The walker, p.25
The Walker, page 25
When Waterlow finally emerged, at twenty past twelve, he was still wearing his surgeon’s gown. He showed them into a small office separated from the main area by a glass panel and left them again while he went to change. Steve sat uncharacteristically silent.
‘Can I lead off with this one?’ Briony asked. ‘I think I’ve got an idea about how to approach him.’
‘Feel free,’ he said.
Guy Waterlow was six foot two with model bone structure and wavy brown hair, and he reappeared dressed like a Jaeger model. Money, thought Briony. He’s dripping with it. She was willing to bet there was a new sports car outside in the hospital parking lot. He smiled like someone who was used to making an impact and he held Briony’s hand just a second or two longer than necessary as she introduced herself.
As she went through her first set of questions about himself and his connections with Gresham College, his answers were easy and fluent and gave the impression that he liked the sound of his own unusually deep voice. It wasn’t until ten minutes into the interview that he showed any signs of tension, when Briony moved to a more pointed line of questioning.
‘Dr Waterlow, is it correct that you were excluded from the Freemasons’ lodge?’
He gave Briony a searching look. Perhaps he’d twigged already that she’d been talking to Donna, or on the other hand, maybe that was just what he’d intended.
‘Yes, I was. There was a disagreement on a medical matter.’
‘Would you mind elaborating?’
‘The lodge was opposed to the contraceptive pill when it was first introduced. I was strongly in favour of it. I made my views known.’
‘You’re an ear nose and throat specialist, Dr Waterlow. Is that right?’
‘Training to be one.’
‘Does your work involve prescribing the pill?’
‘Not really, no. No, I can’t say it does.’
‘So your views on it didn’t arise from any professional interest?’
‘Yes, they did, in a more general sense. There is a range of health and welfare issues associated with use of the contraceptive pill. I think it helps prevent a lot of serious problems — abortions, unwanted children, complicated births in older women.’
‘That sounds reasonable. Were the Freemasons so unreasonable that they threw you out for holding views like that?’
Waterlow shifted in his seat.
‘As I said, the members of that lodge were extremely conservative.’
‘The Invisible College was not as conservative?’
Briony looked him in the eye and smiled. Waterlow flashed a fine set of teeth in response.
‘The Invisibles were a very different kettle of fish.’
‘Go on.’
‘We were all rather young — in our early twenties. We got a bit wild sometimes.’
‘Was Mathew Quin a member?’
This question produced a theatrical frown. ‘I think so. If I remember rightly.’
You’re lying now, thought Briony. She decided to lead him on.
‘So you didn’t know him well?’
A large hand swept through the abundant hair.
‘I knew of him.’
‘What did you know?’
‘Not much. He just had a bad reputation.’
‘What for?’
‘Drugs. A violent temper. He was too young to be doing a medical degree and used to get out of hand.’
‘Did you see evidence of this?’
‘Once or twice. It’s my opinion that he was seriously disturbed.’
‘Disturbed enough to commit murder?’
‘I really couldn’t say.’
‘Have you seen him in the last twelve months?’
‘No.’
Steve was starting to fidget now and Briony could sense he was going to cut in at any moment. She tried one last shot.
‘Did you or anyone you know have cause to be afraid of Mathew Quin?’
‘Some people may have been. His behaviour was at times deranged. He could get violently excited and impulsive. He bore grudges.’
Here Steve did cut in, looking at his notes. ‘When did you join the Invisible College?’ he asked.
‘1966.’
‘Tell me why you joined. What attracted you to this organisation?’
‘It’s an organisation with a long history, as I’ve said. In the past, it’s had some distinguished members. It has fostered experimental science and a generally innovative attitude to life. At times that may have gone a bit too far, but it created a sense of excitement. As a scientist, I knew the need for experiment and as a student I was drawn to this excitement. In the past couple of years, though, some of us have been trying to calm things down a bit, to make the Invisibles a more mature and professional association. I suppose you could say we’ve grown up.’ Waterlow flashed another smile.
That speech was prepared, Briony thought. ‘Can you give an example of the kinds of experiment going on in 1966?’ asked Steve.
There was obviously no ready answer for this one. The words fell over each other on the way out.
‘Well, of course it included all kinds of scientific experiment. We discussed the work we’d done in the lab, surgical techniques and equipment, new theories, that kind of thing.’
‘Hardly on the wild side,’ said Steve in a monotone. ‘Nothing a bit more way out? Drugs, for example?’
‘There was a bit of experiment of that sort. A kind of madness got into the student community around that time. I wouldn’t say we were immune to it.’
‘Exactly what form did this madness take in the Invisible College, Dr Waterlow?’ Steve was leaning forward, ready to throw the net.
‘There was some experiment with hallucinogens. I don’t know a great deal about it because I left London in 1967 to do postgraduate work at Berkeley in California, and by the time I returned a year later things had taken a new turn. In 1968 there was a great deal of political tension among the students in London. People were debating and organising demonstrations rather than blowing their minds. I had a student from Prague sharing my flat for three months. Hearing the stories of people like that was a sobering experience.’
It was a neat side-step, but Steve was ready to counter it. He held Waterlow’s gaze and kept his tone steady as he changed tack.
‘Does the name “Walker” mean anything to you, Dr Waterlow?’
‘Can’t say it does, no.’
‘Did you ever hear Walker’s people mentioned, when you were in California?’
The frown again, as if he were earnestly searching his memory. ‘Don’t think so. No. There were the Diggers, the Process people, the Scientologists. But there were dozens of others whose names I wouldn’t remember.’
‘Thank you, Dr Waterlow,’ said Steve. ‘We may need to talk to you again later.’
Walking back across the parking lot, Briony spotted a red Aston Martin.
‘I knew he’d have one of those,’ she said. ‘I bet you he’s dripping with money. Thinks the world revolves around him. He slipped the net there, didn’t he? I think he’s telling us a load of bull.’
‘He’s shit scared of something. If I can get him down to the station, I’ll get it out of him.’
‘I don’t think he’s scared,’ said Briony. ‘He’s just a bloody great ego on legs. I think he’s embarrassed. He’s not telling the truth about why he got expelled from the Freemasons. He’s done something he’s embarrassed about, betcha. And there’s the California connection again. This is really shaping up now.’
Steve quickened his pace, so she almost had to run to catch up. When she did, he turned on her with sudden virulence.
‘You think you know it all, don’t you?’
43
Back at the station, Briony went to get lunch while Steve made phone calls. She couldn’t think why he was in such a shitty mood, but decided to bring him back a ham sandwich as a peace offering. He was still on the phone when she returned from the cafeteria and, from the way he was stubbing his cigarette out, it was obvious his temper hadn’t improved. It was impossible for her to concentrate with an explosion imminent on the other side of the room, so she pretended to tidy her desk, picking up what she could of the phone conversation.
‘By four o’clock. At the latest. Waterlow. Yes.’ Steve spelt the name out. ‘Nineteen sixty seven. No, we need all the records checked. Everything you’ve got.’ He covered the receiver with his hand. ‘And if you fuck me about any more — yes, I said fuck. F-u-c-k. Would you like a definition?’ There was a pause, then, ‘Hello. Yes. Fine. Goodbye.’ The receiver went down with a crash.
‘So what’s got up your nose?’ asked Briony. Steve slumped across his desk, both hands pushed deep into his hair.
‘What?’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’
She went across and put the lunch bag beside him.
‘Hey, it’s not the end of the world, you know. I bought you a ham sandwich.’
The head came up a few inches, but stayed locked between his hands.
‘How do you know it’s not the end of the world?’
‘Because I say so and I know everything. You just told me.’
‘I said you think you know everything. This fucking case is just a pan of spaghetti. It’s depressing the hell out of me. It’s the worst case I’ve ever been on. Even Macready’s rattled. The investigation’s a total fuck-up. We’re not getting it, and Walker’s going to turn somebody else inside out any minute.’ He straightened up and looked at the paper bag.
‘Hey, you really bought me a ham sandwich? That’s the nicest thing anyone’s done for me all week.’
‘And it’s only Monday lunch time. Look on the bright side. Anyway, I don’t think we’re doing so badly with the leads. Berkeley’s in San Francisco, isn’t it? It’s too much of a coincidence that Waterlow was there at the same time as Quin — and Sabina Melies. We have to find out what he was really up to.’
‘We have to find out what he was up to before he left for California,’ said Steve. ‘This cult stuff comes from England.’
‘But it’s exactly what was going on in California — Sabina’s diary reeks of it. Surely you’ve read about what the Manson Family believed? It was part of the whole drug culture gone wrong.’
‘No. The stuff we’re dealing with is English. I’m sure of it.’
‘Now who thinks they know it all?’
‘What we know is that the killer is getting off on the Book of Ecclesiastes.’
‘So was Bob Dylan,’ said Briony. ‘I don’t see what’s specially English about it.’
‘The fact that it’s mixed up with bits of inspiration from William Hogarth and Jack the Ripper. It’s the way they go together that’s English. Think about Hogarth — wandering around the London streets and picking up on all the horrors. Then the Ripper. I’d never realised before how those two worlds fit with each other. London cruelty. Maybe our friend was exporting it to San Fran in exchange for Peace and Love.’
‘I don’t suppose it was quite that simple.’
‘Of course not. But you get my point, don’t you? The first murder happened here. In England. Whatever it was that made this guy kill, he didn’t get it from some cult meeting in Haight-Ashbury. My bet is it came out of the Invisible College, and the Walker stuff goes way back. And I bet Waterlow knows plenty about it.’
‘But—’
The phone cut in and Steve picked it up. ‘Oh hi, Donna — Yeah, but — Not now. Gotta go out. Here’s Briony.’
He handed her the receiver and kept his hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Better talk to her. Sounds like she needs girl talk, you know?’
He patted his pockets briskly, checking for keys and cigarettes, then left.
‘Briony? Got time for a cuppa?’
‘Not really. I’m on a lead and it’s complicated. Got to follow up on some things.’
‘I’ve been trying to talk to Guy, because I’m sure there’s a lot more he can tell me. But Alec’s always hanging around, like his minder. I thought if you came as well—’
‘—it would be a cosy little foursome. I don’t work like that, Donna. And nor should you. It’s not safe. I wouldn’t trust Guy as far as I could throw him.’
‘I’m asking for back-up, Briony, not pep talks. Forget it.’ The line disconnected, and Briony stared for a minute at the offending receiver before hanging up.
44
‘Don’t show your face to me again,’ Nell muttered as she put the film in the camera. ‘Just don’t try it.’ She held the lens up to her right eye and saw all the things in her room — the dressing gown on the back of the door, the bedside table with the clock on it, the books and papers strewn on her bed — as if they were much further away. Yesterday she’d got a bit of practice using the flash, but she wouldn’t get the film back till the day after tomorrow, so she couldn’t be sure she’d got the hang of it.
She attached the flash, inserted the bulb and took a photo of the dressing gown. There was a satisfying flare and a click. Good. It was all working. She wound the film on and put the camera in her tote bag, then put on her old mac. This was not Rita’s smart military style number with the wide belt, but a shapeless grey nylon thing, regulation summer rainwear at her high school. Now for the headscarf.
The effect when she looked in the mirror was worse than she’d expected.
‘Come on,’ called Julie, ‘I’ll be late.’
Nell closed the bedroom door after her and locked it with the key, as the police had recommended, then presented herself. ‘So, what do you think?’
Are you really going to go out looking like that?’
‘It’s all in a good cause. Admit it — even you wouldn’t recognise me, would you?’
‘That raincoat’s a fashion crime. And it’s not even raining. Why are you taking that lumpy old tote bag?’
Nell patted it. ‘Camera.’
‘Come on, then. Haven’t got time to argue.’
They had worked it all out on Sunday: Nell would change her times and her routes to and from work and go in company with the twins wherever possible. Julie was working in the Baker Street office of the Bureau, so her usual routine was to get the Piccadilly Line and change at Piccadilly Circus on to the Bakerloo. It was quicker than the Circle Line, even though that went all the way round to Baker Street with no changes, because the tubes were more frequent on the Piccadilly. But this morning, she and Nell left the flat together — ten minutes earlier than Julie’s usual time for setting off, so as to allow for the slower journey — and they both caught the Circle Line. At Notting Hill, Nell changed to the Central. She was on her own now.
At Tottenham Court Road, she got off and came out onto the street. Even allowing for the fifteen minute walk from here, she was too early for work, so she found a cafe. A handwritten board above the counter listed the breakfast menu: beans on toast, egg on toast, sausage and beans, bacon and tomato with fried bread, double egg and bacon. Her stomach was in a tight little knot. She couldn’t imagine eating any of those things, so she ordered some coffee and took it to a table by the window with a clear view of the street in both directions. The hippies and students weren’t up at this time of day. All the people walking past were smartly dressed: the men in suits and the women in high heels and fitted dresses. Office workers. The man with his shaggy hair would stand out a mile among them. It was going to be much harder to keep him off her trail on the way home.
Thank goodness this was her last week working at the office. It was harder and harder to keep her mind on the job and there were so many people who wanted to play the boss and couldn’t resist the opportunity to point out constantly what she was missing or doing wrong. She would so love to tell them a few things, to shake them out of their silly little world where a broken pencil sharpener or a cracked coffee cup had to be reported on two different forms. There was still plenty of talk about the Whitechapel murders. Some of the women, Nell suspected, rather enjoyed thinking they were in mortal danger every time they stepped outside the building. She couldn’t resist barging into one of these conversations.
‘Why would he wait till you got into the street? It would be much easier to get you up here, behind your desk. That’s more his style, I’m sure.’
‘You’ve got a morbid imagination, Nell Adams.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with imagination,’ said Nell. ‘Here’s your typewriter ribbon. You have to sign for it, if you don’t mind.’
But it had everything to do with imagination, she thought as she dusted the filing shelves. Now she’d given herself the idea, she could see opportunities for the killer everywhere she turned. Why take all that trouble to stop him following her to work, when he could so easily get her at work. He could just walk right in and people would think he was one of the delivery men or something. A lot of them were student temps with long hair.
In her tea break, she used the coin-operated phone on the stairwell to ring Vine Street. If she could only get on to Inspector Palgrave again, or Inspector Williams, she was sure they would not leave her without any kind of police protection. Neither of them was available.
‘Can you tell me when Inspector Palgrave will be back?’ she asked.
‘Can’t say for sure, I’m afraid. May not be for a couple of days.’
Nell continued to hold the receiver to her ear for a minute or two after they had hung up on the other end, looking down the gloomy concrete staircase as she listened to the dial tone. What if he came up those stairs, right now? She pulled the camera out of her handbag and checked it. She’d be ready for him. He’d be walking right into the picture frame, the one place he surely didn’t want to be.
After replacing the receiver, she walked a few steps down the stairwell in the semi darkness, as if to test herself. Her stomach still felt tight, but her breathing was steady. She was doing well.
When she left the office at the end of the day, the headscarf and raincoat didn’t look so out of place because heavy clouds had gathered. She’d arranged to meet Julie at Knightsbridge, so that all three of them could go home together when Rita finished work. Going back into the flat would be the hardest thing. That and having a bath, arrangements for which they’d discussed at length last night.
