Black Wattle Creek (Charlie Berlin #2)(23)

SIXTEEN


‘Are you a psychiatrist?’ Berlin asked.

Jessop looked at him as if he’d forgotten he was there. ‘What?’

‘Are you a psychiatrist, Dr Jessop?’ Berlin repeated. ‘Being in charge of a mental asylum, I figured you’d be a psychiatrist.’ Jessop appeared to be irritated by the question. He was a touchy bastard, Berlin decided.

‘No, no, no, I’m a pathologist. I’m studying the human brain – malfunctions in the human brain, rather. The criminal mind, as it were.

Berlin looked around the office. ‘This would be the right place for it, I suppose.’

‘Indeed. There are some very bad men gathered together at Blackwattle Creek, which makes the place ideal for my research. Do you know much about the brain, Mr Berlin?’

‘Not really, some are smarter than others, that’s about it.’

‘On a rather simplistic level I suppose that is correct. However, there is currently a school of thought that posits antisocial behaviour is caused in the main by lesions in the prefrontal cortex. I am trying to determine if there is a link by the use of X-rays and post-mortem dissection and examination of the brain.’ He smiled. ‘It is rather a complex subject, as I’m sure you understand.’

Jessop was using that superior tone again and the inference was clear – I’m smarter than you and better than you and I work in an area you could never possibly begin to understand. Berlin wanted to smack him, rattle his own brain around a little.

The doctor turned his attention back to the phone. ‘What? No, no, just hurry it up.’

He glanced at Berlin. ‘Shouldn’t be long, and then I’ll have you out of my hair.’

Berlin smiled back, hoping he was displaying an equal level of insincerity. He leaned forward and stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray on the desk.

Jessop spoke into the phone again. ‘Yes, what?’ He listened for a moment. ‘Very well, I’ll tell him. And can you send someone to escort him to the car park. We don’t want him getting lost.’

He hung up the phone. ‘This place is a rabbit warren, you understand. Added to many times over the years and constructed with security rather than ease of access in mind. In fact I’m not sure how you managed to find your way to my office in the first place.’

Berlin had the feeling there might be some arses getting kicked over that, after he was escorted off the premises.

Dr Jessop leaned forward over his desk and clasped his hands. ‘Now, with regard to the reason for your visit, we have no record of any of our vehicles being off the grounds after six any evening this past week. Further, we have no record at all of the licence plate number you gave me, or even one that comes close. So it seems you have been misinformed, sad to say.’

‘So it seems.’

‘The matter is settled then. Someone will be along momentarily to take you back to your car, Mr Berlin.’

There was a long, awkward silence and Jessop’s hand strayed in the direction of the telephone several times.

Berlin stood up. ‘If you have to make an important call I’m happy to wait outside.’

Jessop shook his head. ‘No need to trouble yourself, I’m sure they’ll be along directly.’ He took a cigarette from the box on the desk and picked up the silver lighter. ‘How are you familiar with Yorkshire, Mr Berlin? A family connection, perhaps?’

The smell of the Sobranie tobacco was interesting and Berlin regretted not trying one. ‘I was based there during the war, with an RAF squadron.’

‘A mechanic?’

That superior tone again. Now Berlin really wanted to smack him. Not that there was anything wrong with being a mechanic. The hard work of a dedicated ground crew was a large part of what took the aircrew safely to the target and back.

‘I was a pilot, actually, heavy bombers, Lancasters.’

The response seemed to throw Jessop off guard.

‘Indeed, a pilot? That must have been … interesting.’

‘Interesting could be one word for it.’

Jessop missed the tone in Berlin’s voice, or he chose to ignore it. ‘I was in London, myself, during the Blitz. Sadly there was a lot of call for doctors back then, and for pathologists.’

‘Given your field of interest, it might have been useful peering into some of those Nazi brains after the war-crimes trials at Nuremburg.’

‘Perhaps, though I rather fear we should now be considering the pathological make-up of those in charge in the Soviet Union. Despicable people.’

Berlin sensed this could be the beginning of a rant and decided to head it off. Besides, he had something else on his mind. ‘Have you ever met a Russian, Dr Jessop?’

The doctor was startled by the question. ‘What? No, not personally.’

‘Well I have, and some of them seemed like reasonable people. The Russians bled themselves dry bringing Hitler down, and they were the ones who liberated me from my POW camp, so I might be biased. Who are the Ninetymen, Dr Jessop?’

The man’s mouth twitched. It was a tiny movement and Berlin almost missed it.

‘I’m sure I have no idea, Mr Berlin.’

‘It’s just that you asked which one I was when I came in to your office. And when I arrived someone at the gate asked if I was one of the Ninetymen.’

‘Again, Mr Berlin, I’m afraid I have no idea what you are talking about.’