No Known Grave (26 page)

Murnaghan sniffed. “Think of everything, don’t they. Make it sound easy.”

“As easy as killing a pigeon,” Tyler added.

“Ha. The avian. I did examine it, and the neck was twisted. It wasn’t broken because it flew into a window.” The coroner shook his head. “But surely some benighted renegade commando didn’t wander into St. Anne’s?”

“I don’t know. The main camp is way up in the wilds of Scotland.”

“If it is one of them, they’re blown a bit off course, wouldn’t you say?” Murnaghan chewed on his inner lip, then he got unsteadily to his feet. “I’m fading fast. I’ll clean up the corpses and I should be able to release them sometime tomorrow.”

“I’ll inform Sister Rebecca. She’ll know what to do about Sister Ivy’s burial. I assume Mrs. McHattie will claim her husband and son.”

Tyler pulled the sheet back over Ben’s face and helped the doctor to push the gurneys back to the recess.

46.

G
IVEN THIS NEW INFORMATION
, T
YLER KNEW WHO HE
had to talk to – and face to face. He said his goodbyes to the pallid doctor and went to get Constable Mortimer. He found her sitting outside by the motorcycle, reading some kind of pamphlet. When she saw him approaching, she quickly stuffed it in her pocket and stood up, offering no explanation. He wondered if she was studying how to permanently silence an enemy in the field, but then thought he was being morbid. It was probably one of those Cooking for Victory books that all the women were reading.

“I’ve got to make one more stop, Constable, then we can call it a day here. Did you get some tea?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you. I’m quite refreshed.”

“Good. It’s on the way out of town. I’ll direct you.”

He climbed back into the sidecar, a task that didn’t seem to get any easier. Constable Mortimer revved the motorbike into a roar and, with a jerk severe enough to induce whiplash, got to top speed in a split second. They raced out of the hospital grounds and onto the main road, avoiding by the skin of their teeth a flock of sheep wending its innocent way to the other side of the road. If it hadn’t been for the fact that he had to tell her what route to follow, Tyler would have closed his eyes.

“Turn left at the top of the hill and proceed along to the end of the lane, where there is a large building and grounds. Anything you see or hear from this point on must not be talked about. I need hardly remind you that we are at war.”

Although it was officially an army laundry, the Old Rectory
was indeed an unlikely looking one. Lorries came and went at strange hours, there were an awful lot of people living in special huts on the grounds, and the entrance gate was guarded by men in army uniform. What you don’t know won’t hurt you was the credo by which people were learning to live these days. The rectory was, in fact, now being used as a radio receiving station and employed dozens of people whose job it was to intercept any messages from occupied Europe and forward them to Bletchley Park for decoding. Two years ago, circumstances had made Tyler acquainted with Mr. Grey, the man in charge of these special operations, the man with a pipeline to
MI5
, the intelligence-gathering department of the War Office. Grey by name, grey by nature, was how Tyler thought of him, but sometimes he suspected the colourlessness was a kind of camouflage meant to lull people into dismissing him.

As they approached the entrance to the rectory grounds, Mortimer was forced to come to a halt. A wooden barrier prevented them from going any farther. A soldier stepped out of the side lodge.

“What is the nature of your business, sir?” he asked, directing his question at Tyler.

“I’m Detective Inspector Tyler of the Shropshire constabulary. I’d like to speak to Mr. Grey.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but please inform him it’s urgent. He knows who I am.”

“May I see your identification, sir?”

Tyler handed it over and the soldier studied it carefully. Nothing perfunctory about this man.

“And yours, Miss?”

She gave him her card.

“Cut your engine and wait here, please.”

Still holding both cards, he went back to the lodge. There was another soldier inside and the first fellow handed over
the identity cards and said something Tyler couldn’t hear. The other man picked up a telephone. Mortimer in the meantime was sitting still and quiet. If she was curious about all this heavy security, she didn’t express any of it. After a few moments, the inside man replaced the receiver and handed the cards back to the first soldier, who returned to the motorcycle.

“You can go to Mr. Grey’s office. Do you know where it is?”

“Third floor through third door.”

“That’s it.” The soldier was looking more relaxed. He smiled at Mortimer. “We don’t allow any motorized bikes on the grounds proper, Miss. They tend to make too much noise. You can park it around the corner while you wait.”

She dismounted and Tyler had no choice but to make the usual awkward clamber out of the sidecar.

“I shouldn’t be long.”

Except for some wooden huts at the far side, the inner courtyard of the rectory seemed hardly touched by the war. Trees and flowering bushes surrounded a lush green lawn, not yet commandeered for vegetables. Three or four peacocks strutted around, dragging their gorgeous tails behind them. Two women in summer frocks were sitting on one of the benches lining the edge of the grass, their faces upturned to the sun as if they craved it.

Tyler was walking across to the main building when a door opened and a young man emerged. He was in the formal “uniform” of the civil servant, a grey three-piece suit, close-cropped hair, spectacles. Except for the fact that he was short and a decade or more younger, Tyler thought he might have been looking at Grey’s twin. The man hurried over, his hand outstretched in greeting. Well that was different anyway.

“Inspector, Bill Nesbitt here. I’m afraid Mr. Grey has had to go down to London unexpectedly. I’m his assistant. The guard said your business was urgent. How can I help?”

Tyler shook the proffered hand. Mr. Nesbitt seemed to have better public relations skills than his boss. He was actually smiling.

He glanced around the quiet quadrangle. The young women were gathering up their handbags and getting up from the bench.

“I don’t mind talking out here, if you don’t.”

“What?” Nesbitt also looked around as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Good idea, actually. It’s always nice to have some fresh air, wouldn’t you say?” He gestured to the now-vacant bench. “Why don’t we nab that one. It’ll be quite private.”

The young man pulled out a pristine, large handkerchief and flicked away crumbs from the seat. They sat down and Nesbitt waited politely for Tyler to begin. He was a good listener. Maybe that was a prerequisite for an intelligence officer. When Tyler had finished relating the events that had occurred at St. Anne’s, Nesbitt was quiet for a few moments.

“And you think that the assassin had received commando training?”

“There’s not much doubt about that. I was hoping you folks could furnish me with a list of the men who have gone through Ariscraig. There has to be a connection to the hospital.” Nesbitt removed his glasses and started to rub vigorously at one of the lenses, as if that would help him clarify things.

“This will have to go in front of Mr. Grey, of course. I have no authority to reveal that information.”

“I understand. Do you know when he’s expected to return? I’d like to make this a priority.”

Nesbitt replaced his spectacles. “And so it will be. We can’t have murder and mayhem running wild in the countryside.” He frowned. “It’s such a rum go, isn’t it? No rhyme or reason that you can see as to why these unfortunate people were killed?”

“None. I have yet to find a motive.”

Nesbitt was silent for a moment. “Could the killer have been an accomplice, do you think? A sort of hired gun, so to speak.”

“I don’t know that either.”

“You do realize, sir, that the training and development of the commando force is highly secret? It is possible that we might not be able to release the names of the individuals in the programme.”

“Even when there are three murders to be investigated?”

“Even then. Not quite cricket from your point of view, but alas, in times of war, ordinary justice doesn’t always get the first look in. Longer-term goals and all that.”

“In other words, the government will protect even a vicious criminal if they deem it necessary.”

Nesbitt winced. “Quite. Now I do know that for the most part, the recruits for the commando units are thoroughly decent chaps. Want to do their bit and so on. But sometimes a bad apple does slip through. The training requires a certain amount of toughness.”

“Isn’t that another word for ruthlessness?”

“I suppose it is really. Couldn’t do it myself, don’t you know. Faint at the mere sight of blood.” He turned and his eyes met Tyler’s. “To tell the truth, sir, I’m damn grateful that there are blokes willing to do the dirty work for us.”

Tyler knew what Nesbitt was getting at, but in his own mind there was no moral ambiguity to the murder of a blind man, a boy, and a woman. All defenceless. He stood up.

“I’d appreciate it if you could bring this to Mr. Grey as soon as possible, Mr. Nesbitt. In the meantime, I’m going to do my job as a copper and follow up a couple of clues, faint as they may be.”

The young man also got to his feet and again offered his hand.

“Good for you, sir. I personally shall make sure Mr. Grey gets all this information first thing.”

They shook hands and Nesbitt bounded off back to his lair at the top of the stairs. A different pair of women came out of one of the huts and went to a bench, where they sat down and stretched out their legs, discreetly hitching up their skirts to catch the sun.

47.

T
YLER MADE
M
ORTIMER SWEAR SHE WOULD NOT DRIVE
beyond thirty miles an hour, and he was more able to collect his thoughts as they headed back to Ludlow. Dusk was falling as they approached the town, the ragged battlements of the castle turning red in the setting sun. More sedately than he would have thought possible, the constable brought the motorcycle to a halt in front of the hospital entrance.

“Good job, Constable,” said Tyler as he got out.

“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can do to be of assistance? I feel a bit like a fifth wheel so far. Just fetching and carrying, as it were.”

“Thought you were going to say fifth columnist for a moment there. You’ll have to wait for me, I’m afraid. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

“That’s all right, sir. I’ll wait for you in the common room.”

Tyler went in search of the almoner. She was in her office writing at her desk. She greeted him warmly.

“Good evening, Inspector. Please sit down. You look tired.”

He took the chair opposite her and he could feel his shoulders sag.

“What did Dr. Murnaghan have to impart?” she asked. “I can see from your face that it was distressing news.”

“It was. Dr. Murnaghan was able to do all the post-mortems, and I’d say there are three major things for us to consider. First, he found a large amount of barbiturates in Sister’s stomach. Was she in the habit of taking sleeping pills?”

“Not at all,” answered the almoner. “Quite the opposite. She
was fond of boasting that she could sleep on a bed of nails if called upon to do so.”

“She was certainly drugged last night. The barbiturate was put into her cocoa. Dr. Murnaghan believes she would have become unconscious quite rapidly. Which would have made inhaling the chloroform of her own volition highly unlikely.”

Sister Rebecca drew in her breath. “Not a suicide. Another murder then?”

“I’d say so.”

For a moment, the almoner fell silent, lost in thought. Tyler waited until he had her attention again.

“Sister, I presume you are in charge of overseeing all drugs and medications.”

She nodded in confirmation.

“Could anybody other than yourself and the nurses or the orderlies have gained access to them?”

Sister Rebecca pointed at the cupboard behind her desk.

“All medications are locked in there. Every shift I give the nurse what she needs. She, in turn, locks them in the cupboard that is on the ward. You saw it. I check that I am giving her the correct dosage as has been prescribed. She always reads it back to me as a double check.” Sister Rebecca frowned. “I quite understand the direction of your questions, Inspector, but I cannot see how anybody who was not authorized could have taken medication without my being aware of it. I go through my stock twice a day.”

Tyler believed her. Even if somebody had broken into the medicine cabinet, she would have detected that some of the drugs were missing.

“I’d like to have a look at your patient records. I want to see who is receiving sleeping pills at night.”

She went to the filing cabinet and took out a folder. “I should say that we don’t believe in giving pills as a matter of routine.
We tend to leave that choice up to the individual patient. If they are having trouble sleeping, medication is available to them. Otherwise we do not administer it.”

He opened the file. According to the list more than three-quarters of the patients had taken medication for sleep over the past week. The amount varied, but the variation was minimal. Three to five milligrams, and that was not consistent with every patient every night.

“How is the sleeping pill administered?”

“The tablet dissolves better in hot liquid, so it is usually stirred into a nightcap such as cocoa, hot milk, or Horlicks.”

“Does the nurse put the pill into the drink or does the patient?”

“That depends on the individual physical ability. As I said, we do encourage independence as much as possible. They do it themselves if they are able. But the evening round is busy. Usually, the nurse puts the pill in a paper cup. If it’s not there when she returns, she would naturally assume the patient has taken it.”

Her tone was a touch defensive.

“So in fact, it would be easy for somebody to ask for medication, pretend to take it, keep it aside, and use it later.”