Free The Handshaker by David Robinson Page B

taxpayers’ money even if it did keep him in a well-paid job. Industry, he had long ago advised the CEO of a Scandinavian oil conglomerate, did not need graduate canteen employees, or degree level drill operatives. It needed hard working, well-paid, highly skilled staff who knew how to do the job they were paid to do.
    The kettle automatically snapping off as it came to the boil brought him back to his room with its atmospheric throwbacks to earlier generations. He poured water into two mugs, retrieved a carton of milk from the fridge, stirred some into each cup, and put it back before turning to his guest.
    Passing a beaker to Millie, he waved her into one of the armchairs and, tossing his equipment from the other onto the floor, took the seat for himself. Sipping at his tea, Croft luxuriated a moment in the taste and stretched out a foot to switch on the electric fire. The bars glowed a dull red, throwing out minimal heat.
    He turned his attention on Millie. “So, Millie, where to begin. Suppose you throw a few questions at me and we’ll take it from there?”
    Millie, too, sipped at her tea and approved. She reached forward and put the cup on the occasional table. “You told us this morning that this note hinted at what you called The Heidelberg Case. I followed it up and I couldn’t find any reference to it on the Internet, other than yours, and there are no records of it in Interpol’s files.”
    Croft cradled his beaker between his hands and stared up at the polystyrene ceiling tiles, a frown etched into his clear brow. An idle thought intruded. Those ceiling tiles were totally at odds with the rest of his possessions. He would see the bursar about having a plasterer come in and ‘age’ the room.
    He forced his agile mind back to the proposition at hand. “I did tell you that the case is comparatively unknown.” Putting his beaker down, he moved behind the desk and switched the computer on. “I have a précis of it stored on the hard drive. It’ll take a minute or two to boot up, and then I’ll print a copy for you.” He returned to his armchair and picked up his beaker. “According to contemporary accounts, Ludwig Meyer’s case notes ran to something like a thousand pages, but they’re lost. The only English translation that I know of is Dr Hammerschlag’s and that’s only twenty pages or so in a much longer work.” He injected a little more gravity into his words. “The case demonstrated that abuse under hypnosis, which all the experts say can’t be done, is not only possible but extremely dangerous.”
    “You also said there was a paranormal angle to it. I’m a copper and I don’t believe in telepathy, ghost, goblins and mind control.”
    Croft noticed that her features had taken on an almost impish look, as if she were teasing him. He was perfectly used to it. Most people believed his work was no more than an esoteric hobby, a distraction for a rich man with too much time on his hands. He knew different. He knew he was deadly serious about it.
    This, however, was not the time to get into discussions on parapsychology.
    “Most accounts of the case come from works on the paranormal,” he said, “and most of them are written by non-professional people; people like me. When you look into it, however, there is nothing supernatural about it. Basically, Franz Walter first met Mrs E on a train on the way to Heidelberg. When it stopped to take on water, he invited her to join him for a cup of coffee. As the waiter served the coffee, Walter took her hand and stared into her eyes. He never said a word, but from that moment on, Mrs E was hypnotised and under his complete control.”
    Millie stared, wide eyed. “He just took her hand and that was it?”
    Croft nodded. “Almost like shaking hands. Just like The Handshaker.”
     

10
     
    Croft returned to the computer and opened the My Documents folder. A list of several hundred files appeared and he made a mental note to create new folders to