The Coffin Lane Murders (8 page)

Rita knew all about public probity and private vice and the lusts that lay behind the modestly curtained windows in the hearts of their respectable owners.

She was very discreet. No one at first glance would have recognised the hallmark of her trade, for she was quietly dressed and gently spoken, as befitted a woman from the Highlands.

Since there had been no outcry, no outraged complaints from the residents, she had introduced the less outrageous of her colleagues, 'girls' who were careful and shrewd in choosing their targets. Until they made some fatal mistake of opportuning some high-minded moral gentleman who felt it was his bounden duty to complain, policemen like PC Dean would continue to turn a blind eye on the existence of Rita.

Ignoring the law that said soliciting was illegal, they would continue to exchange cordial greetings and politely pass the time of day when they met.

Rita was a cheery soul, not in the least vulgar, and wiser policemen like Faro had long recognised that the Ritas of this world, like themselves, had to find means of making a living. Society was responsible, and whether they liked it or whether it was repugnant to them, selling their bodies in order to survive was often a necessity, especially if there were children. Many had children and were good caring mothers, who regarded prostitution as a means of putting bread in their mouths and keeping them out of the dreaded orphanages.

Faro was well acquainted with Rita and the conditions of her life. She had been working the district for several years now since she first came to Edinburgh, a pretty young Highland girl with an illegitimate infant to support.

He had sympathy for her, knowing that but for a fateful meeting long ago with a young policeman called Jeremy Faro, such might well have been the fate of Lizzie Laurie and her wee Vince might have had a very different future.

Although Rita was still alive, Faro was angry; sad and angrier than he had been at the deaths of the first two victims. If he could have laid hands on the killer at that moment, he would have done him considerable violence and would cheerfully have included Angus Spens, whose self-importance had revealed callous indifference to the murdered women.

'She must have been pretty desperate to trudge out in the snow,' Jim Dean said sympathetically. 'Not much business at the railway in this weather, I suppose.'

'Business?' That attracted Spens' attention. He stared at the unconscious woman in disgust. 'You mean she is - a - a prostitute. Well, well, that sort of creature usually gets what she deserves.'

Before Faro or Dean could comment, the police carriage turned on to the main road where Conan had just arrived at the surgery door.

Faro leaped out. 'We have another victim. She's still alive.'

'Hospital case? Very well, I'll come with you. A moment while I leave a message for Vince.'

He reappeared with dressings to staunch the blood. There was nothing else he could do.

At Faro's anxious glance, he shook his head and silently they watched over her on the short distance to the hospital. There they waited while Conan, giving brief instructions, had her wheeled into the ward.

At last he emerged. 'She's still alive. Same knife wound, I'm afraid. And I wouldn't be surprised if the same weapon was used again.'

'Serious?'

'She's lost a lot of blood, she's very badly shocked but hopefully she'll survive.'

'And be able to tell us something about this madman when she recovers consciousness,' said Faro grimly. I'll wait.'

Conan looked at him. 'It may be some time, sir.'

'Very well. Dean can stay with you.'

Conan nodded. 'We'll send for you as soon as she is able to talk.' He smiled wanly and gave Faro a little shove. 'Go on, sir. You look exhausted. When did you last eat?'

Faro shrugged. 'Sometime today. Breakfast I think. Or was it last night?'

Conan took him firmly by the arm, steered him towards the door. 'Home, sir. Or I'll have Mrs Brook to reckon with.'

But Faro had no intentions of returning home: his feelings of urgency dictated that he stay in the vicinity of the hospital.

A tavern two streets away provided him with enough nourishment, a pie and a pint of ale, to satisfy the appetite. but somewhat less than the satisfaction of Mrs Brook's pleasant meals.

Half an hour later, he was running upstairs to the ward where Rita lay, pale as death itself.

Conan was there with Dean.

'Well, what news?'

'She's alive and she's given us a description of her attacker, sir.'

'Well?' said Faro.

The two men exchanged glances. 'You'll find this hard to believe, sir,' said Dean.

'Try me!'

'Our killer is a woman, sir.'

Chapter 9

Conan indicated the motionless figure in the bed. 'She's still asleep,' he whispered. 'Given her laudanum. Go on, Constable. Tell the inspector.'

'It was like this, sir-'

But before Dean could continue, Rita heard their voices. Opening her eyes, she groaned and tried to sit up.

Conan went over. Feebly she pushed him aside. Pointing to the little group at the bedside, recognising only the policeman, she sobbed, 'It was a woman stabbed me, Constable. A woman wearing one of those poke bonnets, old-fashioned, like my ma wore.' Her eyes widened in horror. 'She ran towards me. I thought she was lost, wanted directions, or something. I stopped and she just stuck this great knife in me.'

Her face white, she clutched her chest and dropped back to the pillows. The duty nurse, hearing the commotion, pushed them aside. Taking Rita's pulse, she said sternly, 'I think you'd better leave, gentlemen. Come back later.'

In the corridor, Faro stopped. 'Remain with her, Constable.' And to Conan: 'Only a madwoman would fit the bill. Frenzied attacks to maim rather than kill. If our first victim had been on the game then there might have been more reason: outraged wife - that sort of thing.'

Conan looked thoughtful. 'True. Clearly she has no idea where to strike effectively to kill in that moment of madness.' He bit his lip and said slowly, 'A madwoman. It makes sense.'

'From the asylum, you mean,' said Faro.

Conan sighed. 'Alas, yes. And unless I am mistaken perhaps one of my own patients.'

At Faro's horrified exclamation, he nodded. His voice urgent, he added, 'Would you care to accompany me, sir?'

'What are we waiting for? We can do no good here.'

Dean was sent for a carriage and while they waited. Faro said, 'You already knew, didn't you? That the killer might be a woman. Something to do with those slippers. was it?'

Conan smiled. 'You amaze me.'

'I should have worked it out for myself. You were so damned drawn to that one patent slipper that you got Vince to go back with you and search for the other. And then the size was wrong.' Faro sighed heavily. 'I was listening, instead of thinking. You know who it is, I gather?'

Conan drew a deep breath. 'I know who it
could
be - who it could have been, given her former history. I just hope that I am wrong.'

'Indeed? Violent was she-?'

'Forgive me, sir,' Conan interrupted. 'I'd rather say no more until we talk to the matron at the asylum.'

Faro looked out of the window. 'This isn't the way to the asylum - we're going towards Morningside.'

'Right, sir,' said Conan. 'Summerhill Home, a very special asylum. They prefer to call it an institution for distressed patients. It's for the rich, who can be kept safely under lock and key at their family's expense and discretion.'

Faro felt relieved that it was not the bedlam he feared as they turned into the gates of a large house concealed from the road by high walls and a large number of trees.

The gardens were extensive. Pleasant lawns with magnificent views over the Pentland Hills suggested a harmonious setting for summer afternoon teas under shady trees.

The vestibule where they waited to be received by the matron was refreshingly ordinary and not much different at first glance from the threshold of any family mansion.

The matron greeted Conan affably, like an old friend. 'Good to see you, Dr Pursley. I'm afraid Lady Celia isn't here at the moment-'

Interrupted by Conan who introduced Inspector Faro, the matron had the unlikely name of Miss Smiles, which fitted her pleasant cheerful countenance, comfortable figure and warm handshake.

She turned back to Conan. 'She isn't in her room, Doctor, so I'm afraid there will be no pleasant afternoon walk for her today.'

'Where is she?' asked Conan.

'Oh dear!' The smiling face turned grave. 'We really don't know, exactly. I'm afraid she went out on one of her usual expeditions and failed to return.'

'When was this?'

'I'm not sure for certain - perhaps two or three days ago,' was the unhappy response.

There was an explosion of anger from Conan. 'All that time you knew one of your patients was missing and you did nothing.' He gave Faro a helpless look.

'Is this important, Inspector?' Miss Smiles addressed Faro, her worried expression confirmation of the gravity of his visit. Without awaiting his response, she nodded. 'I see. Dr Pursley comes in regularly,' she said. 'He called in on Monday, just after she had left.' Turning to him reproachfully, she added, 'You were informed then that she had gone out.'

'Of course. I remember now.'

'On her own?' queried Faro.

'Yes.'

'I find that somewhat surprising. Is it usual?' demanded Faro of Conan.

'Let me explain,' said Conan wearily. 'Celia wasn't in her room when I went upstairs. On a fine day we walk in the grounds together. I talk to her, get her to talk to me - about the past. That's the best possible treatment-'

'Dr Pursley's treatment has been excellent,' the matron interrupted and turning to him she said gently, 'You know quite well, Doctor, we have instructions from you in the matter, that she is on no account to be made to feel like a prisoner. That to be kept locked up, under restraint, could completely destroy all your progress with her.'

And turning to Faro, 'May I be told what all this is about, Inspector? Has she stolen something again?'

'Again!'

At his puzzled exclamation, she nodded. 'She can be rather light-fingered from time to time. Occasionally she sees something in a shop and brings it back with her, forgetting, of course, that such items must be paid for. Rest assured, if there has been a complaint to you, the shopkeeper will be reimbursed by us.'

'It is more serious than that, Miss Smiles,' interrupted Conan. 'She has - attacked passers-by,' he ended lamely.

Miss Smiles frowned. 'How extraordinary. She has not shown any symptoms of violence all the years she has been with us-' Pausing she frowned. 'Except for one small incident in the kitchen - over a burnt roast - when she attacked a fellow patient with a knife. That was some time ago; since then, nothing. In fact, she has become a model patient under Dr Pursley's care.'

She smiled at him. 'Indeed yes, a trusted member of our little community.' And to Faro: 'As Dr Pursley has perhaps told you, she has been well educated.'

'That is so,' Conan explained. 'Celia comes of a titled family although they would not care to admit that she exists any more, the punishment for throwing herself into the lake with her newborn child. The baby drowned and when she was dragged out she tried to murder one of her kinsman, so a trust fund was set up to pay the fees for her residence as far away as possible. When she was admitted to Summerhill as a patient, they were careful to give out publicly that she had died of typhoid while on holiday in Italy and because of the strict measures regarding epidemics, her body could not be returned to Britain. She was allegedly buried near Florence.'

He shook his head. 'Celia's is a tragic case, a prime example of the gross mishandling of a woman's life by her family. As matron knows, this is one of the cases that I have been investigating, trying to put right a wrong after so many years.'

A sniff from Miss Smiles indicated that his faith was a little in question and looking at her sharply, Conan continued, 'My resolve is unshaken. I am determined to prove that insanity is a sickness of the mind, especially to a woman after the suffering involved in concealing the birth of an unwanted child. With understanding, care and the right treatment I believe it can be cured, the patient returned to society fully healed, a respectable, reliable citizen.'

'Much of what Dr Pursley says is admirable and is certainly true regarding Lady Celia,' said the matron. 'She has never shown the least sign of derangement, as I've told you. Distress, and sorrow, naturally, but such emotions have responded to medical care, and the administration of a little harmless laudanum has been sufficient to put her to rights again.'

She sighed. 'Personally I enjoy her company. She is bright and intelligent and I look forward to our occasional walks together in the gardens. I assure you, sir, it's a tonic after dealing with the needs of some of our more desperate patients.'

As an afterthought she added somewhat reluctantly,