“Is Mr. Langdon there, please?”

“Watching the telly. Who shall I say is calling?”

“Dr. Carrier, from the United States.”

“The States- you’re joking.”

“Not at all. Is this Mrs. Langdon?”

“Last I checked. No joke? What, then? What kind of an American doctor are you?”

“A psychologist,” said Jeremy. “I’m a friend of Dr. Arthur Chess.”

“Are you now?” said the woman. “I’m sure that’s good for him, whoever he is. So you think Nige needs a head-shrink?”

“Nothing like that, Mrs. Langdon. Dr. Arthur Chess- Professor Chess is a renowned pathologist, with an interest in one of Mr. Langdon’s cases- we are talking about Detective Inspector Nigel Langdon?”

“Retired inspector… Nigey’s well past all that ugly business- it’s the murdered girls, right? Has to be that.”

“As a matter of fact, yes-”

“Aha! So who’s the detective in this family!” The woman laughed.

“How did you know?” said Jeremy.

“Because it’s the only case Nige’s been involved with any psychologist would be interested in. Had to be a crazy man, it did- but I shouldn’t say more. Indiscreet, and all that. What do you and your professor friend want with Nigey?”

“I’d just like to ask him a few questions.”

“You and everyone else.”

“There’s been recent curiosity about the case?”

“Not recent. But after it happened- when they found the second one, Bridget- you couldn’t keep this phone cold.” Silence on the line. The woman said, “Thank goodness, all that’s passed. So you want to talk to him, eh?”

“I would appreciate it. Just for a-”

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Lately he’s been complaining about boredom. Nige!”

The man’s voice was clogged- as if he’d stuffed his mouth full of eggs.

“What’s this?” he demanded. “Something about Suzie and Bridget? Who are you? What’s this about?”

Jeremy spun a web about Arthur’s forensic skills, erudite discussions between the two of them concerning important cases, the old man asking Jeremy to do psychosocial follow-up on cases he believed were yet unresolved.

“Well, this is certainly bugger-all unresolved,” grumbled Nigel Langdon. “Never closed it. Surprised me at every turn. What with two bodies, I thought there’d be more. One of those serial things, you know? But that was it, two. Bastard ravaged those poor girls and just stopped. One of them had a boyfriend, a bad lot, served some time in Broadmoor for assault, I was certain he’d be the one. But he had an alibi. Locked up in Broadmoor- that’s about as good as it gets, wouldn’t you say? Other than him, nothing. Now, good night-”

“Ravaged,” said Jeremy. “Was there sexual assault?”

“I was speaking… dramatically, sir. Why should I tell you? It’s a bit impertinent-”

“One more question, Inspector Langdon. Please. Was there evidence of surgical precision to the murders?”

Silence.

“What,” said Langdon, “are you really asking?”

“Just that. Were the bodies dissected with… notable skill? Something that implied medical expertise?”

“Where’d you say you were from, lad?”

“City Central Hospital.” Jeremy rattled off the address, told Langdon he’d be happy to give his number and Langdon could call to verify.

Langdon broke in: “Why all this curiosity from City Central Hospital, sir?”

“Just what I said, Inspector. Intellectual curiosity. And a deep concern on Professor Chess’s part- and mine- about psychosocial issues. The origins of violence.”

“Have a case like it over there, do you?”

Jeremy hesitated.

Langdon said, “I give all the answers, and you go dumb?”

“It’s possible, Inspector. Nothing decisive. Professor Chess is a pathologist, worked at the Coroner’s Office, here. He and I review cases- you’ve never heard of Professor Chess?”

“Chess… as in the game?”

“Exactly.”

“No, can’t say as I have.”

“He’s world-renowned,” said Jeremy. “Currently, he’s traveling in Oslo.”

“Too bad for him,” said Langdon. “As an overgrown fishing village it’s not half-bad. But those blokes. Sardines and oil is all they’re about. Which makes sense, har. Used to eating their fishies oily and got themselves bloody rich on oil, the Norsers. Worse than the Arabs. All that money, and they can’t bring themselves to install indoor plumbing in their summer homes, still walk around with rucksacks. Does that make sense to you- rich men eschewing indoor plumbing?”

A long speech. Langdon’s voice had risen- anxiety- and Jeremy wondered if he’d prattled to hide something.

“You’ve been to Oslo, Inspector.”

“Been all kinds of places,” said Langdon. “Anyway, I am going to cut you off, now, because you’re bringing nasty stuff back into my life. Give me flowers, I like flowers. Flowers don’t rip each other apart for no good reason, then disappear and never show their ugly, psychopath faces again.”

Snorting once, he cut the connection.

Langdon had been to Oslo and didn’t want to talk about it.

Jeremy thought about that, decided there was nowhere else to take it. That was that.

But it wasn’t. Two days later, he received an e-mail from [email protected].

Ever the detective, Langdon had remembered Jeremy’s name and that of the hospital, traced his faculty account, obtained his address.

Dear Dr. Jeremy Carrier,

I fear I may have been unnecessarily curt with you during our recent phone chat. Perhaps I can be forgiven that curtness due to the unannounced nature of your call and the unpleasant subject matter foisted upon me by you during an otherwise restful evening.

However, I do feel it incumbent upon me to pass along the following truths:

With regard to your inquiry about various aspects of cases we discussed that have passed from under my responsibility, I’m afraid I’m not able to divulge details. Especially as said cases remain open. The new man in charge of the Clevington/Sapsted file is Det Insp Michael B. Shreve, however to my knowledge he is not actively investigating these cases as they have been deemed inactive, pending new evidence, none of which, to my knowledge has surfaced. Therefore, they are likely to remain closed. However, I have now passed along Det Insp Shreve’s name to you and feel that with that action I have acquitted my responsibilities in this matter.

Furthermore, I doubt that Det Insp Shreve would fancy discussing said case with non-police personnel. However, here is his phone number, should you decide to persist. Best wishes,

Nigel A. Langdon (very definitely Ret.)

Jeremy phoned Michael B. Shreve’s office and was informed by an officious male officer that the detective inspector was on holiday.

“Until when?”

“Until he returns, sir.”

“When might that be?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge personal details, sir.”

Jeremy left his name and number and the fact that he was inquiring about Suzie Clevington and Bridget Sapsted.

If that rang a bell with Mr. Officious, he gave no indication.

“Is he in Norway?”

“Thank you, sir. Good day, sir.”