The Death Chamber (24 page)

‘We’ll have a look at the footage tomorrow – today, I mean,’ said Chad. ‘But there’s nothing else it could be.’

‘It was like taking the lid of a bubbling cauldron,’ said Jude, half to himself.

‘At least you didn’t fall in,’ said Chad. ‘I did tell you to be careful if you went on a voyage of discovery.’

‘We tried to disable the lever,’ said Phin, ‘but it was only a very makeshift arrangement. Actually we thought it was old enough not to work properly any longer, or cause any
problems.’

‘It wouldn’t have caused a problem if Jude had stayed put,’ said Chad. He looked back at Jude. ‘The gaol’s called Calvary,’ he said. ‘It was known as
the murderers’ prison, and it was used almost exclusively for executions in this part of England, although they had some life-sentence prisoners as well. But life sentences were quite rare
until comparatively recently – killers were usually hanged or transported.’

‘The murderers’ prison,’ said Jude thoughtfully. ‘No, I haven’t heard of it.’

‘Neville Fremlin was hanged there.’

‘The Silver-Tongued Murderer from the thirties? I’ve heard of him, of course. Calvary,’ said Jude thoughtfully. ‘The name’s very evocative, isn’t it? The
place of execution. Then where exactly are we, Chad? Fremlin was from York or Harrogate or somewhere like that, wasn’t he?’

‘Knaresborough,’ said Chad. ‘We’re in Cumbria – the west edge of the Lake District.’

Jude half nodded, as if absorbing this information, and then said, ‘Very early on I thought I heard footsteps, but I think now it was either my imagination or maybe you were still
around.’

‘Unless it was the ghost of some old warder who prowls around every night, clanking a bunch of keys,’ said Drusilla.

‘Of course. Tommy the Turnkey, that’s who it’ll have been,’ said Jude at once.

‘Well, nothing but a ghost could have got in,’ said Chad. ‘We checked everywhere before we left, if you remember. There are only three ways in – and one’s through
the door we used. Then there’s a door opening onto the mortuary, and a little scullery door right at the back, but they were both locked. And we locked the main doors after we left, as you
know.’ He leaned forward. ‘Jude, can we talk some more about that image you saw?’

‘We can talk until the start of the next millennium,’ said Jude. ‘Or until breakfast time at the very least. I can’t offer any opinion on it, though. And before anyone
starts talking about hallucinations, I should point out that I was in my right mind and I had only had half a glass of wine. It’s true that I fell against the gallows lever and the crashing
in of the trap was a hell of a shock. But I wasn’t knocked out by the fall or even knocked into dizziness. You’ll probably see that when you run the film.’ He paused and then
said, curtly, ‘Also, I’d better say that I’m physically unable to experience visual hallucinations in the accepted sense, and at that stage of the night I had no idea where I was
– you were all very careful about not giving out any clues, and I honestly didn’t know. So there was no subconscious knowledge at work.’

Phin leaned forward, and said very hesitantly, ‘Jude, I – um – I’m not sure how to put this, but there’s a thing I’d like to ask.’

‘Ask away.’

‘You said you “saw” the image. The man’s face. Well, you haven’t put it quite like that, but – and I hope it’s OK to ask this, but—’

‘How exactly did I “see” it?’

‘Well, uh, yes.’ Phin pushed back the flop of hair that had tumbled forward, and thought he had probably committed the worst discourtesy in the world. He supposed Dr Ingram and
Drusilla were staring at him in horror, but he did not dare look at either of them.

But Jude appeared to give the question serious consideration. He said, ‘Phin, I can only explain it by saying that I’ve still got the memory of sight. I still know what a tree looks
like, or a car or a whisky bottle.’

‘Especially a whisky bottle,’ murmured Chad. He sounded amused and Phin was deeply relieved he had not offended anyone by his question.

‘But,’ said Jude, ‘those images I have are mind images. Like closing your eyes and conjuring up a memory. Seeing with your mind. Does that explain it sufficiently?’

‘Yes,’ said Phin. ‘I’m glad it was OK to ask.’

‘Whatever it was, we’re going to use it in the programme, aren’t we?’ asked Drusilla. ‘Maybe with some kind of mock-up?’

‘Yes, of course we’re going to use it – it’s exactly what we hoped to get,’ said Chad. ‘But I’m not very keen on mock-ups. I’d rather present the
facts and let people make up their own minds.’

‘You need something to fire people’s imaginations, though,’ said Jude thoughtfully. ‘Something about the history of the prison, maybe.’

‘Dru and Phin are working up some stuff about Neville Fremlin,’ said Chad. ‘And Phin’s trying to find out about any other reasonably dramatic murderers who were executed
there.’

‘I love the phrase “dramatic murderers”,’ murmured Jude.

‘How about if we use the relevant bit of footage from tonight – showing Jude’s reactions and so on, and then segue into a mock-up of a hanging?’ put in Drusilla.
‘We could dub some sounds onto it – the footsteps of the condemned man’s last walk to the gallows, stuff like that.’

‘And superimposed photos of Fremlin?’ said Jude. ‘No, that’ll detract from the programme’s aim, won’t it?’

‘Wouldn’t a mock-up detract from it as well?’ said Phin. ‘Because isn’t the point here that Jude got that hanged-man image? I don’t think we ought to fuzz
that with simulations and dubs and whatnot.’

‘Phin’s right,’ said Chad. ‘We set out to see if buildings could have imprints of their past – we made an experiment using someone who didn’t know where he
was – and we got that extraordinary, perfectly genuine result. You had no idea where you were, Jude, but the image you picked up was of a man who had been hanged. Absolutely
classic.’

‘Does it weight the evidence in favour of the spooks?’

‘I don’t know about spooks, but it goes a long way to proving that buildings can store up their histories,’ said Chad. ‘That’s the angle we need to use, I
think.’

‘He’ll be sub-titling the programme QED in a minute,’ said Drusilla.

‘Well, I think that’d be pretty neat,’ said Phin firmly.

They watched the footage the following day and Phin had several anxious minutes while they waited for the film to begin. The viewing screen they had brought was a small one and
at first there was only a fuzzy snow storm. He chewed his knuckles, wondering what he would do if it turned out he had put the batteries in back to front, or accidentally left the Pause button on.
Dr Ingram would certainly kick him out if that happened. Phin was just visualizing the disappointment of his tutors at Harvard (‘We never thought he’d make such an asshole of
himself’) when the screen suddenly spat into life, and there, oh blessed sight, was the dim room with the trapdoors and the crossbeam with its dangling iron chain. There was Jude in one
corner, pouring a glass of wine. The images were shadowy because the light had been so poor, but they had not wanted to use any kind of night imaging because of using this footage in the
programme.

‘We can use quite a lot of this,’ said Chad, watching intently. ‘It portrays the atmosphere beautifully – it’s a brilliant shot of the gallows trap, Phin. Jude,
you’ve put the wine glass down now, and you’re moving around the room.’

‘I was pacing it out. Trying to get a mental map of it.’

‘Dru, will you fast forward a bit – thanks. You’re walking out to the centre of the room now,’ said Chad to Jude.

‘And falling over the trapdoor.’

‘Oh God, yes, so you are. You’ve smashed straight into the lever.’

‘And there goes the trap,’ said Phin, wincing.

‘You were right that only one half of it opened,’ said Chad.

‘Jeeze, look at the dust – it’s like a socking great sandstorm.’

‘You’re leaning over the edge – recoiling—’

‘So would you have recoiled,’ said Jude. ‘I do wish there was some way of finding out who it was I saw,’ he said. ‘I know that’s impossible, of
course.’

‘It is,’ said Chad. ‘There must have been dozens of men executed there. Women as well, I should think. It’s a very old gaol.’

‘I know. And I know we’d never track him down, even if I could identify him, which I can’t. It’s just that I keep wondering . . .’

‘What he was hanged for?’

‘No, not that,’ said Jude. ‘I’m assuming he’d been found guilty of murder. But I can’t stop wondering if he really was guilty.’

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

October 1938

‘I do know Neville Fremlin is guilty,’ said Walter, facing Edgar Higneth in his office on Calvary’s upper floor. ‘I’ve read the reports of the
trial, and it’s all as damning as it could be.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘I don’t suppose there’s such a thing as typical behaviour for a condemned man, sir, but
I’m finding Fremlin’s attitude surprising. He’s not behaving as I thought he would.’

This, thought Higneth, was one of the problems a prison governor occasionally hit: the idealism of the inexperienced. That was the trouble with employing these younger men at Calvary; you got
the enthusiasm and the learning which were all very fine, but you also got the idealism which could be tricky to deal with.

But he liked Dr Kane and was pleased with his work – also, they still needed to know if Fremlin was intending to take any secrets to the gallows with him next week – so he said
temperately, ‘In what way is his attitude surprising you, Dr Kane? Is it something he’s said?’

‘It’s more what he hasn’t said. I haven’t any real training in psychiatry,’ said Walter, ‘but I’m working on the assumption that Fremlin has his fair
share of murderers’ vanity.’

Higneth recognized this as one of Lewis Caradoc’s tenets, but did not say so.

He said, ‘More than his fair share I should think.’ ‘Then in that case,’ said Walter, ‘I’d have expected him to behave in one of two ways. Either to be
overwhelmingly contrite – almost to the point of religious fervour – or to taunt us with the crimes, even to gloat a bit. But there’s no sign of contrition as you know, and he
certainly hasn’t taunted us with his crimes. In fact, he hasn’t talked about them at all.’ He frowned. ‘And that brings me back to whether there’s a typical behaviour
with condemned men.’

Higneth did not think there was. ‘When they’re as close to the execution as this, there’s usually one of three attitudes,’ he said. ‘Either they’re deeply
contrite, as you’ve said, or they’re defiant: “I’m guilty so hang me and be damned.” We can deal reasonably well with either of those two: it’s the third
attitude that’s the difficult one. The ones who plead their innocence all the way. “Don’t hang me, I didn’t do it.” That’s the one that’ll cause you
nightmares.’

‘Fremlin doesn’t fall into any of those categories,’ said Walter. ‘He’s an enigma, and I think he’ll stay an enigma to the end. Which means the family of that
missing girl – Elizabeth Molland – will never know the truth.’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘With your permission, sir, I’d like to talk to her parents.’

‘The police talked to them, of course,’ said Higneth. ‘And the usual enquiries were made. But it wasn’t until much later, that they began to wonder if she might have been
one of Fremlin’s early victims. They found five bodies, but there’s no knowing if that was the final tally.’

‘He might have had another burial ground,’ said Walter.

‘Exactly. One they never found. There are acres of lonely mountainside and woodlands in that area – the Yorkshire Dales and the Moors. Impossible to search everywhere. And it’s
a sad fact that solitary women can vanish without anyone noticing they’ve gone.’

‘I won’t talk to the parents if you dislike the idea,’ said Walter, ‘but I think it might be worth it. I might just pick up something that would help me reach
Fremlin.’

Higneth thought about it and could see no objection. The Molland girl’s parents had themselves been anxious to know if Fremlin had killed their daughter – the police would like to
know as well, although as the inspector had remarked, if it was proved that Fremlin had murdered a hundred times they could still only hang him the once, more was the pity. They had talked to the
parents, he had said, but nothing useful had emerged. Edgar Higneth thought Dr Kane might just disinter an odd fact or two that would be of use. Also, he was polite and considerate and could be
trusted not to do or say anything that would bring himself or Calvary into disrepute. It was probably a bit absurd to care about Calvary’s reputation – in fact when you considered the
cut-throats and villains that Calvary housed, it was doubtful if it actually had a reputation at all. But Higneth took his work seriously and he had taken over the guardianship of the gaol from
Lewis Caradoc, thus imbibing some of Sir Lewis’s standards along the way.

‘I have no objection, although I’m doubtful anything will come of it. I’m glad you’ve been open about your intention, by the way. See now, Knaresborough’s just the
other side of Harrogate from here, isn’t it? It’s a good couple of hours’ drive I should think, but if you set off early you could get there and back in one day.’