The Death Chamber by Sarah Rayne Read Free Book Online

the open. ‘Not question precisely, but probe a little. The inspector in charge of the case has made a private request to me that we
do all we can to find out.’
    ‘Why me?’ said Walter. ‘Why not you?’
    ‘It’s unlikely Fremlin will talk to me,’ said Higneth. ‘Although I shall try, of course. But he’ll see me as an authority figure – an enemy, even, and
he’ll close down.’
    ‘What about the chaplain?’
    ‘The chaplain,’ said Higneth sourly, ‘feels it would not be right for him to quiz a man under sentence of death, or to make use of any subterfuge. In any case, he will
apparently feel obliged to regard anything Fremlin tells him as under the seal of the confessional.’
    ‘Fremlin’s not a Catholic, is he?’ said Walter.
    ‘No, but the chaplain considers the same rules apply. Dr Kane, if you do this you must be very careful.’
    ‘Yes, of course.’
    Higneth made an impatient gesture. ‘I don’t mean physically. I mean during conversations with him. He’s a clever devil and extremely charming. He’ll assess your weak
spots and make use of them. He’ll find out about you – who you are, what your hopes and ambitions are, details about your family. He’ll slide under your skin and you won’t
even realize he’s doing it. That’s how he’ll have got the confidence of all those women, and charm’s a thing that works on men as well as females, Dr Kane. So you must be
very wary of giving away any information about yourself.’
    ‘Would he use information to get sympathy?’
    ‘He might try coaxing you into some kind of mad escape plan,’ said Higneth. ‘It wouldn’t succeed – he’ll be well guarded – but that mightn’t stop
him trying. And if he decides he can’t charm you into helping him, he might try blackmailing you.’
    ‘Surely he wouldn’t do that.’
    ‘He’s got three weeks to live,’ said Higneth drily. ‘He’s got nothing to lose.’
    Walter considered for a moment. ‘I won’t force anything with Fremlin,’ he said at last. ‘And I won’t use subterfuge.’
    ‘But you will do it?’
    ‘Yes, I will. I’ll talk to him.’
    November 1917
    ‘Talk to him, Walter,’ his mother had said on that long-ago day. ‘Tell him what you’re going to do with your life.’
    ‘Will he want to know?’ The small Walter had not really understood what this was all about – he did not understand why his father had to be in this place or why they were going
to see him like this – but he did not like to ask questions. His mother had been crying and he had never seen her cry before, so he would have promised her anything in the world. He had said,
yes, he would tell about what he wanted to do when he was grown-up, and when finally they sat in the terrible room he had done as she had asked. The room had a smell to it that his seven-year-old
self had not recognized, but which his grown-up self later knew for human despair and misery. The dark-haired man seated at the table had not seemed to care about it or even, thought Walter, to
notice. It was difficult to think of him as his father because Walter did not really know him – he was always away fighting people it seemed.
    But he explained about wanting to be a doctor when he grew up, so he could make people better.
    ‘That’s a very praiseworthy ambition, Walter.’
    Walter had not known what praiseworthy meant nor what an ambition was, but his father seemed pleased, which was good.
    ‘There’ll be some money,’ he said, looking at Walter’s mother. ‘You understand that, don’t you? More than enough money to pay for his training –
university – whatever he ends up wanting.’
    At the mention of money Walter’s mother had glanced at the other two people in the room, which Walter knew was because you did not talk about private things in front of strangers. The two
people were standing just inside the door, not speaking and not looking at anything; one was quite a young man with skin like lumpy