'Sorry I'm late, sir.'
'That's all right, John. There's damn-all happening anyway.' The chief inspector watched a wreath of blue smoke curling upwards from the bowl of his briar.
'I've just been in to see Bennett. He's had his meeting with Parkhurst. The word from on high is 'steady as she goes'.'
'What does that mean?'
'It means this inquiry stays within the Yard. Parkhurst made that plain. He doesn't want a carnival his word. No outside experts to be called in. Sampson's got them running scared. We'll have to think of something else.'
7
The hotel was in a side street off Russell Square.
Dr Weiss was waiting at a corner table in the almost deserted lounge. The dusty leaves of a rubber plant brushed his shoulders as he rose to greet Madden.
'Inspector, this is a pleasure.'
'It's good of you to see me, Dr Weiss.'
'I am happy to meet any friend of Helen's.'
A gold watch-chain gleamed against the sober black of the doctor's waistcoat. Behind a welcoming smile he cast a curious glance at his visitor. At their last meeting he had noted Madden's dark, shadowed eyes and air of deep-rooted fatigue. He thought that any man who captured Helen Blackwell's interest was fortunate indeed, and he wondered about their relationship.
They sat down at the table. The doctor waited while Madden signalled to a waiter and ordered drinks for them.
'All the same, I was surprised by her call. You wish to discuss the Melling Lodge murders with me?
Inspector, I am not a criminologist.'
'I realize that. But this is not an official visit. In fact, I'd be grateful if you wouldn't mention our meeting to anyone.'
'So!' Dr Weiss's brown eyes sparkled. 'But I still don't see how I can be of help.'
Madden hesitated. He was treading on unfamiliar ground. 'There was something you said in your lecture the other night. It's been on my mind ever since. You were speaking of sexual perversions and you said even the most terrible actions could be idealized by the human mind.'
'That is so.' Weiss frowned. 'But I am still at a loss.
From what I have read of the murders at Highfield, no sexual motive was involved.'
'No evident sexual motive.'
'I see… but you think otherwise?' His curiosity had sharpened.
'The truth is, we don't know what to think. We know the murders were committed by one man. We have a rough physical description of him and we know the make of his motorcycle. But beyond that we're in the dark. We have no idea who we're looking for.'
The doctor's greying eyebrows had already lifted in astonishment. 'And you think I can tell you that?'
'You could give us an indication.'
'Based on the evidence?'
'It would be a guide, surely.'
'A guide, yes. But to what destination?' Weiss shook his head ruefully. 'Inspector, you don't know what you're asking. The margin for error in such a procedure would be huge. Psychology is not an exact science.'
'I understand that.'
'I could very well point you in the wrong direction.'
'That's a risk I'll have to take,' Madden persisted.
The older man regarded him in silence for several seconds. A faint smile played about his lips. Finally he shrugged. 'Very well then, if you insist.' He resettled himself in his chair. 'Tell me about this man. As much detail as possible, please. The key lies in the details.'
Madden spoke for the next twenty minutes. He related the entire course of the investigation, omitting nothing. He described the ambush that he and Stack pole had survived in the woods above Highfield and the subsequent discovery of the dugout.
'At that point we believed we were dealing with an isolated incident. Recently, however, we have learned that he made a similar attack on a house some months ago. The only person home was a woman and he killed her in much the same way as he killed Mrs Fletcher.'
'In much the same way?'
'In virtually the identical manner. He cut her throat and left her body sprawled across the bed. She was in her bath and he dragged her from there to put her on the bed, just as he carried Mrs Fletcher from the stairs.
I was reminded of something someone said to me earlier, referring to Lucy Fletcher. That she had been laid out like a sacrifice.'
'You saw an element of ritual in both killings?' Dr Weiss leaned forward. His face was a study in concentration.
Madden nodded. 'That was how they appeared to me.'
'And neither woman was sexually abused in any way?'
'Correct.'
'You tested for seminal fluid?'
'Everywhere. At least in the case of Mrs Fletcher.'
'On her body, as well as in the orifices?'
'Yes, why?'
'On the bedclothes?'
Madden frowned. 'I don't know. Is it important?'
'It might be.' Dr Weiss seemed to notice the glass of whisky in front of him for the first time. He took a sip of the drink. 'So! These are the facts.' He looked Madden in the eye. 'Let us deal with your first question — are these murders sexually motivated? To which I would answer yes. Beyond any doubt.'
'Why?' Madden was struck by the certainty of his tone.
'Partly through reductive reasoning. Once you exclude other motives such as revenge or, indeed, robbery, it's difficult to imagine what else could lie behind them. But mainly because of the close similarities in the killing of Mrs Fletcher and Mrs Reynolds.
The element of repetition — of ritual, as you rightly surmise — is one of the classic signs of the sexual murder. As I'm sure you're aware, Inspector.'
'Yes, but we're puzzled by the lack of direct evidence.
To put it bluntly, why doesn't he rape them? Or abuse them in some other way?'
Dr Weiss cocked his head on one side. 'You've considered the possibility that the man is impotent?
That these killings are an expression of rage?'
Madden nodded. 'But in that case I would expect him to demonstrate it more clearly, on the bodies of his victims. Merely cutting their throats seems insufficient.'
'I agree.' Weiss nodded crisply. 'But there could be another explanation. He may feel he can't satisfy himself directly. I mean by normal, or even abnormal, penetration.'
'Why would that be?'
'Because he thinks it's forbidden. Taboo. That doesn't mean he's incapable of ejaculation. Only that he can't bring himself to conclude the act in an orthodox manner. Then again, that may be what he is aiming at. To achieve coitus somehow.' Dr Weiss's fingertips played a scale on the glassed table. As though in response the sawing notes of a cello came from the next room where an orchestra had struck up. They were playing an old tune: 'Just A Song At Twilight'.
'But can we be certain?' Madden felt impelled to play the devil's advocate. 'What about the wartime connection? The bayonet, the dugout, the gas mask?
