that she took from her doctor’s bag. In my hands, which are large, hers looked delicate and nimble.
Deborah finished and began packing her equipment back into her bag.
“Mr Haye is fine apart from a mild case of shock,” she said to Nielsen.
“Thank you, Dr Caraman. You may leave now.”
Deborah shook his hand. And she left without saying goodbye to me.
* * *
Nielsen took me into his office, which was not as spotless as it had been the day before. Several of the filing cabinet drawers were open, and there were half a dozen manila folders on his desk, some spilling papers. It was then I noticed the tired lines around his eyes, and wondered if he’d been working without sleep since I saw him yesterday. As he sat down, there was a knock at the door. “What is it?”
A uniformed police inspector opened the door and leaned into the room. “Mr Joyce needs to see you right away, sir.”
“I will join you outside my office in a moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
The inspector left and Nielsen turned to me. “Please wait here, Mr Haye. I shall return shortly.”
He left the office, and I heard the footsteps of both men fade down the corridor.
Alone in the stuffy room, I leaned back in the chair and exhaled. I felt drained, and considered how difficult it would be to think clearly at work today with my hangover. The documents were irritating me. Nielsen’s refusal to answer my simple questions about them irritated me. And seeing Deborah irritated me.
She was still punishing me for what had happened, that much was clear. In some ways, it was fair enough, too: I had been heavily committed to work and several sports, and should have spent more time on our friendship. But it wasn’t my fault that she had been so difficult, especially since early on I’d very clearly explained the importance of my schedule. What right had she to act so damned self-righteously? Late in the piece, her moods had been especially hard to understand. But for God’s sake, how could I deal with someone who went from perfectly happy to irrational and petulant in the blink of an eye? How could she still blame me?
The clock ticked loudly on the wall. I looked out of the window onto Crawford Road, where more heat gathered, ready to boil my aching brain.
Pictures of the dead old man returned to my mind. That settled it. I was sick of seeing them. I had lost patience. I was going to demand answers from Nielsen. That would at least make me feel as though the whole night hadn’t been a meaningless hell. I sat up and stared at the papers spread across the desk.
It did not take long to make up my mind and start reading his files.
On two of the first three pieces of paper I examined were lists which made no sense to me. The third - the detective’s handwritten stream of consciousness - sent my heart into panicked flutters.
Percy Vernon Brown. D.O.B. 18/11/1894. 5’ 6”. 145 lbs. Lives on Bagot Rd, Allminster. Since October 1925, works at The Prince of Wales Hospital as orderly. Wife and three children. No criminal history. Has reputation as reliable worker, relates well to most staff at hospital. Suddenly seized with urge to steal scalpel from hospital and use it to torture and kill elderly scholar Edward Victor Roby. Follows Edward Roby from hospital to Elephant and Castle. Disembowels Roby and is interrupted by G.H. Jumps from window twenty feet onto paved street and is somehow unhurt enough to run 56 miles to the north in four hours. Witnesses report Brown running at incredible speed with blood-soaked clothes through Aldershot and Maidenhead. In Aylesbury Brown fights with police who assume from clothes that he requires assistance with medical emergency. Brown fights until a total of twelve more police are summoned. Four police are hospitalised, one with serious head injuries inflicted with Brown’s bare hands. Arrested. Extremely violent and agitated, makes strange noises like barking dog. Cannot answer questions, speaks in unknown language. Forcibly detained at Maidenhead police station while enquiries are made. Spits and vomits, is unbearably hostile. Suddenly goes quiet and dies of severe fever in presence of police doctor on Friday morning at 2:41am. Signifies: C’s story not exaggerated and probably correct. Roby compromised - how? Not known. Hospital? G.H.? C.P.? Other? Not known. Consequences: Recovery compromised. Time v. short. G.H in definite danger.
I reread the last sentence. G.H. in definite danger … G.H. … G.H. … G.H. could only mean George Haye … An icy sense of dread ascended from my stomach. Danger, death, murder, fear … Every muscle coiled on instinct, and I wanted to run out of Nielsen’s office, to run out and keep running for as long as it took to feel safe. Murder … Terrified, I wrestled with my thoughts and my body’s urge to flee, forcing myself to read the note again.
Recovery compromised … recovery of what?
C.’s story not exaggerated and probably correct … Who was C.?
… Brown fights until a total of twelve more police are summoned. Four police are hospitalised, one with serious head injuries inflicted with Brown’s bare hands …
I stopped at the letters C.P. …
C.P. … C.P. … could that be Claude Pownall? It had to be. Nielsen definitely knew of him. The note indicated that Claude may have compromised the old man. What did Claude do? How? And then I realised my initials were also noted in connection with whoever may have betrayed Roby. My initials … me … Did I somehow betray Roby by telling Claude about the letters I’d translated? I could have: Claude was talkative, he may have let it slip out. Then my urge to run was overtaken by an urge to be sick. I talked when I should’ve been quiet … I may have killed a man …
Footsteps on the corridor linoleum. Nielsen was coming back. Sweating, I quickly sat down again. If he noticed that my mood had changed dramatically - and as a detective he well might - I would tell him I was feeling unwell.
“That will be all, Mr Haye. Thank you for your time.”
Slowly I stood up. “Happy to help.”
“Very good. But remember: you must not speak of what you do for me in here.”
“I won’t. Don’t worry.”
I walked home, feeling sick, angry, remorseful and despondent. I was reeling … I talked … I may have killed a man …
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