No Known Grave (3 page)

So three days earlier he’d arrived with some basic possessions, ready to take up
this new phase
, which was how he described it to himself.

He’d put away his clothes and the books he’d brought with him but so far hadn’t determined the best place for his two precious paintings. He hadn’t even unwrapped the canvases yet. They were portraits of Clare Somerville, the woman he always thought of as his one true love. Beautiful Clare, unfortunately vanished into the maw of “war business” somewhere in Switzerland.

Tyler peered into the cup. Was there anything there to indicate he would see Clare soon? Ever see her again?

He heard Sergeant Rowell’s heavy tread on the stairs and checked the clock. It was almost time to get over to the station. Rowell was well over six feet tall and automatically ducked his head as he came through the kitchen doorway. Old house, low ceilings.

“Good Lord, sir. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were reading your tea leaves.”

Tyler pushed the cup and saucer away. “I’m just trying to judge if I have enough for another cup.”

“I’m not a big tea drinker. If you run out, you can have some of my ration.”

“Thank you, Oliver.” Tyler felt a twinge of guilt at having been caught in his little fib.

He took out his cigarette case and tapped out a cigarette, his second of the morning. He was counting them these days. An allowance of ten maximum.

“Anything new on the African front?” Rowell asked.

“Nope. Rommel hasn’t retaken El Alamein, which is a good thing. On the other hand, the U-boats are having a field day. Two more ships sunk in the Atlantic.”

They heard the shrill ringing of the telephone coming from the hall.

“I’ll get it,” said Rowell.

Tyler leaned over and switched off the wireless, then he went to the sink to rinse out his cup. So much for fortune-telling. He could hear the sergeant’s voice.

“Oh my Lord. I’ll get the inspector. Just a minute.”

Tyler could tell this was no ordinary call and his heart thudded. He was always half fearful something might happen to his daughter. Or to Clare.

Rowell came to the door. “It’s the almoner from the convalescent hospital, sir. She says it’s urgent. Seems there’s been some sort of a fatality on the grounds.”

Tyler was already heading for the hall. He picked up the receiver.

“Detective Inspector Tyler here.”

The voice on the other end sounded far away. “Inspector, this is Sister Rebecca Meade. I am at St. Anne’s hospital. Can you come right away? There has been an, er, an incident.” Suddenly her voice got louder. She’d moved the mouthpiece closer. “There are two victims. One was a member of the staff, Sergeant Jock McHattie. The other is his son, Ben. They have been shot. Both of them fatally.”

“Do you know the circumstances, Sister?”

“The bodies were discovered by one of our orderlies. They were in one of the bedrooms of their own cottage. There is a younger boy, Charlie, who was hiding in the other bedroom. He is unharmed.” The almoner’s voice was surprisingly steady. “I am a nurse and I myself have checked the bodies. I would say that death occurred at least three or four hours ago. This could not have been an accident. The shootings were deliberate.”

“Is everybody else at the hospital accounted for?”

“Yes. I have had all the staff and the patients brought together. We’re not that large a hospital and we have been able to gather in the common room.”

“I presume there is no sign of the assailant?”

“None.”

“Is there anybody else in the family?”

“Mrs. McHattie and her daughter. They are not here at the moment. They are known to be visiting relatives overnight in Wem.”

“Can we reach them?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t know either the name of the relative or the address. But this is a regular visit and they are due back sometime this morning. They took the bus.”

“I’ll have somebody meet them at the depot.”

There was another pause. Tyler thought for a moment that the almoner might be drawing on a cigarette, but perhaps she was just trying to get her breath.

“Has the surviving boy said anything?” he asked.

“No, he has not. He is in a state of shock. Mr. Evan Hughes, our orderly, is with him.”

“I must ask you to make sure nobody leaves the premises.”

“I have already given orders to that effect.”

“Well done.”

The almoner’s voice faded out again. “There is one more thing, Inspector. In the event Mrs. McHattie arrives sooner than expected, what shall I tell her?”

Tyler winced. He knew what that meant. “Please don’t say anything for now. You’ll have to stall.”

Another intake of breath. She
was
smoking.

“I can only pray she and her daughter are unharmed.”

There was nothing Tyler could say to that.

“I’ll leave at once.”

They rang off.

Tyler snatched his hat and jacket from the peg in the hall and called out to Rowell, “Let’s go.”

The police station was tucked into the end of a laneway directly across the street from the house. Tyler gave the sergeant a quick précis of the telephone call as they went.

“St. Anne’s used to be the home of an old county family,” said Rowell. “It’s been turned into a convalescent hospital where they’ve got the shell-shocked types. I’ve heard they’ve got some really bad nerve cases, who’re disfigured as well as everything else. I’ve seen them myself in town and to tell the truth they are a bit of a shock until you get used to them.”

“Poor sods,” said Tyler.

“Maybe one of them went berserk,” added Rowell.

They turned into the car park next to the station.

“Has the Austin been repaired yet?” Tyler asked.

“Bailey is supposed to deliver it later this morning,” replied Rowell. “Can’t get the parts, apparently.”

“Bloody marvellous. We’d be better off keeping a horse and carriage.”

“There’s the motorcycle and sidecar in the shed, sir. That’s in good working order.”

“Damn it, I haven’t been on a motorcycle since I was a lad. I don’t think this is the time for a refresher course.”

“The new
WAPC
is a qualified driver as I understand it. She’s reporting for duty this morning. She could take you.”

Tyler stared at him. “What the hell – I’m supposed to show up at a crime scene on a motorcycle? And with a woman rider.”

“I’m sure the young lady will be highly competent.” Rowell gave him an anxious smile. “These days, nobody is surprised at unorthodox travel arrangements.”

“Maybe I can hire a tractor.”

The sergeant grimaced. “Not sure you’d even get one these days.”

5.

T
YLER CROSSED TO THE SHED WHERE THE MOTORCYCLE
was kept while Rowell hurried to unlock the station, which was shut down at night. Tyler eyed the motorcycle, which looked like it dated from the last war. There was indeed a sidecar, also vintage. He sighed. Perhaps after this war, the constabulary would get up-to-date equipment.

Rowell returned, accompanied by a young woman in police uniform. She was almost as tall as the sergeant, and rail thin, her height and slenderness accentuated by the tight-fitting navy blue uniform.

“This is our new officer, sir. Constable Agnes Mortimer. I’ve apprised her of the situation. What little we know anyway.”

Tyler nodded at her. “Looks like the only conveyance is this motorcycle. Are you able to handle the wretched thing, Constable?”

“I am, sir.”

“Let’s wheel it out then. I suppose I’ll have to sit in the sidecar.”

“I do think it is a bit more dignified than the pillion, sir.”

She had a distinct county accent, clipped and, to his ears, supercilious.

“I’ll ring the hospital and tell them you are on your way, shall I, Inspector?” said Rowell.

“Do that, Sergeant. How many constables have we got on the day roster?”

“Including Constable Mortimer, we have six. Two others are on their rest day.”

“Not today they’re not. Get them in. Have all constables get
over to St. Anne’s right away. They’ll need the camera and fingerprinting kit. And I want you to send one of them to the square to meet the morning bus from Wem. Emphasize he mustn’t say a word about what has happened. Just bring Mrs. McHattie and her daughter immediately to the hospital.”

Constable Mortimer had heard this exchange and she frowned at Tyler.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but the women will wonder what is going on. I recommend you tell the constable exactly what he should impart.”

“You do, do you?”

She was quite right, but he was irritated nonetheless. If she hadn’t been handling the motorcycle, Tyler would have sent her to meet the bus. Women were better at that sort of thing. He turned back to Rowell.

“All he needs to say is that there has been an accident and he isn’t at liberty to talk about it.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send Chase. He’s a steady man.”

“Good. Then please get hold of Dr. Murnaghan. He lives in Whitchurch. He’s retired, but he’s one of the best coroners there is. I’d like him at the scene. Tell him it’s urgent. You stay at the helm here with one of the off-duty men. Send the other one to St. Anne’s.”

“I believe he is spending his rest day in Shrewsbury, sir.”

“Damn. I know we’re going to need all the help we can get. Round up all the reservists in the area. Get them kitted out as best you can and have them come over as soon as possible.”

Tyler clambered awkwardly into the sidecar, and the constable swung her leg over the bike. Her skirt didn’t seem to encumber her in the least. She stuffed her cap into her pocket and started the engine.

The motorbike sprang to life with a roar and they shot off down the laneway.

“I presume you know where to go,” Tyler shouted.

“Yes, sir. I grew up in Ludlow. I used to visit my aunt, Lady Cooper, at St. Anne’s before she turned the house over to the War Office. It’s situated on the opposite side of the river from Ludlow castle. Just past the bridge.”

Tyler wondered why on earth a young woman from a good family had signed on as an auxiliary police constable. Not only were a lot of the older members of the constabulary opposed to having women officers, but as far as he could tell, the work was hardly challenging and certainly not well paid.

They turned onto Broad Street. The pavement was crowded with women on their way to catch the special coaches waiting in the square that would take them to the outlying munitions factories. Many of them turned anxiously to watch the motorcycle pass. They could tell bad news was in the offing.

At the bottom of the hill, just as they were about to shoot through the tunnel under the old city gate and into certain collision with a knot of cyclists entering from the other side, they made a sharp right turn onto Old Silk Lane. High stone walls bounded the lane on either side. There was no room for any oncoming vehicle to pass them.

“Sorry, sir.”

“What?” It was hard to hear.

“I took that turn a bit too fast.”

Tyler realized he had been gripping the edges of the sidecar. He felt like a right old idiot. A feeling not helped by the fact that his knees were bent up tight to his chest. There were no springs in the seat and every bump in the road jolted his posterior.

They turned left at the next intersection without any appreciable slowing down and narrowly missed a lorry coming across the bridge, en route to taking Italian
POWS
out to local farms to work for the day. The men sitting in the open back gaped as
the motorcycle raced by. The Italians were always a reminder of the current conflict. They appeared to be very young, and Tyler felt the usual fleeting moment of pity.

The motorcycle bounced across the stone bridge, skidded right, and then raced along the leafy lane. Within minutes, much to Tyler’s relief, they slowed down, and Constable Mortimer guided them into a grassy space off the side of the road, slipping in beside an ancient Austin already parked there.

“This is St. Anne’s, sir.”

Tyler would hardly have known there was a house there at all. It was surrounded by a high stone wall that was itself topped by a dense thicket. The roof and uppermost windows of the house were only just visible.

“We have to enter by this side gate,” said Mortimer.

Tyler unfolded himself from the sidecar while the constable went ahead and lifted the latch on the wooden gate.

The house behind the bristling hedge was rather elegant, with softly weathered red brick, bay windows, and a gracious arched entrance. A concession to its current use was a ramp built along one side of the stairs. What once must have been the front lawn was now given over to vegetables. However, because of the high wall, the whole area was in deep shade and the plants didn’t exactly appear to be flourishing. A handful of iron picnic tables and striped deck chairs were scattered on the strip of gravel path that ran along the front facade of the house.

The front door opened immediately and a woman in a plain blue frock came out and hurried towards them. He’d thought the title “Sister” had referred to her being a nurse, but Rebecca Meade was clearly also a member of a religious order. A good-sized silver cross hung around her neck, and she was wearing a short, dark veil, which covered most of her hair.

“Inspector. I’m Sister Rebecca. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

She was probably his age or slightly older. The brown hair not hidden by the veil was lightly streaked with grey. In normal circumstances, she probably would have had a pleasant face, with smile lines at the corners of her eyes and a fresh complexion. But these were not normal circumstances and her expression was shadowed with worry.

“How is the situation, Sister?”

“Stable. All of the patients and staff are assembled in the common room, except for our two orderlies. One is taking care of the boy, the other I asked to stand watch at the cottage until you arrived.” Her voice was calm, as it had been on the telephone, but he could see her self-control was hard won.

“Good work. My constables should be arriving very soon.”

“I assume you will want to go to the cottage first,” she added.