Grave Suspicions of Murder Page 3

  “The unconscious mind remembers everything,” Dr Cutt explained. “There is nothing hidden to it.”

  Clara finished the recital and fell silent.

  “Thank you, Miss Fitzgerald, now, I want you to awaken. You are rising back up from slumber, you feel the chair beneath you again, you can hear the clock ticking. That's it, wake up and open your eyes.”

  Clara awoke and blinked. She glanced around the room as if things might have changed in her absence, but all was the same.

  “You did very well, my dear,” Dr Cutt patted her hand.

  “Turns out all those history lessons weren't wasted on you after all,” Tommy added.

  Clara looked at him baffled.

  “Now, Mr Fitzgerald, are you convinced?”

  The smile fell from Tommy's face.

  “Reciting a list of kings and queens is very different from getting a man walk again,” he said.

  “Not to the unconscious mind,” Dr Cutt corrected. “It is all about pure memory. We just need to remind your waking mind how to walk again. Will you not at least try?”

  Tommy grimaced, but then he saw the look on Clara's face. She wanted him so desperately to try, and she had even made herself a willing guinea pig to prove that hypnosis was safe. He found he was feeling guilty about his reticence. At the worst, it could just fail. Though that in itself filled Tommy with dread. He didn't have much hope left that he would walk again, but what little he did have was incredibly fragile. He was scared of trying hypnosis in case it didn't work and he was left with no hope at all. But, he supposed, that was a sort of cowardice as well, and Tommy had never considered himself a coward.

  “Very well,” he said at last. “Do your worst, doctor.”

  “I would much rather do my best,” Dr Cutt said good-humouredly.

  He took out his pocket watch and repeated the procedure he had just demonstrated on Clara. Tommy took longer to go under. He was agitated and resistant. But when he did go, he went very deep. Dr Cutt moved back a little and observed his patient.

  “Now Tommy, we are going to get you to stretch those legs,” he said. “Let us begin by raising the right leg up from the knee.”

  Clara was astonished to see Tommy raise his leg and extend it straight out. She stared in pure amazement.

  “Very good, now put that leg down and try the other one.”

  Tommy repeated the action with similar ease.

  “Excellent, now, I shall offer you my arm and you will very slowly rise from your wheelchair, do you understand?”

  Tommy gave a nod. When Dr Cutt walked to him and offered his arm Tommy took it and, with a degree of difficulty, for his muscles had wasted, he slowly stood. He was leaning quite heavily on Dr Cutt, but the old physician did not seem to notice.

  “Now, let us see if we can take a few paces forward,” Dr Cutt instructed.

  Patient and doctor walked across the rug for about three paces, then Tommy wobbled a little.

  “You are doing very good, but your legs are tired. We need to build up your strength. Let us go back to the chair and sit down.”

  They returned to the wheelchair and Tommy lowered himself stiffly down.

  “Now Tommy, I have a very specific thought for you to remember. I want you to remember that your legs do work, you have just demonstrated that, and when you awake you will be able to lift your legs up from the knee as we did first off. Now, I want you to awaken slowly. You are rising from slumber. You can feel the chair you are sitting in. You can hear the clock ticking...”

  Clara watched as Tommy was gradually roused from his deep slumber. Like her before him, he blinked rapidly and glanced around as if he expected the room to have changed while he was under hypnosis. Then he looked at Dr Cutt.

  “Well?”

  “Ask your sister, dear boy,” Dr Cutt smiled.

  Tommy turned to Clara, looking confused.

  “You walked Tommy!” Clara declared excitedly. “I saw it!”

  “My legs ache,” Tommy said, completely baffled. “They ache.”

  “That is because you walked!” Clara insisted.

  “Now, we have much work to do as yet,” Dr Cutt interjected. “We need to strengthen your legs before we can progress further. For the next week I want you to practice lifting your leg from the knee and stretching the muscles three times a day, for about ten minutes.”

  “But, doctor, I can't lift my legs!” Tommy protested.

  “Are you implying I don't know my own patient?” Dr Cutt asked with a knowing smile on his lips. “At least try, dear boy.”

  Tommy looked at him aghast, then at Clara. They both seemed to have lost their minds in the brief time he had been unconscious.

  “Try,” the doctor insisted.

  Tommy pulled a face, knowing he would fail at the request. Grumpily he lifted his leg in the manner he had attempted to do on so many occasions without success. He was immensely surprised when his muscles obeyed him for the first time in three years. He stared at his right leg which was now straight out before him. Still amazed he put it down and lifted his left leg. It obeyed too!

  Tommy was incredulous.

  “What did you do?” he asked the doctor.

  “Only what I said I would. I tapped into your unconscious thoughts and planted a new idea there.”

  Tommy shook his head as if this was a dream and any second he would find he had been mistaken.

  “Now do you believe me?” Dr Cutt grinned. “Well, my dears, I must be going. I have another house call to make. I shall return this time next week, if that is suitable, and we shall deal with your foot Miss Fitzgerald and we will work again with your legs, Mr Fitzgerald.”

  Tommy was too astonished to speak.

  “That would be lovely doctor,” Clara told Dr Cutt, feeling almost as excited as her brother by the developments.

  Dr Cutt said his goodbyes and said he would let himself out. Tommy was still too dazed to think straight.

  “Did I really walk?” he asked Clara.

  She nodded.

  “Only a few paces, your legs need to be strengthened. But you most assuredly walked.”

  Tommy didn't know what to say. He was still sitting in confused silence when Annie arrived home. She appeared in the parlour and glanced at them.

  “You are both oddly quiet,” she said suspiciously.

  “It has been an odd sort of afternoon,” Tommy answered.

  “Dr Cutt has had Tommy walking, Annie!” Clara could not resist spreading the good news.

  Annie suddenly brightened.

  “Is it possible?”

  “Show her what you can do,” Clara instructed her brother.

  A little embarrassed at being the centre of attention, Tommy nervously lifted first his right leg and then his left. Annie was so excited she clapped her hands.

  “Oh Tommy!” she ran to him and kissed his cheek. “Are you not thrilled?”

  “I'm just a bit… disbelieving at the moment,” Tommy smiled. “It doesn't seem real.”

  “But it is real,” Clara said firmly. “Now, if only Dr Cutt could use his powers to heal my foot faster…”

  “Oh, you are always so impatient!” Annie tutted with amusement at Clara. “Anyhow, I have some information for you, though I doubt you will find it interesting. Mr Erikson has very little to base his suspicions on.”

  “I feared as much,” Clara sighed.

  “I think he mainly feels...” Annie paused and sniffed the air. “Is that my bacon joint burning? Oh, Thomas Fitzgerald!”

  Annie darted out of the parlour to rescue dinner. Tommy rolled his eyes.

  “You see how much more important bacon is to her than my legs?”

  Clara chuckled.

  “I am sure she will forgive you,” suddenly she frowned as a thought crossed her mind. “Wasn't I supposed to have peeled the potatoes?”

  Chapter Four

  Annie was not looking forward to her next assignment from Clara. Mr Erikson's conviction that he had heard a door
shutting could not be ignored. It might be nothing, or it might be a clue. Clara was still not convinced there was any crime to investigate, but she had to gather evidence, even if it was only evidence that demonstrated Mr Graves had died of natural causes. As a man of the law Erikson would only be consoled by hard facts, and Clara needed to find them.

  So she had sent Annie on an errand to track down Mrs Hatton, the last person (probably) to see Mr Isaac Graves alive. Mr Erikson had been kind enough to offer Annie the lady's address, even though it was a slight breach of client confidentiality. He negotiated around this by concluding that, as she was not his client, he was not precisely breaching her confidentiality if he just happened to know where she lived and passed this information on to an acquaintance.

  What really worried Annie was the fact that Mrs Hatton lived in Old Steine, one of the grander parts of Brighton, and the place where the 'old money set’ resided. Mrs Hatton was a relative new comer to the crescent shaped close, her husband having bought the property when they were first married. He was something to do with politics and had inherited a lot of money from his own father, who was a Victorian coal magnate. Annie was very nervous about speaking to such an upper class person, who would surely see through her facade at once and recognise a maid trying to play at detective?

  But Clara was insistent that Mrs Hatton must be interviewed, and would go out the door herself if necessary. Annie had put her foot down on that idea; Clara was staying put and resting. Besides, Annie was going to do a light dinner with the left over (mildly charred) bacon, and there were plenty more potatoes to peel. Extracting a promise that Clara would not forget her kitchen duties this time, Annie had ventured out the door in her best hat and coat, hoping Mrs Hatton was a reasonable person.

  She had no appointment for the visit. Clara had endeavoured to arrange one without success. The Hattons had a 'phone, but no one answered when Clara rang. There was a possibility they had left the town for the season, but Clara hoped that was not the case. Otherwise she would have to attempt to extract information from Mrs Hatton by letter and that was never a productive affair.

  Annie was, therefore, hopeful that no one would answer when she rang the bell of the large house, with its Georgian portico and impressive bay windows. She was disappointed when a maid appeared.

  “Is Mrs Hatton in?”

  “She is just home, but I can't say if she is receiving visitors,” the maid said.

  “Could you ask her if she would be prepared to talk to me about the late Mr Graves? It is a matter of tying up loose ends for the family. My name is Annie Green. I am working on behalf of Clara Fitzgerald.”

  The maid took this all in without curiosity and then went to find her mistress. She was a long time and Annie began to wonder if she would be sent away. It was becoming rather awkward to stand on the steps with people wandering past and wondering who she was. There was a man selling milk across the road and he was watching her with unabashed interest. Annie pretended she hadn't noticed.

  At last the maid returned.

  “Mrs Hatton says she don't know any Clara Fitzgerald.”

  “I didn't expect her to,” Annie replied. “Please can you explain that we are working on behalf of Mr Erikson, I really only need a quick word to confirm a few details.”

  Annie suddenly had a notion of how to grab the woman's attention.

  “There has been some slight confusion over the matter of a document Mr Graves was working on,” she added.

  The maid disappeared once more and Annie waited impatiently. How did Clara do this day in and day out? Did she not become infuriated with people? The maid was not gone so long this time. When she reappeared it was with good news.

  “Mrs Hatton says she can give you a few moments before she goes out to lunch. Please come this way.”

  Annie followed the maid inside, feeling a little awestruck by the grand staircase before her and the large oil paintings on the wall. There was a crystal chandelier hanging from the middle of the ceiling and Annie found herself wondering how on earth someone cleaned such a thing. She hoped the Hattons had more than one maid.

  Mrs Hatton was waiting in the morning room. It was nearly eleven o'clock but she was still surrounded by the debris of breakfast time. Dirty plates and cups sat on a table to one side, making Annie itch to pick them up and wash them. A newspaper had been discarded on a chair and Mrs Hatton herself was lounging on a sofa in her dressing gown. She was smoking and looked in no rush to get to her lunch engagement.

  Annie assessed the woman. She was in her forties, but trying to pretend she was still in her twenties. Her hair was unnaturally dark for her eyebrows, which suggested she dyed it. She had the remains of make-up (presumably from the previous day) on her face and she looked tired. There were shadows beneath her eyes suggesting she had had a lot of late nights recently, and far too many early mornings. She gave Annie a languid look.

  “What is this about a document?”

  “There is some confusion at Mr Erikson's office as to precisely what business Mr Graves was engaged to do on your behalf. He died, you see, before leaving any directions. You were his last client that day, I believe?”

  Mrs Hatton gave a shrug and drew on her cigarette.

  “I imagine so. I had an appointment at half ten with the dear man.”

  “And it was for a will?”

  “No, actually...” Mrs Hatton paused. “Who precisely are you?”

  “Miss Annie Green, working on behalf of Miss Clara Fitzgerald,” Annie was armed with a selection of Clara's business cards and she now handed one over. “Miss Fitzgerald was unfortunately injured at Mr Graves' funeral and can't personally investigate. So I have come on her behalf.”

  “A private detective?” Mrs Hatton dropped the card on a side table. “Why would Mr Erikson be asking you to do his work?”

  “There is an awful lot to arrange with Mr Graves' sudden death,” Annie lied smoothly, feeling more like Clara with every moment. “We are merely providing a helping hand. You can rely on our complete confidentiality.”

  Mrs Hatton smoked her cigarette and there was a long pause before she spoke;

  “If I was to ring Mr Erikson's office, would he confirm what you are doing?”

  “Yes,” Annie said, not entirely sure that was true.

  Mrs Hatton stubbed out her cigarette.

  “Would you please sit? I feel most uncomfortable when people stand over me.”

  Annie took a chair opposite the woman. She sat on the edge, still rather nervous.

  “Mr Graves was arranging a few private legal matters for me. Did he leave any paperwork on his desk, when he...?”

  “He was slumped over his papers,” Annie replied.

  “Then surely Mr Erikson must know what he was working on?”

  “But he doesn't,” on that Annie was certain. “He thought it might be a will, because Mr Graves was a specialist.”

  Mrs Hatton was starting to look very worried, her lips were pulled down into an exaggerated grimace of unhappiness, like the Greek masks sometimes stitched onto theatre curtains. Annie realised that she had discovered something important, at least, she was pretty certain this was important.

  “Are you suggesting, Mrs Hatton, that some papers important to yourself might have gone missing?”

  “They should have been on the desk, we were merely finalising details,” Mrs Hatton shook her head. “But you say Mr Erikson knows nothing of the matter? And he must have been through everything...”

  Mrs Hatton reached out for her cigarette case and found it empty.

  “Damn!”

  “Should I ring the maid to bring more?” Annie offered, not quite out of the habit of serving others.

  “No need, I have some on the mantelpiece,” Mrs Hatton stood, the effort seeming to weary her. She went to the mantel and took a handful of cigarettes from a box, before returning to her seat. She wasted several moments refilling her cigarette case, then lit one and started to smoke again.

  “I
am deeply concerned that those papers are missing,” she said as the cigarette burned down between her fingers. “And I can't understand how this might have happened.

  “There is one small matter that may account for it,” Annie said gently. “We are investigating the possibility that someone slipped into Mr Graves' office without an appointment.”

  “Who?”

  “We can't say. It is just that Mr Erikson believes he heard someone leaving Mr Graves' office not long before midday.”

  “I was gone by a quarter to eleven at the latest,” Mrs Hatton looked anxious. “Are you suggesting someone went in and stole my papers?”

  “Not precisely. Until I came here, we were not aware that any papers were missing.”

  “You have to find them. It is extremely important. Perhaps they have just been misplaced?”

  “What was in these papers?”

  Mrs Hatton gave a groan.

  “They were the legal arrangements for divorce proceedings,” she sighed. “Mr Graves had just finished preparing them and I had gone to the office to confirm the details. The next step was to deliver them to my husband, but then Mr Graves died and I have not had a chance to consider what to do next. I supposed Mr Erikson would want to see me. I thought that was why you were here.”

  “I'm sorry,” Annie said. “I will inform Mr Erikson at once and hopefully he can find the papers. They may have been confused for something else.”

  They both knew that was extremely unlikely to be the case.

  “May I ask how Mr Graves seemed when you last saw him?” Annie changed the topic.

  “Seemed?” Mrs Hatton was puzzled by the question. “He was his usual self. Talkative, friendly, professional.”

  “He did not seem ill?”

  “No,” Mrs Hatton looked sad. “I was quite astonished to hear of his death. I knew he had been unwell over the winter, and perhaps he was not quite as strong as he once was, but I never expected him to die.”

  “I think it was unexpected for everyone.”

  “I know his wife,” Mrs Hatton confided. “I honestly thought the shock of his death would destroy her too. She goes to the same bowls club as me. She was devoted to her husband, though he was a man driven by his work. She could hardly get him out of the office. Did you know, they had not been on a holiday in twenty years. Mrs Graves confided that to me. Not even for a weekend. He even worked through the Bank Holidays. She was lucky to keep him at home on Christmas Day. I suppose, in truth, it was a difficult marriage. Lopsided, if you see my meaning.”