It was some hours
before Gary could escape from his job at HQ and drive home. There were too many
open questions and far too few survivors to answer them. He and Nigel would
adjourn till the following day.
***
“It’s worth
remembering that the inner circle of that syndicate will be small, Nigel. The
fewer people know what’s really going on, the better,” said Gary as they wound
up the day. Nigel would right a report on the intervue with Daphne and confrontation with Jet before going home. Gary
thought Greg would regret not having been there.
“I suppose that
disposing of those women was thought to be an easy way to reduce people in the
know,” said Nigel. “They could have been thrown onto the streets and diagnosed
as victims of drug abuse. I wonder how many young ladies have passed through
the Fish establishment and ended up dead somewhere.”
“They had probabl also
outlived their usefulness. That’s always a consideration, and it does not just
apply to gangsters. Plenty of senior citizens have been bumped off for what the
beneficiaries will get. The highest number of unsolved murders is probably in
that category.”
“I wouldn’t do that,”
said Nigel.
“Of course, the
murders of the women in this case might have been just to stop them spilling
the beans to someone,” said Gary. “Prostitution on its own is not a problem.
It’s the corruption, human trafficking, drugs and money-laundering that are
inevitably connected that we have to hunt down and stamp out. The perpetrators
are usually men. But those gangsters are not stupid. We are up against top-flight
intelligence, as Cleo would say. They outwit us far too often.”
“End of lecture,”
Nigel supplied. “But you could say in our defence that while we only uphold the
law, they can break it at will. So they have more choices.”
“And that’s where
private eyes come in useful.”
“I can’t imagine Cleo
breaking the law,” said Nigel.
“She wouldn’t, but
Dorothy has fewer scruples if she thinks a little lawlessness would help.”
***
“To change the
subject, you could get that Daphne woman to wear decent clothes,” said Nigel.
“Young women in what I’d call hungry outfits are quite frightening.”
“Why don’t you get Mia
to talk to her? I don’t have a problem with young women in scanty clothing.”
“I’m shocked,” said
Nigel.
“I’m amused,” said
Gary. “You have to see those women for what they are: show-girls; birds of
paradise, exhibitionists selling their wares…”
***
Later, hours
discussing the Fish case with Cleo did not really result in progress. There
were too few loopholes, Cleo concluded. The Hartley Agency was not equipped to
solve gangster crime, but Dorothy might find some weaknesses somewhere if
presented with the case as the conundrum it had become. She had the knack of getting
into the gangster mentality for long enough to decide what they might do in a
given situation.
However, Dorothy had no
time that afternoon. That dream recording, which had started the ball rolling a
week ago, now had priority for her, since she had been especially asked by Dr
Gibbons in person to call in and meet the recording ‘artist’, who was sorry she
had caused annoyance.
Dorothy speculated on
what Dr Gibbons hoped to achieve. She had complained to him and been given a
civil answer. Amy Campton was a patient and not mentally stable. That would
have been enough for her, she conjectured, without putting the patient through
the ordeal of recording her fantasies and fears. Dorothy did not think that
meeting Amy was necessary. She had almost forgotten the incident, but she was
curious and there was no knowing what else she would discover.
***
“I could call in at
your cottage when I’ve been next door,” Dorothy had suggested.to Cleo. “I
expect you will want to hear all about the woman called Amy Campton, won’t
you?”
“If it’s relevant,”
said Cleo. “But remember, it was the publication of your advert that triggered
the cases we are trying to solve, not the strange dream.”
“I’m not so sure,” Dorothy
had said. “But the idea of someone posting such a recording is partly what made
me think I was doing the right thing with my new bureau. It’s just that the
advert was publicized too soon and the posting of that memory stick actually
provoked my need to complain to the Gazette.”
“Which opened a can of
worms, Dorothy.”
“A can that should
have been opened a long time ago, Cleo. I would like to know if Miss Campton
posted the recording into my letterbox after all, no matter what Dr Gibbons
says. Cleo, so I’ll go to meet her. I don’t believe in coincidences. If Amy was
crying out for help, it’s my duty to help her.”
“Do what you have to
do,” said Cleo in rather a tired voice. “I’ll be glad to listen to the
results.”
“What if the woman was
‘hired’ by someone working for Fish?”
“I’m sure you don’t
need to connect the cases,” said Cleo. “Do you mean that she could have been talent-spotted?”
“It’s possible. The
dream was very theatrical.”
“Typical bipolar,
Dorothy. You know that.”
“That may have been
Gibbons’ diagnosis when he explained that recording dreams made patients more
willing to talk to him, but Miss Campton may have been having him on.”
“It was my diagnosis
too,” said Cleo. “So she was also having you on as well when she posted the
memory stick, wasn’t she?”
“How could I help her
if she was just looking for a theatrical break?”
“You organized the travesty show last
Christmas. Maybe she thought you organized theatre productions as well. Aren’t
you making a mountain out of a molehill, Dorothy? She’s just a girl with a
problem who is consulting an expert.”
“See you later,” said
Dorothy, piqued by Cleo’s apparent indifference.
“Stay to supper,
Dorothy,” shouted Gary, who had been listening in. “I want to hear all about
it.”
“Thanks Gary. Glad
to.”
Dorothy hung up somewhat
appeased and decided to wear a hat. Hats were no longer a major consideration
for Dorothy these days, but there were moments when wearing something to keep
one together (as she liked to call it) was called for and this was one. She
brushed flecks of dust off the top of her favourite hat with the cherries (the
one she had had to buy to replace the
first one she had given to an admirer) and put it on, securing it with a lethal
looking hatpin that she had once described to Gary as her secret weapon.
“That’s better,” she
told herself. “Now let’s see what they have to say next door, and if I have to
be a theatre impresario, I will be.”
***
Dr Gibbons seemed pleased to see Dorothy. After a few minutes discussing
the merits of ghost hunting, which he admitted to having indulged in, and ascertaining if the nice African lady
still did guided tours as he would be glad to go along again, he led her into
his surgery (that’s what it said on the door).
Dorothy was hardly surprised to see that this ‘workroom’ contained the
trappings of psychological consultation – a couch, a couple of chairs, a desk,
and a bookcase containing reference books alphabetically sorted, with a
prominence of Freud and books on supernatural phenomena. Since almost the first
A was on astral travel, Dorothy concluded that she was probably in the presence
of a charlatan.
“I’m never quite sure of the difference between a psychologist and a
psychiatrist, Dr Gibbons,” she started, deciding go down a confused but
interested route to getting to know this person better. Her attitude to Dr
Gibbons was influenced by the sight of that collection of books. The lack of
medical reference tomes made her suspicious.
“I’m both,” Dr Gibbons retorted.
“I expect you got your post-medical training at the Freud school near Edinburgh
then,” she continued, giving Gibbons space to expand on his claim. “The Scots
are very good at explaining phenomena, and they have an excellent facility for
just your qualifications,” she added.
“And that’s where I got them,” said Gibbons, and Dorothy knew for
certain that Gibbons’ professional claims were a figment of his imagination
since the Freud institute was a figment of hers.
“You could put your diplomas in frames on the wall,” she said. “I would
be very impressed as a patient.”
“I don’t want to overwhelm the people who consult me.”
“So where did you practise before you came here, Dr Gibbons?”
“In Scotland,” he replied, deciding to expand the Scottish element. “Out
in the wilds, really.”
“I’m surprised there were enough unbalanced people there,” said Dorothy.
“They are usually too busy to be unbalanced.”
“But there were,” said Gibbons. “There’s madness everywhere.”
“And the National Health doesn’t support the kind of soft medicine you
go for, does it?” said Dorothy.
“People like to keep their foibles secret, Miss Price. That’s why I let
them record their dreams.”
“Ah yes. And that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” said Dorothy, surmising
that Gibbons was getting uncomfortable talking about himself. “You are the
fortune-teller in that young woman’s dream, aren’t you? How were you able to listen
to it if I had the recording?”
“See that microphone over there, Mis Price?”
Dorothy looked at the arrangement of laptop and microphone on a small
table in the corner of the room.
“My patients get a good hour to record their dreams without me being
present. I instruct them to bring a memory stick along so that they can make a
copy of the recording.”
“That’s ingenious, Dr Gibbon.”
“And fair, Miss Price. I expect you’d like to meet her now, wouldn’t
you?”
Dorothy nodded and Gibbons went to get Miss Campton from the waiting
room, which had been Jane’s dining-room in the old days.
“I’m surprised you don’t have an assistant,” Dorothy said, as Gibbons guided
Amy into the surgery in a way that disturbed Dorothy. Therapists don’t usually
clasp their arms around patients’ waists from behind. Amy did not seem to like
it, either.
“I’m coping without,” said Gibbons. “Trying to avoid unnecessary
outlay.”
Amy was definitely under stress. No wonder. Dr Gibbons was taking on the
role of predator. Dorothy was justifiably alarmed. She decided to talk to the
girl without Gibbons’ presence.
“This is my neighbour, Amy,” Gibbons said by way of introduction, for
Miss Campton’s benefit. “She’s the lady you posted the recording to by
mistake.”
“Oh,” said Amy. “I’m sorry, Miss.”
Amy was only about twenty. She was small and thin. Nigel would have said
she was half a child. Her clothes were expensive, indicating affluence, so she
or her family would be able to finance Gibbons’ consultations on a frequent
basis.
“I’d like to talk to Amy,” said Dorothy.
“Go ahead,” said Gibbons.
“Woman to woman, Dr Gibbons,” said Dorothy.
“Is that necessary?”
“It’s the way I do things,” said Dorothy. “We all have our methods,
don’t we?”
Gibbons did not want to comply, but Dorothy’s voice was quite brittle
and a little petulant and made him very nervous, so he shrugged his shoulders
and left the room. What could possibly happen, he conjectured. According to
rumours, Dorothy Price was a pianist turned sleuth and specializing in murders
when she had the choice. He did give the pianist idea some credit, but sleuths
did not run around in strange hats adorned with cherries and what did the
police say about an elderly person
dabbling in crime?
***
“What’s the real problem, Amy?” Dorothy whispered when Gibbons had left
the room. “Let’s stand by the window, Amy. You never know when a room is
bugged.”
The girl looked around nervously.
“Bugged?”
“When someone is listening in. That’s why we have to keep our voices
down.”
“My parents sent me here because they think I’m mad,” Amy said in a very
small voice.
“But you aren’t, are you?”
“No Miss.”
“And that dream was not really a dream, was it?”
“No Miss.”
“And you didn’t put the recording into my letterbox by mistake, did
you?”
“No Miss.”
“Who are you afraid of, Amy?”
“If I tell you, will you tell someone else?”
“Is it a man, Amy?”
Amy bit her lip.
“Is it someone who wants to help you start a stage career, Amy?” said
Dorothy, thinking of the theatrical nature of that recording.
Amy nodded.
“Do you know his name, Amy?”
“I went to a disco. Don’t tell my parents, will you?”
“I don’t even know your parents, Amy.”
“I met a man there.”
“Did you go alone to the disco?”
“Yes Miss.”
“That was brave of you.”
“I had to get out of my bedroom window,” said Amy.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Are you kept a prisoner, Amy?”
“My parents want the best for me,” said Amy.
Dorothy was starting to visualize a horror scenario.
“I’m sure they do. Describe the man you met.”
“His photo’s in the paper today, Miss. He’s dead.”
Dorothy got out her mobile phone. Cleo kept her up to date with photos
of current cases even if she was not directly involved.
“That’s him,” said Amy as Ronnie Fish’s image came into view.
Dorothy was not sure where questioning Amy would take her. The girl
seemed juvenile, innocent and immature. But she had broken out of her home to
go to a disco. And then there was the
memory stick and this nasty individual hired to give the girl therapy. The
situation was weird and unhealthy.
***
“Before we talk about this man, let’s talk about your recording, Amy,”
Dorothy whispered.
“It’s fake, Miss. I did it to please Dr Gibbons because he always wants
to know about dreams and then I posted my copy in your letterbox.”
“I don’t know if I can believe that, Amy.”
“But it’s true. Dr Gibbons sends reports to parents. He told me. He said
they have a right to know I am being treated, so I made up a dream that would bother
them.”
“Don’t you like your parents, Amy?”
“I’m adopted and they think I’m mad because of where I came from.”
“Do you know about your birth parents, Amy?”
“No.”
“I’ll help you to find out, Amy. You are not mad at all. You are being
pressured into thinking that. Did you know who I am?”
“You are a detective, Miss. I thought that if we could talk you could
help me to find my real parents.”
“And I will, Amy.”
“Promise?”
“Yes. You wanted me to hear the recording, so posting to my letterbox
was not a mistake, was it?”
“No Miss.”
Amy nodded and smiled for the first time. Dorothy wondered if she was bipolar
and not always in control of her actions and decisions. Perhaps the parents had
got it right. But she was sure it was all a stitch-up and wanted to know why.
***
“You do know that Dr Gibbons is not really a doctor, don’t you, Amy?” Dorothy
said, taking a risk, for Amy could turn on her in his defence, should she slip
back into the role of patient.
“But he has a title,” Amy argued and Dorothy feared the worst but could
not go back on what she had just said.
“The title’s a fake. Amy.”
“But his hands-on treatment is nice.”
At that moment, Dorothy wished Cleo was there.
“What do you mean by that, Amy?”
“He says that physical nearness is good for me.”
“How near?”
Amy seemed lost for words.
Was the girl being groomed? What for? It was high time to find out more
about Gibbons’ fictive credentials and even more important to delve into his
past.
***
“The fortune-teller in your dream – who is that, Amy?”
“I told you. The dream was made up.”
“But the fortune-teller was real and you were afraid,” said Dorothy. “Do
you want me to help you, Amy? Is that why you sent me the recording?”
“You haven’t played it to him, have you?”
“Do you mean Dr Gibbons?”
“I’m a tiny bit afraid of him.”
“He has heard the dream recording, Amy, and did not necessarily
interpret it as a cry for help. I think he’s heard accounts of dreams before
and does not think about them. But it worried me. Why are you afraid of him?”
“He is getting nearer and nearer.”
“Is he the only man who ever got near you?”
“There’s my father,” she said.
“He had warm hands, too.”
Dorothy decided she was not the right person to go down that track so
she kept the implications in mind and went down another.
“The man at the disco is dead, Amy. He can’t harm you.”
“I mean Dr Gibbons now,” Amy said and Dorothy felt gratified that Amy
had not kept that secret to herself. “He said he’d show me something nice on
Friday. But it would be our secret.”
The way Gibbons was proceeding with this naïve young woman disgusted
Dorothy. The girl seemed to be inviting preditors.
“You’d better leave it to me, Amy. Make sure you cannot attend the next
appointment. When is it?”
“After today it’s on Friday. How can I avoid it?”
“Say you have a tummy-ache and ask for a hot water bottle,” said
Dorothy. “That’s what the girls not wanting to go to their dancing lesson did.”
“How do you know that, Miss?”
“I was a pianist once and played for the lessons.”
“I wanted to be a dancer but my parents said I was too ugly.”
Dorothy wondered just how cruel those parents must be. She already had a
hunch about them and desperately wanted Gary to do something. She would tell
him in such a way that he could not avoid investigating them for abuse. Dorothy
feld the urgency of her instructions to Amy very strongly.
“Today is almost over, and you must avoid the next consultation,” she
instructed. “Now behave normally to Dr Gibbons and leave the rest to me.”
Dorothy called out to Gibbons to come back in.
“I’m taking Amy out to tea because she has a headache and feels unwell,”
said Dorothy. “I’m sure you cannot treat a person psychologically if they don’t
feel good, Mr Gibbons.”
“I won’t take the full fee,” he replied.
“But you can do that, Mr Gibbons. She took your time, after all.”
Gibbons thought that was a good idea. Miss Price was just as stupid as
all the other people he dealt with in his guise as psychologist, he decided.
“It’s so good to hear that she is
in your capable hands, Doctor.” Dorothy enthused, despite Amy’s visible
puzzledment. “She’s so happy that you can help her, aren’t you Amy?”
Amy smiled and nodded, responding to Dorothy’s surreptitcious wink.
Gibbons was relieved that the woman to woman talk had been to his advantage.
“See you on Friday then, Amy. We’ll do the same therapy as last week and
I’ll keep my promise and add a little to it.”
“Yes Dr Gibbons.”
***
Outside, Dorothy told Amy that they were going straight to talk to a
colleague.
Dorothy hoped that Gary would already be at home.
“Can you phone your parents and tell them you’ve gone out to tea?”
“They won’t be at home, Miss. They’ll be working.”
“What do they do, Amy?”
“They run a luxury car salon, Miss.”
“Why don’t you just call me Dorothy, Amy? We are friends now, aren’t
we?”
“But you are an old person.”
“Old persons like hearing their names. It isn’t impolite.”
***
To Dorothy’s intense relief, Gary was already at home. Amy was given a
warm welcome by all, including the Hurley brood. She was astonished.
“What lovely children,” she said.
“All ours,” said Gary. “Did you have an interesting afternoon, Dorothy?”
“More than that, but Amy is going to tell you about it.”
Dorothy introduced Gary as Cleo’s husband, not as a cop. Amy seemed
quite garrulous. Dorothy’s fear that the girl would be tongue-tied was
misplaced.
Amy confessed to having posted the recording deliberately.
“It was a cry for help,” said Dorothy. “But wait till you hear what help
Amy really needs.”
“Wow!” said Cleo. “That sounds ominous.”
“What did you think of Dr Gibbons when he went on your mystery tour,
Cleo?” Dorothy asked.
“I didn’t like him.”
“Did he say he was a doctor?”
In those days he was Mr Gibbons, a self-styled expert on ghosts who ran
a society, but ran away the moment he thought a ghost was anywhere near.
“He claims to be a doctor now,” said Dorothy. “He said he had studied at
the Freud Institute somewhere near Edinburgh.”
Two minutes later Gary had consulted his cell phone and ascertained that
there was no such institute.
“So he was faking his qualifications, wasn’t he?” said Gary.
“I faked the institute and he fell into the trap,” said Dorothy, and
they all laughed, even Amy.
“You fooled me, Dorothy!” said Gary. “It’s just like old times, Amy, and
Dorothy is a better shot than me.”
To show that Gary was not story-telling, Dorothy produced her pistol out
of her handbag.
“I’ve needed it once or twice,” she explained.
“At least once to save my life,” said Gary.
“So what did you make of
Gibbons?” said Cleo.
“He’s evil,” said Dorothy.
“Is he?” said Amy.
“Yes,” said Dorothy. “I don’t think you realized it and that is part of
his game, Amy.”
“What game?” The girl was puzzled. Dorothy could hardly believe that a
young woman could be so uninformed, but of course, she had trusted her parents
and her adopted father had molested her, probably with her adopted mother’s
knowledge.
“Gary, can you find out if he’s on any kind of abuse list? ”Dorothy
said, and to Amy “Tell my friends what you told me about his therapy.”
Shock followed the brief report. Amy had not understood what Gibbons was
aiming at and her parents were also guilty of abuse and might even condone
Gibbons’ appalling behaviour.
“Blast those parents who don’t tell their children the facts of life,”
Gary said. “Young people can’t protect themselves if they don’t know how base
people can be. It’s lambs to the slaughter.”
“Amy was a victim and knowing the facts of life might have opened her
eyes to what she was going through at home,” said Dorothy. “Innocence has its
uses.”
“So what’s next?” Cleo said.
“First I’ll phone HQ and get Colin Peck to search for information on the
guy. Depending on what we discover, we’ll pull him in, though to be honest, I
think he should be detained anyway on the vasis of what amy had already reported,
We can get him for forgery. The rest is an open bookfor the moment,” said Gary.
Turning to Amy he said “I hope you’ve been telling the truth, young
lady, otherwise you’ll be getting someone into trouble.”
“I swear it.”
“OK. Let’s finish with a tea-party and I’ll drive you home and talk to
your parents. Where do you live, Amy?”
“The other side of Lower Grumpsfield. Midas Avenue.”
“That’s only five minutes by car. Will your parents be at home, Amy?”
“They’re home early on Mondays. People don’t buy as many cars on Mondays.”
“Would you like to come along, Dorothy? As chaperone?”
“I’ll certainly do that. I’m a witness to Gibbon’s lies and saw what
kind of person he is, and under the circumstances, you should have a
chaperone.”
Gary set the investigative ball rolling. Mia was in her drugs office,
now officially the centre of the drugs commission Gary had introduced. She
would help where she could, especially as she was getting closer to the drug
ring that seemed to have been managed by Ronnie Fish,. She would be glad to
start by tracing the Camptons’ past and their present activities. Gibbons would
also come under scrutiny though she would rather leave that to Greg.
“I din’t think a male cop could deal with such a slick customer,” sad
Gary. “But you could sign on as a patient, Mia.”
“What would be wrong with me?”
“A spider phobia is always good. With his hands-on treatment I expect
our fake Dr Gibbons can drive away all thoughts of spiders.”
“So it’s like that, is it? I’ll be Phoebe Bee. I’ve been her before.
She’s a spinster this time. I was an unwanted child locked in a cellar swarming
with spiders.”
“Charming,” said Gary. “You make that sound very convincing. I hope you
weren’t.”
“Heaven forbid!”
“I’ll leave it to you and Colin till tomorrow then. WE’ll bypass Greg.
He’s busy with Ellie. I’m going to call on the The Camptons, parents of the latest
victim’s. Someone who says he’s a therapist and uses a hands-on-make-you-feel-good
method is due for scrutiny.”
“How do you know he’s a fraud, Gary? He may just have wonky ideas.”
“Dorothy invented a college for him to get his degrees. He fell for it.”
“Brilliant. You’ll be at HQ tomorrow, I hope.”
“So do I.”
“I’m delegating this case to you, Mia, but you may need a guy or two on
hand to help you out.”
“Meaning Gibbons might turn nasty?”
“Make no mistake, Mia. He is nasty. I have it on good authority –
Dorothy’s.”
“I’m glad you are back together, Gary. That Price Office advert in the
Gazette last Monday had me wondering.”
“It’s what started this whole rigmarole off, Mia, so it was not all
bad.”
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