The Frankenstein Testament

Harpur ran out into the cold winter air, past the startled doorman and back into College Square. As he reached the road he stopped.

His first reaction was to sprint across the street and bring McDougal down with a flying tackle, cuff him and haul him into the Police Office for questioning. With a feeling akin to an electrical shock, he realised that that was precisely what an ordinary copper would do. He was a detective now and he had to start thinking like one. No one robbed graves any more, so what the Hell had McDougal been up to the night before? Who had been his companions? Could he have had something to do with the mad killer that had attacked the vicar and the girl? What was he up to now? On top of all that, what business did a low life like McDougal have in College Square? He realised that the smart thing to do was to follow McDougal and see if he could learn more.

McDougal began crossing the street, glancing round to check for traffic. Harpur, suddenly painfully aware of how conspicuousness he was in his Police uniform, dropped quickly to one knee and pretended to be tying a boot lace. Thankfully McDougal appeared to be too concerned with others seeing him and kept his head down and face wrapped up in his scarf.

Once McDougal had crossed the road, Harpur got to his feet again and recommenced following. McDougal walked up College Square hurrying along the wide pavement until he got about halfway along. At that point McDougal quickly ran up the short set of steps of one of the fashionable townhouses. Harpur hung back a respectable distance and watched as McDougal wrapped the brass knocker on the front door. As he waited he took another look around. Harpur dropped to one knee in another pretend boot lace tying manoeuvre that had him swearing to himself about how silly he must look. He cursed his own lack of tactics in the area of following someone and hoped McDougal’s elevated position would make him scan over him. His police uniform must be sticking out like a sore thumb.

Thankfully the door opened at that moment and McDougal went into the house. Harpur rose quickly and trotted up the steps in the wake of the grave robber.

“Well, well, well,” he said quietly to himself as he peered at the letters engraved on the brass plaque on the wall beside huge front door. “George Alexander Kirwin, M. D., M.R.C.P.I.”

He was about to reach for the large brass knocker when he heard footsteps approaching behind him. Turning he saw none other than Dr. Kirwin himself approaching at a brisk pace from the street.

“Harpur! What the devil are you up to?” Kirwin demanded and he skipped up the steps to his front door.

Harpur took his time as he turned to meet him. He straightened up and met Kirwin’s irate gaze with a cool, steady one of his own. “Dr. Kirwin. We meet again. Have you finished hoaking around in that dead body?”

“The dissection is not over,” Kirwin said, “but I have business at the museum. I came here to get my bag on the way. I demand to know what you are doing hanging around outside my house. This is a respectable area. We have no need for policemen around here.”

“Really?” Harpur raised his eyebrows in a sceptical expression. “I just saw a known felon, currently a fugitive from justice, enter your house. It looked very much like he was expected.”

“What are you talking about, Harpur?” Kirwin scowled.

“Billy McDougal. I just saw him go in your front door,” Harpur said, tapping the door for emphasis.

“Who? I’ve never heard of this McDougal,” Kirwin sneered. “Now kindly get off my property.”

“I saw McDougal engaged in grave robbing last night in the new Burying Ground,” Harpur said, folding his arms. “Just before the Reverend Wilson and his niece were attacked and a policeman murdered. He is wanted in relation to that incident. You say this is a respectable area? McDougal is low life scum. A thief and worse. Is he the sort of person you’d rather have round here than the police?”

Kirwin shook his head. “Look Harpur, I don’t know what you are talking about but I have many patients from the lower classes. As you heard I offer a free service for the people who cannot afford the ridiculous prices of other doctors in this town. God help them but they have nowhere to go but my practice. If this McDougal is here then he is here for medical treatment and therefore under my protection. Don’t you dare try to harass him or any of my patients.”

“I want him out here,” Harpur said. “I intend to arrest him and bring him in for questioning.”

“Did you not hear me Harpur?” Kirwin said, pulling a large key from his pocket. “Anyone in my house is a patient of mine and as I said under my protection. There is no question of me sending a sick man into police custody. Kindly get off my property.”

“Are you obstructing a police investigation, Doctor Kirwin?” Harpur straightened his back.

Kirwin gave an irritated tut. “Don’t be ridiculous, Harpur. Even if that was true, what would you do about it? You have no authority here. You’re outside your jurisdiction. This is private property and I’ve every right to throw you off it.”

Harpur’s shoulders dropped a little. “I could get a search warrant,” he protested.

“Good luck with that,” Kirwin sneered. “I have friends in very high places, Harpur. You’ll get nowhere trying to get one of those and before you know it you’ll be thrown off the police force. Now get out of my way.”

Both men stood toe to toe with each other, gazes locked in mutual hostility. Harpur knew Kirwin was right, however and he was first to look away. Policemen had no authority to enter private property without the owner’s permission, regardless of the circumstances. This might be ignored in some areas of the town but not in an upmarket neighbourhood like College Square. He sighed in resignation, shook his head and stepped aside. Kirwin, a smirk on his face, inserted the key in the lock and opened the front door.

As the doctor entered his house, Harpur began to descend the steps. Halfway down he stopped and turned around again.

“I’ll wait outside until McDougal comes out,” he said, aware that his bottom lip was protruding slightly.

“Do what you want,” Kirwin said, a look of weary annoyance on his face. “I have a back door, you know. If I really was harbouring a felon I’d probably send him out that way.”

“I know he’s in there,” Harpur insisted. “I saw him go in.”

“Good for you,” Kirwin said as he closed the door leaving Harpur standing at the bottom of the steps.