilsbury would have no choice but to rely on her skills until the next man applied for the job, and she would face that prospect when it came.

  The swinging door batted open and Alfred rushed in. “Oh, miss, it is good to see you again—but I can’t talk now, I have to see Dr. Spilsbury. There’s a great commotion at the front of the building. Dr. Everard is being taken away in a police van.”

  “It’s all right, Alfred. Dr. Spilsbury knows about it.”

  “But what’s ’e done?”

  “I expect he is just helping the police with their enquiries.” She forced a jubilant smile. “And in the meantime, Alfred, the charges against me are to be dropped and I am back at work.” Alfred grabbed her hand in both of his and pumped enthusiastically, his eyes shining.

  “How have you been since my absence? Has the place been running smoothly?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, indeed, Doctor. I managed to acquire more ice, and our other supplies are plentiful again now the strikes are over.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And the yard is certainly looking cleaner. That dog you were so fond of, did your wife agree at last to let you take it home?”

  “Oh no, miss, that was very sad. I found the dog dead in the rubbish pile, all filthy and twisted.”

  Dody frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. When was this?”

  “The day after you left, miss. I think he must have eaten something bad.”

  Dody said nothing, but patted the old man’s arm. It was puzzling, though. Whatever the animal had eaten, presumably from the rubbish pile, must have been highly potent to affect the iron constitution of a stray dog.

  The clatter of a rolling trolley and the whoosh of the swinging door put an end to further contemplation of the subject.

  “Good morning, Doctor,” a young porter said as he wheeled a covered body alongside the slab. “One-two-three-up,” he chanted as he and Alfred transferred the body from the gurney to the slab. The two men speculated as to why Everard had been taken away by the police and Dody tried to pay them no heed as she peeled back the sheet to reveal the cherry red countenance of Daniel Dunn.

  “Please tell Dr. Spilsbury that we are ready to commence,” she said to Alfred. At that moment, another figure entered the autopsy room. It was Pike come to talk to Spilsbury.

  Pike met Dody’s eye and nodded. She acknowledged his presence with the hint of a smile. Conscious of his lingering gaze, she unhooked an apron from a peg and picked up her notebook and pen.

  “Time to get back to work,” she said to Alfred in a voice that was loud and clear.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pike would never have proposed marriage to Dody had he still been obliged to spy on her sister. But after his somewhat accidental capture of the German spy and the subsequent praise from his superiors, suggestions were made that he might like to return to his former position at Scotland Yard. He had accepted the offer gladly, and it was this that had spurred him to ask Dody to be his wife.

  In the light of her reaction, though, the arrest of Gabriel Klassen looked but a hollow victory. On his way home from Dody’s, he had called at a public house and attempted unsuccessfully to wash away his sorrows, wondering how fate could deal so much with one hand and then take it all back with the other. Come Monday his head still throbbed and he longed for the day to end, but first he had to get through the interview with Dr. Everard.

  He finished reading Dody’s note written on mortuary stationery, which she had handed to him when he had vacated Spilsbury’s office. The note was solely about the case, and her signature came with no endearments. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the paper’s texture with his hands, as if it might bring some part of her to him, and then reluctantly slid it across the table for Fisher to read.

  Esther Craddock’s death and the murder of little Billy Kent were loosely linked to the admiral’s murder through illegally manufactured tablets—he knew that much. While not strictly Special Branch concerns, Callan had given Pike permission—another reward for his success—to take over from Fisher and lead the investigations. Fisher did not appear to resent the fact and nor should he, Pike thought with some bitterness. If it weren’t for him, the inspector would not be carrying the rank that he did.

  Pike had transferred directly from the army to the police, where he had assumed immediate officer status and the resentment of the men. Fisher had once been his most trusted assistant and his only ally in Scotland Yard. For the sake of monetary gain and promotion, he had betrayed Pike to his superiors for attempting to keep Violet’s name out of a murder investigation, and that was what had led to Pike’s exile to the Suffragette Division.

  Fisher read Dody’s note and passed it back to Pike. Pike stared at Everard for a moment, deliberately trying to disconcert him. He folded the note carefully into a tiny square and returned it to his pocket. This latest information from the mortuary was more grist for the mill and he wanted Everard to know it.

  The doctor mopped his brow with his handkerchief despite the cold atmosphere in the cell. “I want my lawyer,” he said.

  “You are not under arrest, sir,” Fisher said. “A lawyer is an unnecessary expense at this stage.”

  “Just questions and then I can go?” Everard looked hopefully from one man to the other. “Ask away then.”

  Fisher removed the pencil from behind his ear and licked its tip. “Did you give false information in the form of anonymous letters to the coroner implicating Dr. McCleland in the death of Miss Esther Craddock?” he asked.

  “Certainly not.”

  “These letters.” Pike took the bundle of letters from his pocket and spread them on the desk. “Look at them carefully, please, sir. Do you recognise them?”

  Everard ran his tongue around his lower lip and glanced down at the documents before him. He leafed his way through all four and snorted. “You really think I would write something with such appalling grammar and spelling? Doktor Doroty Maclleland is responsible . . .” He tapped a line of type. “Surely, Chief Inspector, you can credit me with a little more pride of presentation than that.”

  From the moment he had laid eyes on Everard, witnessed the flick of his long fringe, Pike had labelled him a pompous ass; and now he was proving it. “It is not the spelling or the syntax I am interested in, but the content. How do you feel about Dr. McCleland’s presence in the mortuary?” he asked.

  “I am not happy about it. I believe that a woman’s place is in the home—do you not agree, Chief Inspect
or?”

  “My opinion is not relevant.”

  “I feel like most men, I think.”

  “You resent her?”

  “I simply do not believe that a woman should be doing a man’s job.”

  “She threatens your future?”

  “Not at all; Dr. Spilsbury has assured me my position is quite secure.”

  This tallied with Dody’s note and failed to throw Pike. All along he’d felt there was more to Everard’s motivation than thwarted ambition. “You borrowed the chief clerk’s typewriting machine on several occasions leading up to the Craddock inquest,” Pike said.

  “The clerk is a muddle-headed old fool,” Everard said. “Yes, I did borrow the machine a few weeks ago when I was attempting to type up a paper—I can show it to you if you wish. It’s about tumours in rats. I made such a hash of the thing that from then on I resolved to employ someone to do my typewriting for me—there are certain firms that hire out women especially for the purpose.”

  “So, women do have their uses?” Pike could not resist the jibe.

  “Of course they do, but just not in the medical world—other than as nurses, of course.”

  “I still believe you wrote the letters, Dr. Everard,” Pike said. “I put it to you that you not only wrote them, but you also paid Daniel Dunn to deliver them to the coroner at Bishopsgate and you might also have paid Dunn to steal your briefcase. I’m absolutely certain that you paid Dunn to cause several disturbances outside Dr. McCleland’s house and incited him to throw a bomb through her window.”

  Everard reddened. “I did nothing of the kind. I don’t even know any Daniel Dunn, nor was I even aware that he was the man who stole my bag.” He jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this. I need to go home.” He glanced over to the locked cell door. The police officers remained seated, and he had no choice but to drop back into his chair. “I thought I wasn’t under arrest,” he muttered.

  “You own a Crossley motorcar,” Fisher said.

  Everard frowned. “Yes, yes I do. But what has that got to do with anything?”

  “You picked up Daniel Dunn in your motorcar after he was injured during the firebombing. Later, as I followed you in the baker’s van, you threw a crank at me,” Pike said.

  “Oh, God.” Everard put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is a nightmare.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Is that a yes, or a no?” Pike asked.

  “No, I did not do any of that. A Crossley is not an uncommon motorcar. There are plenty around the London streets.”

  “It is a relatively uncommon vehicle, sir,” Fisher said, his interjection coming as some relief to Pike, who knew little about motorcars. He had not even thought to record the vehicle’s number during the pursuit; a mistake he would not make again.

  “Where were you between five and seven p.m. on Friday, August the twenty-fifth?” Pike asked.

  “I was at home. My wife and servants can vouch for me.”

  “You weren’t loitering near Cartright Gardens in your motorcar, hoping to get a glimpse of Dunn’s handiwork with the firebomb?”

  “I told you I was at home.”

  “Did you lend your motorcar to anyone?”

  Everard opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. “No.”

  Pike narrowed his eyes at the doctor, who seemed to have so much to hide. “What have we got so far, Fisher?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on their suspect.

  “Suspicion of perverting the course of justice through criminal libel, suspicion of inciting a disturbance, criminal damage endangering life, and violent avoidance of arrest, sir.”

  “Should we add murder to the charges, too, Dr. Everard?” Pike asked.

  Everard paled, and jumped again to his feet. “I don’t know what you mean. I have murdered no one. This is plain bloody nonsense and you can’t prove any of it!”

  “Sit down, please. Mr. Dunn was found poisoned in his bed on Saturday morning at St. Thomas’s Hospital. I have just received a note from the mortuary confirming that the poison ingested was cyanide. A man was seen visiting him just before he died and that man matched your description.” Not true, but worth a shot. “For the last time,” Pike said, “sit down please, Doctor.”

  Everard dropped back into his seat. Under the table, his foot began an agitated tap. “I haven’t visited St. Thomas’s for months.”

  “You deny the murder charge?” Pike asked.

  “Of course I bloody well do.” Everard folded his arms and turned away, muttering, “This is absurd.”

  “Did someone coerce you into helping him? Did you perform the illegal abortion on Esther Craddock, too?” By rapidly switching the subject matter, Pike hoped to forestall a formulated response.

  “I did not.”

  It was time for some fearmongering. Pike turned to Fisher. “How vehemently he denies the charges that could have him dancing at the end of the hangman’s rope.”

  “He’s guilty, sir.”

  “Of course he’s guilty,” Pike snapped and turned back to Everard. “I can see why you might have begrudged a female doctor lording it over you at the mortuary, even been prepared to set her up for something she did not do. But I don’t understand why you would go so far as to murder for the same reason—surely the risk to you is too great? And you do have something to do with all this; of that I have no doubt. Do you have an accomplice, or is it you who is the accomplice, Dr. Everard? Who, if not you, was driving your motorcar on the evening of Friday the twenty-fifth of August? What kind of hold does this man have over you that you would be prepared to swing for him?”

  “No hold, no man, no comment.”

  Pike sighed, gathered up the letters, and put them back in his pocket. He wasn’t going to break this man today; Everard’s barriers were too rigidly fortified.

  “I need to send word to my wife, Pike. When can that be arranged?” Everard asked.

  Pike glanced at Fisher and back to Everard. “No comment.”

  As the cell’s door banged behind them, Pike said to Fisher, “Charge him over the letters, give him some time to stew, and then grant him police bail—nothing too hefty, mind, I don’t think he can afford much—and then let him go. Have him watched around the clock. I want to know what he does and who he sees.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Pike began to make his way down the passageway until the sound of Fisher clearing his throat made him stop and turn.

  “One more thing, sir,” Fisher called out.

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “I just wanted to say that it is a privilege to be working with you again, sir.” When Pike made no reply, the big man shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And I feel you deserve some kind of explanation for my recent behaviour.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Remember my wife, Mary, sir? You kindly sent a hamper when you learned of her sickness.”

  “I remember. Consumption, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes. She passed away a few months back.”

  Pike felt the hard set of his shoulders slacken. “I’m sorry, Fisher.” He remembered them as a devoted couple.

  “I should never have done what I did, sir. But I thought there was hope for Mary, you see. There was an apothecary who supplied her with medicine, said it would cure her. It was very expensive—the stuff had gold in it—and it seemed to be working. But there was no way I could continue to afford it on a sergeant’s wage. Superintendent Shepherd always had it in for you, didn’t he? He promised me a hefty bonus and promotion if I could find anything against you—”

  “And you did.”

  “If you want to report me, that is your right.”

  “There is nothing to report you for.”

  “I also stole money that was meant for an informer.”

  “I didn’t hear you say that, Inspector.”

  They stood for a moment in awkward silence. Fisher had broken the law for the woman he loved. Pike had always prided
himself in being an honourable man. Arrogantly, perhaps, he had always thought himself above temptation. But he had proved more than capable of bending the rules to keep his daughter out of a police investigation. What else would he do for love? Would he do what Fisher had done to save someone he loved, Dody say, from unnecessary suffering? Of course he would.

  “I’m glad I was able to have the charges against Dr. McCleland dropped,” Fisher said, interrupting the train of Pike’s thoughts. “I also regret my part in what must have been a very upsetting experience for her. I will do my best to find the abortionist and get to the root of what is going on here.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that, Inspector. As will I.”

  There was nothing else Pike could think to say. The events of the last forty-eight hours had left him feeling as if he’d been wrung through a mangle, the words squeezed out of him.

  He put his hand out to the inspector.

  * * *

  Florence leaned against the shop wall next to Daphne to catch her breath. Her feet were killing her. Crowds of people filled the footpath on their way to an open-air market down the street. A cabby pulled up a few yards away and hooked a nosebag around his horse’s ears. Florence took a deep breath, exhaled, and listened for a moment to the rhythmic grind of teeth on oats.

  “How many have we visited now?” she finally asked.

  Daphne pulled a list from her shopping basket. “This will be number five out of a possible six chemists, apothecaries, and pharmacies in the Whitechapel area.”

  “With no luck in purchasing any ready-made lead tablets and enough Widow Welch’s to open a sweet shop.”

  Daphne examined Florence, reached for her face, and tucked a loose tendril of hair under her hat. “You’re beginning to look quite weak and pathetic, Flo. Are you sure you want to keep doing this?”