Authors: Carola Dunn
Die Laughing (4 page)
Gladys was closing the front door as they reached the hall. “More pleecemen, Miss Kidd,” she said, quite blase by now. “One of 'em's got a great big camera. I sent them round to the side door.”
“Good girl! They've no call to come tramping through the house. But they could quite well get to the surgery through the waiting room. Nurse Hensted should have told them to go that way.”
“The pleece doctor came with Dr. Curtis. He's in there now, with the sergeant, looking at theâ”
“That's quite enough of that, Gladys, thank you very much! You'd better stay here in the hall to answer the door in case any more of them turn up.”
“Sergeant Mackinnon said he's going to ask me some questions.”
“No doubt he'll send for you when he wants you,” Hilda
said repressively. She turned to Daisy. “I expect you'd better stay, madam, till they've finished with their questions. If you'd like a cup of tea, I'll bring a tray to the drawing room.”
said repressively. She turned to Daisy. “I expect you'd better stay, madam, till they've finished with their questions. If you'd like a cup of tea, I'll bring a tray to the drawing room.”
As long as there was a chance of learning something new, Daisy was not about to reveal that Detective Sergeant Mackinnon had already said she could leave. Besides, every mention of tea made her thirstier. But if she waited in the drawing room, it might never arrive. “I'll come with you to the kitchen,” she said firmly.
The door to the surgery was ajar. Daisy kept her face turned away, not wanting either to see or to be seen. As she hurried into the kitchen, the latest arrivals knocked on the door at the end of the passage. Hilda went to let them in.
“Don't touch that knob!” warned Mackinnon, coming out of the surgery. He was too late.
From the safety of the kitchen, Daisy saw the maid turn and scowl at him. “You'd better open it yourself!” she snapped. “And it'd be a sight easier for everyone if you used the door to the waiting room.”
His handkerchief over his hand, Mackinnon passed Hilda and gingerly turned the handle. “Not locked,” he observed with satisfaction, pulling the door open. “Warren, you'd better check this door for dabs first, though I don't suppose it's much use now. Ardmore, bring the camera through this way.”
Hilda came to the kitchen door and said to Daisy, “I'll put the kettle on in half a mo', madam. I'm just going to tell Gladys to send the rest through the waiting room if there's more coming.”
Nurse Hensted jumped up from her seat at the table.
“Who goes through the waiting room's my affair, not yours,” she said belligerently.
“Who goes through the waiting room's my affair, not yours,” she said belligerently.
“They'll be going in there in the end anyway,” Daisy pointed out, “from one end or the other, if they haven't already. Why don't
you
go and tell Gladys, Miss Hensted.”
you
go and tell Gladys, Miss Hensted.”
Hilda instantly protested, “She's got no right to give orders toâ”
“She will convey
my
order.” Daisy employed the tone of voice her mother used at her haughtiest. She tried it rarely, and was always surprised when it worked, as it did now, though she had no conceivable right to give orders to either Gladys or these two. However, Miss Hensted headed for the door and Hilda for the kettle.
my
order.” Daisy employed the tone of voice her mother used at her haughtiest. She tried it rarely, and was always surprised when it worked, as it did now, though she had no conceivable right to give orders to either Gladys or these two. However, Miss Hensted headed for the door and Hilda for the kettle.
“China or Indian, ma'am?” enquired the latter.
“Indian, please.” Maybe she really was going to get a cup of tea in the end. “I hope you and Nurse Hensted will join me. I'm sure you both need some too.”
“Well, m'm, I can't say I wouldn't be glad of it, and I s'pose if I'm making it, that woman might as well have a drop.” Hilda set out one “good” cup and saucer, Royal Doulton, beside the kitchenware Daisy had left on the table earlier.
Miss Hensted came back. “What a lot of fuss and bother over an accident!” she said irritably, plumping down on one of the chairs at the table.
“Mrs. Talmadge doesn't think it was an accident,” said Daisy.
“I don't know what call
he
had to do himself in,” Hilda snapped.
he
had to do himself in,” Hilda snapped.
“I gather he was in despair because he'd wanted to buy into a Harley Street practice but couldn't afford the price.”
“Because
she
spends every penny he earns,” Miss Hensted asserted.
she
spends every penny he earns,” Miss Hensted asserted.
Hilda bridled. “Rubbish, it was her money in the first place, that he bought this practice with. And what's he do but waste it on hiring a nurse, like he was already in a fancy practice in Harley Street.”
Red in the face, Miss Hensted demanded, “Are you saying I don't earn my wages?”
“All I'm saying is you don't need a Registered Nurse in an ordinary practice like here. People don't expect it.” Hilda jumped as the kettle hissed and rattled its lid. Busy making the tea, she added, “He only married her for her money. She ought to of married Lord Henry, I always said, and I'll stand by that to my dying day!”
“Lord Henry?” Daisy queried.
“Lord Henry Creighton, that was courting her before she met Mr. Talmadge. A proper gentleman, he was, treated her lovely. They were mad for each other. But her father wouldn't hear of her marrying a man-about-town, a useless drone he called him, without two pennies to rub together if it wasn't for an allowance from his father, and no more idea how to earn his living than a babe in arms.”
Miss Hensted snorted. Daisy, who was slightly acquainted with Lord Henry, tried not to smile at this all-too-accurate description.
“Miss Daphne's father was a nerve specialist, see,” Hilda continued. “A consultant. He sent her to a fancy school, and she made friends with lots of toffs and got invited to parties. But he didn't like the men she met. He was pleased when she took up with another medical man, even if he was only a dentist.”
“But he couldn't force her to marry him,” Daisy said.
“He didn't have to. Raymond Talmadge turned her head, didn't he. There's no denying he's ⦠he was a smasher. Poor Lord Henry couldn't compete in that department, him having no chin to speak of. Always reminded me of a ferret, he did. But handsome is as handsome does, I say. He treated her right, and there's no harm in it if she has lunch in town with him now and then and goes to a show.”
“No harm!” Miss Hensted's fist crashed on the table, rattling the cups and saucers. “She goes seeing another man behind his back, and you expect him to take it sitting down? No wonder he needed a bit of gas now and then to keep his spirits up!”
“Gas wasn't all he had,” said Hilda grimly, “and don't tell me you didn't know it. That's what drove her to it, if you ask me. What's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander!”
With that triumphant, if somewhat confusing, statement, she poured the tea.
“I
don't believe it,” said Alec, narrowly missing the rear of an omnibus as he swung the Austin Seven around Marble Arch.
don't believe it,” said Alec, narrowly missing the rear of an omnibus as he swung the Austin Seven around Marble Arch.
Beside him, massive in maroon and bottle green checks, Tom Tring chuckled. The little car shook. “Don't want to believe, more like, Chief.”
“I 'spect Mrs. Fletcher'll know who did it by the time we get there,” put in Detective Constable Ernie Piper from the back seat. “All we'll have to do is pick him up. Though I can't say I blame anyone that does in a dentist, do you, Sarge? Self-defence, I'd call it.”
“That's why they have those chest straps on the chairs, laddie,” Tom rumbled, “so's the patients don't throttle the dentist. Do we know how it was done, Chief?”
“All Superintendent Crane could bring himself to tell me was that Daisy found her dentist dead and told the local man, a DS Mackinnon, that it's murder. I dare say we'll find it was a heart attack. Admittedly Talmadge was rather young
to drop dead unexpectedly of natural causes, but it does happen.”
Just my age,
he thought.
to drop dead unexpectedly of natural causes, but it does happen.”
Just my age,
he thought.
“If Mrs. Fletcher thinks it's murder, Chief,” said Piper, whose faith in Daisy was unbounded, “then you can bet your boots that's what it is.”
“Knew him, did you, Chief?”
“I met him now and then socially, and consulted him several times in his professional capacity.”
“I reckon that makes you our first suspect, Chief,” said Piper.
“You watch your cheek, my lad,” Tom reproved him. “You're getting too big for your boots.”
“Fortunately,” Alec said dryly, “I spent the morning and half the afternoon in the East End rounding up the last of the Newbolt gang, with several unimpeachable witnesses, including both of you. Here we are.”
The ambulance was in the drive, so he left the Austin in the street. The local beat constable stood by the gate, surrounded by three uniformed nursemaids with perambulators.
Getting out of the car, Alec heard PC Atkinson say benevolently, “No, nothing to see. Now you be off home to your tea.” He saluted Alec. “Glad to see you, sir.”
“Not much of a crowd yet,” Alec said, chiefly to forestall any comment on Daisy's involvement.
“Not in a posh area like this, sir. The neighbours aren't the sort to stand about in the street staring.”
“True.” He glanced up and down the street. It was a cut above his own street of large but semi-detached houses. Half the inhabitants probably didn't even know anything was going on, unable to see past the trees and shrubbery in
their front gardens. Not much hope of anyone having spotted an intruder.
their front gardens. Not much hope of anyone having spotted an intruder.
“Dead-end street,” Tom commented, as usual in tune with Alec's thoughts.
So casual passers-by were unlikely, and even errand boys and delivery men would not cut through on their way elsewhere. Anyway, Alec needed more information before he sent a man door-to-door to question the neighbours, let alone started looking for nonresident witnesses.
“Round the side, sir, the waiting room entrance,” Atkinson said as Alec started up the drive, followed by Tom and Ernie.
Entering the dentist's waiting room, he recognized the local police surgeon. He had worked with Dr. Ridgeway once or twice, as well as meeting him occasionally on the St. John's Wood social circuit. Ridgeway was talking to a tall, lanky redhead, obviously a Scot, presumably DS Mackinnon.
“You canna narrow it down a bit, Doctor?” he was pleading. “We already know it happened between quarter to one, when the nurse left, and ten past two, when he was found.”
“That's already a shorter period than I'd care to commit myself to. Hello, Fletcher. Come to bail out your wife?”
Ridgeway was a bachelor. Gritting his teeth, Alec managed to smile. “I hope that won't be necessary.”
“Oh no, sir!” blurted the Scot, beetroot red, saluting. “Detective Sergeant Mackinnon, sir. Mrs. Fletcher's been verra cooperative. I let her go home, sir.”
“Good man!” Alec said with heartfelt relief. “I've brought Detective Sergeant Tring and Detective Constable Piper with me from the Yard, but I hope your super will let
you assist with the case. Let me hear what Dr. Ridgeway has to say, then you can give me your report.”
you assist with the case. Let me hear what Dr. Ridgeway has to say, then you can give me your report.”
“You know Talmadge died in his dental chair?” said Ridgeway. “With the anaesthetic mask over his nose. He died laughing. I see nothing to contradict death by nitrous oxide poisoning, though asphyxiation probably played a part. The post mortem should be able to say for sure. Time of death: between noon and two P.M. The good sergeant can place it closer than I can.”
“No sign of injury?”
“Not exactly,” the doctor said cautiously. “He wasn't hit on the head and stuffed into the chair. There are slightâvery slightâindications of abrasion around the mouth, which will probably fade before the autopsy. On the other hand, without a microscope I won't commit myself as to whether a few moustache hairs have been pulled out, as Sergeant Mackinnon wanted to know. But the pathologist may be able to tell you, though I rather doubt it.”
From the corner of his eye, Alec saw Tom Tring's luxuriant moustache twitch, usually a sign of amusement. A glance at Piper showed him industriously taking shorthand notes with one of his endless supply of newly sharpened pencils. His smirk said as clear as day, “Mrs. Fletcher's right again!”
“Perhaps Talmadge shaved with a blunt razor this morning,” Alec suggested.
Ridgeway shook his head. “Not like that at all. Mackinnon also asked me to look at the arms.”
“I'm sorry, sir,” the sergeant broke in anxiously. “It meant disarranging his clothes, taking off his jacket, which you
ought to've seen, but we got plenty of photographs. I was afraid any marks on the skin would be gone before you got here.”
ought to've seen, but we got plenty of photographs. I was afraid any marks on the skin would be gone before you got here.”
“Were there any?”
“Too faint to be anything but corroborative evidence, but yes, I found traces of bruising just where the sergeant expected to see them.”
“Thanks to Mrs.â”
Alec glared him to silence. The less said about Daisy's part in all this the happier he'd beânot that there was much hope of Ridgeway forgetting if not reminded. No doubt the entire neighbourhood would find out sooner or later, but the later the better.
“That's about it,” the doctor concluded. “You'll get my report in the morning, Fletcher.”
“Thank you. I won't keep you any longer, then. See you at the inquest.”
The doctor departed.
“It was his sleeves, sir,” said Mackinnon. “That and the square around his mouth. Rectangle, rather. I don't know that I'd've noticed anything amiss if it hadna been for ⦠if it hadna been drawn to my attention.”
“By Mrs. Fletcher,” Tom supplied, eyes twinkling below the vast, hairless dome of his head.
“You can speak freely in front of DS Tring and DC Piper,” Alec said resignedly. “But while you talk, I want to look at what's left of the scene of the crime.” He made for the connecting door to the surgery. “I take it you've fingerprinted the door handles?”
“Yes, sir, and everything else in there. My photographer's
gone to develop the plates. But I took the dabs of the deceased and the nurse for comparison, and the only place there's any others is on the arms of the chair, where you'd expect patients to put their hands.”
gone to develop the plates. But I took the dabs of the deceased and the nurse for comparison, and the only place there's any others is on the arms of the chair, where you'd expect patients to put their hands.”
“Pity.” Alec contemplated the limp body in the reclining chair. Unnatural death was always disturbing and he had known Talmadgeânot well, and not to like him particularly, but for a good many years. Yet what made his gorge rise was the euphoric smile on the man's face.
That was no meaningless rictus of death. Talmadge had died happy. If this was murder, it was the most bizarre murder he had ever seen.
Forcing his attention from the horrible grin, he scrutinized the area around the lips. The faint brownish patch would scarcely have been visible had not the skin paled to an ivory white as blood drained from the face.
“It was pink, before,” said Mackinnon, who had moved to the opposite side of the chair. “Around the mouth, I mean. Pinkish brown. Mrs. Fletcher said it smelt of benzoin.”
“Sticking plaster,” said Piper. “Tincture of benzoin and isinglass.” It was the sort of obscure detail he excelled in.
Mackinnon nodded. “That's what she said. The marks on the arms have pretty much faded too, sir. There wasna much to see in the first place. Here at the wrists, and just above the elbows.” He turned on the adjustable electric light poised over the chair.
Talmadge was in his shirtsleeves, the sleeves rolled up well above the elbow. Alec inspected the areas of his arms indicated by Mackinnon. “Piper, your eyes are better than mine.”
Piper bent low. “I'm not saying I can't see nothing,
Chief,” he said dubiously, straightening, “but nothing I'd swear to in court.”
Chief,” he said dubiously, straightening, “but nothing I'd swear to in court.”
“What exactly is it you can't see?”
“It looks to me sort of like as if he might've been tied to the chair.”
“That's what Mrs. Fletcher thought!” Mackinnon said. “She noticed the creases in the sleeves of his jacket.”
“Which you had to take off,” Alec sighed. “I realize it was necessary, but it's a pity. Even if the photographs come out well, evidence will have been lost. Where is it?”
Mackinnon pointed to a small table in one corner. On it lay a parcel, wrapped in brown paper but not tied. “I took a brush to the creases, sir, before we took it off, and put the dust in envelopes. If there's any fibres to be found, we should've got them.”
“Well done. Any idea what he might have been tied with?”
“Bandages, maybe, sir, and that's Mrs. Fletcher's guess. I think they're there in the waste bin, but when I heard you were coming, I thought I'd best leave 'em for you. That's the ties for the wrists, ready to hand in the first-aid cupboard. The elbows ⦠Mrs. Fletcher didna mention it, but I reckon the murderer would just use the chest strap. This here, that the dentist puts around you to keep you from trying to stop what he's doing to you.”
The broad canvas strap was neatly hooked in place at the back of the chair.
“Wouldn't that have been enough on its own?” Piper wondered. “I s'pose he might've managed to reach up and pull off the mask.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Tom, taking a pair of forceps
from the rack of instruments. He delved into the waste bin and brought forth a wad of bandage. “Any more envelopes, Sergeant?”
from the rack of instruments. He delved into the waste bin and brought forth a wad of bandage. “Any more envelopes, Sergeant?”
Mackinnon turned pink. “I took them from the desk in the waiting room,” he muttered. “I'll get more.”
Tom grinned at him. “They're talking about giving us a âmurder bag' with everything we need for an investigation. I hope I'll live to see the day. In the meantime, I didn't bring any envelopes meself, and I had a better idea than you did that this might be murder.”
“A nasty one,” Alec said soberly. “The poor chap must have been under the gas already, or he wouldn't have sat still to be tied down. And then the murderer must have stayed to watch him die, so as to be there to untie him. What sort of cold-blooded bastard could stand there and watch a man die?”
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