Vicious Circle

by Douglas Clark

  “I’m pleased you appreciate that point,” said Whincap. “I’ve known Mrs Carlow for so long as a cantankerous old woman that none of her foibles would ever come as any surprise to me. What I mean by that is that I would not notice an alteration in a disposition which I already knew to be characteristic unless that alteration were to be so exaggerated as to rouse my suspicions.”

  “Well said.” Masters smiled at Whincap. “That is my point. A person could be mentally ill without showing specific symptoms, unless and until they became acute to the point of—shall we say—driving that person to suicide. And unless he were actually present at the time, the doctor would know nothing of the onset of such symptoms.”

  “Right.”

  “So, if I ask you if I am right to say that people who do suffer in this way fall into one or both of two categories . . .”

  “Insane beliefs and or insane acts?”

  “Precisely.”

  “You’d be right.”

  “A person of a naturally suspicious nature may begin to think that other people are slandering him, threatening him?”

  “Yes.”

  “Rejecting him?”

  Whincap nodded. Green gave a grunt as if to indicate that he was appreciating Masters’ aim.

  “That would be the insane belief. Could the insane act be to plan to take some form of revenge?”

  “Undoubtedly. If the delusion was strong enough.”

  “Sometimes in the form of childlike petulance?”

  “Meaning?”

  “A refusal to go to a party in the hope that it would upset other people?”

  “Ah! Other people? In the mass?”

  Masters smiled again. “Your question suggests that in such delusions the sufferer attributes the causes to specific known persons.”

  “Just so. Their annoyance is not caused by something or someone they can’t put a name to. They know the ones they think they can blame.”

  “Thank you. That’s all I wanted to know, doctor. You have been most helpful and I am more than grateful.”

  “I can’t see what I’ve done for you except to suggest that Elke Carlow was suffering from a mental illness which I didn’t diagnose or treat.”

  “You don’t know half of it, doc,” said Green.

  “Oh? Would you care to enlighten me?”

  “Keep on listening.”

  Masters turned to Bennett. “Now, sir, before Dr Whincap joined us I asked you to give me your opinion as to why Mrs Carlow refused to join the family party at Christmas. You avoided giving me an answer though it was apparent from what you did say that you had a fair idea what the reason was. Now, after hearing that I have established cause to believe that Mrs Carlow was probably suffering from a mental illness which would drive her to imagine some personal slight or inimical action on the part of a specific person, which would in turn cause her to contemplate revenge, would you please answer my question?”

  “You mentioned rejection.”

  “I believe I did.”

  Masters waited for Bennett to continue. The solicitor seemed at a loss. Eventually he said: “I spoke to Theo Rainford at lunchtime.”

  “Please go on.”

  “You mentioned rejection to him.”

  “I did indeed. I was considering it at the time. He seemed anxious to accept imagined rejection as a reason for suicide.”

  “Elke wanted to live with Adam and Marian. They turned her down, decisively.”

  “True. But that rejection had not occurred by Christmas. And I can hardly suppose that Mrs Carlow felt rejected by a granddaughter who invited her to a party and whom she held in such high regard that she wanted to live with her.”

  “She adored Marian,” said Whincap.

  “Your son, too, apparently, if she wished to make her home with him.”

  “And she liked her daughter, Margarethe, didn’t she?” asked Green.

  “Yes.”

  “And yourself? She relied on you, doc?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “That leaves us with seven centres of fear, suspicion, hatred or what you will,” said Masters. “Her son-in-law, Mrs Whincap senior, the four Kisiels and you, Mr Bennett, and Mrs Bennett.”

  The solicitor turned to his brother-in-law. Whincap replied to the mute appeal for help. “There’s no point in keeping our counsel, Bob. In fact, I think it would be for the best were we to say what we know.”

  Green said: “A bit of enmity around and about, was there?”

  “Yes,” said Bennett sadly. “Elke Carlow and Josef Kisiel were lifelong enemies and neither would appear in the presence of the other.”

  “Thank you,” said Masters. “I shall not ask you to tell me what the bone of contention was. My only question is why, if she knew of this ill-feeling, did Mrs Marian Whincap invite both to her party?”

  Bennett shrugged. “You’ll have to ask Marian that. All I can say, and I’m sure David will support me in it, is that Josef Kisiel is as gentle a man as one could wish to find and would not harm anybody.”

  “Even a lifelong enemy?”

  “I think . . .” began Whincap.

  “Yes, doctor?”

  “Josef Kisiel is a garrulous foreigner. As is the way with Poles, his language is sometimes a little extravagant. At times he says more than he means.”

  “Been uttering threats, has he?” asked Green in a matter of fact voice.

  “No. Not threats. He has sometimes expressed the wish that . . . that some miracle would rid the world of Elke Carlow. But that is as far as it went. Intemperate language, but never translated into action. Like Bob, I’m sure of that.”

  “We’ll remember your remarks,” said Masters. “But there must be another side to the coin. The dead woman hated Kisiel. What had she to say about him?”

  “Ah! Now she was, in my opinion, the more venomous of the two. Wouldn’t you have said so, Bob?”

  “Without a doubt,” said the solicitor. “Her hatred was based on Prussian arrogance. She considered the Poles a lesser breed.”

  “One of the old school,” said Green. “Did she spit when she heard his name?”

  “Almost. It was ludicrous—or would have been if it hadn’t been so meant. But there, you three say she was mentally ill. Not clinically, perhaps . . .”

  Masters got to his feet. “Thank you, gentlemen.”

  Bennett also rose. “Am I allowed to ask if you are definitely treating the case as one of murder?”

  “I am not unwilling to give you a direct answer, Mr Bennett. But I’m not prepared to be specific. I mean, were I to say yes and we eventually discovered a suicide, I should emerge with egg on my face. Perhaps the best way to describe our investigation is that it will be all-embracing. In other words, we want to get to the bottom of it, whatever happened.”

  “It leaves those of us connected with the case in an uncomfortable position,” said Whincap.

  “Not you, David,” protested Bennett. “You were at pains to protect the old bird from herself and it was you who set this inquiry in motion. You could have signed the death certificate and said nothing of your suspicions.”

  “Then the doctor really would have felt uncomfortable,” said Masters. “And I suspect that you, as coroner, might then have instituted an inquiry.”

  “Not if I hadn’t known what David had to say about it. After all, I knew Mrs Carlow had had a dicky heart for years.”

  “But you also knew she had overdosed herself on several occasions previously. It would have been incumbent upon you to call for a pathologist’s report even had she died—apparently—of natural causes.”

  Green looked at Bennett. “You see, chum, when George talks about an all-embracing investigation, he means he has to consider whether you and the doc, here, aren’t in collusion to appear as pure as pure, having pulled a very clever fast one on us.”

  “Wait a minute!” exploded Whincap.

  “Don’t get your hair off, doc. We’re not accusing you or Mr Bennett . . .”
r />   “I should hope not.”

  “But stand aside from your real selves for a moment. Think of two other chaps in your situation who decide to get rid of somebody. The doc does his bit of hanky panky and the coroner says to him. ‘You’re in the clear because nobody will think you would report this if you weren’t. Now I’m going to put myself in the clear by handing it over to my deputy. Everybody will agree that if I’d been guilty I’d have kept the job in my own hands where I could do a cover-up job’.”

  “And you mean to say you really think along those lines?”

  “Not exclusively,” said Green. “But we consider the possibility. You see, we look for means, motive and opportunity. Judge for yourselves how many of those three categories you two could fill quite easily were you to put your minds to it.” He grinned suddenly. “Oh, I know it sounds fantastic to you two gents, but we’re outsiders, remember. We don’t know you as pillars of society. And here’s a thought for you. If this is murder, and we find the person responsible, given the present cast list, it seems highly probably that the person whose collar we feel will be just that—one of your own highly respected group.”

  There was a short silence. Then—

  “You’re right, of course,” said Whincap. “And that doesn’t make me feel any the less uncomfortable.”

  “Nor me,” admitted Bennett. “That damned woman was a pain in the neck alive and a hell of a sight worse now she’s dead. And quite frankly I don’t like the prospect of one of my friends having to spend the rest of his life behind bars on her account.”

  Masters said: “Sorry to have upset your afternoon, gentlemen. But I don’t suppose I need comfort you with the thought that clear consciences will make for a swift recovery.”

  *

  “You put it across them, Bill,” said Masters as they walked to the car.

  “Funny thing is,” said Green, “that I didn’t intend to. I liked both of them.”

  “You don’t see either of them as our man?”

  “No. And I’m experienced enough to realize that I can’t judge by outward appearances. But I was just a little irritated by a coroner and a doctor trying to shield a name from us. They should know better and both should have a sense of public duty.”

  “I’m sure they have. But it is conflicting with private loyalty in this case.”

  “Right. But when they appeared to think we should assume their innocence—on their own sayso—then I thought I’d look for a mental pin with which to burst their balloons. No harm in that, was there?”

  “None whatever. Right, in you get.”

  “Where are we off to now?” asked Green fastening his seat belt.

  “HQ first. The sergeants could be there. Then we’ll tell Theo Rainford we’re going to see his daughter.”

  “He’ll love that.”

  “We’re doing him a courtesy,” said Masters, starting up and drawing away. “But he’s like the two we’ve just left. Rank and station cut no ice when outside investigators like us are brought in, and so he’s unsure.”

  “About what? His own position?”

  “His own if he is implicated. But he can’t be sure about his missus and daughter. He’ll be at our side whenever we give him permission. And he’ll try to pump us.”

  “Us?”

  “The sergeants are part of us. If he doesn’t go for you and me he could have a bash at Reed and Berger, in the hope that they will stand in awe of his rank and that they will be privy to our thoughts.”

  “They won’t trot it out for him,” said Green with conviction. “We sometimes forget how bright those lads can be, even though they act as soft as Joe Soap at times. They’ve enough sense to know when they’re being got at.”

  “I don’t underestimate them.”

  “No?”

  “You obviously think I do.”

  “As often as not you operate in a rarified atmosphere. They can’t get up there. Sometimes you don’t make allowances.”

  “That’s not it,” said Masters petulantly. “My mind ticks over in private. I can’t be expected to explain its processes.”

  Green lit a Kensitas. “I know. Like that crossword clue. Flammigerous. It just came into your head and you didn’t know how.”

  “Right. I’ve got that sort of mind.”

  Green grunted. “That’s all right then. The sergeants won’t have anything to tell Rainford even if they wanted to—except where we’ve been and the people we’ve talked to.”

  Masters glanced at him. “Is this a rocket, Bill?”

  “If you like. But nobody’s ever going to get you to keep your feet on the ground.”

  “I see. Now, what’s the trouble? Something’s worrying you about this case.”

  “Not the case,” confessed Green. “Personal.”

  “Ah! You’ve got the hump, is that it?”

  “You could put it that way.”

  “And you need my help—even if only as a listener—but you think my feet are too far off the ground for me to be of use.”

  Green grunted. It was impossible to say whether it conveyed agreement or the opposite. Masters, used to such equivocal replies, waited a moment in case his subordinate wished to expand the reply and then said: “If you care to tell me, Bill, I’ll try to remain anchored.”

  “Retirement,” said Green laconically.

  “Ah yes! The A.C. Crime called you in a couple of days ago. I think I guessed why.”

  “So you know what he said?”

  “No. It was a private and personal matter—or so I assumed. Had it not been, Anderson would have mentioned it to me.”

  “I’m living on borrowed time. Anderson’s words.”

  “Then our revered lord and master was talking through the top of his hat. For two very good reasons, the Yard has kept you on after the normal retiring age. The first reason—you’re a valuable asset, the second—there’s a shortage of coppers.”

  “A year at a time,” replied Green, not displeased by Masters’ remark about his value to the Yard. “It’s time for the annual review—well, in six weeks’ time at any rate.”

  “And?”

  “The money-saving boys have said nobody is any longer to be kept on after retiring age.”

  “Did Anderson say definitely that you had to go?”

  “Ninety-nine percent certain. He said you’d recommended I should be kept on, but he didn’t think he could swing it.”

  “Did he say he had endorsed my recommendation?”

  “Yes. And thanks for what you said.”

  “I put the truth as I see it in those reports. There’s no need to thank me for doing that. It’s my job.”

  Green grunted again. Masters waited.

  “So, George, this could well be the last time I’ll be around with you and the lads.”

  Masters pulled the car up in the space allotted to him at the HQ building. He stayed in his seat.

  “Bill, I know it’s easy for me to say, but you’re not done yet. If you really want to stay . . .”

  “Would I have stayed on this last year, otherwise?”

  “True, but attitudes can change.”

  “Not mine. I’m as set in my ways as the sphinx.”

  Masters turned to him. “In that case, have I your permission to see what I can do? Obviously I can promise nothing, but please believe that I have thought of this problem for some time, and I’m prepared to go in to bat for you.”

  Green unfastened his seat belt. “Doris would be grateful,” he said.

  Masters smiled. Even at such a time Green found it hard to say thank you on his own behalf. His wife would be grateful, indeed! Masters decided to keep it on the distaff side. “Wanda would want me to do what I can.”

  *

  Reed and Berger were waiting in the office.

  “Everything went as planned, Chief,” said Reed, “and I’ve got you a copy of the pathologist’s report.”

  “Thank you. Have you read it?”

  “Yes, Chief.”

&nb
sp; “And?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything in it we didn’t know.”

  “Let me see.”

  Masters studied the report for a few moments.

  “Cardiac glycosides,” he murmured. “A large overdose.”

  “Now what?” asked Green.

  “Thinking aloud,” said Masters. “These technical bods! He doesn’t refer to digitalis or digoxin—he calls them cardiac glycosides. He estimates she had more than ten times the normal dose.”

  “So?”

  “He says it must have been a single overdose as opposed to medicinal doses which were too large, taken over a long period.”

  “No build up, you mean? That’s dandy for Whincap.”

  “Quite. He says she would have been extremely ill long before the day of her death if it had been a build-up to that amount. So he estimates the overdose was taken about two hours before she became seriously ill. There are no punctures on the body, so the overdose was not injected.”

  “Taken by mouth. That’s what we thought, isn’t it?”

  “He had to mention it.”

  “These glycosides, Chief . . .” began Berger. “She was on digoxin. Is that a glycoside?”

  “Somewhere here,” said Masters, running his finger over the text, “. . . where is it now? Hold your ears back. Digoxin is a crystalline glycoside obtained from Digitalis lanata. It is used for the same purpose as digitalis.”

  “Then what is digitalis?”

  “Foxglove,” said Green. “It means fingers or thimbles or some such.”

  “What colour is it?” asked Masters.

  “Purple.”

  “Thanks. Then that explains the difference. The latin for purple is purpurea. So, I suspect straight digitalis comes from Digitalis purpurea, while digoxin comes from Digitalis lanata. And before you ask, lanata means woolly or hairy. In other words, they are both species of foxglove and . . . ah, he does refer to digitaloid drugs.”

  “Like mild and bitter,” said Green. “Both have the same effect but taste different. Now, if that’s the lot, how about telling Rainford we’re about to call on his daughter for a cup of tea?”

  *

  “I’ve told Marian you’re going out to Helewou,” said Rainford. “Just to make sure she’s at home when we get there.”