Bernard was waiting in his wheelchair by the area railing in front of Daisy’s place. He looked anxiously down into the light well, where Collins was knocking at the front door, ringing the chimes, and peering inside through the chinks between the curtains of the windows. “Any sign of life, Collins?”
“No Sir. I’m afraid she’s still not at home.”
Bernard had been coming repeatedly to Daisy’s door since Thursday, since the morning after Jonathan had been arrested. Normally, when he visited Daisy at her place, he would order a wheelchair transport from his usual taxi company, the driver would go down and ring at her door, then Daisy and the driver would carry him down the short flight of stairs. No problem. But for several days now, she had not been at home. He’d had to take the taxi back to his own place without seeing her. He had no idea where she could be. So this time, on Monday, he had asked Collins to go there with him in the police van. “I tell you, she seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth.”
“Let’s ask the chaps from the surveillance detail… Someone must still have been there after the arrest…”
“Yes, let us check with them at the Yard…”
They boarded their van and drove off. Now that Jonathan had been arrested, only hours after his presence in Battersea Park had been reported, Bernard and Collins were back in full swing, handling the aftermath of the case at headquarters.
It was easy enough to find out who had been monitoring Daisy’s place on Wednesday night. And even though the surveillance people had been on the lookout for Jonathan, it turned out that they had seen the blind lady get home late that night, and then leave again a short while later. She had not been carrying any luggage, just a shoulder bag, nothing unusual, and she had not been seen since then. But of course, they had been called off before the end of their shift, due to the arrest of the suspect.
“All right, Collins. Another line of inquiry: look for any signs of life after Wednesday night, Thursday morning. Phone calls; credit card or bank transactions… You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I’ll have a look Sir.”
A couple of hours later, the constable was able to report that on Thursday ‘Mrs Hayes’ had withdrawn a sizeable amount of money from her bank account. “In fact, the maximum allowed. And apart from that, no signs of life.”
“Very well. It is now clear that she has fled … She would even have had the time and the opportunity to go abroad… Can you please check that for me?”
“Well, I seem to be spending an awful lot of time on the lady’s case, if I may say so. What’s going on Sir?”
“Check the airports and the ferries first. I’ll explain later.”
After a few hours more, the constable came back to his superior’s office and reported a negative result. “We may assume that Mrs Hayes hasn’t left the country, Sir. And I did a sweep of the hotels on the computer. Even though Daisy Hayes is a pretty common name, there were no matches between Thursday and last night…”
“Very well, Collins, thank you. Now close the door and I’ll tell you what is going on… But first you must promise me complete secrecy. Not a word to anyone.”
“Ah… Do I understand correctly that I should not disclose this to the police or the authorities?”
“Precisely! Do I have your word?”
“Word of honour Sir. Now I’m really getting curious.”
“The thing is, Collins: I’ve made a huge mistake with Daisy, and I’m desperate…”
“Yes? Go on!”
“To make a long story short: I have discovered how Martin McCullough was able to blackmail Daisy into helping him in 1967. It is because in the fifties, Daisy had hired his services to kill a man.”
“Good God! Premeditated murder! I would never have suspected the lady of such a thing. I guess she had some pretty good reasons to do this?”
“That she had, yes. Even to the extent that I had no intention of turning her in.”
“Good Lord… erm, I mean: now I understand the oath of secrecy.”
“Yes. Quite so. However, I did draw up a deposition after Daisy admitted the whole thing. Just as in the Loretta McCullough case. She put her signature under the document the very same evening her son was arrested.”
“All right… But you had no intention of handing her confession over to the prosecutor’s office.”
“That’s right, but Daisy wasn’t aware of that…”
“Oh. So let me guess: the huge mistake you just mentioned is that you let her believe that she might be prosecuted…”
“You’ve got it in one, Collins. Pretty good. Daisy signed; she said, ‘my fate is now in your hands;’ and she walked out the door without further ado. I haven’t seen her since then.”
“So she has disappeared because she’s afraid of getting arrested. Quite understandable.”
“I had asked her to trust me: I had told her I would do the right thing. The message she is conveying by disappearing like this is clearly: ‘I do not trust you’.”
“Or alternatively: ‘I refuse to put my fate in someone else’s hands’.”
“Yes, well, that’s the same thing, isn’t it?”
“If you say so Sir. Now, what are we going to do about this? Asking the police to go looking for her is out of the question, I suppose.”
“That’s right. I’d go looking for her myself if I had any idea where to start, but I draw a blank; I have no idea where she could have gone. Do you have any suggestions, Collins? I can’t think straight anymore!”
“Well, I can only think of the normal procedure with missing people: talk to relatives and friends, ask them if they have any idea where she could be…”
“Yes, I’ve already done all that. Daisy has no relatives left, and I’ve phoned a couple of her friends, but without results… I need you to think of something new, Collins, I need some fresh ideas. And this time it isn’t just a token challenge to build up your abilities. This is the real thing!”
Collins nodded. The two of them sat silently for a while, the constable first looking at his boss, still in the habit of expecting a lead from him, then staring dreamily at a spot on a blank wall to the left of his boss’s head. At length he screwed up his eyes, a sure sign, Bernard knew, that he was concentrating intensely. Then he softly muttered, “Jonathan is the key…”
After another silence, Bernard said, “What was that?”
“You will find Daisy, erm, Mrs Hayes, through Jonathan. I was just thinking about what you told me last week. How tenderly his mother hugged him when he showed up in the park; and before that, how she somehow kept herself informed on how he was doing. She clearly loves him very much; she must be aware of the fact that he was arrested; the operation on Wednesday night was quite spectacular and was all over the news… So, she will be burning to get in touch with him. Now, as soon as Jonathan is transferred to a proper prison, we must make sure to communicate to the press which prison that will be…”
“You want Daisy to know his whereabouts; I get that, but if she’s hiding from me—from the police —, she’s hardly likely to turn up at the prison gate to visit her darling Johnny-John…”
“No, she’s not that stupid. But she’ll try to get in touch anyway. She might send him a letter…”
“But she can give her son any answering address she wants, even a PO box: we’ll still not know her whereabouts…”
“That’s right Sir, but what you need to do is leave a message for her with Jonathan.”
“What! How could I rely on that psychopath!”
“Just tell him the truth Sir. I’m sure even Jonathan will understand that it’s in his own interest, and in his mother’s, to relay your message to her.”
“Hmm, all right. Not bad. The only drawback is that this approach is going to take some time…”
“That it will Sir. All the more since you can’t talk to Jonathan as long as he’s in police custody; you need to talk to him off the record, and that is not possible right now. You’ll have to be patient. But on the plus side: Daisy needs some time to cool down, to think things over… and so do you, I guess.”
Bernard and Collins started working double quick on the case against Jonathan Hadley, and pushed their colleagues to make haste and wrap things up. The interviews were rounded off and the deposition was drawn up. (When Jonathan was asked his profession, he had answered “Housepainter.”) Beautiful photographs—with fiftyfold magnification—were made of the dental casts taken from the first victim, and other pictures at the exact same scale were taken of the suspect’s teeth; there was a perfect match, plainly visible for all to see in a court of justice. Likewise a fire red crowbar had been found in possession of the suspect at the moment of his arrest. Magnifications were made of the damage on the paint coating, corresponding quite well to other pictures that had been made of red paint traces that the crowbar had left on the doorpost of the garage. Soon Jonathan could be brought over to the jail where he would await his trial, while the police completed its reports and the prosecution prepared its case.
And then, at last, it was possible for Bernard to pay a visit to Jonathan in a private capacity.
“What do you mean: ‘private capacity’? I’m not stupid you know. You’re the man who’s in charge of the investigation…”
“That’s right, and I’m not going to say a word about the case; I only want to talk about your mother.”
“Well, what about her? I know you’re her lover; I saw you in bed with her!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Johnny-John. Daisy and I go back a long way, and we enjoy each other’s company a great deal, that’s all.”
“I don’t know about that. This is a complete nightmare. The freak in the wheelchair shows up at every turn… I don’t know what kind of sick little game has been going on here, but I have a mind to tell my counsel that my Mum has been sleeping with the police bigwig in charge of my case. How about that, eh?”
“It won’t help you any, Johnny-boy. Just go ahead and accuse me, but you have no evidence that I’m your mother’s lover: it will be your word against mine. You’re not getting away with two murders on account of this… And if your mother should be asked to testify, I can assure you that she’ll deny that we ever slept together.”
“And why isn’t Mummy coming to visit me, anyway? When will she come? Does she know that you’ve locked me up?”
“Well, that’s the thing I want to discuss with you. Daisy does not know, but she’ll find out soon enough. The problem is: she has disappeared… I don’t know where she is.”
“What do you mean: ‘disappeared’? She finally got fed up with you?”
“She has run away; gone underground; hiding for the police. She’s afraid of getting arrested for premeditated murder.”
“Good God! You mean: because she murdered my father?”
“Yes, something like that…”
“But she had every right to kill the man!”
“I know. I agree. But there’s been a misunderstanding, because of something I said. Now here’s the thing, Jonathan: I’m absolutely certain your mother is going to get in touch with you very soon. Secretly, you understand, not in person. She’ll send a letter or she’ll send someone over with a message from her. And when she does that, you must let her know that the police is not looking for her. You must tell her that Bernard told you so. Tell her that I’m not handing her deposition over to the prosecutor… Have you got that?”
“Yes, yes, I get it. But why should I help you?”
“Well, it’s very simple really, Jonathan. If you want to see your mother again—I mean in person—you’ll have to let her know that the police is not looking for her… you do want to see her, don’t you?”
“I dunno about that!”
“Don’t be stupid, Johnny-John. No one else is ever going to come and visit you. As soon as she gets in touch, you make sure to let her know what I just said. Then she’ll come and visit you. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
When Bernard got back to New Scotland Yard, there was a message on his desk to the effect that the Commissioner of Police wanted to speak to him. He took the elevator to the top floor at once.
“Ah! come in, Bernard, come in. There’s just one little concern I’d like you to assuage for me…”
“What on earth could that be, Sir?”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing. I’ve been going through the paperwork, and something strikes me as suspicious… At least, the counsel for the defence could use it to cast doubt on our work… For instance, on that fateful eighteenth of October—Wednesday last week—you call us in the morning and tell us the identity of the second victim. Then the very same evening, the suspect shows up in Battersea Park—where you are having dinner—and you become instrumental in his arrest a few hours later. Add to this your incredibly swift results on solving the first murder, and then a cold case from 1967, and you have Jonathan’s counsel claiming in court that they can smell a rat… Now, my dear Bernard, I hope and trust that you have a plausible explanation for all this. We all know how good you are at your job, but you can’t be that good.”
“Well, the explanation is quite simple, Sir. Daisy Hayes is the key to everything. As soon as I saw the name Martin McCullough, I thought of her, because she was involved in the Loretta McCullough case that I handled in 1967. And as luck would have it, her own son turned out to be the culprit. Then the same lady gave me some leads that allowed us to find her abductor’s lair, and the bodies. Now, in the meantime it transpired that Daisy and I had a lot in common. We were both born in 1922; a cousin of her first husband was a classmate of mine at Folkestone, and so on. So more or less spontaneously we kept in touch. On the eighteenth of October I spent the whole day with her, and she happened to know the name of this one-eyed, one-armed man through a common acquaintance. As for Jonathan turning up on the evening of the same day: it was always clear in my mind that our young suspect would want to get in touch with his Mummy in the end. So it turned out that it was a good idea to stay close to Daisy Hayes…”
“All right… As an explanation it should be good enough. Maybe you can put this in writing for the record? Only, please, Bernard, play it down as much as you can; don’t use the word ‘relationship’. Yours has been a highly unorthodox approach, to say the least.”
“I know Sir. Funny that you should say so. Normally you’re the one who believes in the unorthodox approach, and I am the stickler for rules!”
The Commissioner chuckled, then he said, “In any case, your girlfriend might be called upon to testify about all of this. I hope she’s reliable?”
“Oh yes, that she is. The only problem is that she has disappeared… I have no idea where she has gone. You see, she got very angry at me after her son was arrested.”
“Well, just make sure she has reappeared by the time the trial starts, Bernard… That will be all.”
On the evening of that same day, Beatrice paid Bernard a visit at his flat on the Embankment. She wanted to know what had happened to Daisy.
“It is all good and well, phoning me to ask if I have any idea where dear Daisy might have gone, but the fact is, I cannot get in touch with her either.”
“I’m working on it, my dear, believe me, I’m doing all I can. Could you describe the last time you saw her? What was her mood?”
“Well, she came to my place the other day, and she was quite happy and full of plans. I had to take her around the house and describe each painting, each print on the walls of the ancestral home. She was interested in landscapes particularly. I had to describe those in detail, analyse the composition, explain the perspective used in each one of them. I happen to know a lot about art in general, so we had quite an intense session… Daisy was very excited by her latest art project.”
“Yes, I know, she told me about her plans to model landscapes in bas-relief.”
“So then what happened, Bernard? I’m assuming that you know more about this than I do, so let’s hear it!”
“I don’t know what to say…”
“Have you two had a lover’s tiff?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it that. I’m afraid there’s been a terrible misunderstanding, as a result of which Daisy is under the misapprehension that she might get arrested by the police at any moment…”
“Good God! What on earth are you talking about? When you get all pompous like that I have to start fearing the worst… Has this got anything to do with what happened in 1967?”
“Yes… yes, but I cannot disclose any particulars.”
“So let me guess: did she actually kill the man who abducted her? The rapist? Is that it?”
“My dear Beatrice, I am not at liberty to tell. You have known Daisy since you were both teenagers; it would feel wrong of me to tell you anything that she has chosen not to disclose in all those years.”
“Well, if this has got anything to do with Jonathan’s father, let me tell you that as far as I’m concerned she had every right to kill the man!”
“Yes, quite so. Even the Crown Prosecution Service has come to that conclusion. But that’s not what all this is about.”
“Oh, Bernard! You can be so infuriating, sometimes…”
“Well, I’m awfully sorry, Beatrice. I’m sure Daisy will tell you more herself by the time she emerges from hiding. I’m sure that by then she’ll want to strive for more openness in her relationship with her friends…”
“Oh really? Listen to yourself! I don’t know what has gotten into you.”
“I wonder about that as well, you know. I regret all this as much as you do.”
As soon as Beatrice had left, Bernard reflected, “What indeed is happening to me? Each time I talk to someone I keep… dissembling! First with Collins, then with Jonathan; the Commissioner, and now with Beatrice… Dissembling all the time… I hate that! From the moment Daisy disappeared I have become…” Bernard thumped three times with his fist on the armrest of his wheelchair, “a dissembling… little… prat!”
“…the last demonstration in Leipzig was already very impressive, with 300,000 people showing up to demonstrate peacefully against the regime. But today, on this fourth of November, we are witnessing something even more impressive, as at least half a million people have swamped Alexanderplatz, in the heart of the GDR capital of East Berlin. For the first time a demonstration has been authorized by the powers that be, a reflection perhaps of the new outlook of the regime since Honecker has stepped down, but even so the new leader is not popular. Some of the banners carried by the demonstrators proclaim ‘We are no fans of Egon Krenz,’ which in German rhymes nicely, and ‘Socialism yes, Egon no’…”
Daisy was sitting in a pitch dark cellar, listening to a transistor radio. Down in her concrete cell, she could only receive broadcasts by way of a wire going through the pipe of an air vent and connected to an antenna hidden among the rubbish at street level. The cellar was situated deep under a flat building on a council estate. Normally it was not in use, but a camping bed, a table and a chair had been installed for her sake, and there was an electric water boiler that allowed her to make some tea. While she sat at her table and worked on her new art project, Daisy listened intently to the latest news from Berlin.
“…In fact the banners carried along by the throngs of protesters give a fair idea of the demands of the citizens of East Germany. They say ‘We are the people’. They ask for more freedom as they repeatedly refer to articles 27 and 28 of the constitution, which in theory guarantee freedom of speech and freedom of assembly: ‘Civil rights not only on paper’, ‘Facts instead of phrases’. They demand ‘Democracy for the GDR’ and ‘Real elections instead of fake figures’. Some banners are rather humorous: ‘Privileges for all’ or ‘Change without ifs or buts’. Right now a long succession of personalities are giving speeches. Some of them are government officials, who get jeered at and booed by the crowds; most are opposition leaders and leading artists, and are warmly applauded. More remarkably still, the whole thing is being broadcast live on the GDR state television…”
Daisy was working on a landscape. With tiny balls of beeswax that she softened between her fingers she was drawing an image in raised lines and volumes on a smooth, glazed kitchen tile. The beeswax smelled delicious. The landscape was fascinating. A street lined with terraced houses; a few cars parked by the curb of the pavement; a lamppost and a road sign. A very ordinary scene for normal people, but for her it was an absolutely thrilling experience to be modelling such a street view. “Why have I never thought of this before?” Above the roofs she had even added a few very exciting details: a puff of smoke coming out of a chimney; some clouds floating in the sky; a couple of pigeons in flapping flight… all these outlandish details plainly visible under her fingers. Incredible!
As she kept working on her “piece”, Daisy’s mind kept racing along several parallel tracks. It is fascinating how the human mind can follow all these threads in short bursts of apparently random thoughts.
First: the momentous events of the day on Alexanderplatz; “I wonder if my old friend Hans Konradi is there today? What has become of the young chap who guided us in East Berlin when we visited the place in the seventies, Margery and I? We gave him all our Ostmark for his trouble… Charming boy; quite proficient in English.”
Then: Jonathan’s spectacular arrest only hours after she had held him