Basham by Robert F. Clifton (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📕

or ten stone, brunet and attractive.

“Each of the stevedores looked each other and finally all said no.”

“Thank you men, you've been very helpful”, said Richardson.

**************

Mildred Stood in front of the restaurant kitchen sink.

She allowed the hot water to flow from the spigot, filling the left side basin. Standing on her tip toes she reached for the dish washing detergent on the wall shelf mounted on the wall and just out of her reach. As she strained to reach the box she felt and arm wrap around her waist. “Careful ducky. I don't want you to hurt yourself,” said Clyde.

“What the bloody hell! You keep your filthy hands off of me or you'll know what for!”, said Mildred in a loud voice at the same time picking up a butcher knife from the sink and pointing it at the cook.”

Betty Darby hearing the commotion came hurrying back to the kitchen. “What's going on here? I heard you out front in the dining room?”

“Ain't nothing going on Betty. She was reaching for the soap powder and I was afraid she might hurt herself, so I put my arm around her just in case. When I did she went and did one's nut,”(became enraged) said the cook.

“This bloody bastard is always trying to rub himself on me and I'm sick of it,” Mildred responded.

“Now, just calm down. You've got to remember love that Clyde, although an old man, is still a man. What do you expect, you being young and attractive. Could be that he thinks you're teasing him. Now, I know you're not, but that's the way he see's it. So would most men,” offered Betty.

“Well the way I see it is that he thinks I'm some oik ( low standing) he can get his jolly's with. I'm telling you for the last time Clyde. Touch me again and I'll kill you.”

“Now, Mildred, you don't mean that,” said Betty.

“Oh, but I do,” Mildred replied.

********************

Inspector Richardson sat on the sofa in Alistair Basham's living room. “How have you been professor?, he asked.

“Like everyone else in this war, deprived and depressed. Still I'm sure that we'll get through it.”

“Yes I'm sure. The reason I've stopped by is although I could give you this information on the telephone I think you would rather see what we have first hand.”

“And just would that be?”

“Well you suggested getting a composite done of the suspect.

We brought in the three chaps that saw her, sat them down and our artist produced the likeness. So, I thought that you might like to see it and here it is."

 

 

Basham sat silently looking, studying the sketch for several minutes. Finally he said, “By Jove, you have to admit that she is a corker ( outstanding) Who would think that someone that beautiful is going around killing people,” he said.

“I agree. At the same time professor, I took this drawing to the Tom Thumb Restaurant and showed it to the workers there. No one in the dining area remembered seeing her. But, it seems that one of the line cooks stepped out through the back door that leads into an alley. While he was standing there smoking a fag (cigarette) he looked out towards the street. He remembered seeing the suspect talking to some bloke on the sidewalk.”

 

“And, that someone is the woman we want and the one that was with Alford Bennett,” Basham replied.

“I think so.”

“So now I expect that you will have this composite displayed in the newspapers asking for anyone that knows her to contact you,” said Basham.

“Normally, that would be the procedure. However, as you know, she's operating in East London. Right now my opinion is that the drawing displayed in the press would make her bolt and run. I want to keep looking for her in the east end.”

“I see. Not the way I would do it, but it's your case.

If it is at all possible I would like a copy of this drawing. One never knows where it might take us. I myself have been working on the theory of the suspects mental state. I must admit however, that there are times when I feel that I should dwell on something else."

"No problem professor. Like you said, the composite should be in the newspapers and I'm sure it will. That will occur when the Superintendent orders it to be done. I'll object of course and our suspect will run. So, if the entire city of London will eventually have a newsprint copy of the drawing then I see no reason why you shouldn't have one first."

**************

On Sunday, May 4, 1941, Clyde Dixon sat at his kitchen table smoking a cigar and once in awhile taking sips of tea from a cracked cup. As he did he read the “Daily Mail”, one of London's newspapers. First, he read about the desert campaign and how the English army was winning battles against the Germans in Libya. When he turned the page a picture caught his eye and the caption, “Bltiz Bitch Killer Of the Underground. He looked at the drawing, read the article again and went back to studying the printed depiction and said aloud , “Oh my, oh, my, what have we here? Could it be that Little Miss Prim and Proper is actually not what she pretends to be? Well, we'll just see how cooperative she'll be now when I show her this.” Dixon got up out of his chair and went to the cupboard drawer when he picked up a pair of scissors.

Darby's Ale House served meals from ten o'clock in the morning until six in the evening. Each operating day Betty Darby would take a list of what was needed for the days menu from Clyde the cook and go shopping. While she was away the cook and Mildred would prepare vegetables. Mildred sat peeling potatoes.

Clyde walked up beside her and asked, Tell me, did you read yesterday's newspapers?”

She looked up at him and said, “No, I don't bother myself with the news.”

“Ah, that's too bad. You see, if you had you would have seen this”, he said showing her the newspaper's print of the police composite drawing.

Mildred broke out in a cold sweat. “They're on to me now. If the catch me they'll send me back to the hospital. There will be more pills, needles, time strapped into a bath tub and then the electric shocks,” she thought to herself.

“Scared ain't you? I can see the fear written on your pretty face. It's you here in this picture. You know it and I know it. Now, here's what I'm offering ducky. There's just you and me here. Suppose we meander into the pantry back there and you show a little appreciation for me not calling the coppers on you.”

Mildred got up slowly from the chair.

“That's it Missy. I thought you'd reconsider being with old Clyde when we got down to brass tacks. Now, just follow me. I made it nice and comfy for us in the pantry'

Dixon turned and began walking. Then he stopped. He turned slowly looking at her. He wanted to speak, but he couldn't. A butcher knife with a ten inch blade was in his back.

“That's right you Blighter (asshole). I told you not to come after me, not to touch me. Now, you're dying and I killed you, you son of a bitch,” she said as Dixon fell to the floor.

She looked at his dead body. Then, the reality that the police knew what she looked like came to her. She had to get away, away from this place. She had to run and after taking off her apron, she left out of the back door of the restaurant.

*************

Inspector Richardson stood in Basham's backyard watching the criminologist feed his chickens. So, you arriving here unannounced to me means you must have some information”, said Basham.

“Oh rather. Our killer has struck again.”

“No.”

“Yes. She killed a cook at a restaurant where she was working. It also appears that she was living in a flat owned by the proprietor of the place called “The Darby Ale House”, in East London.”

“So, she stayed in the same area.”

“Yes, however, this time we found a pot of gold in a valise she had. In a hurry to run she left it with Betty Darby, a woman who took her in and gave her a place to live and food to eat.

According to Miss Darby the victim, one Clyde Dixon, Caucasian male,, age fifty six had been accused by the killer of making inappropriate advances. The woman thought to be responsible for Dixon's death called herself, Mildred Perkins”.

“That gives you a motive at last.”

“In this particular case, yes. However, Miss Darby turned over to us a valise, carried by this Perkins woman. When we opened it we found, one can of sardines, a pair of silk stockings, two rotting apples, a house dress and most interesting, a pair of woman's knickers. We also found her pocketbook, that contained her ration book and get this, a stethoscope.”

“What is so interesting about a pair of knickers?”

“We found, stenciled on the waistband the words, “Haven Manor Hospital”.

“Haven Manor Hospital is an institution for the mentally ill”.

“Yes, we know. At the same time may I say that your hypothesis on the mental condition of the suspect was spot on and has been all along. At the same time it is my understanding that you are familiar with the superintendent of the facility.”

“If you are referring to Reginald Barker then you are correct. We went to school together here in Harrow.”

“Yes, we know. That's why I want you to accompany me when I interview Doctor Barker.”

“For what purpose? We both know that he will evoke the doctor/patient confidentiality clause in the law.”

“Of course, but at the same time you might be able to ascertain some bit of information that will be beneficial.”

When Richardson drove up to the entrance of Haven Manor the first thing Alistair noticed was the visible damage caused by the Luftwaffe bombing. Even the gate house had been hit and what remained was a pile of concrete block. Richardson parked the automobile and both men got out and walked to the entrance of the hospital. Once inside they stopped at the registration desk and after both men had signed the visitors log were asked to take a seat in the lobby and wait to be called.

Fifteen minutes later, Alistair was shaking hands with Doctor Barker. “Well Berty, how have you been?, asked Basham

“How shall I answer, I'm underfunded, understaffed and I have fifty mentally ill patients who have anxiety attacks every night when the German's come. Other than that, just wonderful.”

“Excellent. Allow me to introduce you to Inspector James Richardson of the Metropolitan Police”, said Alistair.

“A pleasure sir. I believe we spoke on the telephone,” said Barker as the two men shook hands.

“Yes sir, we did,” Richardson replied.

“Fine, now what can I do for you?”

“Are you familiar with the murders that have occurred in the underground and other areas of East London, doctor.”

“Some what. I'm afraid that I'm much to busy trying to administer this hospital during this blasted war to pay attention to other things such as that.”

“I see, then I'll come right to the point sir. I want to show you a piece of evidence that we have and it relates to this hospital, said the Inspector.

“That so?”

“Yes sir. For the record can you identify this piece of feminine underwear?”

Barker took the knickers in his hands glanced at it and handed it back to Richardson. “That garment is the type issued to our female patients. May I ask where you got it?”

“As far as we know it belonged to a young woman named Mildred Perkins.”

“Mildred Perkins you say?”

“Yes sir.”

“Can you describe this woman?”

“As far as we know she stands five feet seven inches tall and weighs between one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty pounds. She's a brunet and very attractive. If you'd like, here is a composite drawing our