THE POLICE CAR WAS scruffy and stank of stale cigarette smoke and tension. Jack himself was driving.
“You said before that you didn’t consider Mr. Gilmore a prime suspect in the attack on his wife. You seem to have changed your mind about him.”
Jack pursed his lips. “Not exactly. We need more evidence before we can reach a definite conclusion.”
“I presume he denies attacking the Kaufmanns.”
“Emphatically.”
“May I ask who is the witness who claims to have seen him going to the Kaufmann house?”
“A Miss Kubay. Her mother also corroborates her statement. They were both sitting at their window getting some air.”
“I myself don’t think I would trust those two particular women as far as I could throw them. Pardon the expression.”
“Why do you say that? I know they’re both older, but they seemed able to see all right. I checked that out right away.”
“It’s their inner vision I’m worried about.”
Unfortunately, we were just then turning into the car park that was attached to police headquarters. There was no opportunity to continue the talk.
CONSTABLE EVANS WAS APPARENTLY still in the grip of competition fever, but he stopped typing long enough to greet us.
“Mr. Grier is here, sir. He’s with the prisoner.”
As Jack and I walked to the stairs, the solicitor was just coming up from the holding cells. He frowned at Jack.
“I’ve taken my client’s deposition. I’ll be back tomorrow for the arraignment.”
I might as well not have existed for all the notice I got from him. Why did I get the impression only males were within his sightlines?
Jack and I proceeded downstairs.
This time the only occupant of the cells was Mr. Gilmore. No musically inclined drunk, thank goodness.
“I’ll have to be present while you talk,” said Jack.
He opened the cell door, and I went inside.
Mr. Gilmore was sitting on the bunk. He looked even worse than he had before. He sprang to his feet and, as was his wont, shook hands formally by way of greeting.
“Have you heard how Mrs. Kaufmann is doing?” he asked Jack.
“Not since she was admitted to hospital. But I believe she will be all right. Physically, at least.”
“Has she given an account of what happened?”
“Not as yet. She is apparently still in a state of severe shock.”
“And Arthur Kaufmann?”
“He’s lucky. He bled a lot, but basically the wound isn’t that deep. He should recover completely.”
“Has he made a statement?”
“He says he was taken completely by surprise. No idea who the attacker was. He must have lost consciousness after he was stabbed and only came to when you found him. Perhaps more details will come to him as he recovers.”
Mr. Gilmore was silent for a moment, then he spoke to Jack.
“You have no objection if I inform Miss Frayne what happened?”
“Not at all.”
It was starting to feel a little crowded in the cell, and the only place to sit was on the bunk or the toilet bucket.
Mr. Gilmore sensed my dilemma.
“Forgive me, Miss Frayne. My manners have deserted me. Please have a seat.”
He moved aside so I could perch on the hard bunk. It didn’t make much difference to the spatial inadequacy, but I accepted gratefully. I hadn’t got my waitressing legs yet.
Mr. Gilmore waited until I was settled. Somewhere along the way, he’d lost his spectacles. There was a little mark across his nose where they’d pressed, and without them his face seemed soft and naked. He clasped his hands together, another familiar gesture, and addressed me.
“Detective Arcady brought me back to the station here, as you see. I told him what I will now repeat to you. I was in my own house beginning to take care of affairs that involve my wife’s death. I heard a woman scream. It sounded as if it was coming from a few houses down. I went outside and determined it must be Mrs. Kaufmann. I went to see what was happening. I found Arthur Kauf-mann lying face down in the kitchen, bleeding copiously. Mrs. Kaufmann was also in the kitchen. She was leaning against the cupboard. She had a gash on her head, which was bleeding profusely, as scalp wounds do. She indicated I should take care of her husband. I seized a cloth from the sink and handed it to her for her own wound. I then checked the condition of Arthur Kaufmann. I knew he needed professional help. At this point Mrs. Kaufmann appeared to have gone into a state of shock. She was conscious, but no longer seemingly aware of her surroundings. I managed to help her into the living room, where she could at least lie on the couch. Although I was not happy to leave her, I had to telephone the police from my house. Which I did as fast as I could. I then returned to the Kaufmann house, where I ascertained that Arthur Kaufmann was conscious. I instructed him not to move, and I got another towel and pressed it against the wound on his back. I remained like that until the police arrived. They were wonderfully prompt. Detective Arcady and two constables entered. The ambulance attendants got Kaufmann onto one stretcher and Mrs. Kaufmann onto another. I was bloodied from my encounter with both injured people. The detective questioned me, and I told him what I have just now told you. He said I would have to come to the station and make a statement. Which I have done.”
He spoke as if he were delivering a report to the court on one of our cases.
He had said he’d made a statement already to Arcady, and I wanted to believe that was why his account sounded oddly rehearsed. A little too precise.
“Detective Murdoch said they have a statement from a witness that you were seen going to the house before there was any sound of shouting or disturbance.”
“Do you know the name of the witness?”
“Miss Kubay. Corroborated by her mother.”
“In that case I would say she is deliberately lying. Both of them are lying.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Miss Kubay and her mother have been my enemies for a long time, Miss Frayne.”
“Why is that?”
“My wife, Ida, held views about women that they did not agree with. I assume they tarred me with the same brush.”
His hands were clenched, and they tightened even more. He was trying to fend off tears.
“Forgive me, Miss Frayne. I have not yet assimilated the reality that Ida is dead.”
“I’ll do everything I can to find out who has done this, Mr. Gilmore.”
He glanced over at Detective Murdoch. “Thank you. I have faith that the good detective here will clear my name.”
I sure hoped so.
There wasn’t anything more to be done, so I said goodbye, shook hands again, and left. He returned to his seat on the bunk.
My heart went out to him. I realized how fond I’d be-come of Thaddeus Gilmore.
The lonely constable on guard stood up respectfully as we walked past.
“See if Mr. Gilmore wants some tea, will you, Curnoe? And he might need something to eat.”
The constable saluted. “Yes, sir.”
I waited until we were upstairs in the lobby.
“What’s the next step?”
“It’s too much of a coincidence that two people have been violently attacked who lived mere houses from each other. I truly hope that this time we can get a statement from the second victim. Unlike Mrs. Gilmore, Mrs. Kauf-mann was attacked from the front. Surely, she will be able to give us a description of her attacker. If she chooses to, that is.”
“Mr. Gilmore says she went into a state of shock almost immediately.”
“Unfortunately, that is not difficult to feign.”
“Why would she pretend?”
“I don’t know. I’m merely saying that her state may or may not be genuine.”
“Do you believe the Kubays?”
He gave a little shrug. “I can’t discount anything at the moment. If it is true that Mr. Gilmore went to the Kaufmann house before the shouting, that is, before the attack, it does suggest he was implicated. What else could it mean?”
“But why? What is the motivation behind both attacks?”
We didn’t have the chance to explore this any further. A woman in police uniform was just entering the building. She saw Jack and came straight over to him.
“May I have a word, detective?”
She was an attractive woman in spite of the uniform, which was unbecoming as well as being hot as hell: heavy leather belt at the waist, dark stockings, sensible shoes, a stiff hat.
Jack addressed me. “Will you wait a minute?”
I drifted over to the reception to admire Constable Evans’s dexterity. One quick glance assured him I didn’t need anything urgently, and without breaking stride, or, should I say, stroke, he continued typing.
Jack’s conversation with the female officer was brief. She headed off to the women’s quarters. If it had been me, I would have been unleashing my waist from that monstrous belt immediately, but she had more discipline. She disappeared without disarray through the connecting door.
Jack came over to me.
“Constable Nicholls was reporting from the hospital. Mrs. Kaufmann has not recovered. She’s virtually catatonic.”
“How is the injury?”
“Nasty, but not serious. Her state is purely mental.” He regarded me with the intense scrutiny I was becoming accustomed to from him.
“Charlotte. I wonder if you would do something for me?”
“Name it.”
“I directed one of the women police officers to be at Mrs. Kaufmann’s bedside. I was hoping she could get a statement, but apparently the mere sight of a uniform sets her off shaking and retreating even more. I’m wonder-ing if you could go to see her. She might respond to you. You’ve met her already. You’ll be a familiar face.”
I had been hoping I could get to Mrs. Kaufmann; this was a golden opportunity. I was also quite chuffed that he seemed to have faith in my abilities and reliability.
“Of course. I can go right now.”
“Splendid. Let me get an authorization form.”
He hurried over to the reception and rather sharply ordered Evans to stop typing for a minute and get him some letterhead paper.
He wasn’t long, and he handed me the envelope. “The constable on duty at the hospital is now Miss Frobisher. Show her this. Do what you can. I’m going over to Phoebe Street first, but then I’ll be back here. If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate a report tonight. One way or another.”