Frenzy Page #8

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Make yourself comfortable.

- Very cozy.

- Yes, well, it's my little nest.

You know, my home.

The place where when you have

to go there, they have to take you in.

That's what my ol' mum used to say.

You met my mum, didn't you?

- Yes.

- Ah, great old lady.

- I'm off to the shop. See you later!

- Yeah, sure.

There's something to eat in the kitchen.

The booze is here.

So get on with it, right?

Bob, I'm really grateful for all this.

You know that.

l told you, think nothing of it.

Hey, do me a favour, will you?

- Keep away from the windows.

- Yes, of course. Sorry.

Ta-ta.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do.

Are you Richard Ian Blaney?

- Yes. What is this?

- You're under arrest.

Come quietly, and you won't get hurt.

- Is this necessary?

- We're careful with you bastards.

- Is this your bag?

- Yes.

-Thank you for your help, Mr Rusk.

- Anything to oblige, Sarge.

No reward, I'm afraid.

Better luck next time, eh?

You know what they say.

""Virtue is its own reward.""

I... Well, if you want any more help,

I'll be in my shop.

Alright. We know where you are.

How's that kid of yours

gettin' on with the violin?

- Richard Ian Blaney?

- Yes.

As the result of my inquiries,

you'll be detained in connection

with the willful murders

of Brenda Margaret Blaney,

Barbara Jane Milligan and others.

You're not obliged to say anything

unless you wish.

Anything you do say will be

taken down in writing

and may be used in evidence.

Mr Oxford, could you

spare a second over here?

Rusk. It's Rusk!

Hold him back. Where was this found?

- Over at Henrietta Street.

- Any identification?

""Miss Barbara Milligan, Globe Public House.""

""Covent Garden, London, WC2.""

Are you agreed upon your verdict?

We are.

Do you find the prisoner, Richard Ian Blaney,

guilty or not guilty of the murder of Brenda...

...lan Blaney,

you have been found guilty

of a terrible crime.

On its ghastly and wicked

nature I will not dwell.

I only tell you that you must

entertain no expectation or hope

that you will escape the consequences of it.

The sentence of this court is that you

serve a term of life imprisonment,

for not less than 25 years.

Rusk did it! I told you all along!

Rusk!

I keep telling you. Rusk, where are you?

One of these days, you bastard!

Rusk, where are you? Rusk?

One of these days, I'm gonna get out

and kill you, you bastard!

I've got nothing to lose now!

I might as well do

what I'm being locked away for!

You remember that! You remember that!

Rusk did it.

Rusk did it. l've told you all along!

Rusk? Rusk, where are you?

One of these days l'm gonna get out

and kill you, you bastard!

l've got nothing to lose now.

l might as well do what l'm being

put away for.

You remember that! You remember that!

- Do you see the sign, Hartletts?

- Yes, sir.

lt's the fair-haired chap

in the brown suit underneath it.

- Did you see him?

- Yes, I did.

We'll go around once again,

and I want a good, close mug shot.

Yes, Inspector, I remember him well.

He came here on two or three occasions.

Every business has its own

special cross to bear, I suppose.

- And yours is men like this?

- That is so.

Most of them are easy enough to get

rid of, but Mr Robinson here

was particularly insistent.

- He wouldn't take no for an answer.

- Mr Robinson?

Yes, that is the man's name.

Here we are.

Mr William Robinson.

You see, Inspector, he wanted us to

find women for him who enjoyed,

well... certain peculiarities.

Who were sexual masochists?

Who enjoyed being hurt?

- That sort of thing?

- Quite.

Perhaps you'd better see it for yourself.

Naturally we told him we couldn't oblige,

but he kept coming back.

Is it likely, do you think,

that if Mr Robinson couldn't get

what he wanted from your agency,

- he would go to others?

- Oh, yes, very likely.

Men like this leave no stone unturned

in their search for their

disgusting gratifications.

Excuse me, Inspector.

Do you have any special reason

for seeing Mr Robinson?

Yes, Miss Barling. And I'd like you

to keep my visit confidential.

Of course.

Get the doctor quick.

Looks like an ambulance job.

I told you it wasn't Blaney, didn't I?

I told you you were on the wrong track.

A woman's intuition is worth more

than all those laboratories.

I can't think why you don't

teach it in police colleges.

So you think it's Rusk, do you?

You think he's our man?

Well, of course. Anyone can see that.

He knew both Mrs Blaney

- and that Barbara what's-her-name.

- Yes.

Well, there you are.

You told me the man's a sexual pervert.

That's why he kept the clothes

and put them in Mr Blaney's case.

We have no proof of that.

It stands to reason.

Don't you mean intuition?

What does your intuition tell you

I want for dinner tonight?

Steak and a baked potato.

But you're getting

pied de porc la mode de Caens.

- (Oxford) lt looks like a pig's foot!

- That's what it is.

I put it in the same sauce

the French use for tripe.

That's comforting.

Well, when are you going to arrest

this Mr Robinson, or Rusk,

or whatever he's called?

When l have the proof l need.

- lt takes longer than intuition.

- When will you have it?

In a few minutes I hope, dear.

Really?

You old slyboots. Tell.

Well...

we know that if Rusk is the murderer,

he traveled up in a potato truck

with his victim.

How do we know that?

Did you ever hear of a corpse

that cut itself out of a tied sack?

What would he want to take

the corpse out of the sack for?

Obviously he was looking for something.

How do we know that?

The corpse was deep in rigor mortis.

He had to break the fingers of the

right hand to obtain what they held.

It would be so nice to get back

to plain bread in this house.

What do you think they held?

A locket? A broach? A cross!

It had to be something

that would incriminate him.

Something that he missed

when he put the body on the truck.

A monogrammed handkerchief, perhaps.

Not a cross, I think.

Well...

I don't see why not.

Religious and sexual mania are closely linked.

Anyway, whatever it was, he found it,

which was unlucky for us.

But we did have one piece of good fortune.

The truck driver told us that he

stopped at one place on his journey,

and that was at a pull-in

somewhere out of London.

- A pull-in?

- Hmm.

It's a... cafe frequented by truck drivers, dear.

They serve humble foods

like bacon and egg sandwiches,

sausages and mashed potatoes

and cups of tea and coffee.

How is it so fortunate

that this driver stopped there?

It's not so much that he stopped,

but that he stopped

only once that is important.

The only place our man could've

got out of the truck was at that cafe.

I sent Sergeant Spearman to see

if he could find anyone who

could remember Rusk being there.

I'm expecting him back at any minute.

Well, eat up, dear. You'll want

to be finished by the time he arrives.

Tasty, very tasty.

Not a lot of meat on it, mind.

No sense in gorging, dear.

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