The Death Chamber (9 page)

Far from thinking she was intruding, they welcomed her enthusiastically. The girl, whose name was Drusilla, invited her to sit down and despatched the American boy who was called Phin Farrell,
to the bar to buy her a drink. Drusilla explained about the television programme.

‘We’re sort of the advance party – research and preliminary material.’

‘Except we’re starting to think there’s more than one programme in all this,’ said Phin.

‘Yes, and if your great-grandfather really did attend Neville Fremlin’s execution . . .’

‘I should think it’s a good possibility,’ said Georgina. ‘The dates fit.’

‘Well then, if you do find anything that mentions Calvary, and if you felt like giving us permission to use it . . .’

‘As far as I’m concerned,’ said Georgina, ‘you’re welcome to Walter’s entire history. All I know about him is that he was Calvary’s doctor in the years
leading up to the Second World War, and that he lived abroad afterwards.’

‘It’s the Calvary years we’re after,’ said Phin. ‘Nothing – uh – private, of course.’

Georgina said she didn’t think there was anything private. ‘Or if there is, I haven’t found it yet. How long are you staying in Thornbeck? Because if you want to come up to
Caradoc House sometime, you can see what there is. So far I’ve only found mostly medical papers, but there’s a second box of stuff I haven’t looked at yet. That might yield
something more interesting.’

‘We’ll take you up on that offer,’ said Drusilla at once. ‘Can we bring Chad? Dr Ingram? He absolutely loves primary source material.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Georgina did not say she would be intrigued to meet Chad Ingram. ‘If you think it’ll be worth it. When would you like to come?’

They looked at one another. ‘Would Friday be all right?’ said Drusilla.

‘Yes, certainly. Would you . . .’ Georgina hesitated, and then said, ‘Would lunchtime suit you? I expect you’ve got a lot to do, so I could put out some salad and cheese
or something and you could eat while you look at everything.’

‘We’d like that,’ said Drusilla at once. ‘Thank you very much.’

She likes to give the appearance of finding life too boring for words, thought Georgina. But she’s genuinely keen on her job. And Phin is like an eager puppy. They’re nice, both of
them.

She said, ‘I’ll expect you any time after midday.’

They exchanged mobile phone numbers in case of any last-minute change of plan, and Georgina went back to Caradoc House pleased to have made this small, friendly contact.

October 1938

As Walter prepared for his first meeting with Neville Fremlin he felt tremors of nervous apprehension, and as he walked along Calvary’s corridors, the gaolers unlocking
gates and doors as he went, the ghost of his seven-year-old self walked with him. The gaolers on that morning had studiously avoided looking either at him or his mother and, at a brief word from
Sir Lewis Caradoc, they had unlocked the doors. For years afterwards one of Walter’s childhood nightmares had been the sound of keys being turned in locks.

He could still remember the female gaoler who had been on duty in his father’s cell. She had had a pixie face, and his father had called her Belinda.

It was important that Fremlin did not pick up his nervousness. Fremlin must regard him as sympathetic but detached. Walter reminded himself that he was no longer a fearful seven-year-old; he was
a qualified doctor and the health of everyone in Calvary was his responsibility. It was not his father who was waiting for him in the condemned cell, it was a stranger – a man who was not
going to the gallows for a belief and a cause, but for the deaths of five women. And he, Walter, had been charged with finding out if that five might be six. He had no idea, yet, how he would go
about this, but he had given his word to Edgar Higneth that he would try.

The warders were waiting for him. They would not remain in the cell during his visit – doctors and clergymen were allowed the small privilege of complete privacy with any condemned
prisoner – but they would be just outside the door. Walter did not know their names because he was still getting to know the staff here, but he nodded his thanks as they opened the door and
stood back to allow him to go in. As the door closed behind him, he heard the sound of a match striking, and then the faint scent of a cigarette. They were snatching a crafty smoke. But he was not
paying attention to them; his whole attention was focused on the man seated at the table.

The first thing to strike him was that Neville Fremlin was considerably older than he had been expecting – probably nearer fifty than forty. He was seated at the table and turned his head
to look at the visitor, exactly as Walter’s father had turned his head on that long-ago morning. For a moment the ghosts of the past crowded suffocatingly in, then Fremlin stood up, the
ghosts receded and Walter took the chair on the other side of the table.

‘Good morning, Mr Fremlin. I’m Dr Kane – Walter Kane. I’ll be visiting you a couple of times a day.’

‘I know who you are, Dr Kane. Edgar Higneth told me you would be coming along. I believe we aren’t permitted to shake hands, so you’ll have to take that courtesy for granted.
I’m glad to see you, although I could wish our surroundings were less austere.’

He had a rather soft voice, and his eyes, which were dark and intelligent, studied Walter with interest. He’s not in the least frightening, thought Walter, in fact he’s very nearly
ordinary. He said, ‘Is there anything you would like? Anything that might make the days a bit easier for you?’

‘A few dancing girls, perhaps? A case of good Beaujolais?’ The words came out deadpan, but then he smiled and Walter saw at once that he was not at all ordinary. If he had smiled
like that at his victims it was no wonder they had let themselves be cheated out of their life savings or their jewellery.

But he said, lightly, ‘We can’t manage either of those, I’m afraid. The best we can offer is prison-strength cocoa. But I can stir a mild sedative into it if that would help
you to sleep.’

‘But it’ll be a case of “sleep perchance to dream”, won’t it?’ said Fremlin. ‘And there’s the rub, of course. But it’s considerate of you to
offer and I’ll take you up on it. You’re very young to be a doctor, aren’t you?’

The sudden switch of subject and the direct question disconcerted Walter, but he remembered Edgar Higneth’s warnings, and said, ‘I promise you I’m fully qualified.’

‘I’m sure you are. A tough training though, isn’t it? My own was quite tough, but full-blown medicine is a rigorous road.’

Walter was determined not to be thrown off balance. He said, ‘Yes, it was tough, but I got through it. Did you enjoy pharmacy? There’s a good deal of studying to be done for that,
isn’t there?’ Mentally, he crossed his fingers, hoping this might lead to Fremlin talking about his crimes.

If Fremlin saw through the ruse, he gave no indication, but only said, ‘Yes, a great deal, but I enjoyed it.’ He sent Walter the sudden blinding smile again. ‘Dr Kane, you
mentioned helping the days along for me.’

‘Yes?’

‘Books,’ said Fremlin. ‘Could you get me books?’

‘I don’t see why not. Exactly what would you . . .’

‘Something light. H. G. Wells, maybe. He has a wonderful sense of irony. And perhaps some plays. I saw Noel Coward’s
Hay Fever
some years ago; I should like to read that and
imagine myself in a London theatre for a first night again.’ His voice was suddenly warm. ‘Always such an occasion, a first night. One wore black tie, of course,’ said the man who
had stabbed and strangled five women before burying their bodies in a forest. ‘There were drinks at the interval, and often a little supper afterwards.’

‘With friends? A lady?’

‘Sometimes. These things are always more enjoyable in the company of a friend.’ The dark eyes flickered, and Walter had the impression of a shutter being closed. Damn, I’ve
pushed him too far. ‘And,’ said Fremlin, ‘could you get some poetry for me as well?’

‘I expect so. Any particular poet? Byron? Wordsworth?’

‘Either of those two. And Wilfred Owen, perhaps. Not Oscar Wilde. There might be a certain amount of style in walking to the gallows reading Byron’s poems,’ said Neville
Fremlin thoughtfully, ‘but I’m damned if I’ll do so with “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”. But then of course,’ he said looking at Walter, ‘I daresay I’m
damned anyway.’

‘There’s supposed to be some comfort in repentance,’ said Walter a bit awkwardly.

‘The payment of a debt? So the padre keeps telling me.’

‘The trial must have been a great ordeal,’ said Walter, choosing his words with care. ‘Waiting for the verdict – and then hearing the sentence pronounced.’

‘I expected the verdict. I expected the sentence, as well.’

‘The newspapers said you were perfectly calm throughout.’

‘Yes, I believe I was. It’s supposed to be one of the obligations of a gentleman,’ said Fremlin, but he said it with such irony that Walter found himself exchanging an
appreciative smile with the man before he realized it.

‘Even so, one of the reports said you hardly seemed to notice the crowds.’ It was a fair bet that some of the victims’ families would have been in court on that last day, and
Walter thought this might be a way of getting Fremlin to open up about Elizabeth Molland.

‘It was quite crowded now I think back. But I wasn’t playing to the gallery, at least not consciously. Most of the watchers were probably direct descendants of people who used to
attend public hangings,’ said Fremlin. ‘All those crones who sat knitting at the foot of the guillotine and the Victorian ballad sellers who made up songs at Tyburn. They won’t
make up ballads about me, I don’t suppose, but if they do they’ll have enough material to work with.’

‘The Silver-Tongued Murderer and his five victims?’

This time there was definitely a reaction. Fremlin looked at Walter very hard for a moment. But he only said, ‘It makes for a good title, doesn’t it? But I shouldn’t think
there’d be many dance bands who’d want to play it. Thank you for offering to get the books for me, Dr Kane. That’s something I very much appreciate.’

‘I suppose I have to be convinced of his guilt,’ said Walter to Lewis Caradoc three nights later. ‘A jury found him guilty and a judge pronounced the death
sentence.’

‘Juries aren’t infallible,’ said Lewis Caradoc. ‘More wine?’

‘Thank you, sir, yes please.’ Walter waited for the wine to be poured, and Lewis Caradoc thought that one of the nice things about this young man was his politeness. It was
impossible to imagine him being discourteous in any situation. He’s the son I haven’t got, thought Lewis sadly, or perhaps he’s the son I lost . . . But this was not a thought to
dwell on, and this informal dinner at his house was intended to be half friendly, half professional, so he said, ‘You’re not seriously doubting Fremlin’s guilt, are
you?’

‘Not really,’ said Walter. ‘I suppose it’s natural to wonder a bit though, isn’t it? Or does it all become just part of the routine after a time?’

‘I never found it did,’ said Lewis. ‘Another cutlet?’

‘Yes, please.’ Walter had been rather flattered to be invited to Sir Lewis’s house, and after Calvary’s plain fare he was enjoying the food, which had been set out in
covered dishes by a neat parlour maid who had then withdrawn leaving them to serve themselves. There was no sign of Lady Caradoc whom Walter had not met; when he arrived Sir Lewis had said briefly
that she was away and had not referred to her again.

Sir Lewis served the cutlet, and said, ‘Have you discovered anything about the other girl yet? The one they never found?’ Walter looked up. ‘Higneth’s told me about the
police request – it’s unusual but not entirely unknown. Higneth knew I intended to talk to you about Fremlin, so if you want to discuss it with me it will be all right. You can trust me
not to gossip afterwards, of course. But if you’d rather talk about something else I’ll understand. I was curious, that’s all.’

‘I haven’t found out anything,’ said Walter. ‘It’s four days since Fremlin was brought to Calvary and I’ve seen him twice each day, but he hasn’t talked
about the murders at all. He’ll discuss most things, apparently quite openly. Things he’s done in his life that he’s enjoyed: music, the theatre, books, studying for the
pharmaceutical exams. But I’m wondering if he’s playing a game. Taunting me – letting me think I’m getting near to a confidence, and then shutting up shop, so to
speak.’

‘Keep trying,’ said Lewis. ‘There have been gallows confessions.’

‘Fremlin’s perfectly polite when he closes that mental door,’ said Walter, ‘but once he’s done it, he’s unreachable.’ He paused, his mind on the man in
the condemned cell: the man who had said there would be style in going to the gallows reading Byron’s poems. ‘Sir Lewis, how usual is it for a man on the brink of being executed to play
games of that kind?’

‘Very unusual indeed in my experience,’ said Lewis. ‘It may simply be bravado and, if it is, Fremlin will probably crack near the end. But it’s possible he’s got a
murderer’s vanity and believes he’ll find a way to slide out of this.’ He glanced at Walter. ‘I shouldn’t think there’s any danger of that, should you,
Walter?’

‘No,’ said Walter at once. ‘No danger at all.’

After Walter had left, chugging down the driveway in his little car, Lewis poured himself another glass of brandy, and sat by the fire with it. It was extraordinary how talking
to Kane had sent his own mind scudding back across the years – it was the eagerness, of course that was so reminiscent of his son, and the idealism. Caspar had had exactly the same qualities
– several times, talking to Walter, Lewis had thought it might almost be his son who sat there.

The idealism and eagerness had never been more apparent than on the late-spring day in 1915 when Caspar left for France with his regiment. Off to beat the Hun, he had said, with the light
glowing in his eyes and the smile that people said was the very print of Lewis’s own smile. Off to give the Kaiser a pasting. But he would be back before they knew it: the war would not last
long – everyone said so – and they must keep the home fires burning for his return and have a hero’s welcome ready.