Page 6 of Murder on Harley Street
D.S. Forrester once again glanced at each of us in turn before frowning at his notes.
Harry handed me a brochure from the device manufacturer, his lips tilting with his wry smirk. If he was offended that D.S. Forrester gave him no credit for helping solve the cases, he didn’t show it. Indeed, he was more interested in flirting with me in front of the detective sergeant. As he passed the brochure, his thumb caressed my fingers before letting go.
Even though D.S. Forrester appeared to be concentrating on his notes, I suspected he’d seen the exchange.
I lifted my gaze to Harry’s and smiled. He smiled back before dropping his hand to his side. It was good to see him, despite the circumstances, and I hoped my lingering gaze told him so.
When D.S. Forrester cleared his throat, I broke the connection and read the brochure from the manufacturer of the Electro Therapy Machine. The device was purported to cure backache, headache, rheumatism, dyspepsia, kidney troubles, heart irregularities, sleeplessness, piles, weakness, nervous disorders, hernias and ladies’ ailments. The brochure was a piece of art, with winged cherubs holding scrolls upon which were written the chief claims of ‘Cures Debility’ and ‘Cures Hysteria’. A smiling woman and a strongman with bulging muscles stood below the cherubs, alongside a large building radiating bolts of electricity from its rooftop. According to the print underneath, it was the office for the manufacturer, the Medical Electrical Company, with an address on Oxford Street.
“That’s quite a varied array of ailments,” I said. “If it worked, it would be a wonder cure.”
“A lot of people claim it does work,” Harry said. “Turn it over and you can read the testimonials of some.”
According to the quotes on the reverse of the brochure, several well-known actresses, sportsmen, and a number of medical professionals based in England, Europe and America thought the device a miracle of modern medicine. Even Dr. Iverson was noted as having called it ‘an exhilarating health-giving current to the whole system.’
“I presume you’ve ruled out a fault with the machine?” I asked D.S. Forrester.
“The device had been tampered with, according to the engineer from the manufacturer who inspected it this morning.” He scratched his sideburns with the corner of the small notebook. “I don’t really understand the science, but apparently one or more of the wires were disconnected. He has put them back the way it should be to make it safe.”
Harry pointed to the offending wire. “I think it’s a little more complicated than that, but essentially this connects to a transformer, here. When the handle is turned, a safe low voltage current is emitted along these other wires, into the zinc discs which are placed against the patient’s skin. When that wireisn’tconnected, instead of a small electrical shock, the patient receives enough volts to kill her. Isabel Kempsey’s death wouldn’t have been painless, I’m afraid.”
“How awful,” I murmured. “It’s a terribly dangerous machine.”
“It is, but the killer had to know what they were doing. I have some knowledge of how electricity works, but I’m not sure if my explanation is correct. I’m not an electrician.”
He may not be, but he had a keen scientific mind. His interests were in architecture and the engineering of buildings and structures, but his clever mind was capable of understanding many scientific theories. I wasn’t surprised he had already grasped how the machine worked. Having Harry involved in the case would be a great help, but D.S. Forrester didn’t look inclined to ask him for assistance. Indeed, he seemed satisfied that he already had the right man in custody. That wasn’t like him. I’d always found him to be willing to accept possibilities other than the obvious. He must know something that we didn’t.
Harry pointed to the cupboard where the machine was usually housed. “There are extra components, including a corset with these discs sewn into it, as well as a wide belt, and what appears to be trousers. They can all be connected to the machine and the patient will receive mild electric shocks while wearing them as they recline on the bed.”
D.S. Forrester pulled out the accessories from the cupboard and held them up for me to see. As he held up the trousers, he pulled a face. “A fellow would need to be desperate to wear this.” He suddenly flushed and quickly returned the items to the cupboard. “Isabel Kempsey wasn’t wearing any of these, however. Only those discs in the box you see there were connected to her face, chest, and arms.”
“When was the device last used safely?” I asked him.
“Friday. The patient walked out perfectly well, according to Dr. Iverson, the nurse and receptionist. Mrs. Kempsey was the first patient to use it today. Dr. Iverson didn’t notice the wire had been disconnected from the transformer until too late. The device is stored in that cupboard when not in use. He is supposed to lock the cupboard, but thinks it possible he forgot on Friday.”
“You sound like you don’t believe him,” I said.
“Hence why I want to interrogate him further at the Yard. He’s the only one with a key to that cupboard.”
“If he planned to murder Mrs. Kempsey, why do it in his own clinic? He could have poisoned her with a tonic or powder.” I indicated a display cabinet full of medicines in amber, green and blue glass bottles. “He could claim someone added poison to the bottle. It’s more convincing. So, if we discount him, who else would have been able to get into this room without drawing attention to themselves?”
“You’re suggesting one of his staff used their key to enter the premises over the weekend and tampered with the device?” The sergeant flipped back through his pages of notes. “Mrs. Iverson must be added, too. She could have stolen her husband’s key while he slept beside her then returned it before he awoke.”
While D.S. Forrester responded to all my questions with patience, Harry had begun to search the outer office. Clearly my questions weren’t new. He and the sergeant must have already covered this ground.
D.S. Forrester watched Harry open the top drawer of the desk. “Armitage wanted to involve you, Cleo, because of your personal knowledge of Dr. Iverson. What can you tell us about him?”
“Not a great deal. I’ve never met him.”
D.S. Forrester paused. “I see.”
“My aunt was a patient of Dr. Iverson’s until recently. She decided to see a different physician after Dr. Iverson repeatedly prescribed a tonic to her, even though it was making her more ill. He wasn’t interested in trying a new treatment, nor did he believe the claims of leading scientists who theorize that a particular substance in that tonic can be addictive and harmful. So you see, my opinion of Dr. Iverson as a medical professional isn’t a favorable one.” I waved at the Electro Therapy Machine. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was taken in by the manufacturer’s claims, just as he has been taken in by the manufacturer of the tonic.”
D.S. Forrester closed his notebook with a snap. “Thank you for your insights.” He glanced at Harry, rifling through the contents of the desk drawers, then stepped closer to me. “The exchange between the two of you just now… Am I to believe that you and Armitage are…more than friends?”
“You miss nothing, detective sergeant.”
As if he sensed we were discussing him, Harry suddenly looked up. His gaze softened as he cast me a fleeting smile before returning to the task of searching the desk drawers.
