What Would Wimsey Do?

by Guy Fraser-Sampson

  “And where is it now?” Willis asked urgently.

  “Buggered if I know, pardon my French,” Partridge answered resignedly. “It’s certainly not in the stock locker, I checked it myself. For all intents and purposes it might just as well have vanished into thin air.”

  They broke off as their tea and coffee arrived.

  “So let me get this straight,” Willis said carefully, looking at her notebook. “Chloroform would not normally be present in a medical practice today. Notwithstanding that, chloroform was in fact delivered to your surgery but may subsequently have gone missing.”

  “Correct on all counts, Officer,” he replied with a grin.

  She smiled and tasted her tea.

  “Actually,” he continued eagerly, “I was wondering if I could talk to you briefly about chloroform. If you’d be interested, that is. If you think it would be proper.”

  “Proper? What do you mean?”

  “Well,” he said awkwardly, “I’m not sure to what extent we’re allowed to discuss your investigation but there’s something which you may or may not have taken fully into account.”

  She thought for a moment. “I can’t divulge any details of our enquiries to you,” she said carefully, “but if there’s anything you think it would be helpful for the police to know, then please tell me.”

  “OK,” he said. “I was hoping you’d say that. I understand from the press reports of the court proceedings that chloroform was used to subdue the women before they were raped and killed. By the way, that may sound a bit morbid but because Colin’s wife was one of the victims, everyone at the practice naturally took a close interest in what was being reported.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, that struck me as very strange.”

  “How so?”

  “I know you always see people being knocked out with a chloroform pad in films but in real life it really doesn’t work like that. It can take up to four or five minutes for unconsciousness to occur, and that’s an awfully long time to hold it over someone’s nose and mouth while they’re doubtless struggling like hell.”

  She stared at him. “What are you saying?” she asked stupidly. “That it’s not possible to knock someone out that way?”

  “Not impossible,” he said, “but pretty impractical certainly. Unless perhaps the victim was old or infirm or there was more than one attacker—but then why use chloroform in the first place?”

  “Why indeed?” she echoed.

  “Of course, I’m not a forensic expert,” he went on, warming to his theme, “but you might want to check how many murder cases you have in your records which have involved the use of chloroform. I’d be surprised if it’s that many—certainly in recent times. It hasn’t been used in medicine for years and years.”

  “I will,” she said warmly. “Thank you, Doctor, thank you very much indeed.”

  “You’re very welcome,” he replied. “Now let me get the bill.”

  “Oh no,” she protested. “Let me; I can claim it back.”

  He waved his hand expansively. “I insist.”

  “In that case, thank you again.”

  “I say,” he said hopefully, “I don’t suppose I could have your card, could I? Just in case I remember anything else that might be useful?”

  “And did you check?” Collison asked her the next morning as she finished briefing the team.

  “Yes, guv. The doctor was quite right. There were a few high profile cases a hundred years or more ago—including the millionaire William Rice in the US, incidentally—but we’ve nothing on record for murder here in the UK at all. There was a case in America in 1991, but that involved a victim who was asleep at the time.”

  “So we have a puzzle on our hands,” Collison said. “Why use chloroform to knock out a victim when it’s a very inefficient way of doing it? Why not just hit them over the head with a hammer straightaway and be done with it? Frankly, I’m baffled.”

  “And how would they get their hands on it anyway?” Metcalfe asked. “What did the supplier tell us, Karen?”

  “It’s good,” she said happily. “In fact, I think it’s what we’re looking for. Basically chloroform is supplied to two main types of customers these days. There are industrial customers who buy it in large quantities to make chemicals, and science labs who buy it in small quantities as a reagent for chemistry research.”

  “You mean…?” Metcalfe prompted her.

  “I mean,” she said triumphantly, “that Colin Barker’s medical practice is the only surgery in the country to whom they have ever supplied chloroform. There are other suppliers of course, but that’s still pretty significant.”

  “I agree,” said Collison. “I think it’s time we had Dr Barker in for a chat.”

  “On what basis though, guv?” Metcalfe said warily.

  “What do you mean, Bob?”

  “Well, it seems to me we have two decisions to make about how we play this.”

  “Which are?”

  “First, if we’re going to interview him this time as a suspect rather than as a witness, we need to make that clear to him. That almost certainly means that we’ll have to interview him under caution and that means he’ll almost certainly ask for a lawyer.”

  “Agreed.” Collison nodded. “Unfortunate but it can’t be helped.”

  “The second decision may be a bit trickier, though, guv,” Metcalfe went on. “If we ask him about the other killings and then release him on bail, he may be able to find someone—a woman perhaps, or a family member—who’s prepared to perjure themselves by giving him an alibi. An alibi for one of them might be all that it would take to persuade a jury to acquit. After all, we’d be asking them to believe that Barker planned and executed a whole string of murders to cover up the one he really cared about. They might take some persuading, especially if he presents well.”

  This was slowly digested.

  “So if we bring him in we may do better to go the whole hog,” Collison said. “Caution him, charge him, and persuade the magistrate to remand him in custody.”

  “That makes it all or nothing,” Willis said hesitantly. “Once we charge him we’re more or less committed to bringing him to trial. If we don’t, we’ll look pretty silly.”

  “And the ACC…” said Desai.

  “Quite,” Collison acknowledged.

  “Can I make a suggestion?” Metcalfe said slowly.

  “Please do, Bob.”

  “How about referring the file to the DPP? If we want to charge him we need their sign-off anyway.”

  “The phrase ‘passing the buck’ comes to mind but yes, good suggestion, Bob. Send everything we’ve got to the DPP’s office. Oh dear, I feel that another conference with Alistair Partington beckons.”

  “OK, people.” He raised his voice. “I think we’re done for today. Let’s reconvene tomorrow. Take the rest of the day off, what’s left of it. Bob, Karen, can you stay, please?”

  As the room cleared slowly, the three of them drew away towards the corner furthest from the door.

  “Karen,” Collison said, “I haven’t had a chance to ask how Peter is doing.”

  “He’s much better—I think. At least he’s dropped the Lord Peter Wimsey persona. I’m just trying to decide whether to get him back with the therapist and if so, how and when.”

  “I know this is a lot to ask,” he ventured, “but is there any chance he might be well enough to discuss the case? I’d be very interested to hear his take on the latest developments.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she said decidedly, “but I really don’t think he is. He’s still fragile and I’m frightened that the slightest little thing might push him back over the edge. Right now he’s sleeping a lot, which is probably the best thing for him.”

  “That’s fine,” he said quickly. “I’m sorry I asked. You must be the best judge of his condition, of course.”

  “Anyway, sir,” she said with a sudden grin, “I thought you were under orders from the ACC not to involve hi
m anymore.”

  “That’s true. My interaction with him would have had to be necessarily, ah, informal, shall we say?”

  “Well, I’ll happily keep you informed of his condition,” she said briskly, “but I really don’t think he’ll be strong enough for a while yet.”

  “Good. Now then, Bob, I know you’re going to be busy putting the papers together for the DPP but there’s something I’d like you to do for me…”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In the event it took two days for the DPP’s office to arrange the conference and from the strained tone of voice and pinched expression of the man from the DPP, even this was to be regarded as a major concession on their part to the pressing nature of the situation. Thus it was that two days later Collison and Metcalfe found themselves once more in the august presence of the fustian Alistair Partington.

  “Oh,” he said, clearly disappointed, as they came into the room. “I was rather hoping you might bring that nice DC Willis with you, Simon.”

  “Sorry about that, Alistair. We weren’t sure she’d be able to cope with the excitement of a meeting with you, so we left her behind.”

  The ferret-faced man from the DPP looked disapprovingly from one to another as they sat down, clearly of the opinion that such levity was out of place.

  “Well now,” Partington said, pushing various bundles wrapped in red tape to each side and pulling the DPP’s file to the centre of his desk. “I see we have an alternative villain in the frame?”

  “Yes, the husband,” Collison said matter-of-factly. “He had motive, means and opportunity. He doesn’t have an alibi for the time of his wife’s murder nor, so far as we are aware, for any of the others. We appreciate that once again the evidence is almost entirely circumstantial, but we’re confident nonetheless that it’s very strong.”

  “Let me get this straight from the outset, Simon,” Partington said, “just so we’re clear. Are you now saying that Dr Barker murdered all these other women masquerading as a serial killer just so that when he murdered his wife nobody would suspect him?”

  “Yes, Alistair, that’s exactly what we’re saying.”

  Partington gazed at him magisterially. “I’m sure you think you can make your theory good, Simon, or we wouldn’t be here in the first place, but I have to say that in my view a jury would find such an idea rather far-fetched, to say the least. Why, it’s almost like something out of detective fiction.”

  “It is, actually,” came unexpectedly from the man from the DPP. He rustled his papers to find the reference to The Laughing Policeman and gazed at Collison in a vaguely hostile manner.

  “Ah,” Partington said, glancing in some confusion from one to another, “really? I see.”

  “Let’s park the literary references for the moment, shall we?” Collison suggested levelly. “You’ve had a chance to read the papers, Alistair. What do you think?”

  Partington paused reflectively, though whether he was genuinely choosing his words with care or simply adding extra emphasis when he did finally utter them was a matter for conjecture. “I think it’s a good case,” he pronounced finally. “Good enough to put to a jury, subject always to my original caveat that they may find it hard to believe.”

  “But Mr Partington,” the man from the DPP piped up, “surely it’s wholly circumstantial?”

  “It is circumstantial,” that worthy acknowledged, “but it’s strong. We can’t actually put our man at the scene of any of the crimes, but we can do just about everything else.”

  He began to count points off on his fingers as he continued. “Our man had at least one strong motive for killing his wife. He was in deep financial trouble and had recently taken out an insurance policy on her life. Neighbours agree that his relationship with the murdered woman, for which presumably high hopes had been entertained, was experiencing grave problems which manifested themselves in angry shouting matches and the wife storming out of the house late at night on a regular basis—and we know that these scenes began about six weeks before the date of the first murder, which would be consistent with Barker having hatched exactly the plan which DS Collison now alleges.

  “We know that chloroform, for which there is no normal requirement in medical practices, was delivered to his surgery and soon afterwards went missing. He knew where his wife was going on the night of the murder and could easily have left immediately after she did to follow her there, or even lie in wait for her. So he had motive, means and opportunity.

  “Further,” he intoned, moving to quell signs of incipient rebellion from the DPP’s office, “we know that the items found in the loft space came from the various murder scenes, and he is the only person we have yet been able to identify who both had access by key to the relevant building, and any possible grounds for suspecting to be the murderer. So far as I can see, and so far as the extensive police enquiries have been able to establish, that is the only possible explanation which can be established for how those items came to be there.”

  He stopped. The man from the DPP looked mutinous but held his tongue.

  “So the issue we now face is this, as I see it,” Partington went on. “We need to establish whether chummy has an alibi for any one of the other murders. I say ‘any one’ because I am sure DS Collison would agree that his theory requires Barker to have committed all the murders. So if he could prove himself innocent of one, we would have to accept that he was innocent of all of them.”

  He looked quizzically at Collison, who nodded readily in acquiescence.

  “In order to do this, he will of course need to be re-interviewed,” Partington carried on, “and this is where our possible difficulties would begin, for in my view, given the evidence already available to the police, they would have to make it clear to him that he was being interviewed as a possible suspect, and do so under caution.”

  He took his glasses off and gazed mildly up at the light fitting, clearly thinking the while. Then he looked back across the table. “The police can of course normally only hold him for twenty-four hours without charge. They feel that it is unlikely they would be able to establish the lack or presence of any relevant alibi within this period, and I agree that this seems a reasonable assumption. They also feel that if he were then to be released he might, now alerted to their suspicions, seek to tamper with the proceedings by manufacturing an alibi with the help of a third party. I cannot comment on how likely this might be to happen, but it must be a possibility.

  “In order to forestall this, the police seek to arrest him, charge him and apply to the magistrates to hold him in custody. As I say, it is not for me to advise on police tactics. I am not competent to comment on which is the better course of action to adopt. I would say only that DS Collison is a senior and experienced police officer, and that I am sure the DPP would respect his views.”

  Everyone naturally looked at the man from the DPP, who squirmed visibly.

  “What I can advise on,” Partington said, with the air of a man concluding a lengthy summation to the jury, “is whether the evidence is strong enough to support the proposed course of action, and in my view it is more than adequate. It is my opinion that if Barker was charged and taken before the magistrates, he would almost certainly be remanded in custody. He would, after all, be facing multiple charges of murder.”

  “Write that down,” Collison said, turning to the man from the DPP.

  “But are you saying, Mr Partington,” he persisted, ignoring Collison, “that there is enough evidence to charge Dr Barker with all these murders?”

  “That is a matter for the police and the DPP,” Partington replied blandly. “The test is whether there is a case to answer, and in my view there is. I am confident that, were a magistrate to be presented with this evidence at a committal hearing, he would conclude that the case was more than good enough to go to trial.”

  “But would we win at trial? I’m sure you can appreciate that the Home Office is very concerned about the publicity which this case has already attracted.
”

  Partington smiled the condescending smile of a man whose opponent has just taken a fatal step too far. “Naturally that is a question which no counsel could answer, or indeed should answer. Juries are gullible, fallible human beings. What I can say is that if I were DS Collison I believe I would be seeking to proceed in exactly the way he is proposing.”

  “Write that down,” Collison said again.

  “I never realised that about chloroform,” Peter Collins said thoughtfully. He looked pale and thin, but less strained than before.

  “Now you’re not to start worrying about it, Peter,” Karen pleaded. “I don’t want you to tire yourself out. It’s important that you rest and get well.”

  “I’m fine,” he reassured her. “It gives me something to do. What does it mean, do you think? Why use a means of killing that is apparently notoriously difficult when there are other much simpler and more efficient alternatives available?”

  “I really don’t know,” she admitted. “Could it have some symbolic significance?”

  “It’s a good starting theory”—he nodded—“but what? And why?”

  She shrugged helplessly and poured him a fresh glass of wine. “Does it affect the profile at all?”

  “I’m not sure. My original idea was based on the assumption that chloroforming was an effective and viable means of subduing someone quickly and cleanly, from which I drew the image of a killer who is weak and inadequate, someone who wants to subdue a victim quickly so they can exercise control over them. The urge to be in control is often fundamental to this type of person. They feel unable to determine the outcome of their everyday existence, perhaps because their work is monotonous or lowly, or they have an overbearing partner, say, and over-compensate by seeking excessive control over other people. All control freaks are essentially inadequate people trying to pretend they’re not.”

  “And now?”

  “And now I’m not so sure. Something feels wrong; it doesn’t fit. Why try to chloroform someone if it’s unlikely to work and in doing so you risk warning them that you’re trying to kill them into the bargain?”