No Known Grave (7 page)

Tyler made a note. “So I’m counting three common entrances and exits then? Front, rear, and side doors. If we include the French doors of the consulting room and this fire escape, we actually have five.”

She inhaled sharply. “Yes, you’re quite right. I wasn’t thinking of the latter.”

“Who has the side door key?”

“It is kept in the nurses’ desk.”

Tyler looked down the hall again. “I don’t see how any of the men on this floor could have got out without the night duty sister seeing them.”

“I agree.”

Tyler stowed his notebook.

“Can I take a quick gander at the bedrooms?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s start with the one closest to the fire escape.”

They walked to the end of the hall and she ushered him into a large room. There were three beds, two mahogany wardrobes, and a commodious matching dresser. The windows were long and elegantly curtained, the wallpaper floral.

Tyler whistled through his teeth. “Are all the rooms this posh?”

“They are,” she answered with a little smile. “As you can see, we have retained the original plush wallcovering. It was in good condition and we saw no reason to replace it. For obvious reasons, we call this the purple room. All of the carpets have been removed so that those who need wheelchairs can get around more easily. I’m afraid the beds haven’t been made yet.”

“Understandable,” Tyler murmured.

He walked over to the windows and pushed one open. From here, he could see both the McHatties’ cottage and Mrs. Fuller’s cottage. By leaning far forward he could even glimpse the nuns’ quarters. Between the two cottages was a pigeon coop. Even as he watched, a bird flapped to a landing on the protruding ledge.

He turned back to the almoner and took out his notebook again.

“Who is in this room?”

“Do you want me to name each of them or only those who can get around unaided?”

He shrugged. “Might as well give me the lot.”

“Eddie Prescott is by the window. A former gunner, who is blind, without nose or lips. The result of a crash and an exploding gasoline tank.”

Tyler ran a line down the centre of his page, heading the left side
NOT ABLE
, the right,
ABLE
. He put Prescott in the left column.

Sister Rebecca continued. “The bed closest to the door is Victor Clark’s. Also a pilot. He was on a training mission and his plane collided with an incoming Spitfire when he was taking off. He was badly hurt, and at the moment, the inside of his jaw is wired shut. The fingers of his left hand were also fractured. His spine was damaged and he uses a cane.”

“Will he be able to fly again?”

“We’re not sure. His jaw will mend and so should his fingers. We don’t yet know about his spine.”

She went to the third bed. There was a stack of playbills piled on the floor next to it.

“Over here is Nigel Melrose, our Olivier, as we call him. He’s our oldest patient. He’s fifty.”

“Not a military casualty then?”

“He’s actually an actor. Or at least he was. In fact, he was performing in a Shaftesbury Avenue theatre when there was a bombing raid. He was hit with shrapnel.”

“Poor bloke. That can’t be good for his career.”

“Unfortunately, no. He is dreadfully disfigured and his sight was affected. But he is ambulatory and I’d say his morale is good.” She smiled. “He was one of the patients you saw at the window. He always manages to give the impression he’s about to step into a play by Noel Coward. All three of these men were students in Sergeant McHattie’s class. We’re certainly hoping it might provide a new career for them.”

Tyler made a note. Nigel Melrose:
ABLE
; Victor Clark: questionable. He nodded to Sister Rebecca that they could move on.

The next room was indeed as posh as the first, with the same high ceiling and deep windows. The wallpaper pattern here was outsized ferns.

“Let me guess,” Tyler said. “This is referred to as the Green Room?”

“Quite right.”

This room also contained three beds, two wardrobes, and an antique dresser, in the same layout. Again Tyler went to the window and looked out. Another good view of the cottages.

The almoner continued. “The bed by the window is Jeremy Bancroft’s. He’s a Canadian and was flying with the
RCAF
.”

“Another plane crash?”

“Yes. He was just returning from a mission over France. Ran into bad weather over Dover. He has lost his sight and he incurred serious burns. He’s in a wheelchair for now.” Again there was the involuntary sigh. “He is engaged to be married to an English girl. She hasn’t seen him since the crash.”

“You think she’s in for a shock?” Tyler asked.

“Most definitely. Nothing prepares you for what burning gasoline can do to human tissue. But after a while you get used to it. If she can weather the initial shock, perhaps they’ll be all right. Jeremy was also studying massage with Mr. McHattie.”

Tyler put Bancroft’s name in the left-hand column:
NOT ABLE
.

“The other two men in this room are Herb Mullin and Alekzander Bobik. Mr. Mullin is another colonial. An Aussie. Also with Bomber Command. You can definitely put him on the ‘not able’ list. He has no feet. They were shattered when his bomber crashed.” She indicated the remaining bed. “Mr. Bobik’s plane was downed in the Channel. He is physically able, but he remains in a state of shock from his ordeal and cannot stop shaking.”

Tyler put Bobik’s name on his
ABLE
list, also with a question mark.

They proceeded to the third room, not speaking.

Except for the colour scheme, the Blue Room was identical to the previous two. Sister Rebecca continued with her descriptions. Her voice was dry and matter of fact, but she was only human and her sympathies slipped through.

“Over here by the window sleeps Vadim Bhatti, our wonderful little Gurkha. I say ‘little’ not in any patronizing way, but he is quite small. He was injured by artillery shrapnel and cannot see. He also has lost his English. Apparently, he could speak impeccable English before the injury but now doesn’t seem to understand it at all and will only speak Burmese.” She flashed Tyler a brief smile. “You don’t happen to know Burmese, do you?”

“ ’Fraid not, Sister. I never got farther than the trenches.”

“We are hoping to get somebody to visit him soon from his old regiment. Someone who can talk to him.”

Tyler added the Gurkha to the
NOT ABLE
list.

She moved on. “This bed belongs to Isaac Farber, another
RAF
pilot, whose Spitfire crashed in the Channel. He is Jewish.” She frowned. “He says that the Nazis have imprisoned his entire family somewhere in Poland. They are specifically targeting Jewish civilians.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve heard this.” Tyler shook his head. “If it’s true, it gives us a darn good reason to win this war.”

They headed for the last room.

“We have four men in here, as it is the largest. Be prepared. We refer to it as the Red Room for good reason. Lady Cooper seemed to like vibrant colours.”

Tyler felt as if he had walked into the mind of an inebriated Impressionist painter. The flock wallcovering featured huge cabbage roses, the Victorian delight, splashed from floor to
ceiling. The white trim only served to accentuate the brightness of the wallpaper. The room was indeed large and managed to hold four beds, three massive black wardrobes, and two dressers. When he checked the windows, he could see the same view as the other rooms.

“Perhaps our most severe cases are in this room,” continued the almoner. “By the window is Ned Locke, who has no hands and is badly disfigured.”

“Another flier?”

“A navigator, actually. All of the rest of the crew were killed. He is more tormented by that than by his own injuries. He holds himself responsible because the plane went off course in a fog.”

Tyler marked him as
NOT ABLE
.

“Next to him is Donald Barnard, who is blind. He was piloting a Lancaster that was hit by flak. The gas tank exploded and burned off most of his face. Somehow or other he managed to fly it home and save the lives of his crew.”

NOT ABLE
.

“In this bed is Sidney Hill, a civilian injured in a bombing raid in Birmingham. Both legs were amputated and he is quite deaf. The saddest thing is he has two young children.”

NOT ABLE
.

“Here is Graham Coates. He is our youngest patient, just nineteen. He was working at a munitions factory when there was an explosion. Five people died and he suffered severe burns to most of his body.”

“Was that at Bridgend?” Tyler asked.

She nodded. “That’s the one … Graham has sight, albeit poor, and he is mobile. But he is badly disfigured and unfortunately remains in a state of depression.”

Tyler added Coates’s name to his
ABLE
list, but again with a question mark.

“You said earlier that some of the patients had been known to wander. Which ones?”

“We did have a case previously, but he went back to East Grinstead. He needed more help than we were able to provide. Of our current patients, we do have to keep an eye on Vadim. Even though he is blind, he still tries to get out.”

Tyler made a note.

The final thing to inspect was a huge, marble-tiled bathroom and the separate toilet next to it. The entrance was from the hall just in front of the nurses’ desk.

“We are given licence to use as much hot water as we wish,” said Sister Rebecca. “Many patients find a saline bath to be soothing.”

They went back into the hall. There was less sunlight now. Clouds were moving in – or maybe that was just his mood, Tyler thought. It wasn’t easy to be given a tour like this.

Sister Rebecca had spoken without sentimentality but with much compassion. As for him, his policeman’s mind was concentrating on
ABLE, NOT ABLE
. Possible assassin, not a possible assassin.

NOT ABLES
were definitely predominating, and he felt a slightly irrational sense of relief. He didn’t want his brutal killer to be a tormented patient.

“Those are all our male patients, Inspector. Shall we go to the third floor?”

At that moment, they heard rapid footsteps on the stairs and one of the sisters appeared.

The nun halted abruptly when she saw Tyler and the almoner. “Beg pardon. I realized I’d left me mug on me desk. It’s me special one.”

Sister Rebecca nodded at her. “Sister Ivy, I don’t believe you’ve met Inspector Tyler yet. He’s conducting the investigation into the … the, er, deaths.”

The other nun was a husky woman, her broad cheekbones ruddy and sprinkled with freckles. Like Sister Rebecca, she wore a plain blue frock and a short black veil, but whereas the almoner was neat and composed, Sister Ivy was definitely rumpled. Tyler couldn’t help but notice she had spilled what looked like some of her cocoa down her front.

She blinked nervously at Tyler. “What would ’ee like to know?” She was a Shropshire woman.

Tyler smiled reassuringly. “First off, the obvious. Did you hear anything at all last night?”

“Nowt. All quiet on the Western Front the whole time.” Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she ducked her head. “Who could have done such a dreadful wicked thing, Inspector? Young Ben McHattie was hardly out of short trousers. And Jock? A good man through and through. What on earth happened?”

“I can’t give you an answer yet, Sister. Anything you can tell me could be of help. Anything at all.”

Sister Ivy pointed at the sole chair. “Do ’ee mind if I sits meself down? I’ve been shaky on me pins all morning. Completely knackered is the truth.”

“Allow me,” said Tyler as he pulled out the chair. The nun plonked herself down with a sigh. “That’s better,” she said with a grin. She had big, widely spaced teeth, and her smile was infectious.

She was so unpretentious he couldn’t help but smile in return. Sister Ivy was the kind of nurse who would always be described as jolly.

“Where were I?” she asked.

“I was just asking about last night. I’m sure you have your routine. Did anything out of the ordinary take place?”

He thought he saw fear flash across her eyes, but it was gone so fast he couldn’t be sure.

“Well, I come on duty at eleven. Patients was all asleep by then. As they was supposed to be. We goes to bed early here ’cos we gets up with the dawn. Sister Rachel, who was on evening duty, handed me her report. All present and correct.”

“Did you go to check in on the patients when you first arrived?”

“Not right then. I didn’t want to disturb nobody. Some of them is light sleepers. As long as the previous sister says all is well, which Sister Rachel did say, I don’t do me first round until midnight.”

“Then did you go into each room?”

“Aye.”

“Any problems?”

“None. What’s I mean is, no unforeseen problems. I ’as to help Mr. Locke to the toilet at least once a night.” She lowered her eyes. “ ’E’s got no ’ands, see. ’E usually needs to go about one o’clock. Then I got ’im settled back in bed.” She paused, and Tyler thought she was preparing her words. “Everybody was fast asleep. I checks to make sure they ’aven’t kicked off their covers or they’re not ’aving a nightmare. They whimpers and twitches if they is, so I might just wait to see if they’re going to wake up and need another sleeping draught or if it will just pass. They was all peaceful last night, bless ’em.”

“Did you do another round after that?” he asked.

“Oh yes. We go every hour. Then the last one is at half past five. They start getting up about six.”

“Does your round include going to the third floor to check on the women patients?”

“It does. They aren’t no trouble. There’s only four of them.”

“How long would that take you?”

“No more than ten minutes at the most. They each have a bell by theys bed, see. They can ring if they need anything. Never do.”

“In between rounds, did you stay at your desk the entire time, Sister?”

She shot a glance at Sister Rebecca. “Course I did. Except for when I has me tea break at a quarter past two. I made some cocoa on the spirit stove and I also used the toilet. Otherwise I was sat right there without budging the whole night. As I’m supposed to.”