No Known Grave (8 page)

“Could anybody have left their room while you were upstairs or in the toilet?”

“Not likely,” she snorted. “Like I said, the upstairs round is only about ten minutes, and as for the toilet …” she dropped her eyes modestly. “Well, I was only in there a few minutes. Besides, if somebody did get out of bed, where would they have gone? Us don’t encourage them to go wandering around on’s own. You never know if they’re going to trip over something. They’re given strict instructions. ‘Do not get out of bed to use the toilet without first calling the nurse on duty.’ We say that all the time, don’t we, Sister?”

Sister Rebecca nodded. “Yes, we do.”

“Furthermore, when I have finished my ablutions,” said Sister Ivy, “I always have another check of all rooms upstairs and down. Last night, as usual, all was present and asleep.”

“It must get pretty dull on night duty,” said Tyler. “Do you ever find yourself nodding off? Not that I’d blame you, mind.”

Sister Ivy shook her head vigorously. “Not I. I does me reports and reads me Bible.” But Sister Ivy had blushed and Tyler thought she wasn’t telling the whole truth.

At this point, Sister Rebecca interceded. “We consider it safer to have a back-up plan. Our two orderlies rotate night duty. They can sleep if they want to, but they are on call if needed. There is a cot outside in the passageway.”

“Who was there last night?”

“Dai Hughes. You met him at the cottage.”

Tyler turned to Sister Ivy. “Did you see Mr. Hughes, Sister?”

Again she blushed. “Aye. He comes on duty same time as me. Eleven o’clock. We had a bit of a chinwag, then he went to his bed.” She looked anxiously over at the almoner. “I don’t mean chinwag exactly. Mr. Hughes wanted to ask something about the medications. We were expecting a new delivery from Boots, but it hadn’t come yet. We didn’t speak long. I didn’t really break the Grand Silence, Sister.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t talk unless it was necessary, Sister Ivy.”

Sister Rebecca’s tone of voice was neutral and Tyler didn’t detect any covert sarcasm, but the other nun squirmed.

She scowled at Tyler.

“None of our patients would be a murderer, if that’s what you’re trying to find out. Isn’t that right, Sister? Tell the inspector he’s barking up the wrong tree.”

Sister Rebecca let slip a barely audible sigh. “The inspector has to investigate every possibility.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s right. Poor men have suffered enough.”

Her loyalty was admirable even if her logic wasn’t.

“I was just about to take the inspector to the third floor,” said the almoner. “You must be tired, Sister. Why don’t you get a rest. The inspector can call on you later if he has to.”

Sister Ivy beamed her big smile again. “All right then. I could do with a bit of shut-eye.”

“Just before you go, Sister, there is one more question,” said Tyler. “A rather important one. At the moment, we have no idea if the murder of Jock McHattie was planned or random. If it was planned, the implication is that the murderer was familiar with the routine of the hospital. Perhaps he knew that Mrs. McHattie and her daughter would not be at home, for instance.”

“They allus went to Wem on Tuesdays. Everybody here knows that.”

“Precisely. In the same vein, then, how fixed a routine is there at night? You’ve described your rounds to me, but do you always take your tea break at the same time?”

She nodded and he could see how tense she had become. “Unless there was somebody needed tending to, I always have me cocoa after me two o’clock round. Just one cup and then it’s back on duty.”

“Thank you, Sister. You have been very helpful.”

“I’ll bid you good morning then.”

She picked up her mug and left them.

Sister Rebecca turned to Tyler. “I apologize for Sister Ivy, Inspector. She is one of our longest-serving sisters, and she is not at all a worldly woman.”

Maybe not
, thought Tyler, but she was rather good at presenting herself as guileless. He’d have to question the orderly about the duration and content of the little chat they’d had. Was it just religious guilt that made her seem as if she was hiding something? Had they simply talked longer than they should have? Had she taken more time than she admitted for her tea break? Was it important if she had? From what she had said, there were short periods of time when patients were not under her direct supervision. But even if somebody had got out, they would hardly have had time to go to the McHattie cottage, commit murder, and return to their room.

Unless of course the murderer and Sister Ivy were, for some incomprehensible reason, in cahoots.

10.

S
ISTER
R
EBECCA OPENED THE DOOR TO A NARROW
passageway.

“We did our best to make it a little more presentable,” said Sister Rebecca. “We gave it a new coat of paint and added wall sconces. Nonetheless, I do believe I can still feel the presence of those maids, going up to their bare attic rooms with their candlesticks, trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb their betters.”

Tyler raised his eyebrows. “Do I detect a whiff of socialism, Sister?”

“No particular politics, Inspector, just human sympathy.”

At the far end of the passage was a flight of stairs that turned sharply up to the next level. Squeezed between these and the wall was a lift with an iron door. Tucked underneath the stairs was a cot.

“The orderly on night duty rests there,” said the nun.

Tyler glimpsed a magazine partly hidden under the blanket. It was the kind familiar to young men, the kind his mother would have been shocked to see. He wondered if the nun was aware what one of her staff was reading.

The stairs to the third floor were steep.

They reached a tiny landing and Sister Rebecca switched on a low light. There were two doors and she opened one of them.

“Miss Susan Broadbent and Mrs. Caroline Bowman are in here.”

Tyler made a note. Here again there had clearly been an attempt to make the room cheery, with fresh, buttercup-coloured
paint, but there was only one small window, high up. The ceilings sloped and there was little space. It seemed dreary to him, especially after the spacious, light-filled rooms the men enjoyed.

“Miss Broadbent is confined to a wheelchair,” said the almoner. “She was travelling home on leave from London when her train was strafed. We cannot determine the extent of her injuries. They seemed to be superficial, but she is unable to walk.”

Tyler put her on the
ABLE
list, with a question mark.

“Mrs. Bowman is one of our saddest cases,” said Sister Rebecca. “She is from Liverpool. Her house received a direct hit and she was buried in the rubble along with her two children. They had been sheltering in the pantry under the stairs. Both children were killed, and she herself was not rescued for three days. She has not uttered a word since.”

“Is she mobile?”

“In a manner of speaking. She has her sight and the use of her limbs, but we can get no response from her. She doesn’t move.”

“Does she have any other family?”

“Her parents are deceased. Her husband is fighting in North Africa and we have not been able to contact him. The poor fellow has no idea what has happened.”

Tyler added Mrs. Bowman to the
ABLE
column, with a double question mark.

“It must be difficult to get the women down those stairs if they can’t walk.”

“Very. We always need two people. But at least we do have the lift, tiny as it is.”

They entered the second room. The walls were painted a soft pink, but otherwise it was the same as the first.

“Daisy Stevens is in here. She was a
WREN
. Still is, I suppose. She was injured by flying glass when an unexploded bomb went off near the restaurant where she was having lunch. She
has lost most of her scalp and has no vision in her right eye. She was one of the group who were studying massage.”

Tyler put Daisy in the
ABLE
column.

“Finally, we have Miss Barbara Oakshutt, who was a
WAAF
. She was injured during an attack on the airfield where she was stationed. Her fiancé, a mechanic, was killed in the same attack. She is blind.”

NOT ABLE
.

Tyler put away his notebook. “Thank you, Sister. I must say these are horrific tales.”

“They are indeed. However, we do our level best to impart hope to these unfortunates. With the right attitude, there is a lot they can do. And mostly they are young people with all the resilience of youth.”

The words could have sounded ridiculously optimistic, but Tyler already knew Sister Rebecca was not one to trivialize the terrible challenges her patients faced. She believed what she said and would stand by it.

“Perhaps I could take a closer look at their individual files sometime later.”

“Of course. And my office is completely at your disposal.”

“Right! The breakfast room.”

“Exactly … Your constable seems very competent, by the way. I’m glad to see more openings for young women in the police force.”

“I am too,” said Tyler. “Although to be honest, I’m still sorting out how to respond to the changes.”

She smiled. “As is the rest of the world, Inspector.”

He plunged on. “I must say how much I admire the care you provide for your patients.”

Her eyes met his in surprise. “I don’t know how one could be other than caring. But as you know, St. Anne’s is a drop in the bucket given the number of wounded men and women who
need help … Madness has been unleashed upon the world. Here we are doing our best to help the victims of that insanity. Ultimately, I know it will not prevail.”

He halted. “In my better moments, I agree with you, Sister. And at other times, I’m not so sure.”

He half expected she would offer him some piety, some affirmation that God was looking after the righteous, but she didn’t.

They went back down to the second floor.

Tyler indicated the lift. “Do you mind if we go that way to the ground floor?” he asked. “I’d like to check it.”

She was right about the lift being tiny. It would barely fit a wheelchair, let alone two people. She and Tyler were forced into close proximity, shoulder to shoulder. She stood with her hands clasped, looking straight ahead. She was almost the same height as he was and she smelled faintly of antiseptic. Tyler’s thoughts jumped to Clare, who loved expensive scent. What brand was it she liked so much? Something French, as he remembered. One bottle cost more than he made in a month. Sort of flowery …

The lift halted with a jolt and they exited into the empty kitchen. Sister Rebecca led the way into yet another passageway. She selected a key from the ring at her waist and unlocked the side door.

A trellis thick with climbing roses ran to a wooden gate in the wall, about a dozen feet away. It was identical to the one he’d entered through when he first arrived. The trellis ensured privacy, screening any comings and goings from the house itself.

“As you can see,” said the almoner, “there are three bars on the gate – a holdover from the previous owners. They’re probably rusted shut by now. I don’t think we’ve used it since we arrived. It was a tradesmen’s entrance.”

“What’s on the other side?”

“A public right of way. You can get to it by way of the road. It leads to the river.”

Tyler walked to the gate, which was indeed barred with solid iron bolts. He tested the first one. It squeaked loudly but moved easily. Certainly not rusted. Neither were the other two. He pushed the gate open and it moved smoothly on its hinges.

On the other side was a grassy, tree-lined path.

He returned to Sister Rebecca.

“It does seem that the gate is usable, Sister.”

“So I see. Obviously, the bolts were not rusted as I had presumed. Somebody has tended to them. But believe me, Inspector, we are very careful to keep all keys in safekeeping. This door is always locked. No one from the house would be using that gate. And I don’t see how an outsider could have entered that way unless they were able to climb over the gate.”

In fact, there was a strip of latticework on top of the gate making it even more difficult to climb over. With the high wall surrounding it, the locked doors and barred gates, St. Anne’s appeared to be inviolable. Tyler could see the worry in the almoner’s eyes. He wasn’t the only one capable of drawing conclusions. Somebody had got to Jock McHattie. And if no one had got in from the outside, the killer must have come from within the hospital.

“I’ve seen enough for now,” said Tyler. “I’d better talk to the residents. Patients and staff.”

11.

“P
LEASE
, M
A
, I
NEED TO STRETCH MY LEGS
. I
WON
’
T
be long, I promise. I’ll just go as far as the bridge and back.” Shirley McHattie put on her most pleading expression. “Charlie needs you, Ma.”

“All right. But only as far as the bridge, mind.”

Shirley left quickly, before her mother could change her mind. The constable at the west gate studied her. She smiled at him but inwardly she cringed. She knew what he was thinking.
“Where’s your husband, young lady?”

But he let her through and she set off along the road in the direction of the Dinham Bridge until she got to the public right of way. She climbed clumsily over the style in the fence. The sun was peeping through the trees and she glimpsed her shadow on the ground as she walked. Monstrous swollen belly. She hated being pregnant. When they first became intimate, she’d been nervous, wanting to take precautions, but Rudy had whispered in her ear, overriding her objections. “
Oh, I know what to do, Shirle, my sweet. Don’t worry
.” But she’d got one in the oven regardless, so he didn’t know what he was doing, did he? She wished they’d had a chance to marry and he was going through this with her. Polly said men who loved their women did nice things for them while they were expecting. “
Such as?
” Shirley’d asked. “
They rub your feet, get you a cuppa in the morning, cook supper on occasion
.” Shirley knew her Pa couldn’t do that but doubted he’d have the inclination anyway.