No Known Grave (12 page)

Tyler quickly unloaded the remaining pellets to the ground. The almoner crouched down beside the crying man.

“Calm down, Alfie. Please get hold of yourself.”

Alfie continued to sob. “Prince has gone. Blackie killed him.” He went to stand up. “I’ll get him for that.”

Tyler put his hand on his shoulder and shoved him back down. “No you won’t. You will sit right there and tell me what’s going on.”

Alfie Fuller had a rather squashed face, as if the force of the explosion that had damaged his brain had squeezed everything
together. Tufts of pale, downy hair sprang every which way on his head, giving the impression of an unformed chick. The rest of his body was normal, short and wiry. Before Alfie had a chance to respond, Mrs. Fuller came running out of the main house.

“Alfie, my Lord. What are you doing?”

“Ma, Blackie killed Prince.” Alfie’s cheek was deeply scratched and bleeding. He dabbed at it. “He hurt me.”

Mrs. Fuller put her hand to her chest, gasping for breath. She addressed Tyler and Sister Rebecca.

“I tried to explain to him what happened to Jock and Ben. Why the policemen are here. I didn’t know if he understood or not. Then the next thing I know he’s taken off on me, saying he has to check on the pigeons.” She swivelled to face her son. “Alfie Fuller, you are a bad boy. You know you’re not supposed to have anything to do with those birds.”

Alfie looked up at her, his eyes filled with tears. “But I had to, Ma. Mr. Mac has gone. Somebody has to tend to them. And Ma, Prince ain’t in the coop and he should be. If Blackie didn’t get to him, where is he?”

“I don’t know, son.” She noticed the pellet gun that Tyler was holding. “I hid it from him.” She grimaced. “At least, I thought I’d hid it.”

“He can’t go firing off pellet guns at random,” said Tyler. “They can be bloody dangerous. I’m going to have to confiscate it.”

“Please do. You’d be doing us a favour,” said Mrs. Fuller. “Mr. McHattie gave it to him to hunt rabbits, but he never should have.” She looked back at her son. “Come on, Alfie. You’re supposed to be helping me get the lunch ready.”

“I’ll have to have a talk with him,” said Tyler.

Mrs. Fuller scowled. “He won’t understand. He’s not quite right in his head is our Alfie.”

Tyler turned to the almoner. “Perhaps you could be present, Sister?”

The man got to his feet and his mother immediately grabbed him by the arm, giving him a little shake. “You’ll be the death of me, Alfred Fuller. One more speck of trouble from you and you’re going to the institution. Now come and get cleaned up.”

Alfie looked chastened. “I’m sorry, Ma. I won’t be any trouble again.”

They went off and Tyler turned back to Sister Rebecca. “You didn’t tell me the whole story about Alfie.”

“I was about to, but other things took over.”

Tyler beckoned to the constable who was stationed at the front door of the McHattie cottage.

“Mady. There’s an injured cat in the potato patch. See if you can lure it in. We’ll have to get it seen to.”

“There’s a net in the pigeon shed,” said the almoner. “I’ve seen Alfie use it with Jock’s birds. That might help.”

Tyler handed the constable the pellet gun and pellets. “Store these in a safe place, Constable.”

“Take them to my office. I’ll lock them in the cabinet later,” said Sister Rebecca.

Mady hurried off.

Tyler indicated a wrought-iron bench between the Fuller cottage and the nuns’ quarters.

“Why don’t we sit there and talk for a minute, Sister. I think there’s more I should know about Alfie Fuller.”

17.

“H
E
’
S A SAD CASE
,”
SAID THE ALMONER AS THEY SAT
down. “As I mentioned, he served in the Great War. He was one of the Lost Generation, just twenty years old when he was blown sky-high at the Somme. Shook his brain like a sponge in a bottle. He’s all right most of the time, but every so often, he gets frustrated and he’ll go off the deep end. Nothing serious. He throws a few pots and pans around the kitchen. Kicks at the bushes. His mother keeps a close eye on him and he’s never done any harm to a person. Most of the time, he’s cheerful and affectionate, works well as directed. His mother knows how to keep him within his limits.”

Tyler leaned back against the bench. It was more ornamental than functional and not very comfortable, but in spite of that, and despite what had happened, there was a tranquility to the surroundings, a soft, sweet perfume on the air, a light breeze. This part of the grounds, too, was kept in shadow by the wall, and it was pleasantly cool.

“His social development is childlike, but the problem is that he’s an adult physically,” continued the almoner. She paused, and Tyler sensed she was choosing her words carefully. “He can get overly focused on women. This is mostly where his frustration comes from.”

Tyler raised his eyebrows. “How does ‘overly focused’ manifest itself?”

“He just wants to be around them all the time.”

“Did that happen with somebody here?”

“Yes. For a while Alfie was totally obsessed with Sister Rachel.
She is the youngest of our community and she is most attractive.” She gave a bit of a smile. “As you have probably noticed.”

She was right about that, thought Tyler. Even in her plain frock, Sister Rachel was a looker. He hoped he hadn’t been gawking.

“Unfortunately, one day he behaved quite inappropriately.” Another pause.

“How so?” Tyler prompted her.

“He exposed his genitals.”

“Good Lord. What did she do?”

The almoner allowed herself a wan smile. “Sister Rachel is young but not unworldly. She was quite matter of fact. She told him in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t good manners.”

Tyler whistled. “That’s one way to put it.”

“His mother rides him hard, but needless to say she is very protective of him. She denies that he was exhibiting himself. Says he was caught short, as she put it, and was relieving himself in the bushes when the sister happened to come by.”

“Do you think that’s true?”

“It could be.”

Again the almoner hesitated. Tyler sensed the real meat of the story was coming.

“Shortly afterwards there was a similar incident involving Shirley McHattie.”

“Oh dear. What happened?”

“She was returning to their cottage and Alfie was in the garden. She claims he deliberately exposed himself. She told her parents and they were both incensed. Mrs. McHattie ordered Mrs. Fuller to keep Alfie on a leash as if he were a randy dog. Created very bad feelings between the two families.”

“I’m not surprised. I wouldn’t be too happy about a grown man showing himself to my daughter, mind of a child or not.”

“Indeed so. But we don’t know if it was deliberate or not.”

“He was just ‘caught short’?”

“That is not unlikely.”

“But Jock didn’t see it that way?”

“No. There is no father in the Fuller family. Hasn’t been since Alfie was a boy. Desertion, according to Mrs. Fuller. Jock seemed to fill that role for Alfie. He had him help with the pigeons. Alfie kept all the records; he knows the name of each bird. But Jock sent him packing after the incident with Shirley.”

“When was all this happening?” Tyler asked.

“Not long ago. About three weeks.”

“Is he known to have done this before? Have there been other complaints?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

Tyler wondered if Alfie’s habits were the real reason behind his mother taking the job at St. Anne’s.

“Please continue, Sister. What was the state of affairs with the McHatties as of yesterday?”

“Not good. No reconciliation, I’m afraid. Very sad, really. Alfie was skulking around like a kicked dog.”

Tyler swivelled to look at her. “Let me get this straight, Sister. You’re telling me about an adult man with the mind of a seven-year-old, who shows grossly inappropriate behaviour and is known to go off the deep end if frustrated. Yet unless I am mistaken, you do not seem unduly alarmed about him. Do you think he is capable of killing Jock McHattie, a man who had deeply hurt his feelings?”

She blinked. “No, I really don’t. For one thing, he is quite clumsy. The brain injury has affected his balance. I don’t see him walking about the McHattie cottage in the dark without knocking into something. And you saw the poor cat. He missed wildly.”

“Not exactly, Sister. He hit it once. He handled the pellet gun quite comfortably.”

“I realize that, but it’s not a real gun. Where would he possibly get his hands on a real gun? None are allowed in the hospital, and his mother watches him like a hawk.”

“Both good points, Sister. You know him better than I do, but in my book, he’s a big question mark. I’d better have a chat with him.” He got to his feet. “Shall we?”

She stood up. “I seem to be doing nothing but apologizing to you, Inspector. I’m sorry. It’s just that we … we, er, seem to see things from quite different points of view.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her. “Probably a good thing too. The world needs more people who still look for the best in others.”

18.

T
YLER KNOCKED ON THE DOOR OF THE
F
ULLERS
’ cottage and Mrs. Fuller opened it at once.

“I suppose you want to arrest Alfie?” she said belligerently.

“Not at all, Mrs. Fuller. But I do need to talk to him.”

She stepped back and let them in. Alfie was seated at the kitchen table. He was bare chested, and Tyler could see how muscular he was.

“Sister Rebecca’s here. Put your shirt on, Alfie,” said Mrs. Fuller. Grinning at them, he scrambled to do so.

The Fullers’ cottage was identical to the McHatties’ in layout, but whereas the other cottage was neat and Spartan, this one was cluttered with bric-a-brac and too much furniture. Every surface seemed to have a crocheted cover.

“We can talk in here,” said Mrs. Fuller as she led the way to the sitting room. Alfie immediately went to the brocade Victorian loveseat and sat down, swinging his legs like a child.

“Why don’t you have this chair, Sister,” said his mother, leaving Tyler to take one of the straight-backed, velvet-covered chairs. Mrs. Fuller took up her position next to Alfie. The room was small and they were uncomfortably close to one another.

Tyler made his tone reassuring. “Alfie. I’m not going to scold you about your pellet rifle. I just want to ask you some questions about Mr. McHattie.”

Alfie looked straight at him. His blue eyes had an odd, glazed look, like those of a broken doll. “Me ma said he’s gone to heaven. Ben as well. She said a bad man did it and we’ve got to find him.”

“That’s right. Now, I understand you liked Mr. McHattie a lot.”

“Yep. He let me feed the pigeons and write their messages.” He frowned. “Sodding cat. Killing Prince like that.”

Mrs. Fuller gave him a slap on his arm. “Oi. What have I told you about swearing, Alfie?”

Her son looked sullen and rubbed at his arm.

“I don’t think Blackie killed the pigeon,” said Tyler quietly. “We found Prince in the McHattie house. There was no sign that he’d been attacked by a cat.”

Again Alfie looked straight at him. “He ain’t dead then?”

“Yes, I’m afraid he is.” Tyler paused. “Have you been in Mr. McHattie’s house recently?”

Mrs. Fuller cut in. “Course he hasn’t. Martha McHattie wouldn’t let him cross the threshold after what he did.” She halted abruptly and looked at the almoner. “I assume you’ve told the officer what happened?”

Sister Rebecca nodded. “Yes, I have.”

Mrs. Fuller scowled. “Treated Alfie as if he was a criminal, not some poor soul who’s not all there.”

Tyler was about to point out to her that intentionally exposing yourself to young women was in fact a criminal offence when Alfie burst out.

“Mr. Mac was cross with me. He told me I couldn’t go into his house anymore.”

Tears welled up in his eyes and his nose started to run. He wiped off the mucus with the back of his hand.

This elicited another slap from his mother.

“What have I told you about that?” She fished a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to him. He blew his nose vigorously and scrubbed at his eyes.

Tyler waited until he’d finished. “I was wondering about the pigeons, Alfie. Do they carry messages back and forth?”

Alfie perked up. “They sure do. Lots of them. We have the
males shipped to Scotland on the train. That’s right, to, er, to Scotland. When they get there, the man on that end gives the secretary a ring and tells him what the weather is like. If it’s stormy or too windy, they won’t let them go. It’s not safe. Then when it’s the right time, the man in Scotland lets them all out of their crates. All at once. Off they go into the air. It’s called …” He frowned. “It’s called what, Ma?”

“Liberating them. That’s the proper word they use.”

“Yes, that’s right. Libering them. He rings again to say what time they’ve been let out. So at this end, we just have to wait. Can be a long time. Then we look up and see one or two who are circling around. We send out the lure bird to tell them where to come, and in they dive. They’re tired out mostly. They’ve been flying for hours and hours without stopping. So one by one they land. I get hold of them. I’m the one takes the tube off. We’ve got a special clock that we put the band into. It stamps the time, see. But we only use the clock if it’s a race. Otherwise, I just make a note in the book. Then I make sure the birds get something to drink and eat.”

To Tyler’s ears, Alfie sounded completely lucid.

His mother jumped in. “He’s very good, he is. Just loves to do it. Why don’t you show the inspector your record book, son.”

Alfie got up eagerly and headed for the kitchen. He had to pass Sister Rebecca’s chair and he turned sideways, wobbled a little, and slid by her shyly so there was no inadvertent contact. But he beamed at her.

“ ’Scuse me, madam.”

“It broke his heart when Jock said he couldn’t help him no more,” said Mrs. Fuller. “Cruel, I thought. He had no evidence. It was a mistake. Alfie was having a wee in the open. He does that sometimes. He’s a child in his mind.”