Antidote to Murder Read online

  “Not as yet, sir, but his association with Dunn casts doubt upon his character. In fact, I feel that perhaps the two of them were in collusion over the stolen medical bag.”

  “Does this mean the charges against me will be dropped?” Dody asked, her spirits finally beginning to buoy.

  Fisher glanced at Pike and then smiled at her hesitantly. “I will speak to the magistrate myself and file a motion to dismiss.”

  Was Fisher trying to make things up to her or was he settling some kind of debt with Pike? Whatever his motives, she was grateful.

  Pike’s eyes shone. He lifted his hand to hers—how she longed for his touch—and then let it fall. “Congratulations,” he said.

  Her heart felt squeezed; one side pressed with sweet relief; the other with loneliness and regret. “Thank you, Inspector,” she said to Fisher.

  “Good job.” Pike patted the inspector on the arm. “Though it seems to me you still don’t have enough to charge Everard with.”

  “No sir, but enough to justify bringing him in for some lively questioning. “

  “Where is he now?” Pike asked.

  “With a constable in the police van.”

  “Go with him to the station and wait for me there. I’ll inform Spilsbury about this personally.”

  “May I talk to Dr. Spilsbury first?” Dody asked. “I would like to tell him my good news.”

  * * *

  Spilsbury was in his office. Dody knocked and entered. The pathologist stood up quickly from his desk. “Dr. McCleland,” he said, blinking. “What are you doing here? These premises are out of bounds to you. If you wanted to discuss your case, you should have written or telephoned.”

  “I wanted to tell you personally, Doctor.” She smiled. “There will be no trial—the charges against me are to be dropped.” It took a moment for her words to register. Spilsbury did not smile back, but she could tell by his loosening posture that he was relieved. “The coronial suspicion of me rested largely on the typed letters of accusation, and it has come to light that someone in this mortuary wrote the letters accusing me of conducting criminal abortions, and that someone here has criminal connections.”

  “Not Everard, surely? I was told that they’ve taken him away—can you believe it? Have you any idea why? Surely he has nothing to do with any of this?”

  “I expect Chief Inspector Pike will tell you what’s going on. In the meantime, sir,” she added quickly, “may I return to work?”

  “Yes, yes, of course. The charges against you were preposterous, appalling. And now Everard? Is there no end to the shame? It’s almost as if someone has a vendetta against this place. Forensic pathology is coming ahead in leaps and bounds; we have too many places and not enough men to fill them. Everard has a wonderful career ahead of him.” Spilsbury rubbed his chin and spoke as if to himself. “I can only hope he has not thrown it away over petty jealousies.”

  Dody did not hide her surprise. “You were aware of Everard’s feelings towards me?”

  “Of course. I had to pull him into line on occasion. In fact, I had him in this office not long ago and told him to pull his socks up. Told him to pay more attention to his learning and stop trying to constantly get the better of you.”

  “Thank you, sir, I appreciate that. I never knew—” Dody might well have not spoken.

  “I mean it is obvious that one day he will be promoted above you. He is a man, with a wife and family to support. That is the way of the world. I told him you would probably leave to marry sooner or later, and if not, the pressure of the work would finally get to you—understandably, of course. Ours is not a job for the fainthearted.”

  Dody could take no more of this; the emotions she’d spent days trying to control at last burst their banks. She filled her lungs with air, hardly recognising the shrieking voice that followed as her own. “And what of my career—my career was almost ruined! Have I not proved to you that I am more than adequate at doing my job?” Damn the consequences, she should have yelled like this months ago.

  “Of course you have proved it, I have no complaints other than—”

  “Other than what, sir?” she snapped.

  “That you can be too emotional. Which you are proving at this very moment.” He bent his head and shuffled some papers. “We have a case that might interest you,” he said, handing her some notes as if the last minute had not happened. “Read the preliminaries. A body was sent to us from St. Thomas’s yesterday afternoon with suspected cyanide poisoning. You may assist me with it if you wish. Meet me in the autopsy room in about ten minutes.”

  Of course she wanted to assist him. The body was undoubtedly Daniel Dunn’s and she was desperate to have her cause of death confirmed.

  “Yes, Dr. Spilsbury.” What else could she say?

  She excused herself and hurried from the office then went and stood in the middle of the autopsy room. It was hard to believe that she had shouted at her mentor. She wasn’t sure if she should be feeling relieved to have got away with it, or angrier still at her obvious impotence. For the amount of good it had done, she might just as well have stood there like a frightened little mouse and said nothing at all.

  Dody shook her head and looked around at the neatly parked trolleys, the instrument cabinets, the sink, the marble slab, and the shelves of specimen jars and microscopes. This place, once a second home to her, now felt like an alien and hostile world. Florence had always said one had to suffer to be a true feminist and she was right. But how much easier it would be to be more like Florence—vent her frustrations by hurling bricks through windows, vandalising golf courses, and throwing eggs at politicians. Unlike her sister, though, she had never believed that violence was the path to female empowerment—nor yelling, as she had just proved. There had to be a more effective way.

  She thought back to the exultation she’d felt when Spilsbury had first offered her the job as his assistant. She was sure she had been chosen on merit, but it was obvious now that that had not been the case. Spilsbury had employed her because he had an urgent need for an assistant and no men were available at the time. Autopsy surgery was not a popular medical speciality.

  Now it was clear that the recruitment of Everard a few months after hers had sealed her fate—she was destined to remain little more than a secretary for the remainder of her career.

  How could she have been so naive? Of course a male employee would be given preferential treatment over a female. Of course Everard would have been promoted above her as soon as he had obtained the necessary experience.

  But if her fate was sealed, and Everard already knew it, why had he written the letters? There was no further gain for him, only risk of discovery. Could he hate her so much? Why? It made no sense.

  Start again. Why would he accuse her of being the abortionist? Because he was the abortionist himself? Surely not, but it was the most obvious answer. Pray God the police could sort this sorry mess out.

  She dashed away a tear. She must continue as if the conversation with Spilsbury had never happened. Charges against her were about to be dropped, and that surely was cause enough for celebration. She had spent the last two nights shedding tears for Pike, but she would not shed them for her job. She would make these premises familiar again and find a way to demonstrate her worth. If Everard was sent to prison, Spilsbury would have no choice but to rely on her skills until the next man applied for the job, and she would face that prospect when it came.

  The swinging door batted open and Alfred rushed in. “Oh, miss, it is good to see you again—but I can’t talk now, I have to see Dr. Spilsbury. There’s a great commotion at the front of the building. Dr. Everard is being taken away in a police van.”

  “It’s all right, Alfred. Dr. Spilsbury knows about it.”

  “But what’s ’e done?”

  “I expect he is just helping the police with their enquiries.” She forced a jubilant sm
ile. “And in the meantime, Alfred, the charges against me are to be dropped and I am back at work.” Alfred grabbed her hand in both of his and pumped enthusiastically, his eyes shining.

  “How have you been since my absence? Has the place been running smoothly?” she asked.

  “Oh, yes, indeed, Doctor. I managed to acquire more ice, and our other supplies are plentiful again now the strikes are over.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. And the yard is certainly looking cleaner. That dog you were so fond of, did your wife agree at last to let you take it home?”

  “Oh no, miss, that was very sad. I found the dog dead in the rubbish pile, all filthy and twisted.”

  Dody frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that. When was this?”

  “The day after you left, miss. I think he must have eaten something bad.”

  Dody said nothing, but patted the old man’s arm. It was puzzling, though. Whatever the animal had eaten, presumably from the rubbish pile, must have been highly potent to affect the iron constitution of a stray dog.

  The clatter of a rolling trolley and the whoosh of the swinging door put an end to further contemplation of the subject.

  “Good morning, Doctor,” a young porter said as he wheeled a covered body alongside the slab. “One-two-three-up,” he chanted as he and Alfred transferred the body from the gurney to the slab. The two men speculated as to why Everard had been taken away by the police and Dody tried to pay them no heed as she peeled back the sheet to reveal the cherry red countenance of Daniel Dunn.

  “Please tell Dr. Spilsbury that we are ready to commence,” she said to Alfred. At that moment, another figure entered the autopsy room. It was Pike come to talk to Spilsbury.

  Pike met Dody’s eye and nodded. She acknowledged his presence with the hint of a smile. Conscious of his lingering gaze, she unhooked an apron from a peg and picked up her notebook and pen.

  “Time to get back to work,” she said to Alfred in a voice that was loud and clear.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Pike would never have proposed marriage to Dody had he still been obliged to spy on her sister. But after his somewhat accidental capture of the German spy and the subsequent praise from his superiors, suggestions were made that he might like to return to his former position at Scotland Yard. He had accepted the offer gladly, and it was this that had spurred him to ask Dody to be his wife.

  In the light of her reaction, though, the arrest of Gabriel Klassen looked but a hollow victory. On his way home from Dody’s, he had called at a public house and attempted unsuccessfully to wash away his sorrows, wondering how fate could deal so much with one hand and then take it all back with the other. Come Monday his head still throbbed and he longed for the day to end, but first he had to get through the interview with Dr. Everard.

  He finished reading Dody’s note written on mortuary stationery, which she had handed to him when he had vacated Spilsbury’s office. The note was solely about the case, and her signature came with no endearments. He closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed the paper’s texture with his hands, as if it might bring some part of her to him, and then reluctantly slid it across the table for Fisher to read.

  Esther Craddock’s death and the murder of little Billy Kent were loosely linked to the admiral’s murder through illegally manufactured tablets—he knew that much. While not strictly Special Branch concerns, Callan had given Pike permission—another reward for his success—to take over from Fisher and lead the investigations. Fisher did not appear to resent the fact and nor should he, Pike thought with some bitterness. If it weren’t for him, the inspector would not be carrying the rank that he did.

  Pike had transferred directly from the army to the police, where he had assumed immediate officer status and the resentment of the men. Fisher had once been his most trusted assistant and his only ally in Scotland Yard. For the sake of monetary gain and promotion, he had betrayed Pike to his superiors for attempting to keep Violet’s name out of a murder investigation, and that was what had led to Pike’s exile to the Suffragette Division.

  Fisher read Dody’s note and passed it back to Pike. Pike stared at Everard for a moment, deliberately trying to disconcert him. He folded the note carefully into a tiny square and returned it to his pocket. This latest information from the mortuary was more grist for the mill and he wanted Everard to know it.

  The doctor mopped his brow with his handkerchief despite the cold atmosphere in the cell. “I want my lawyer,” he said.

  “You are not under arrest, sir,” Fisher said. “A lawyer is an unnecessary expense at this stage.”

  “Just questions and then I can go?” Everard looked hopefully from one man to the other. “Ask away then.”

  Fisher removed the pencil from behind his ear and licked its tip. “Did you give false information in the form of anonymous letters to the coroner implicating Dr. McCleland in the death of Miss Esther Craddock?” he asked.

  “Certainly not.”

  “These letters.” Pike took the bundle of letters from his pocket and spread them on the desk. “Look at them carefully, please, sir. Do you recognise them?”

  Everard ran his tongue around his lower lip and glanced down at the documents before him. He leafed his way through all four and snorted. “You really think I would write something with such appalling grammar and spelling? Doktor Doroty Maclleland is responsible . . .” He tapped a line of type. “Surely, Chief Inspector, you can credit me with a little more pride of presentation than that.”

  From the moment he had laid eyes on Everard, witnessed the flick of his long fringe, Pike had labelled him a pompous ass; and now he was proving it. “It is not the spelling or the syntax I am interested in, but the content. How do you feel about Dr. McCleland’s presence in the mortuary?” he asked.

  “I am not happy about it. I believe that a woman’s place is in the home—do you not agree, Chief Inspector?”

  “My opinion is not relevant.”

  “I feel like most men, I think.”

  “You resent her?”

  “I simply do not believe that a woman should be doing a man’s job.”

  “She threatens your future?”

  “Not at all; Dr. Spilsbury has assured me my position is quite secure.”

  This tallied with Dody’s note and failed to throw Pike. All along he’d felt there was more to Everard’s motivation than thwarted ambition. “You borrowed the chief clerk’s typewriting machine on several occasions leading up to the Craddock inquest,” Pike said.

  “The clerk is a muddle-headed old fool,” Everard said. “Yes, I did borrow the machine a few weeks ago when I was attempting to type up a paper—I can show it to you if you wish. It’s about tumours in rats. I made such a hash of the thing that from then on I resolved to employ someone to do my typewriting for me—there are certain firms that hire out women especially for the purpose.”

  “So, women do have their uses?” Pike could not resist the jibe.

  “Of course they do, but just not in the medical world—other than as nurses, of course.”

  “I still believe you wrote the letters, Dr. Everard,” Pike said. “I put it to you that you not only wrote them, but you also paid Daniel Dunn to deliver them to the coroner at Bishopsgate and you might also have paid Dunn to steal your briefcase. I’m absolutely certain that you paid Dunn to cause several disturbances outside Dr. McCleland’s house and incited him to throw a bomb through her window.”

  Everard reddened. “I did nothing of the kind. I don’t even know any Daniel Dunn, nor was I even aware that he was the man who stole my bag.” He jumped to his feet. “I’ve had enough of this. I need to go home.” He glanced over to the locked cell door. The police officers remained seated, and he had no choice but to drop back into his chair. “I thought I wasn’t under arrest,” he muttered.

  “You own a Crossley motorcar,” Fisher said.

&n
bsp; Everard frowned. “Yes, yes I do. But what has that got to do with anything?”

  “You picked up Daniel Dunn in your motorcar after he was injured during the firebombing. Later, as I followed you in the baker’s van, you threw a crank at me,” Pike said.

  “Oh, God.” Everard put his head in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is a nightmare.”

  “What is that supposed to mean? Is that a yes, or a no?” Pike asked.

  “No, I did not do any of that. A Crossley is not an uncommon motorcar. There are plenty around the London streets.”

  “It is a relatively uncommon vehicle, sir,” Fisher said, his interjection coming as some relief to Pike, who knew little about motorcars. He had not even thought to record the vehicle’s number during the pursuit; a mistake he would not make again.

  “Where were you between five and seven p.m. on Friday, August the twenty-fifth?” Pike asked.

  “I was at home. My wife and servants can vouch for me.”

  “You weren’t loitering near Cartright Gardens in your motorcar, hoping to get a glimpse of Dunn’s handiwork with the firebomb?”

  “I told you I was at home.”

  “Did you lend your motorcar to anyone?”

  Everard opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. “No.”

  Pike narrowed his eyes at the doctor, who seemed to have so much to hide. “What have we got so far, Fisher?” he asked, keeping his gaze fixed on their suspect.

  “Suspicion of perverting the course of justice through criminal libel, suspicion of inciting a disturbance, criminal damage endangering life, and violent avoidance of arrest, sir.”

  “Should we add murder to the charges, too, Dr. Everard?” Pike asked.

  Everard paled, and jumped again to his feet. “I don’t know what you mean. I have murdered no one. This is plain bloody nonsense and you can’t prove any of it!”

  “Sit down, please. Mr. Dunn was found poisoned in his bed on Saturday morning at St. Thomas’s Hospital. I have just received a note from the mortuary confirming that the poison ingested was cyanide. A man was seen visiting him just before he died and that man matched your description.” Not true, but worth a shot. “For the last time,” Pike said, “sit down please, Doctor.”