Alan Petrillo - Asylum Lane

“What can you tell us of the abduction last night of Miss Jane Waddington, doctor?”

“I’m afraid I am unable to give you an eyewitness account of the crime,” the doctor replied, “but I can relate all that has been conveyed to me.”

Round Freddy waved his hand in a rolling motion to encourage the doctor to continue.

“None of our medical staff was on duty last night, nor is it on any night shift at Bootham Park. We commonly see the patients during the day and have only attendants on duty throughout the evening and night hours. At about two o’clock this morning, there was a clatter in the northwest wing at the side entrance facing Asylum Road. The attendant, John Benson, went to see what was causing the commotion when an interior door was bashed in, landing on top of him. One of the intruders then beat him senseless and removed his keys.”

The doctor paused, and receiving a nod from Round Freddy, continued.

“Another attendant, Walter Winks, heard the commotion and ran to the northwest wing where he viewed the abduction from a shadowed doorway.”

A dark look passed over Round Freddy’s face and Doctor Canham quickly continued.

“You mustn’t blame poor Mr. Winks, sergeant. The man is seventy if he’s a day old, and certainly no match for those ruffians.”

“What about Mr. Benson?” Round Freddy asked. “Did he survive?”

“While he is in great pain, he will recover from his injuries.

“Tell me what happened next.”

“The men went directly to Miss Waddington’s room, bundled her up in a blanket, and took her out the way they had entered. From the odor in the room, we believe that chloroform or ether was used to subdue her.”

Round Freddy glanced at Constable Andrews, who was scribbling notes onto a dog-eared notepad, and then turned his attention back to the doctor.

“Tell me about Miss Waddington, Why was she here?”

“Ah, an unusual case, sergeant. She was committed here by her uncle, the Reverend William Elsworth. You may know him as the vicar of St. Philip’s Church in Clifton. He was concerned that Miss Waddington intended to harm herself. We treated her as a suicidal case.”

“And what did you discover about her?”

“The past several years had been very unhappy for her, very traumatic. Her mother died in the centennial year, and her father met his maker three years after that. Even now, after seven years, the young woman still has not come to terms with their deaths. That fact, a recent failed romance, and her obvious distaste over the terms of her inheritance, have caused her great distress.”

Round Freddy straightened in his chair, but did not interrupt.

“Miss Waddington spent a fortnight with us at Bootham Park, and I conducted sessions with her on a number of days during her incarceration. I arrived at the opinion that the young woman was not a danger to herself, nor to anyone else, and wrote the orders to have her discharged.”

“When was that discharge to occur?”

“This very day.”

"Did Miss Waddington tell you the name of her former suitor?"

"No; she only called him 'William' and said he had gone off with the Royal Navy."

Round Freddy stroked the side of his nose lightly. “Please elaborate on what else you know of Miss Waddington’s inheritance, if you would, doctor.”

“Well, there is not a great deal to tell. When Miss Waddington’s father died, his will directed that his brother-in-law, the Reverend Elsworth, administer the inheritance for the young woman. It appears her father was over-protective and believed the girl would not be able to handle the necessary financial dealings in a proper manner."

Round Freddy slid to the edge of his chair. “And do you know if the inheritance amounted to much?”

“Miss Waddington told me her inheritance was the sum of nearly £10,000 when her father died.”

The doctor bit his upper lip and blinked slowly. “I am told the trust account holds considerably less than that now, but am unaware of the remaining amount."

“And has the good reverend been to visit his niece?”

“He has not been here since he left her in our care, but two days ago I sent him a message giving him the good news about Miss Waddington’s release.”

Round Freddy swiveled toward the constable, who wrote furiously in his notebook. “Thank you for your help, doctor. You have been most enlightening. We shall return if we require further clarification on any of the points you raised.”

The vicarage door creaked open to reveal an elegantly-appointed entry hall, and to the right, a newly-decorated sitting room with a sparkling dining room just beyond. The housekeeper showed them into the sitting room where Round Freddy collapsed onto an overstuffed sofa. Constable Andrews stood near the doorway. They remained in those positions until the reverend appeared ten minutes later.

Round Freddy stood and extracted a pocket watch from his waistcoat, eyed the dial with a walleye-glare, then looked directly into the vicar’s eyes.

“While I trust you are quite busy in ministering to your flock, reverend, I’m sure you can appreciate that our time is valuable too.” Round Freddy snapped the watch’s cover shut with a loud click.

The smile disappeared from Reverend Elsworth’s face. “How may I help you?”

“I am Detective Sergeant Hume and this is Constable Andrews. Please tell me, where is your niece, Miss Waddington?”

“Regrettably, the poor girl is a resident at Bootham Park, sergeant.”

“What would you say if I told you that she was no longer a resident at Bootham Park; that she had been abducted from that place last night?”

The reverend’s face remained immobile, but his eyes flickered from side to side before he answered. “I had no idea. . . .”

“Of course not, vicar. Perhaps you could tell us something of your relationship with your niece.”

Reverend Elsworth drew a deep breath. “My sister, Helen, was her mother. After Helen died, and such a tragic death it was, the girl lived a number of years with her father in York. When he died in 1903, his will named me to administer a trust fund for Jane. I have been doing so since his death these past seven years.”

Round Freddy allowed the silence to deepen, watching as the reverend’s fingers beat a tattoo on the arm of the chair.

“And do you get a stipend for performing such a service as the trustee of the fund?”

The clergyman seemed surprised by the question, but recovered quickly.

“A small stipend, sergeant. About fifty pounds a year is allocated to me for my work in handling the administrative details of the fund. The Royal York Banking Society holds the actual monies in trust for my niece.”

“And you have no idea of where Miss Waddington might be at this moment, reverend?”

The vicar raised his chin and pushed his shoulders back.

“No sir, I do not.”

Round Freddy stretched his bulky frame and leaned toward Constable Andrews, raising his voice to make himself heard over the whine of the open car’s two-cylinder engine.

“What do you make of that, eh?”

Andrews shrugged as he wrenched the steering wheel to the left to avoid a water-filled hole in the track.

“He’s covering something up, isn’t he, sergeant?”

Round Freddy fixed Andrews with a bemused look.

“You actually have been minding what’s happening around you, lad. Yes, the man is hiding something, but we cannot tell what that might be. Enough for now. Let’s get back to the station.”

Richard Raine puffed his chest out and leaned forward, planting red, meaty hands on the clutter littering Round Freddy’s desk. Raine’s blotchy face moved closer and closer until it was inches from the detective sergeant’s.