No Known Grave (17 page)

“I believe Ben was only killed because he came into his parents’ bedroom when he did; his father was shot first. The sister in charge here has been most helpful, but I thought I’d ask if you have any idea what might possibly have triggered this.”

There was such a long pause on the other end of the line that Tyler wondered if they had been cut off.

“Doctor?”

“Yes, still here, Tom. I couldn’t give you a quick answer to your question.”

Tyler felt a frisson of impatience.

“What I mean is, did you have any sense when you were here that one of the patients might snap and go on a murderous rampage?”

“If I did, I’d have taken care to have them closely supervised.”

“Yes, of course, I didn’t mean to imply …” Tyler trailed off. He’d put his foot in his mouth for certain.

“Besides,” continued Beck, “what you’ve described to me I would not call a rampage. There is no chaotic wild killing spree. The killer appears to have been highly organized.”

“You’re quite right,” said Tyler. “I’ll rephrase my question. Are there any of your patients who might decide to kill an unarmed man asleep in his bed? Also, more pertinent, might
any have taken a scunner to Jock McHattie, whether rational or irrational?”

“Nobody. On the one or two occasions his name was mentioned, it was always with respect and admiration. I’d be much more worried about a patient hurting himself than attacking somebody else. Most of them are overwhelmed by trying to adjust to their new condition.” Dr. Beck definitely sounded huffy. “Anyway, Tom, as you have no doubt learned, very few of my patients would be physically capable of the act.”

“Some are.” Tyler rhymed off the names he’d put on his
ABLE
list.

“Not Mrs. Bowman, Tom. She has not walked for months. Her muscles have atrophied. Nor Isaac Farber. He can’t even hold a spoon.”

“Easy to fake that.”

“For days? Months? I doubt it … As for the others, I know Alekzander Bobik is mobile, but his sight is poor.”

“So he claims.”

“The doctor’s report says there is damage to the optic nerves.”

“Both Victor Clark and Graham Coates use canes, but it’s not that hard to act as if you can’t walk properly.”

“Have you seen Coates’s leg? It’s mangled. And Clark’s spine was damaged in the plane crash.”

“Is that in the doctors’ reports?”

“Yes. Both of them were transferred from East Grinstead. I have seen the medical records. They are both crippled.”

“Permanently?”

“It is hard to tell at this point. We of course hope for the best, but in my opinion, neither Coates nor Clark is capable of walking normally, never mind running around in the darkness and climbing up and down stairs.”

It was Tyler’s turn to get a bit huffy. “I can understand you want to defend your patients, but I’m thinking from the point of view
of a policeman. You’ve seen the wall. You know how high it is. The gates are barred at night. The murders must surely have been committed by somebody living at St. Anne’s. And the assassin is not obvious. I’d say he – or, I suppose, she – is masquerading.”

Beck made a tutting sound. “What if more than one person was involved? Could the killer have had an accomplice within the hospital who let him in?”

Tyler tapped his nail on the receiver in acknowledgement. “Now you’re thinking like a copper.”

He heard Beck sigh. “I’m not sure I like doubting everything and everybody.”

“The main problem is that I can determine no discernible motive,” continued Tyler. “Any ideas you’d like to throw my way about that, Doctor?”

“I’m afraid not. Don’t forget, Tom, I subscribe to the theory that every criminal has an unconscious compulsion to confess. Primitive guilt. In fact, sometimes the desire to be caught and punished isn’t even that unconscious.”

“Ah, yes. We talked about that a few years ago when you were at the internment camp on Prees Heath.”

“And I was right. Grant me that, Tom. I was right.”

“Yes, you were. Speaking of the compulsion to confess … I have something quite outlandish to share with you. I want to read you a letter I received this afternoon. It’s anonymous, but according to Sister Rebecca it was very likely typed on one of the typewriters here.”

He removed the letter from the envelope and read it out loud.

When he had finished, there was another long silence on the other end of the telephone.

“Thoughts, Doctor? See any connections?”

“Not immediately. Except it has to do with victimization. The killing of innocents.”

“Such as Jock and Ben McHattie?”

“Frankly, Tom, I am totally bewildered. It seems too bizarre a coincidence that somebody would send you such a letter shortly after two unarmed people have been killed, but why they have done so, I cannot tell.”

“I’ll pursue the physical aspects of the letter, typing and all that, but psychologically, any insights?”

“The general tone is quite anguished. And accusatory.
‘Do they now weep
,’ for instance. And the reference to eternal damnation.”

“Any thoughts as to what massacre is being described?”

But before Beck could reply, there was a loud knocking on the door and Constable Mortimer popped her head in.

“Inspector, can you come, quickly? Mrs. McHattie is demanding to see you.”

“I’ll ring you back, Doctor,” said Tyler, and he hung up the telephone.

“What’s happening, Constable?”

“Mrs. McHattie says that Alfie Fuller was spying on Shirley from the garden. She wants him to be arrested. I had the deuce of a difficult time getting her to stay where she was. She wanted to run after him.”

“Where is Alfie?”

“I don’t know. I thought I’d better fetch you right away. Constable Mady is with them. Mrs. McHattie won’t stop shouting and carrying on.”

Tyler groaned. “Is Charlie there?”

“No, thank goodness. I’d got him to stay with Hughes before this happened. His mother needed some time to herself. Shirley was taking a rest in one of the sisters’ rooms.”

“Let’s go.”

He followed Mortimer via the rear door to the nuns’ quarters.

As soon as they entered, Mrs. McHattie whirled around. She looked as if she might run straight at him.

“If you don’t do something about that pervert,” she shouted, “I can’t answer for what I’ll do. This constable here is blocking the door. He’s a young laddie and I don’t want to hurt him, but I will if I have to. Somebody has to get to Alfie Fuller and cut his balls off.”

“That sounds rather drastic, Mrs. McHattie. What has happened?”

“He’s been up to his old tricks, that’s what. And today of all days.”

She was clearly on the verge of a complete hysterical collapse.

“Be a big help to me if you could say what you’re referring to,” said Tyler. “What sort of old tricks?”

She jerked her head in the direction of Constable Mady.

“He’ll tell you.”

The constable shuffled his feet. “Yes, sir. Well, you see, Mrs. McHattie thought she saw Alfie Fuller in the garden …”

She burst out angrily. “I didn’t
think
I saw him, I
did
see him. He was skulking in the bushes over there. He wanted to spy on our Shirley. Expose himself like he did the last time. I swear I’ll chop his parts off, I will. He won’t be so quick to drop his trousers then.”

She actually started to head for the door. Tyler moved to block her.

“Mrs. McHattie. If Alfie was doing what you say he was, it’s a criminal offence. I’m a police officer. I’m responsible for charging those who break the law. I’d appreciate it if you would sit down and we can sort out what happened.”

Reluctantly, she did so, perching on the edge of the chair, her hands curled into fists by her side.

“When did you see Alfie?” Tyler asked her.

“Just now. Out there.” She pointed in the direction of the garden.

“Did you see anybody, Constable?” Tyler asked Mady.

He ducked his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. Mrs. McHattie started shouting. I came into the room and she, er, she said that there was somebody in the bushes spying on her.”

“Did you go and have a look?”

“I didn’t, sir. I called on Constable Mortimer to fetch you. I didn’t want to leave Mrs. McHattie alone, and short of locking her in, I didn’t see how I could stop her going in pursuit. And as I had not myself seen a man in the bushes, I had to assume she was mistaken.”

Tyler thought Mrs. McHattie might explode at this, but she didn’t. She simply muttered, “He’d run off by then.”

“This has all been a dreadful ordeal for you, Mrs. McHattie,” said Tyler. “And I am truly sorry I cannot let you go back to your own house just at present. We will move as quickly as we can to make an arrest.”

“It’s that village idiot you should be arresting. He’s not right in the head. He was so upset when Jock said he had to stop helping with the birds.” She tapped her finger to her temple. “Didn’t connect. Didn’t seem to realize how much he’d frightened our daughter. So Jock said no. No more coming in the house either. Alfie was beside himself. Crying and carrying on. I could see him going completely off the deep end and getting back at Jock.”

“Mrs. McHattie, I’d like to go and talk to Mrs. Fuller and Alfie. Will you stay here with Constable Mortimer? I’ll have Constable Mady patrol the grounds.”

She nodded. “I’m just asking one thing from you, Inspector. No kid gloves. I know everybody feels sorry for Alfie Fuller, pathetic sod that he is – pardon my language. Well, I don’t feel a bit sorry for him. He knows what he’s doing. He frightens my
Shirley half to death the way he’s been drooling around her. And that poor nun. He exposed himself to a nun, for Lord’s sake! He doesn’t deserve any pity.”

“If he’s guilty of a criminal act and knew what he was doing, he will be charged, Mrs. McHattie, I promise you.”

29.

M
RS
. F
ULLER WAS TIDYING UP THE DINING ROOM
when Tyler came in. He explained his errand.

“Of course he wasn’t in the garden,” said Mrs. Fuller with indignation. “He was helping me prepare for tomorrow. You can ask the residents. Them that can see, at least. And the sisters. You’ve got half a dozen people who can vouch for him. That woman has it in for my Alfie is the problem. I told her and told her that he was caught short and he didn’t mean anything. He’s like a kiddie in that way. Her daughter, who is no better than she should be – no ring on that finger, you’ll notice – anyway, she was the one who made a stink. It ripped Alfie apart when Jock said he couldn’t help out with them pigeons. To my mind, they’re dirty things – but he loves them.”

Alfie came out of the kitchen.

“All done, Ma. I did a good job. Clean as a whistle.”

“Good lad,” said his mother. “Let’s just finish those taties, then I’ll set you up in the activity room and you can do a bit of practising on that typewriter.”

“What?” exclaimed Tyler. “Does your son type?”

“He does that.” She gave Tyler a conspiratorial wink. “He’s fast, is Alf. He’s just got to work on being accurate now. One of Sister Clarissa’s prize pupils, aren’t you, son?”

Alfie nodded vigorously. “I am. Only made five mistakes last time.”

Tyler smiled at him. “How about if we go to the typing room and you show me, Alfie.”

Mrs. Fuller frowned. “Why? Why’d you want to do that,
Inspector? He’s not doing anything wrong. I give him a proper schoolbook to copy from. He only practises when there’s a machine not being used. He enjoys himself. Keeps him occupied.”

“Let’s just say, it’s part of our general investigation, Mrs. Fuller. You can come along if you want to.”

Unexpectedly, Alfie spoke up. “No, Ma. You’ve got work to do. I can go by myself with Inspector. I’ll go a bit slower and I won’t make any mistakes.”

It was clear he wanted to show off his skills and reluctantly his mother nodded.

“All right. But don’t go blabbing about things you know nothing of, Alfie.”

“I won’t.” He hesitated. “Can I talk about the pigeons?”

“He doesn’t want to hear about no bloody birds, Alf.”

“We won’t be long, Mrs. Fuller,” said Tyler. He thought it extremely unlikely that Alfie could have composed the letter unless he was capable of automatic writing, but he wanted to rule him out completely.

The so-called activity room was behind a low partition at the rear of the dining room. Three old typewriters sat on school desks along one side. Opposite was a table strewn with various bits of modelling clay, some shaped into recognizable sculptures, some just lumps, not yet born or already destroyed. There was a tray of paint jars, a tin of brushes, and beside them a pile of used sheets of paper. None of the residents were present.

Alfie went straight to the middle of the three machines. “This is my favourite. The keys go faster.”

He sat down and rolled a sheet of paper into the carriage. He glanced over his shoulder at Tyler.

“What shall I type?”

“How about, ‘The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs’? Have you done that before?”

“Lots of times.”

Alfie began to bang on the typewriter at great speed, not pausing for corrections or strikeovers. He stopped, rolled out the paper at the same brisk pace, and handed it to Tyler.

“How’d I do?”

Tyler looked at the sheet. The sentence was incomprehensible, but the typing was even except for where the letter
w
stuck. This was definitely the machine that had been used to type part of the strange letter, but Alfie was clearly not the typist.

“Well?” Alfie was staring at him, his face anxious. “Shall I do it again? I might have been going too fast.”

“No, no, Alfie. You did a good job. You, er, you need to work a bit on your accuracy, that’s all.”

“I will. I want to get a job in an office when the war’s over, and Ma says I’ve got to practise. I know that story about the fox. Sister said I should work on that a lot because it’s got all the letters of the alphabet in it, so I do.”

“Good. Tell me, Alfie. When you’ve been practising, have there been any of the residents in here? Maybe some of them want to work in an office.”

Alfie didn’t hesitate. “Nope. Just me. I usually come when they’re having their dinner. It’s the best time for Ma, see. When I’ve finished serving them I can come here and practise for a bit. After dinner, they all like to sit together in the common room. That means the room which they have in common. They listen to the wireless most of the time.” He giggled. “Last week some of them got up and danced. Miss Stevens was pushing Mr. Bancroft around in his wheelchair in time to the music. Very funny it was.” He looked at Tyler solemnly. “The nuns don’t dance. God won’t allow them to.”