“…increasing numbers of GDR citizens are camping out in the open air on the grounds of the West German embassy in Prague. The former palace of the noble House of Lobkowicz has extensive gardens, next to a park in the heart of the city. The East German asylum seekers just clamber over the high iron fences and install their makeshift shelters for a long stay. The local police do make perfunctory efforts to stop them, but they are overwhelmed by the numbers. The refugees now number in the hundreds, some sources say almost a thousand people are there, and the situation is becoming rather untenable. But still more want to join the squalid camp on the embassy grounds, often bringing their children along, hoping to be granted asylum and a free passage to the West…”
Daisy was sitting at her kitchen table, eating breakfast while she listened to the radio. She was having a bowl of Bircher muesli with lean yogurt, crushed walnuts, dried fruit and a grated apple. Her health diet. The oats would keep one sated until lunchtime.
At sixty-six, Daisy did all she could to stay in shape. Now that she no longer worked, she didn’t have access to the gym equipment she’d been used to at her group practice. So in order not to interrupt a lifelong discipline of daily muscle toning, she had bought some simple equipment of her own and devised a routine she could follow at home. And she had become a paying member at a local gym. She could easily afford it. Of course, the neighbourhood being what it was, she had turned out to be the only pensioner among the young and upcoming professionals who trained there fanatically. Not to mention that she was blind, of course. No one ever spoke to her. But it didn’t matter, for she had discovered the joys of the treadmill. Daisy found that she loved to run. Just stampede full out on that crazy device until you ran out of breath. Then stop, catch your breath and start all over again. Wonderful. Now she dreamed of taking up for real the running craze that had started at the beginning of the eighties. To run like that in the open air, in a park, should be great, but as a blind person you would need a seeing partner if you wanted to take it up. Her best friends, ripe old ladies like herself, were not likely to help her out… Pity. So for the moment: the solitary treadmill at the local gym.
Presently Johnny-John came into the kitchen. What a pleasant surprise. Though he switched off the radio without as much as a by-your-leave, grumbling, “Oh, puh-lease, not the Beeb at eight in the morning?”
“Hullo, darling, you’re early today?”
“No. Actually I’m late. I stayed up all night. So I didn’t go to bed yet, but I will, pretty soon.”
The boy started emptying the fridge, taking out a couple of beers, by the sound of it, and sausages and bacon, by the smell of it. Soon he was frying his own favourite breakfast, which normally would have Daisy salivating and begging for a morsel, but today she was feeling virtuous, and she had finished her oats just in time to curb her appetite.
“Listen, Johnny-John. I’ve arranged for the police not to pick me up this time. Remember the crack investigator I told you about yesterday? He’s going to call me and then I’ll go to the Yard…”
“What’s that chap’s name, anyway? The man you admire so much?”
“The crack investigator? I dunno, Detective Chief Inspector Thistlewhistle or something. You wouldn’t have heard of him, anyway. But definitely very high ranking, that I can tell you.”
“Well, of course. That’s exactly what’s needed if they want to catch a master criminal with my pedigree!”
“Well, they’ll catch you all right if you don’t move your fat arse soon, Johnny-boy. When I get that phone call, I’ll rap on your door and I’ll be off. I think you’d better move out fast after that. I don’t believe you can afford to wait a couple of days after all… Have I made myself perfectly clear?”
Jonathan uttered a few inarticulate and noncommittal noises that usually indicated that he’d heard all right. The boy was not stupid. Daisy stood up and poured herself another cup of coffee. “At least, I hope he’s not,” she told herself. She sat down again with her coffee and listened to the boy wolfing down sausages and bacon. He seemed to be devouring an awful lot of sausages and bacon today. Maybe a good sign.
At nine thirty, an hour after Jonathan had retired to his room, the phone started ringing. “They worked fast,” Daisy reflected, “but that was to be expected.” When she picked up the receiver her heart fluttered, not unlike that of a young girl in love. “Hullo?”
“Daisy! It’s me, Bernard. I’m calling to ask you to come over to the Yard, as we arranged…”
“Very well… And what’s the result on the dental thing?”
“Patience, my dear, you’ll soon find out. Now please come at once.”
“All right. Just give me half an hour or so, what with the Tube and all that.”
“Of course. Take your time.”
Daisy went over to her son’s bedroom and rapped on the door. “Johnny-John, are you awake in there? The police just called, I’m off to the Yard!”
She only heard some mumblings on the other side. Through the door she could smell a faint whiff of vinegar. Was he actually cleaning up the place? As noiselessly as she could, she felt around for the handwritten sign, but apparently it was no longer there. Daisy waited a short while longer, but didn’t hear another sound from within. “All right, then. I’m going. Take care of yourself, darling.”
For the second time, Daisy was escorted to Bernard Thistlehurst’s office, led to the armchair in front of his desk and asked to please sit down. “I hope you had no trouble getting here, my dear…”
“None whatsoever, Bernard. I know the London Tube system like the back of my hand, and there are always friendly souls around to assist me when needed… Now, what are the results of the dental test?”
“It is not a match, I’m glad to say. You did not bite Martin McCullough to death, that is now confirmed as a fact.”
“And why couldn’t you just tell me that on the phone? Why did I have to come back here, as much as I enjoy your company?”
“Sorry about that, my dear, but last time I told you that we have some unresolved issues. I want to get to the bottom of your relationship with McCullough. And the dental test has added another issue to that. Even though it is not a match, our forensic experts tell us that there is possibly a family resemblance between the two sets of teeth.”
“Hmm… I see. You do realise, though, that I have very little family left?”
“Yes, we checked the registry records. Your parents have passed away, just like mine, which is normal for people of our age. You have no siblings, just like me. You hardly have any cousins. There we differ: I have quite a lot of cousins, but we’ve lost touch altogether.”
“Well, come to think of it, my branch of the Hayes family is dying out. So it sounds like a family conspiracy is not on for the moment.”
“True. But the fact remains: there might be a family connection. So back to the original line of inquiry. Your relationship with McCullough intrigues me because I don’t understand it. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Well, I’m in the habit of getting to know all kinds of people from very different walks of life.”
“Very commendable, my dear Daisy. I do the same professionally. But what is very unusual, is a relationship where one is willing to kill a man on behalf of another person.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, my dear Bernard.”
“Could I ask you to stand up and lean over my desk, Daisy? There is something I want to give you.”
“Erm… Can’t you just stand up and lean over, like a gentleman?”
“Well, no. Actually it’s not so easy for me to do that, as both my legs are paralyzed and I’m bound to a wheelchair.”
“Really? Good God! Sorry about that. I wasn’t aware…”
“Yes, I’m a paraplegic, and it is very refreshing to meet someone like you who cannot even see it. That is also the reason why I was feeling a bit jealous of you, a moment ago, when you told me that you know the Tube system like the back of your hand. I could never take the Tube on my own. Anyway, please reach over.”
When Daisy finally did as she was told, Bernard put a small paper strip in her hand, with Braille letters embossed on it. Even without reading it, Daisy knew at once what it was. But she sat down and read it with her fingertips anyway.
DO NOT WORRY ABOUT OTHER VICTIMS. I KILLED THE MAN WHO DID THIS TO ME.
“How on earth did you manage to get hold of this, Bernard? What I wrote on this tape was supposed to be strictly confidential, a medical secret!”
“I know. I’m sorry to spring this on you like that, but I obtained it in an entirely legitimate way. With medical secrets, you see, there are all sorts of rules and conditions that the doctor and the patient are not always aware of. The doctor is bound to secrecy as a person, but if he puts the confidential information into the medical records, the authorities will uncover it there when they receive a court’s permission to investigate such records. Besides, your doctor left St Mary’s a long time ago; he should have removed this when he departed.
“But if it is any consolation, my dear, this little Braille strip is not a very useful piece of evidence, as it doesn’t mention who killed whom. No date, no by-line. So you could deny that you ever wrote it, but I for one wouldn’t believe you. No, for me this find is very significant all the same, within the context of the place where I found it, and of the Loretta McCullough case it undoubtedly refers to.”
“All right. I don’t deny that I wrote this. The doctor who repaired my damaged eardrums was very concerned that the same damage might be done to others. I wrote this to ease his mind. Maybe I lied to reassure him?”
“Nice ploy, my dear, but I don’t buy it. And you know my method. I put it to you that your argument changes nothing to the narrative. Your eardrums were butchered, and it is a very unusual relationship indeed, where one is willing to put oneself at such risk on behalf of another person…”
“All right, I get your point. But if I understand it correctly, the only thing that gives you the right to ask these questions, is that the case of McCullough’s murder has just been handed over to you because no one else could make any sense of it, and you happen to believe that the Loretta McCullough case is linked to it somehow, involving me. Now, if I may inquire, what makes you think that these two cases are connected, when there’s a gap of twenty years between them?”
“Ah, but I don’t find that gap significant! Not at all. Different people navigate through time in different ways. As Henry David Thoreau said, ‘Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in.’ You and I understand very well what he meant by that… It struck me yesterday that you seem to be very close to your childhood memories, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, but what has that got to do with anything?”
“Oh, but it is very important! I have met many people who can hardly imagine that they ever were children in the first place, and the few childhood memories they still have fill them with shame! I myself am very fond of recalling the most foolish thoughts I had as a child. For instance, when I was six years old and started school, I learned the alphabet and the figures, and within a couple of months I could read and write and count up to one hundred, like most of my classmates. But I distinctly remember telling myself, ‘Now that I can read and write and count up to one hundred, I know everything there is to know, so why do they keep me at school?’ It’s a good thing I didn’t confide these reflections to any grownups at the time.”
Daisy chuckled. “Oh, I know. I had the same kind of thing… As soon as I started talking, my father hired a special tutor for me, because he realised how vital language would be for the mental development of a blind child. The man did a good job, but I didn’t like him much, because he always wanted to make learning look hard and I didn’t like the smell of his cologne. So anyway, I can remember that at the age of five or six, before I went off to school, I once stepped up to my father while he was reading his newspaper, and I declared: ‘I say, Daddy, now that my mastery of the English language is complete, Mr Rawnsley’s services are no longer required, don’t you think?’ My father roared with laughter, and he did exactly as I asked. He very tactfully told my tutor that his services were indeed no longer required. He offered him a bonus because he had done such an outstanding job. And mind you, I couldn’t even read or write at the time, because I only started learning Braille at the Anne Sullivan, sometime after this incident.”
Now Bernard chuckled in his turn. “You must have been a handful as a child!”
“Yes, I guess I was.”
They were both silent for a while, then Bernard said, “We have a lot in common, Daisy. We were born in the same year, 1922. I’m from September, and you’re from November. I wish we could just go on comparing our childhood memories, but unfortunately we have other issues to deal with.”
“That’s right.”
“Anyway, this goes to show that a twenty year gap between two occurrences may or may not at all be significant.”
“All right, I get the point… Now listen, Bernard, there’s one thing that’s distracting me. I’ve just heard that you’re bound to a wheelchair, but I haven’t witnessed this fact yet. So do you mind if I come over to your side of the desk and probe you? Just to get an idea?”
“Of course, my dear. Be my guest!”
Daisy stood up, walked around the desk, prodding her way with her outstretched arms, and when she reached Bernard, she crouched next to him and started investigating the wheelchair with her fingertips. While she was busy doing this, fondling the tyres and fingering the spokes of the wheels, he stared at her, eating her up with his eyes, marvelling at the fact that he had never seen her from such close quarters before. Then Daisy said, “Nice chair, very sporty. Now may I touch your body and your face?”
“Of course, my dear. I have just been ogling you shamelessly, so you’re entitled to prod me as much as you want. I was just marvelling at the fact that at sixty-six, you’re still a strikingly beautiful woman!”
Daisy giggled, “Well, thank you! Unfortunately, I have no idea what it means to be beautiful. I cannot picture it.”
Then she raised herself, and standing right next to the man in the wheelchair, she proceeded to explore his features with her fingertips. Bernard closed his eyes and almost purred with pleasure as the soft caresses moved over his face. At length Daisy said, “I say, Bernard. I don’t know how to put this nicely, but your face seems to be rather… lopsided!”
“That’s right. I was disfigured by the same riding accident that made me end up in a wheelchair. I look hideous; a real-life Quasimodo. My colleagues here at the Yard sometimes joke that it’s a good thing they don’t carry arms, for they would put me out of my misery with a bullet when they see my ugly mug.”
“Good God! That is not a nice kind of joke.”
“Ah well, I’ve learned to take it. Better some jokes in bad taste than embarrassed silence.”
“True, I agree with you there…”
In the meantime Daisy was probing Bernard’s body. “On the plus side, you have a well-developed chest and beautiful shoulders. I bet you use your arms a lot to move around?”
“Yes, that’s right…”
“You know that I’m a physiotherapist? Well, I’m retired now, but I can’t help noticing that your shoulder muscles are rather tight. I could give you a massage, if you want…”
“Well, another time, maybe. All this is not going to distract me from the real purpose of my inquiries, you know.”
“All right, of course…” Daisy left Bernard alone and returned to her chair in front of the desk. “You’re far too clever for me. I still don’t understand exactly what your game is, my dear Bernard, but I do realise that I’m going to have to play along …”
“Oh, but my game is simple enough. I want to get to the truth. Only the truth! You’re not getting rid of me until you give me that!”
“Well, in my experience the truth is never simple to get at, and not easy to deliver…”
“Be that as it may, let’s get back to our business. Let’s go back to the narrative of the murder. As I already stated yesterday, the killer is telling us, ‘This is an act of revenge’, so much is clear. Now I’ve just had another thought. It’s that twenty year gap that is starting to bother me after all. Instead of dismissing it as irrelevant, we have to ask ourselves what message it conveys. Why twenty years? Why not ten? Why not five? Do you have any suggestions?”
Daisy felt the hairs at the base of her neck standing on end. The man was getting too close to the truth for comfort. She had to say something, if only to distract him and divert his thoughts from the dangerous track they were following. “I really wouldn’t know; it’s a complete mystery to me; I have no idea how one could possibly draw any conclusions from the fact that this murder happened twenty years after that other case; I’d still say that both events are unrelated… completely unrelated!”
Bernard impatiently raised his hand to stop Daisy’s prattling, but she couldn’t see it of course, so he grumbled, “Wait a minute, wait a minute… It’s quite obvious, isn’t it? Let us imagine that the girl who brought you to St Mary’s in 1967 was pregnant from the man who had held her and raped her for almost a year. The child, if she kept it, would be twenty or twenty-one years old right now. It would have taken this child that long to get to the age where it would be able to avenge its mother… Or no… of course not… it’s rather…”
Bernard thumped the armrest of his wheelchair with his fist. “Good God, of course! I’ve been blind!”
Then he picked up the phone on his desk and pushed a button. “Collins? I need my transport. And an armed response unit.”
After pushing down the phone cradle with his finger, he pushed another button. This was clearly one of those new-fangled phones with pre-set numbers at a touch. There was a pause, then Bernard said quietly, “Judge? It’s me, Thistlehurst. I need a search warrant. Residence of one Mrs Daisy Hayes, and the address is…”
When he put down the phone, he said, “Now we wait for things to get organized.”
“What’s going on, Bernard?”
“My dear Daisy, we are going to visit your place. I’d like to meet your son.”
In the van on the way to South Kensington, Daisy, sitting next to Collins in the front, asked Bernard, sitting in his wheelchair in the back, “What makes you think that I am the one that got pregnant? I was forty-five years old at the time!”
“Don’t you see that the obvious is staring you in the face, now? The forensic expert said that there was a family resemblance between your teeth and the killer’s… Then if the child is bent on avenging its mother, that only makes sense if the mother is you. Why would the girl’s child be angry with McCullough? So I can only conclude that you have a son—or maybe a daughter—who is McCullough’s killer.”
“All right. Idle speculation; circumstantial evidence at best. We’ll see.”
When they arrived at Daisy’s place near Earl’s Court, Bernard said, “You’d better give me the key to your front door, otherwise the response unit will break it down.”
Another, bigger van arrived right behind them and the heavily armed police officers immediately ran down the small stairs to Daisy’s front door. As soon as he emerged from his own car with a little help from Collins, Bernard handed over the door keys to the leader of the squad. The men quickly disappeared inside the flat. Standing on the pavement in front of the house, Daisy could hear the men shouting downstairs. She felt a shiver going down her spine: would Jonathan still be at home? It was up to him! She had given him enough warnings and admonitions.
But to her relief, the men came out as swiftly as they had disappeared inside a moment before, and their leader told Bernard, “There’s no one there Sir. Sorry.”
“That’s a pity. Thanks all the same, gentlemen. Now Collins and I need to search the place; can a couple of you please carry me down?”
And that is how Bernard finally entered Daisy’s home. “Do you care to show me around, my dear? I have leave to snoop, of course, but I don’t want to be rude.”
“Very noble I’m sure. But all right. I have nothing to hide anyway…”
So Daisy obligingly took the handles of the chair and started wheeling her guest around. Her own flat was so familiar in her mind, of course, that she could do so without using her cane or groping around in the least. But as soon as she had said, “And that, as you can see, is where the bathroom is,” Bernard said, “Collins, please check it,” before they moved on to Daisy’s bedroom. A moment later Collins joined them and announced, “Only the lady’s things Sir.”
Then they stood in front of Jonathan’s door. The only door in the flat, and it was closed.
“And this would be?”
“Oh, just an unused guestroom, dear Bernard. Do you want to see it?”
“By all means!”
As soon as they entered the room, they were overwhelmed by the unmistakable odour of fresh paint, though Daisy had already caught a whiff of its vinegar smell through the closed door that morning. Bernard and Collins looked around them in amazement at the stark white walls. There was a bed, a desk and a chair; some audio equipment, but all of it looking so sterile, that you couldn’t imagine that anyone ever stayed in here, even for a short while as a guest. The built-in cupboards were empty, of course. Daisy was stricken by the tellingly echoing acoustics of the place as they stepped forward. “Johnny-John!” she thought, “you certainly did a thorough job last night.”
Bernard cleared his throat in the echoing silence. “Isn’t it bizarre that you repainted only the guest room, which is presumably the least used room of the flat?”
“On the contrary,” Daisy remarked, “the guest room is the easiest to do, so why not start there?”
“Hmm… Still, I recognise the style. The mentality