The Death Chamber (41 page)

‘They’d say they were father and daughter, I suppose,’ said Walter.

‘Or mother and daughter.’

‘You think a woman could have been driving that car?’

‘It’s not out of the question. Whoever it was could say the daughter was unwell – recovering from flu or something of the kind, but they had a family commitment to attend. A
funeral or a wedding. But I don’t think it was the parents. We’ve talked to them, and we’re watching the house, of course, in case she goes there, but I don’t think
that’s likely.’

‘You think the car driver really was part of it?’

‘If not, it means Molland got away under her own steam with no means of transport, presumably no money, and wearing just night things. Drowsy from the morphia, as well. All a bit unlikely,
I’d say. We’ll keep searching, but if she was taken in a car it’s a pointless exercise; by lunchtime she could be in another country.’

‘With this war?’ asked Higneth.

‘Not impossible, sir. There’s a lot of confusion over travel at the moment; she could have been taken to Scotland and from there to Norway. Or she could have gone across to Ireland
on the ferry and be on the west coast by tonight.’

‘But that brings us back to the idea of it being pre-planned,’ objected Walter.

‘There have been madder escapes than this, and some of those people who escaped were never caught,’ said the inspector. He stood up. ‘We’ve alerted all the ports –
also the hospitals, because if your diagnosis of appendicitis was right, Dr Kane, she’ll need treatment in the next few hours.’ He frowned. ‘In that situation, how long would you
give her?’

‘It’s difficult to be precise because her youth and general good health would be fighting the infection for her. But if the intestine were to rupture peritonitis could set in.
Without medical attention that could be fatal.’

If Ketch had not seen it with his own eyes, he would not have believed it. But it had been plain as plain. Dr Walter Kane, that correct, saint-like doctor everyone said was
wonderful, so dedicated and kind, had deceived everyone. And if he, Ketch, had not been as cunning as a fox, he would never have known it.

To start with, he had not wanted to form part of the stupid guard on the Molland female when they took her off to Kendal infirmary. It was a filthy night, and Ketch had taken a very sour view of
the entire expedition, in fact if he had had any say in the matter, the murderous bitch would have been left to die and saved old Pierrepoint a job! But it had not been possible to get out of it,
so Ketch had gloomily put on a heavy topcoat, and gone sulkily out to help load the stretcher. The Molland tart was rolling her eyes like a demented thing on account of something Dr Kane had given
her but they had got her onto the ambulance, and he and Dr Kane had got in after her and off they had driven.

Ketch had not liked the journey. He had not liked the way Dr Kane seemed to be in a dream: staring out of the window every five minutes and hardly hearing when Ketch spoke to him. He wondered if
the girl had got to him, although he would not have expected Dr Kane to be taken in by this doe-eyed tart. To Ketch’s mind Molland was nothing but a cheap little whore who had let Neville
Fremlin tup her for all he was worth, and had then gone on killing after he was dead.

And then that other car had come swooping down on them, and the ambulance had swerved violently and they had rolled into the ditch. Ketch had rapped his head smartly against the metal sides
– a bad bang it had been and he had a lump on his head like an egg, not that anybody cared, or even asked if he was all right. All anyone had been worried about was that tart and her stupid
belly-ache.

And then – just as Ketch had suspected – the whole belly-ache business was a sham! A put-up job! Ketch knew this because when he banged his head he had not really been knocked out,
but he had pretended to be. This was so the others would have to deal with getting the ambulance out of the ditch: Ketch was buggered if he was going to do himself a damage pushing the great heavy
thing back on the road, never mind being out in the pouring rain which could cause a man to catch his death. So he lay still and quiet, but after the first couple of minutes he opened his eyes to
narrow slits to see what was going on.

He saw a lot more than he had bargained for. The other car came alongside and a figure got out. He – Ketch thought it was a ‘he’ although he was not absolutely sure –
came up to the back of the ambulance, opened the doors, climbed inside, and began to help Molland off the narrow shelf-bed. Ketch went on being deeply unconscious, but he managed to dart a quick
look at Dr Kane.

And Kane was watching them! He was lying half-against the side of the ambulance, much as Ketch himself was doing, but Ketch saw him open his eyes and look straight at Molland and the stranger.
Dr Kane knew exactly what was going on, but he shut his eyes again and let them get on with it!

Molland had got off the shelf-bed by this time, although she was clinging to her rescuer’s arm – Ketch still could not tell who it was because of the deep-collared coat and the hat
with the brim pulled well down. But when they got down onto the road they left the ambulance doors open, and he saw, very clearly indeed, that Molland was not so knocked out by Dr Kane’s
medicines that she could not walk almost unaided to the waiting car and get herself into the front seat. Well! If that was a girl with ’pendicitis then Ketch was Winston Churchill!

He watched and waited and presently the other car drove away into the night, and Dr Kane sat up as if he had recovered from the effects of the crash, and came over to Ketch, so that Ketch
decided to recover consciousness. Then Dr Kane called out to the driver to put on some lights in the back, and when the lights were switched on he pretended to be shocked and horrified to find the
prisoner had gone.

That was when Ketch knew he had something really valuable to carry to Dr McNulty. He did not think Dr Kane had had anything to do with the escape plan; what he thought was that Dr Kane had
guessed it might happen and that he had deliberately pretended to be unconscious and let them get on with it. But who had it been in that car?
Who?

When they got back, Calvary was in an uproar, policemen crawling all over the building, everyone talking about what had happened. Old Hedgehog was scuttling to and fro with a face the colour of
porridge, saying they had never before had an escape from Calvary and it was terrible, catastrophic, and the head governor of prisons would have his balls on a plate. Ketch thought Old Hedgehog
must be in a real stew to use such an expression because normally he never swore at all. Ketch was going to enjoy watching Hedgehog being brought to book for all this. He liked other people’s
misfortunes.

When he thought about it all a bit more, he thought Dr McNulty would probably want evidence, so he set himself to look for it. He knew what he needed to find; you did not grow up in
Ketch’s family without learning a few ways to dodge unpleasant things or to get out of a punishment; his father had had a quick hand for the leather belt. Ketch did not grudge that; if he had
ever had a son of his own, he would have given him a belting when it was necessary. He had not had a son, as it happened, in fact he had not had a wife. He did not mind that. Women pried and
fussed; Ketch could not be doing with either.

But having that kind of childhood meant he knew the tricks. He knew about the stuff you could take to make yourself sick, or give you what some people called the Other. There were ways to make
your temperature high, as well. All you had to do was put the thermometer into a cup of hot tea or against a hot water bottle when no one was looking, and then perhaps tousle your hair or dampen it
with water – better still with something oily – so it looked sweat-soaked. If you were being what they called artistic, you could rouge your cheeks as well to make them flushed and
hot-looking; Ketch had never done that himself but he thought you could trust Molland to have a few bits of paint and powder in her cell!

Ketch knew about all of this, and Dr Kane, with all his doctor’s training would know it as well. So he had a good look round Dr Kane’s room when no one was about, opening cupboards
and drawers, thinking that when he had more time he might try to fathom the records Dr Kane kept for the various drugs. A man might do very nicely out of selling drugs; Ketch would try to find out
what people wanted.

But there was nothing! This was so annoying Ketch felt the bile rise in his throat. He knew – he knew absolutely and surely that this had all been a put-up job! That bitch sitting in the
condemned cell had—

The condemned cell. Would there be anything in there? Something there had not been time to get rid of – something that might incriminate Dr Kane – or anyone else for that matter.
Ketch did not much care who was guilty and who was not, providing he had something definite to carry along to the doctor.

He made his way to the condemned cell, not being furtive or sly, simply walking quite normally, as if he had a task to do. Look furtive and people suspected you of all kinds of things. Look open
and normal, and nobody thought twice about it.

Looking open and normal, Ketch went through to the condemned cell. He did not completely close the door which might have attracted attention – people were still running round like demented
ants – but left it half open. He could hear if anyone came along the corridor, but if there was anything to be found, then Ketch would find it. As he pushed the door, he glanced at the board
affixed to it, listing the people who had been in and out of the cell today. Mostly it was just the names of the warders going on or off duty – eight-hour shifts it was. Old Hedgehog was
strict about keeping these kinds of records, although they were a lot of rubbishy time-wasting to Ketch’s mind.

They were not time-wasting tonight. The list of names made very interesting reading. As he began to search the cell, he was smiling to himself.

A lot of people were saying Molland was innocent, that she had been under Neville Fremlin’s influence, and that the police, and then the judge and jury, had not understood her. This was
all rubbish. Ketch knew that one for what she was and he understood her very well indeed.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

People had never really understood mother; Vincent knew that. Mother had said so herself, on a number of occasions.

‘I was always misunderstood,’ she said. ‘People did not know how to treat me. If I have kept my looks after all I’ve been through, it is one of God’s
mercies.’

Mother had kept her looks, of course; Vincent was always able to reassure her on that score. She always looked so pretty and so ladylike. Despite what they had tried to do to her in Calvary,
despite the disappointments she had suffered, she still had soft fair hair like spun silk, and a complexion like one of the porcelain figurines she was so fond of. She collected figurines, and
insisted on cleaning them herself; she would not allow any of the cleaning ladies they had to so much as dust them.

‘They are very precious to me,’ she said. ‘A gentleman I knew – oh, many years ago – told me I was exactly like one of those china ladies. Exquisite and fragile,
those were his words.’ When Mother said this, Vincent had waited hopefully, wanting to hear more about the gentleman who had said this. Had it been someone like the Bournemouth Major?

‘Oh no, no one like that,’ said Mother.

Greatly daring, Vincent said, ‘Was it my father who said it to you?’

Mother sighed. ‘No, my dear, it was not. John Meade was a very quiet, very ordinary man. He could never have talked so . . . so persuasively or so charmingly. That was a marriage of
convenience, really. After my ordeal in that place, my life was very lonely – I felt I needed someone to take care of me.’

‘That place’ was Calvary; Vincent knew that. Calvary, the grim dark prison-house where Mother had been locked away.

‘I was very grateful to John Meade, and very sad at his death,’ she said. ‘No, the man who likened me to a porcelain figure was someone I met when I was a very young, very
impressionable girl, not even twenty years old. But he betrayed me, Vincent.’

Vincent could hardly bear to think of it, and he could hardly bear to think of her taking the burden of the man’s crimes, which was what she always said had happened. ‘He took
advantage of your innocence,’ he said, which was a phrase from one of the books Mother liked to read.

‘I paid for his wickedness,’ she said. ‘I was a mere child, but that did not stop them from accusing me of dreadful crimes. They threw me into a dreadful place, little better
than a dungeon, and vulgar people laughed at me. I was made to wear ugly prison clothes and eat coarse food.’

It was like one of her books: the poor misunderstood heroine who had to endure hardships and privations, but she had finally been set free.

‘I do not care to talk about it nowadays,’ she said. ‘Justice triumphed in the end, although for a long time life was very cruel to me. That is why I have to redress the
balance here and there.’