Free The Death Chamber by Sarah Rayne Page B

the appearance of finding life too boring for words, thought Georgina. But she’s genuinely keen on her job. And Phin is like an eager puppy. They’re nice, both of
them.
    She said, ‘I’ll expect you any time after midday.’
    They exchanged mobile phone numbers in case of any last-minute change of plan, and Georgina went back to Caradoc House pleased to have made this small, friendly contact.
    October 1938
    As Walter prepared for his first meeting with Neville Fremlin he felt tremors of nervous apprehension, and as he walked along Calvary’s corridors, the gaolers unlocking
gates and doors as he went, the ghost of his seven-year-old self walked with him. The gaolers on that morning had studiously avoided looking either at him or his mother and, at a brief word from
Sir Lewis Caradoc, they had unlocked the doors. For years afterwards one of Walter’s childhood nightmares had been the sound of keys being turned in locks.
    He could still remember the female gaoler who had been on duty in his father’s cell. She had had a pixie face, and his father had called her Belinda.
    It was important that Fremlin did not pick up his nervousness. Fremlin must regard him as sympathetic but detached. Walter reminded himself that he was no longer a fearful seven-year-old; he was
a qualified doctor and the health of everyone in Calvary was his responsibility. It was not his father who was waiting for him in the condemned cell, it was a stranger – a man who was not
going to the gallows for a belief and a cause, but for the deaths of five women. And he, Walter, had been charged with finding out if that five might be six. He had no idea, yet, how he would go
about this, but he had given his word to Edgar Higneth that he would try.
    The warders were waiting for him. They would not remain in the cell during his visit – doctors and clergymen were allowed the small privilege of complete privacy with any condemned
prisoner – but they would be just outside the door. Walter did not know their names because he was still getting to know the staff here, but he nodded his thanks as they opened the door and
stood back to allow him to go in. As the door closed behind him, he heard the sound of a match striking, and then the faint scent of a cigarette. They were snatching a crafty smoke. But he was not
paying attention to them; his whole attention was focused on the man seated at the table.
    The first thing to strike him was that Neville Fremlin was considerably older than he had been expecting – probably nearer fifty than forty. He was seated at the table and turned his head
to look at the visitor, exactly as Walter’s father had turned his head on that long-ago morning. For a moment the ghosts of the past crowded suffocatingly in, then Fremlin stood up, the
ghosts receded and Walter took the chair on the other side of the table.
    ‘Good morning, Mr Fremlin. I’m Dr Kane – Walter Kane. I’ll be visiting you a couple of times a day.’
    ‘I know who you are, Dr Kane. Edgar Higneth told me you would be coming along. I believe we aren’t permitted to shake hands, so you’ll have to take that courtesy for granted.
I’m glad to see you, although I could wish our surroundings were less austere.’
    He had a rather soft voice, and his eyes, which were dark and intelligent, studied Walter with interest. He’s not in the least frightening, thought Walter, in fact he’s very nearly
ordinary. He said, ‘Is there anything you would like? Anything that might make the days a bit easier for you?’
    ‘A few dancing girls, perhaps? A case of good Beaujolais?’ The words came out deadpan, but then he smiled and Walter saw at once that he was not at all ordinary. If he had smiled
like that at his victims it was no wonder they had let themselves be cheated out of their life savings or their jewellery.
    But he said, lightly, ‘We can’t manage either of those, I’m afraid. The best we can offer is prison-strength cocoa. But I can