The Coffin Lane Murders (9 page)

'True, she has a rather bad temper at times - but the laudanum helps to quiet her. A wildness sometimes seizes her, the desire for self-destruction-'

'Particularly at the full moon, is that not so, matron?' Conan put in.

'Indeed. But her anger is against herself, rather than against others, as if at such times she realises the injustice of her virtual imprisonment and banishment from the world outside.'

She shrugged. 'But, gentlemen, if we were to put away behind locked doors everyone who lost their patience from time to time, then we would have most of the population behind bars - and I include myself,' she added with a little laugh.

With a look at the doctor, she continued, 'We were assured that her violent past when she drowned her newborn child and attacked her family with a kitchen knife was far behind her. Such days are happily long forgotten. Or so she has cleverly led us to believe,' she added anxiously.

Again she turned to Faro. 'We have put her in charge of our little library, Inspector. We even allow her to go into town unaccompanied. And she has always - always returned.'

'Until this particular Monday,' said Conan sternly.

Miss Smiles sighed. 'When she didn't put in an appearance at teatime we presumed that Dr Pursley had met up with her in the grounds.' She looked at him, made a helpless gesture.

'And so you allowed her to disappear,' said Conan slowly. 'And when did you discover she was missing?'

'Not until Thursday evening, I'm afraid.'

'When she had been missing for three days!' exclaimed Conan. 'Then why didn't you notify me - you know the rules about getting in touch with someone of authority in such cases. Anything might have happened to her,' he added indignantly.

'I assure you we would have done so in the normal way but with the weekend intervening - many of our staff have their time off then - and of course, this outbreak of influenza among the nurses has left us severely short-staffed.'

And inefficient, thought Faro grimly as she continued, 'As you know, Doctor, Lady Celia spends most of the day on her own with her books.'

She looked across at Faro appealingly. 'She isn't supervised in any way, Inspector. She has free access to the kitchen to prepare her own meals if she wishes and we don't look in every night to lock her in her room. Such behaviour would be unthinkable. In her case since she trusts us and has come to regard this as her true home, it would upset her dreadfully and destroy all Dr Pursley's good work.'

When Conan didn't respond, she sighed. 'I am exceedingly sorry, Doctor, we seem to have made a genuine mistake, but the thought that she might have been contemplating running away from us did not seem possible. She seemed - well, happy.' And as an afterthought.

'Where could she go? She had never more than a few coins in her possession.'

She glanced at Faro. 'I can only presume by your presence here, Inspector, that we have some cause for genuine alarm. In this incident - these attacks on passers-by - I trust no one was severely injured. We will, of course, recompense any material damage.'

Faro pretended not to hear that. 'Was there anyone she might have visited in Edinburgh on a regular basis, where she may have made friends?'

Miss Smiles shook her head. 'She always kept very much to herself. That is not difficult in this environment,' she added desperately. 'There are few patients who would be on her intellectual level, and their condition makes them very suspicious. The fact that she was liked by - and a favourite with - some of the staff made them feel she was in league against them. In fact, to be honest, most of them were afraid of her.'

Glancing towards the window, she laughed uneasily. 'I would even see them cower as she passed by or if she went to sit at their table during meals, they would seize their plates and sit elsewhere, trying to avoid her shadow. That was one reason why we allowed her free access to the kitchen.' Again that troubled glance. 'Some of our more disturbed patients believed that she had occult powers-'

'A witch, you mean?' said Faro.

'Something of the sort. Such happenings are distressing for everyone concerned.' Miss Smiles looked thoughtful. 'You asked about friends; well, there is a person who might fit that category. An antiquarian bookshop on the High Street owned by an old gentleman, an ordained minister now retired. Celia once hinted to me that she had known him from her childhood days in Argyll. He may even have tutored in her own family.

'She might well have gone to visit him. Very likely indeed,' she added triumphantly. 'Dr Benjamin lends her books on Scottish history and the classics.'

When Faro looked surprised at her choice of literature, Miss Smiles went on, 'She even borrows and obtains books some of the staff would like to read. Dr Benjamin used to visit us and bring his books once upon a time, that is how they met again. But in the last year or two he has been crippled by rheumatism and has difficulty making the long journey. They have become friends and he specially asked if he could see her now and again. He wasn't worried by her past, said she had a fine mind and, indeed, he shared Dr Pursley's opinion that her incarceration in an - institution for half a lifetime was a miscarriage of justice.'

Conan laughed. 'Doesn't that prove I was right, matron? You have a scholar's backing as well as a medical man's.'

In the hall a clock melodiously chimed four and a bell shrilled through the hall. There was movement of scampering feet above their heads.

Miss Smiles rose from her desk. 'Gentlemen, I must leave you.' And with a helpless gesture towards Faro, she repeated, 'Is all this a matter of vital importance? You still haven't told me what has happened,' she reminded him.

'It's a police matter, madam. You'll hear the details in due course. Meanwhile, if you would be so good as to give Dr Pursley this bookseller's address.'

Leaving Conan to evade the matron's question as tactfully as he could with a vague nod and a request to let him know immediately if the missing woman returned, Faro strolled to the front door to wait outside for Conan who joined him shortly afterwards.

Watching Faro's expression, Conan said unhappily, 'I can make a shrewd guess at your thoughts, sir.'

'Can you indeed?'

'You are thinking we may have let a killer out on society. And I'm not blaming you. I had been warned, but I thought I knew best,' he added bitterly. 'The problems with this sort of violent condition is that patients can appear - and actually be - quite normal for years. Then something, perhaps a word remembered, a phrase or a scene from the past, triggers off a chain of thoughts and memories and hurls them back into the abyss again. I should have taken into account that Celia is at an unfortunate age for women-' He shook his head. 'Trouble is, I should have guessed from that patent slipper if we had heard that she was missing. No one but Celia would go out in such weather so inadequately clad. But she was vain about her small pretty feet and abhored boots, even in winter.'

He sighed. 'I blame myself, sir. I thought I was doing the right thing, encouraging Summerhill to treat her as a normal person. Now I find we have a very serious situation on our hands. With this kind of brain disorder, about which we still know very little indeed, it appears that the lust to kill anyone without cause or reason can recur. And once they taste blood, as one might say, it gets worse, they need more and more.'

Faro stopped walking. 'You are telling me that we have a killer, an indiscriminate killer who will put a knife in anyone who she regards as standing in her way?'

Conan nodded miserably. 'Yes. Literally - and that would seem to be the answer. What other is there? Remember, of the three attacks only one has been a fatal stabbing.'

'But the first was still murder. Molly Blaith bled to death.'

'True. Fortunately the third one - Rita - is still alive.'

'Then we must find your missing patient at once. As long as she is at large she may well be tempted to add further victims to her list.'

Chapter 10

Conan's revelations concerning the background of the missing woman left Faro a very unhappy man.

Time wasn't on his side, but then it never was, never had been. He knew it was vital that he track her down and put her behind bars before she attacked again.

Conan accompanied him to the Central Office and helped him to build up a complete description of Lady Celia for circulation in the district.

Going in search of the superintendent, Faro was vastly relieved to learn that he had not yet returned from a colleague's funeral in London.

His absence meant that Faro was in sole charge of the case. Accordingly he issued instructions that the woman's description be posted throughout the city with every constable in the district of Newington alerted. After wearying hours of combing the area around Arthur's Seat for evidence, at least they now knew who they were searching for.

In his long career Faro had investigated every aspect of murder and, in more than one case, a woman had wielded the murder weapon or, more often, slipped the arsenic into the unsuspecting cup. But never had he encountered a murder where the killer's identity was already known.

The hand holding the upraised knife to strike at random passers-by in this quiet suburb was that of a madwoman. A madwoman escaped from the institution where she had been incarcerated since she was sixteen years old.

Even Conan, who dealt with such tortuous matters as the intricacies of diseased human minds, had been lulled into believing her one deed of violence was an isolated occurrence and that her present state of mind was the result of injustice and long restraint. What he had failed to recognise was his patient's potential for breakdown and the gravity of what might then occur.

In considerable distress, he admitted to Faro that he had never given a second thought to the possibility that she might wish to escape from Summerhill, might even have plotted to take advantage of their trust in her to wreak revenge on the society which had assisted in depriving her of a lifetime's liberty. It was a terrible, vicious vengeance she sought on her own sex.

Faro felt sympathy for Conan, friend of those unfortunates behind locked doors, trying against all the odds to keep them from the horrors of insane asylums, trying to prove that violence was a sickness, a disease like any other. And for every disease Conan insisted science must provide a cure sooner or later.

If only it had been found in Lady Celia's case. According to Kate, he spent countless hours in the laboratory he had created for himself in Solomon's Tower, working endlessly with his cages of rats and mice, experimenting with drugs and devising new theories.

But even if he succeeded with animals, thought Faro, the human brain was a vastly more complex organ than that of a rodent.

At that moment, his own version of that elusive cure was more elementary. Find the madwoman and lock her up before more innocent citizens fell victim to the workings of her disordered brain.

He thought of women and girls in Newington going about their daily routines, absorbed by everyday problems of taking care of families, husbands, young children, parents, when suddenly from the dark shadows of Coffin Lane, a screaming virago with a knife launches herself upon them, stabbing, slashing-

His fears inevitably touched on his own home, and Mrs Brook, Olivia and Jamie's Nanny Kay. And in particular, Olivia's friend Kate who constantly travelled on foot between Sheridan Place and Solomon's Tower, her road taking her close by Coffin Lane.

And then there was his daughter Rose, soon to be arriving from Glasgow for Christmas. Should he suggest she cancel her visit? Knowing his brave Rose, he guessed she would treat such a suggestion with scorn.

He felt nervous, apprehensive, as never before in his career. He dare not rest or dream of relaxation until the mystery of the disappearance of the 'Lady Killer' (as the newspapers were to describe her) was solved.

But where to start?

He decided to return to the beginning.

On his way to the antiquarian bookshop, whose proprietor might or might not have news of Celia's whereabouts, he decided to revisit the scene of the crimes; Molly Blaith, who had bled to death under the snow, and Mrs Simms, who had been brutally murdered on her way to take the train to Musselburgh.

At least the third victim, Rita, still lived and perhaps she would have more valuable information by the time he returned to the hospital.

Coffin Lane was deserted. Snow lay upon snow, only a few depressed vestiges of hedgerow emerged from the drifts. A bitter wind blew from the direction of Arthur's Seat, a hollow chill eating into his bones.

He knew how carefully the area had been searched and that the vicinity where the bodies lay was unlikely to yield anything of significance until the thaw revealed perhaps too late a kitchen knife or a missing slipper.

He hurried back towards Minto Street past the scarlet mailbox emblazoned with the Queen's initials, 'VR', where Molly had failed to post her mistress's urgent letter to her solicitor.

He shook his head. Something nagged him about that interview with Miss Errington and as her house came into sight, he rang the bell and took a chance on her being at home and willing to see him.

His summons went unanswered but he was conscious of being watched and glancing quickly at the upstairs bow window, he saw a shadow that moved - a shadow wearing a lace cap and he was in time to glimpse a face quickly withdrawn as the curtain fluttered back into place.