Vicious Circle

by Douglas Clark

  “Could be,” agreed Masters. “There must certainly have been something about that party which she didn’t like, and because the host and hostess wouldn’t change things to suit her, she felt rejected.”

  “Ah! That’s how. I get you, George.”

  “The result was she refused the invitation and took an overdose with the intention of ruining the day for everybody else.”

  “Which would have happened if old Whincap hadn’t been sensible enough to contain it and didn’t mention the incident till the danger was past.”

  “Quite. So, we’ve got Mrs Carlow wanting to ruin the party for the people attending it, and Theo Rainford wanting to protect some person. My belief is that the old woman refused to go to the party because she resented one of the people who was to be there and I think that Rainford is trying to shield that person from us.”

  Green explored his teeth with his tongue to dislodge a strand of meat. “An enemy,” he said at last. “Somebody the old girl couldn’t stand and, I reckon, who couldn’t stand her in return.”

  “Does it fit?” asked Masters.

  “Like a glove. You damn-well know it does. What we’ve got to do now is to identify the guest and look into his or her comings and goings for May Day and the day before . . .”

  “I reckon that’s the size of it. It’s a working hypothesis at any rate. The big thing now is to get hold of that guest list.”

  “Rainford?”

  “I think not. If he is trying to shield one of them, well, I’d prefer he didn’t know exactly what we’re after. If we asked him or his wife for the list he’d begin to divine our line of thought.”

  Green shrugged. “That cuts out his daughter and her husband, too.”

  “We’ll ask Dr Whincap.”

  “He’s the girl’s pa-in-law. Why not try the coroner. Not Dean. The real one. Bennett.”

  “Fine. But they’re all family.”

  “As coroner he should be able to keep his counsel and he’s not immediate family. Only an uncle.”

  “Right. Are you fit, or would you like more sausages?”

  “Enough is enough,” said Green, getting to his feet. “Mustn’t overdo it.”

  Chapter Five

  Bennett’s office was in a wide road which ran parallel to the main street. It had obviously been laid out and built as a residential area from the Georgian period onwards. The houses were of every style from those with pillared porticoes, up to and including Edwardian.

  “This,” said Green, “reminds me a bit of George Street, Edinburgh. I haven’t been up there for years, so it may not still be the same as I remember it, but it always seemed quiet and residentially businesslike.”

  “I recall seeing a tackle shop with a full-sized stuffed pony in the window.”

  “That’s right. I liked it, that street. The big chains had started taking over Princes Street and it wasn’t the same place any more. But that’s by the way. Where does Bennett hang out?”

  “Eighty-three. Odd numbers this side, so it’s about a dozen houses further on.”

  The plate told them that Bennett, Chantler and Hutcheson were housed on the first floor. Masters led the way. The typist in the inquiries office didn’t like the idea of disturbing the senior partner for a couple of strangers without an appointment. She suggested that the managing clerk or even one of the young articled gentlemen might help them, but Green put her right. “This,” he said, “is not business. It’s an anti-social visit.”

  “Oh? You’re friends of Mr Bennett, then?”

  “I said anti-social, love. That means we’re his enemies.”

  “I’ll see what he says.”

  “Please tell him we’re policemen,” said Masters. “From London.”

  The girl disappeared. A moment or two later, Bennett himself appeared to escort them to his office.

  “You bewildered young Sandra,” he said with a grin. “She came in here and told me there were two police enemies of mine on an anti-social visit from London.”

  “My colleague likes to pull shapely legs,” said Masters, not displeased by Bennett’s apparent sense of humour.

  “Don’t we all.” He picked up the copy of The Times spread on his desk. “I always try the crossword after lunch. I think I must be one of those afternoon people we heard so much about a few years ago.”

  “Interesting theory, that,” said Masters. “But my wife was telling me recently that one of the women’s programmes on TV was postulating that it all depends on whether one eats a hearty breakfast or not.”

  “How so?” He gestured to them to be seated.

  “Some survey among schoolchildren. Those whose mothers gave them a decent breakfast performed normally in the classroom in the mornings. Those who didn’t get a reasonable meal performed badly. After they’d all had a school lunch they all performed equally well.”

  “Sounds reasonable. I must get my missus to start giving me bacon and eggs of a morning. Then perhaps I could do this thing a bit quicker.”

  “Stuck?”

  “And how! There’s a twelve letter word here with a g six from the end. The ardent suitor and the runner on whom all eyes are focused have this in common.”

  “Carrying a torch,” said Masters.

  “I’d got that far. Never mind, I’ll have another bash later. Now, what can I do for you, gentlemen? Something to do with Elke Carlow’s death?”

  “If you would, Mr Bennett. I’d like you to give me a full list of the guests at the Christmas party which I believe you attended at . . . what’s the name of the house?”

  “Helewou. Means end wall in old English or some such. But why come to me? Why not our hostess?”

  “Because we don’t want to upset the young lady,” said Green. “Not nice for a young lass to find a couple of Scotland Yard men enquiring about her party if we can get the information from elsewhere.”

  “I admire the nicety of feeling,” murmured Bennett.

  “Flammigerous,” said Masters. “Flame-bearing.”

  “What the hell?” demanded Green.

  Bennett stared at Masters for a moment or two, switching his mind from the current discussion to the previous conversation.

  “Right,” he said at last and reached for his newspaper. “Two ms.”

  “Do you two mind?” said Green.

  “Sorry.” Bennett finished printing the word and laid down his pen. “You were asking about the people at the party.”

  “If we could get back to it,” said Green heavily, notebook and pencil poised to make notes.

  “Adam Whincap and his wife, Marian.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a carpenter.”

  “A what?”

  “Cabinet maker. Makes individual items of furniture. Damn’ good they are, too. Destined to be highly prized antiques in about a hundred years from now.”

  Green nodded.

  “Dr David Whincap and his wife, Janet, who is also my sister-in-law.” He waited a moment till Green looked up.

  “Marian’s parents, D.C.S. Theo Rainford and his wife Margarethe.”

  “We’ve met them already.”

  “Adam’s sister Gwen and her husband, Tony Kisiel.”

  “Who is what?”

  “A horticulturalist. He works with his father, Josef Kisiel, who was also present with his wife, Alice.”

  “He’s a gardener, too?”

  “If that’s how you wish to describe a man with a large and flourishing business.”

  Masters interrupted. “Kisiel? How is it spelt?”

  Bennett spelt it. “It’s a Polish name. The Josef is e f, not e p h.”

  “What’s a Pole doing in this neck of the woods?” asked Green.

  “He came over here after the collapse of Poland and flew with the RAF. He got here in October thirty-nine, served right through the war. He met Alice here, married her and stayed on.”

  “Fine. Then there was you and Mrs Bennett?”

  “Right. That’s the lot.
Elke Carlow and her sister, Frau Mimi Hillger had, I understand, been invited for lunch, but had refused the invitation.”

  “Why?” Masters shot the question out so suddenly that Bennett was momentarily taken aback.

  “Why?” he repeated.

  “Why did the two German ladies refuse Mrs Marian Whincap’s invitation?”

  “I really don’t know. I was just told they weren’t coming, and like everybody else there, I suppose I heaved a sigh of relief. Old Elke was a damn nuisance to have around.”

  “I see. Please venture a guess as to why she and her sister stayed at home.”

  “I know why Mimi stayed. She couldn’t come without Elke.”

  “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”

  “Couldn’t. She was under Elke’s thumb. She lives—or lived—in that house virtually as unpaid housekeeper.”

  “Mrs Carlow kept her? Gave her free food and lodging?”

  Bennett seemed surprised by the question. “Do you know, I’ve never thought about that. But if I had to hazard a guess I’d have said that Elke was too mean-minded to do that.”

  “Mean-minded or mean?”

  “I meant small-minded as opposed to stingy. It would be an effort for her to think of doing the generous thing, but, I suspect, once she’d thought of it, she would produce the wherewithal.”

  “A complicated woman, apparently.”

  “I’m talking off the record. I have no proof, merely an impression gained of acquaintance.”

  “Actually, I think we have a little proof to substantiate what you’ve said. But to return to my main point. Please give me your opinion as to why Mrs Carlow refused to attend the Christmas party.”

  “My opinion—guesses if you like—can have no place in your investigation.”

  “You shouldn’t have said that,” murmured Green. “His nibs here will now assume that you’ve retreated for safety on to the invalidity of guesswork because you do have an opinion—one you don’t want to give us.”

  Bennett had the grace to laugh. “You’re a couple of cross-talk twisters,” he said. “The likes of poor solicitors like me need a court and the rules of evidence to protect us from the likes of you.”

  “Maybe,” agreed Green, “but you’re doing a good job of ducking the question, just the same. And the more you do it, the more we think you’ve got something you’d rather not tell us.”

  Bennett opened his mouth to reply when after the tiniest of knocks on the door, Sandra entered. “There’s Dr Whincap to see you, Mr Bennett.”

  “Show him in,” said Bennett, jovially. He got to his feet to move round the desk to greet his brother-in-law.

  “David! Come in, my dear chap. I think you’ve already met these gentlemen.”

  Whincap nodded. “This morning. But I’ll go, Bob. I didn’t know you were busy. Your girl didn’t say.”

  “Join us,” said Bennett, drawing up another chair.

  “I’ve just come from the inquest,” said Bennett.

  “Dean opened and then adjourned immediately, I take it?”

  “He heard a brief request from Mr Masters’ detective sergeant for time to pursue inquiries. He said—luckily for me—that as the tablets prescribed seemed to be in order numerically, the question of where the lethal dose came from would have to be decided. Only then could the means by which it found its way into the body of the deceased be investigated. And that was that.”

  Bennett turned to Masters. “So now it’s up to you officially.”

  Masters inclined his head. But to Bennett’s surprise, he did not pursue the question as to why Elke Carlow had refused to join the Christmas party. Instead he turned to Whincap. “Are you anything of a psychiatrist, Dr Whincap?”

  “I have never specialized in it.”

  “That sounds as though you are not entirely ignorant of psychiatry as a branch of medicine, however.”

  “Many years in general practice, allied to a bit of common sense, teaches one quite a lot—building on the little one learned as a student. I must confess I read papers in the medical journals from time to time—if they are not too esoteric and appear likely to be of value to a family doctor.”

  “Good.”

  “But if we are going to discuss Mrs Carlow who was, remember, one of my patients . . .”

  “You are reluctant to break confidentiality even in a case such as this?”

  “Confidence is confidence. Oh, I know that I can be required to testify in the courts but, yes, I am reluctant.”

  “If I promise to keep the conversation general and recognize that you have your brother-in-law, who is a solicitor after all, present throughout . . .?”

  Whincap thought for a moment. “I never treated Mrs Carlow for a mental problem, so if you really mean to stick to psychiatry, then I’ll answer your questions if I can while reserving the right to refuse at any time.”

  “Just the jobbo, doc,” said Green. “But keep it simple. George, here, took a degree in biological studies before he saw sense and joined the force. Me, I’m an elementary school product and don’t know the difference between psychiatry and psychology.”

  “Psychiatry is the treatment of diseases of the mind. Psychology is the science of the nature and functions of the mind. They overlap of course.”

  “Ta.”

  “I promised to keep this general,” said Masters. “And so I will.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Am I right in thinking that mental illness has many causes about which we know comparatively little?”

  “It takes such a variety of forms that getting to grips with it is extremely difficult.”

  “There is a distinct possibility then that there are many cases of mental illness which are not treated.”

  Whincap grimaced. “Scores of thousands,” he said. “We—that is society—do not interfere so long as the peccadilloes caused by the mental illness don’t cause us too much trouble or the patient himself harm, pain or inconvenience.”

  “Meaning there are lots of mental disorders not recognized as such?”

  “There are all grades—from slight personal aberrations to the stage where the sufferer can become legally certifiable.”

  “So, we can assume that there are many people who do not reach a serious grade of abnormality but whom we regard as eccentric or slightly peculiar in some way who are, in fact, suffering from mental illness?”

  “Wait a moment, Mr Masters. I’m not saying that Elke Carlow . . .”

  “Please, doctor! We agreed to keep the conversation general. I was to try to avoid mentioning Mrs Carlow. But you have brought her name up.”

  Whincap apologized. “Your last assumption is correct,” he said.

  “Thank you. Now about the causes of mental disorder. Could you—if it is possible to do so—tell us what they are, doctor?”

  “That is fairly well documented. There are two broad groups of causes. Causes which might not cause most of us any trouble at all, but which in those with a tendency to become disordered, can be devastating.”

  “Or relatively harmless?”

  “Quite. It is a matter of degree.”

  “And the two broad groups of causes?”

  “They are called predisposing causes and exciting causes.”

  “They sound almost self-explanatory. Are they?”

  “Judge for yourself. In the first category you must appreciate that a mental weakness may be either inherited or acquired. You’ll have heard the arguments concerning heredity and environmental factors. For myself I am of the opinion—based on experience—that the major predisposing cause is an abnormal temperament and that alone can be either inherited or acquired.”

  “Am I right in believing that the abnormal temperament is shown by what I would call bad or criminal behaviour?”

  “Oh, yes. Not necessarily criminal, but irritating to society at large. Irritability, pessimism, disobedience, waywardness, jealousy. People who evince these traits to any great degree are the ones most likely to suffer a me
ntal breakdown.”

  “Thank you.” Masters looked across at Green. “Are you with us so far, Bill?”

  “Just.”

  Masters turned back to Whincap. “I think you said the second category was called exciting causes. Does that mean actual physical stimuli contribute to mental disorder?”

  “Most assuredly. Disease, exhaustion and so on are important causes—in those already predisposed to mental illness.”

  “Such causes produce stress, in fact?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would poison produce stress?”

  Whincap looked slightly taken aback. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact it would. These causes are divided by some authorities on the subjects into toxic and exhausting causes.”

  Masters inclined his head to acknowledge this nugget of information. “Disease was mentioned. Influenza, typhoid, pneumonia? Things like that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Only the acute ailments?”

  “No. Chronic ones too. Anaemia, myxoedema, thyrotoxicosis, arteriosclerosis, kidney disease. Virtually anything.”

  “In that case would heart disease be an exciting cause of mental disorder in a predisposed patient?”

  “It could,” said Whincap heavily. “And now I’m going to mention Elke Carlow. She had very pronounced individual peculiarities and she had chronic heart trouble and she had, in effect, poisoned herself on previous occasions. You are supposing that she was a mental case and, therefore, that I should have treated her as such.”

  “Not at all. I would not presume to question your treatment of any patient. Particularly as I know from my own experience that mental illness tends to disguise itself.”

  “How do you mean?” asked Bennett.

  “It doesn’t usually develop suddenly. It creeps up insidiously for the most part. And though sometimes there are indications of approaching breakdown which a doctor might notice, so often these symptoms are so slight as to be missed by even the keenest observer. Particularly when the patient is getting on a bit in years and it comes as no surprise if they do act a bit oddly.”