The Frightened Man by Kenneth Cameron Read Free Book Online Page B

notes or looking on without expression. He thought that they were all keeping themselves under tight control, as was Parmentier, he supposed, never mentioning the dead woman’s humanity, the horror of the crime; it was as if they were all dealing with the unpacking of a suitcase. Denton looked around the faces again. Control, yes - a considerable feature of English life, the part he found least likable, least sympathetic, dropped only in special environments: the whorehouse, the battlefield. But control of what, really? Superficially, any response that would show weakness, he supposed, or anything ‘undignified’. But the savagery of the woman’s injuries were far beyond dignity or respect, rather in the realm of madness. Was this male control partly the suppression of a desire, or at least - he winced at the memory of his wanting to hurt Emma - the suppression of a recognition of a possibility? Had they all murdered her, in fact? Had he murdered Emma so, in his mind?
    Parmentier was ordering the body rolled over, then opening the back to get at the kidneys and the liver. Organs were weighed, put into bottles; at last the corpse was covered again with the cloth and the organs were wheeled out of the theatre. Parmentier made a summary - exsanguination, multiple stab wounds, blood in the trachea and lungs suggesting possible asphyxiation after the carotid artery was severed; the inference to be drawn was that this had been the first wound, although not impossible that the others or at least some of the others were done first, but this notion not supported by the lack of bruising or other signs of response to extreme pain. No indication of restraints on wrists, ankles, or mouth. One interesting detail lay in the lifting of part of the scalp from the cranium, probably by the assailant’s free hand, pulling the head back as the throat was slashed.
    ‘An exceedingly violent act by an exceedingly powerful person, perhaps in an extreme state caused by alcohol or other substance, perhaps not, the many stab wounds allowing us to speculate as to his or her mental state.’ Parmentier put down his scalpel at last. ‘Questions?’
    The questions were of two kinds, the incomprehensibly scientific and the banal. Parmentier dealt with the first at the same level of incomprehensibility, the second with ridicule. ‘Frenzy? What do you mean, sir, by frenzy ?’ Then, ignoring the student’s stammered response, ‘I do not deal in frenzy . I leave such conclusions to the police.’ Staring into the near-dark of the audience, for the light had clouded in the lantern above him. ‘You, perhaps, have embarked on the wrong career, and would be better off to think of one in some more emotional field.’ And then, playing to the house: ‘Perhaps journalism.’ Uneasy, then relieved laughter.
    Denton asked no questions but made his way into the arena as soon as Parmentier announced that they were done. Detective Sergeant Willey was making his way down from the other side but coming slowly, talking to his companion and the one who had served as clerk. Denton went right to Parmentier and, by talking louder than the nervous medical student already there, said, ‘Could the throat have been slashed while the attacker was engaged in coitus with the victim?’
    The great man eyed him. He paid Denton the compliment of immediately turning his attention away from the student as he began pulling off the rubber gloves. ‘Do I know you, sir? Are you of the profession?’
    ‘I’m a guest of Hector Hench-Rose’s.’ Making it a joke: ‘Not a journalist.’
    ‘I shall take it as given that your interest is not prurient. I don’t know Hench-Rose, unless he’s related to George Hench-Rose.’
    ‘An older brother, I think.’
    ‘Ah. I see him at old-boy dinners.’ He tore at the left glove, which clung to him like skin, muttered, ‘These damnable things—’ and wrenched it off, dropping it on the floor with disgust. He took Denton’s left arm and