Colin Wilson - Ritual in the Dark

That was stupid!

He said:

I can understand Oliver's motive. He's a lonely person. He needs people.

She stood up.

I'm going to phone a solicitor friend of mine. He usually keeps some spare cash in the house for emergencies like this.

He drank another cup of tea while she phoned. She was speaking for a long time. He built up the fire, squatting on the rug, thinking: Why do all my friends seem to get involved in violence? And why do I loathe violence so much? Is it cowardice or laziness?

She said:

I've talked to my friend about it. I'm afraid Oliver is in rather a bad position. Even if the girl is still a virgin, they can accuse him of attempted rape. In that case, it all depends on the child's word. If there was any suggestion that he made advances to her while she was posing, he'd almost certainly go to prison.

Sorme shrugged, concealing his misgivings. He said:

That's all right. From what Oliver told me there couldn't be the faintest breath of such an idea.

I hope you're right. If you go down to Hampstead Heath station you'll find this solicitor's address just opposite. His name is Pettiford. I'll write his address down for you. He'll give you the twenty-five pounds. Will you come back here afterwards?

All right.

Here's the address. Go down East Heath Road as far as South End Green, and you can't miss it.

Glasp looked dishevelled and exhausted. He came into the office escorted by a policeman. He said:

Thank God you're here, Gerard.

Sorme was surprised by the warmth and gratitude of his smile. He said:

Sorry I'm late.

He asked the sergeant:

Can we go now?

Yers. But your friend'll have to stay where we can contact him. Otherwise you might lose your money.

Thank you, Sorme said automatically.

As they left the police station, a man approached them. Sorme noticed that Glasp shrank away nervously. The man thrust a sheet of paper into Sorme's hand, saying:

Take one…

Thank you.

One for your friend.

Sorme glanced at the duplicated sheet of foolscap as they crossed the road. It was headed: Justice for the people of Whitechapel? The message was short:

'The man who may be the killer of six women is now in the hands of the police. The idle rich and the dirty bourgeoisie hope that he will be declared insane, and they will pay "trick cyclists" to try to defeat the ends of justice. But it is the people of Whitechapel who have suffered, and the people of Whitechapel who should have the last say. Bentley should hang! If we stand firm, all the psychiatrists in the world won't get him off. Forewarned is forearmed!'

Sorme said:

What a bloody odd farrago! Why on earth should the idle rich want him declared insane?

Glasp screwed his sheet up and dropped it into the gutter, shrugging irritably. He said:

The world's full of people who should be behind bars — in a zoo! They're no better than animals.

Sorme dropped his own sheet of paper into a wastebin attached to the railings of the Wren church.

What do you intend to do now, Oliver? Gertrude says you can go and stay there if you like.

Glasp said sarcastically:

That's very kind of her.

She lent me the money.

Did she? Did you have to tell her about it?

I'm afraid I did…

Glasp shrugged ill-naturedly.

So long as she doesn't sick her Come-to-Jesus pals on to me.

But where do you intend to go now?

Where do you think? Back home.

And… would you rather I… left you now?

Why? Glasp said with surprise. He laughed suddenly, and laid his hand on Sorme's shoulder for a moment.

Sorry if I seem irritable. It's the bloody police, and that swine of a father… I'd take great pleasure in killing the bastard. When this is all over I'm going to consult a solicitor and see if I can't sue him for defamation of character…

How long have you been there?

In the police station? Since about nine this morning. Then they got hold of some senior copper to see about bail. You remember I told you about the fight I had with her father? Well, the same policeman was there today. So it lent colour to my story about his grudge.

But where's Christine?

I don't know. I haven't seen the father. I only gather that Christine's not to be found. She's probably hiding somewhere.

When did all this blow up?

Last night, I suppose.

But why? You told me he'd threatened to take her to a doctor before, and it had all blown over.

You can't tell with people like that. He's a drunk. Perhaps he had a quarrel with his wife, or somebody told him they'd seen Christine leaving my place. It could be anything.

You know he could accuse you of attempted seduction, even if the doctor reports she's still a virgin?

Glasp said:

So what? They've only got to ask Christine.

But… you didn't tell them about the posing?

No.

Do you think they know?

I don't expect so. Why should they? She wouldn't tell them.

But supposing she got upset and frightened? Children do, you know.

What if she did? So long as she told the truth, I've nothing to worry about.

No… I suppose so. You really need a solicitor.

I don't see why. It'll all be settled when they examine her.

When did she run away?

This morning. She's a silly kid… Last night her father told her he was going to take her to see a doctor this morning. Her mother's away, I think. So she slipped out early this morning. Naturally, he thinks she's got something to hide. So he went to the police.

But how could they arrest you without any evidence?

Because he laid a complaint. I think he told them she'd admitted something.

What! You mean that you'd…

Quite. He was probably drunk when he asked her. Perhaps he hurt her and made her shout anything to get away.

Sorme was surprised at the detachment in Glasp's voice; there was none of the rage he expected.

But in that case… you might be able to charge him with false accusation later. You ought to get a solicitor.

Glasp said, shrugging:

And pay him with bottle tops?

It wouldn't cost much. And I'm sure Father Carruthers or Gertrude would lend you the money…

I'll think about it, Glasp said.

Sorme felt he was trying to keep him quiet. He said:

All right. That's up to you.

They had arrived at Glasp's address in Durward Street. As he started to insert the key the door opened. Sorme had the impression that the old woman must have been hiding behind it. She said:

Oh, it's you. I thought you were in gaol.

Glasp leaned forward, and shouted in her ear:

No. It's all right now.

Oh, it's all right, is it? Why have they let you out?

I can't explain now, Glasp bellowed. He pushed into the front room and closed the front door behind them. The old woman shouted:

I can't have this sort of thing in my house. I'm only an old woman all on my own, but I can't have that sort of thing in my house.

Have the police been here? Glasp shouted.

The police? Yes, they've been here. You'll have to go. I can't have it…

Glasp turned to Sorme, saying quietly:

Go on upstairs while I explain to this bloody old cow…

As Sorme went up the uncarpeted stairs, smelling the familiar paraffin odour, he heard the old woman shouting:

I've never had trouble with the police before…

Glasp shouted back:

It's not my fault. I can explain…

He let himself into Glasp's room and closed the door. It was damp and cold. He found matches on the windowsill, and lit the oil stove and the gas ring. He found Glasp's kettle, filled it with water, and set it on the gas. A few minutes later Glasp came in. He said:

Those f-ing cops have been in here searching the place.

What? But surely they can't do that without a warrant? Did they have a warrant?