Season Of Darkness (22 page)

Tyler gaped at him. He didn’t have a clue what he was blathering on about. He personally didn’t like cigars, or pipes. Clare had laughed as if she understood.

She turned to Tyler. “Do let’s hear what Dr. Beck has to say, Tom. I’m sure it won’t take long and it may prove invaluable.”

Tyler threw up his hands. “How can I refuse two such persuasive people?” He unfastened his wristwatch and placed it on the table. “You have ten minutes. Go.”

Beck made a tent of his fingers and pressed them against his lips. “How shall I start? … Let us say that in this area, the base proposition of psychoanalytic theory is that we all carry with us a primeval, profound, but not conscious sense of guilt. I won’t go into the explanation for this guilt at the moment; suffice to say it is universal and unavoidable to the human condition. This buried guilt creates its own pressure.”

Tyler shifted in his chair and sneaked a glance at the watch.

Beck held up his hand. “Allow me to use an analogy which is rather unpleasant but vivid. You might have had the experience of eating something that does not agree with you. At first you are not aware of this, but as time goes on, you realize there is a great deal of discomfort in your stomach, much rumbling and belching, perhaps your head begins to ache. All indicating there is an internal war going on. Your stomach both wishes to repel the offending food and use it for fuel. Finally you face the fact that the only way to settle the conflict is to vomit …” He paused. “Are you with me so far?”

“Ugh,” said Clare. Tyler merely nodded.

“It is the same with guilt,” continued Beck. “The material that we refer to as repressed causes us great inner discomfort. To obtain relief, we will seek a place to let go, to bring equilibrium to our troubled self, to vomit up the offending incident or incidents that have brought about our distress. For the fortunate, that place might be undergoing psychoanalysis or some other kind of therapy. For the criminal it is not as simple. He does not consciously seek to reveal his crime. If you ask him, he will tell you he wants to get away with it. Nevertheless our criminal has a compulsion to confess.”

He paused and looked at his audience. Tyler raised his eyebrows.

“Strangely enough, Dr. Beck, in all my experience as a police officer, there hasn’t been a long queue of riff raff waiting to pour out the stories of their crimes on our broad shoulders.”

Beck nodded acceptingly. “I don’t mean quite the same as what the common usage means by that remark. The murderer who enters the police station and says, ‘I done it, arrest me,’ is not that to which I am referring. What I mean is the unobtrusive little clue, or clues, that the criminal has unconsciously given which betray his identity and point the finger in his direction …”

Tyler interrupted him. “In the case of Elsie Bates, the murderer left behind the weapon, which is hardly unobtrusive. We’re checking it for fingerprints. It appeared to have been carefully placed beside the body.”

“Really, how interesting. Such a gesture suggests a reverence of some kind. I would say the killer felt remorse for his action, pity for his victim.”

“I’m glad you think so, Doctor. In fact, he shot an unarmed and helpless girl in cold blood. He should have had some pity before he acted, don’t you think?”

Beck eyed him curiously. “Are you referring to something in particular?”

Tyler shook his head. He’d already said more than he should have. “Can’t reveal any details, Doctor. But please continue. I’m taking it all in. Open as the air, that’s me.”

Beck tented his fingers again. “In my opinion, the criminal has the urge to be discovered as powerfully as the detective needs, for his own unconscious reasons, to discover him.”

“Explain that, will you?” Tyler asked, trying not to let his aggravation seep through in his voice. Clare’s warning glance showed he wasn’t altogether successful.

Dr. Beck gave his Gallic shrug. “Why men take up the profession of police officers is another book unto itself. A sublimation of their own anti-social tendencies perhaps …”

“Let me get this straight, Doctor. You are saying that instead of most criminals being stupid, useless pieces of shite, they are in fact afflicted with a conscience that make them do stupid, obvious things that even stupid, obvious detectives like me, who are barely on the side of the law, can understand?”

“Tom! Of course he doesn’t mean that.”

Dr. Beck, for the first time, looked disconcerted. “I do apologize if I have inadvertently offended you, Inspector Tyler. Perhaps it is a language problem …”

“Come off it, Doctor. Your command of English is superior to mine. And no, you haven’t offended me, I’m just trying to understand exactly what you’re saying so us thick plods can use it in pursuit of
B
and
ES
with bodily harm; the conscience-stricken rapists, murderers, and thugs. It’s good to know these scum secretly want us to find them. And punish them. Which of course, we are, as you say, most eager to do. In non-analytic circles, that’s called seeking justice.”

Beck sighed and built the tent again, a little habitual gesture of his that Tyler thought he should analyze. He looked as if he were praying. Perhaps Tyler should suggest that to him.

“I was wrong to think I could explain such a new and challenging theory in ten minutes. Perhaps we should revert back to our original idea of your reading my article in your own time.”

“That might be better,” said Clare soothingly. “I myself often find it easier to understand something on the printed page.”

Tyler leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He could see a spider running along one of the struts. “I understand quite well what Dr. Beck has said. That does not mean
I agree with him. However, you are quite right, Doctor, it might be better if I take your article with me and read it when I have a chance.” He brought his chair back to the upright position with a thump. “To tell the truth, I was actually hoping that you could share with me any more mundane observations you might have had about the dead girl, Elsie Bates. She was well known at the camp. In your professional view, were any of the men here besotted with her? She was a flirt, a very attractive girl. Did any of them become jealous, do you think? Who knows what sexual frustration will do to a man.”

Dr. Beck sighed. He knew a lost cause when he met one. “I did see the young woman on a few occasions and my fellow internees welcomed her. But even with the few young men here, I don’t believe any of them would allow themselves to be involved emotionally with a girl like that … after all, she is on the other side of the wire, is she not? For most of us, she is
goyim
. The unattainable.” His lips curled slightly at the corners. “But then the forbidden does have its own particular attraction, does it not? The serpent did not perhaps have such a difficult task to persuade Eve to eat the apple.”

Clare laughed. “Thank goodness you didn’t add, ‘and brought all our woe into the world.’ ”

My God, they are actually flirting with each other
, thought Tyler. He picked up his watch and strapped it on.

“I really must be off. Thank you for your time, Doctor. I will let you know how my investigation develops. Now, we should probably have you escorted back to the camp.”

Beck slumped in his chair. “I must admit I find it disconcerting to have an armed soldier at my side as if I am a dangerous offender. I am, and have been for many years, a sedentary man with not the slightest proclivity toward violence, which in fact I abhor. How could I possibly be considered a threat to this nation? My career is in tatters thanks to
the Nazis; many of my friends and relatives are trapped inside a country that persecutes them because they are Jewish. Is it likely I would be a fifth columnist and support the very regime that would destroy me?”

Tyler saw for the first time the pain beneath the doctor’s calm professional façade.

“I’m sure your tribunal will take all of that into account, Dr. Beck.”

“Why don’t you and I stay here a little longer?” said Clare to the doctor. “I wanted to talk to you about preparing some of your lectures for publication.”

“Ah. That is the apple indeed,” said Beck.

Tyler got up to leave when Clare called out.

“Tom! Don’t forget the article.”

“Right! Thanks,” said Tyler, picking up the slim volume from the table, and, with a nod, he left the tent.

He heard Clare say something in German to the doctor and he wondered if she was apologizing for Tyler’s behaviour.

Well done, lad. You sure made an eejit of yourself in front of Clare
.

The Humber refused to start and he had to get out and crank it. He did not do it smoothly or gently.

On the way back to Whitchurch, Tyler kept rerunning the conversation over and over in his mind. He had to admit that the doctor had a point. He and other officers tended to think of criminals as making silly mistakes which led to their capture, but if there was anything to that psycho stuff, it could explain some of the more ridiculous clues the criminals left behind. One silly sod who had tried to rob a Birmingham bank had handed in a note written on the back of an envelope that was addressed to him.

However, what had struck Tyler the most was the doctor’s use of the word “reverence.” The way Elsie Bates had been moved and straightened, her arms neatly at her side, the poppies on her chest, did suggest something like that. Beck said the killer felt remorse. Tyler wondered if that was true, and if it was, whether it could be of help in solving the case.

By the time he arrived in Whitchurch he was thoroughly
riled up and in no mood to take any shite from his father-in-law regarding Janet’s situation. Walter Lambeth was always going on about “our Vera” and what a good lass she was, but in Tyler’s opinion, he used her to fetch and carry whenever he could, and he wasn’t above belittling her in front of people. Could be anything, but mostly he made fun of her intelligence. “Not her strong suit,” was his often-repeated remark, and Tyler knew Vera was hurt by this. He’d tried to get her to stand up to the old man and take a strip off him but she wouldn’t.

Tyler parked the Humber in front of the shop, where Lambeth was standing puffing on a long pipe. He liked to cultivate a John Bull persona, which meant in his case a striped butcher’s apron, bushy sideburns, and a walrus moustache. His clay pipe was all part of the image. Never mind the Mr. England act; in Tyler’s view, Walter was ignorant; bigoted and as narrow-minded as any county matron. If, to boot, he was also into profiteering, Tyler wouldn’t be surprised.

“Morning, Tom. What brings you to these parts?”

The butcher shop was only a ten-minute walk from Tyler’s house, but Lambeth made it sound as if they were in different counties.

“Just going by. Thought I’d say hello.”

Lambeth eyed Tyler curiously. “What’s up? Troubled hearth, is it?” He glanced down the street, then beckoned to Tyler to move closer. “Can I give you a word of advice, son?”

Tyler didn’t move. “I think I’m all right for advice at the moment, Dad.”

Lambeth stepped forward, waving his pipe in front of him. “My Vera isn’t as happy as she should be and I’m concerned about that. What goes on between you and her in the bedroom isn’t my business …”

Damn right about that, thought Tyler.

“Vera’s getting on now, and man to man I can understand
why that might make a chap’s eyes stray. She does take care of herself, mind, and she’s a good lass for all her being a bit slow. But she’s on the high-strung side, and she’d be better if you paid her a bit more attention, like. Take her to the pictures once in a while or out for a drink. She’s always afraid of what people think. ‘We never go out together, Dad,’ she said to me just last week. ‘What’ll people think?’ Let ’em think what they like, says I, but she worries about it.” He paused and sucked on his pipe, which seemed to have gone out. “Women like a bit of show. Flowers now and again, sweets in a fancy box, the occasional compliment.”

In all the years he’d been in the presence of his in-laws, Tyler had not once seen Walter compliment his wife or hand her a bouquet of flowers. Once he’d given her a bag of sweets to share, but that was all. The same held true for his daughter.

“Thanks for the advice, Dad. I’ll think about it.”

“Suit yourself. By the way, how’s our Janet? Is she feeling better?”

“I didn’t know she was poorly.”

“Oh yes, she left early. She said she had a tummy ache.” He winked. “Her monthlies, I suppose, but she’s too shy to tell me.”

Tyler knew it wasn’t that. You can’t live in a small house with two women and not be aware when they’re having their monthly. Janet had hers last week.

“What time did she leave?”

“Oh, hardly more than twenty minutes ago. She was all doubled over, said she had to lie down. She’s asked for the morning off tomorrow. Mind you, it’s inconvenient. Saturday’s our busiest day.”

He was eyeing Tyler, looking for him to dispute Janet’s story; to confirm she was a malingerer.

“I’ll look in on her. Well, I’d better be off …”

“Any development on the Land Army girl case?” Lambeth asked. He had an expression of prurient curiosity on his face. “I’d see her in town. Nice bit of crumpet. Too bad. I hear another one’s missing?”

“Who told you that?”

“Our Vera. It put the wind up her. She thinks there’s a Jerry on the loose.”

“There isn’t.”

“Who’s done them in then?”

“First of all there is no confirmation that the second girl is dead. She was good pals with the one who died and she’s probably gone somewhere to be quiet for a while.”