Dead Before Morning

by Geraldine Evans

CHAPTER SIX

  'He could have done it,' said Llewellyn. 'He was here alone. He said himself it was a quiet night. He could have slipped out, or even brought the victim into his office, with nobody being any the wiser. Even if he didn't do it, he might have seen who did.'

  Llewellyn leaned over the plan of the hospital and pointed with a long, elegant finger. 'I've been checking the layout of the house, and from both his office and the staff lounge you can see over the side-gate. Of course, even with the outside lights, it would be pretty dark, but he could still have seen something or someone.'

  'We'll have another word with him, but not just yet,' Rafferty decided. 'If he knows something, it shouldn't be too difficult to get it out of him. We'll have Staff Nurse Estoce in next, and then Charge Nurse Allward. They were both on duty on Friday night. You'll probably find them waiting in the staff lounge if you give it a ring.'

  With her flawless skin and graceful movements, Staff Nurse Estoce was quite exquisite, thought Rafferty, but as with so many Oriental girls, she was shy and self-effacing.

  Still, she managed to answer their questions clearly enough; at least, until they asked about her duty colleague on the night of the murder, then her eyes became clouded, and Rafferty had to remind himself to concentrate on her answers rather than her face. It didn’t take many more questions before she revealed something interesting.

  'You say that Charge Nurse Allward was late back from his early break, Staff. Did he give a reason for that?'

  She nodded. 'One of the patients had a bad dream. Charge Nurse Allward settled him and stayed with him till he slept.'

  'He didn't ask for your help?' She shook her head. 'So you didn't see the patient at all during this time?'

  'No. I checked on him later, of course.'

  'And you say Mr Allward returned at 11.45 p.m.?'

  'Yes. I noted the time particularly before I went for my own break as I do not like to be late back.'

  'Didn't you hear the patient cry out yourself?' Again, she shook her head. 'Why was that?'

  She gave a tiny shrug. 'I imagine it was only a little cry and Mr Allward comforted him before he became too upset. I was checking on another patient and spent a little time with him.'

  'You didn't notice anything unusual that night? You didn't hear a scream for instance?'

  'No. But, in a hospital such as this screams are not so unusual.'

  'Have you any idea what the victim might have been doing in the grounds?'

  Interestingly, a delicate rose colour tinted her olive skin and her reply was defensive. 'N—no. I couldn't say.'

  Couldn't—or wouldn't? ‘You don't seem very certain, Staff,' Rafferty remarked gently. 'The victim's name was Linda Wilks. She was about your age. Perhaps you'd like to think about that and get back to me?'

  She nodded once and her eyes looked anxiously at the door, before returning to his face.

  Why was it that everyone was so anxious to get away from him today? First Simon Smythe and now Staff Nurse Estoce. If this kept up he'd have to seriously consider changing his deodorant, which would be a pity, as he still had twenty bottles of the stuff that his Ma had got wholesale. At least, she'd said they were wholesale, he remembered uneasily. Staff Nurse Estoce was still staring at him with her great dark eyes, making him feel like a thug and he let her go. It was obvious something was worrying her. What on earth could she be hiding? Was she protecting someone?

  'Find out if she's got a boyfriend amongst the staff,' he instructed Llewellyn. 'Let's have Allward in now.'

  There was nothing meek or self-effacing about Charge Nurse Allward, Rafferty noted. He couldn't have presented a greater contrast to Simon Smythe or the little Staff Nurse. Allward was in his early thirties and only about five or six years older than the other man, but they might have been light years apart. He was tall and elegant from his glossy, expensively-styled, brown hair to his burnished black shoes. He seemed completely at his ease and he sat on the hard hospital chair with a faintly sardonic air, as though he found it amusing to be interviewed by the police.

  'The sergeant said you wished to see me, Inspector?'

  'That's right, Sir. Just a few questions.' After going through the previous spiel that he'd used with Smythe, he asked Allward for his movements on the night of the murder.

  'As you probably know, I was on duty in the male bedroom block, with Staff Nurse Estoce from 8.45 p.m. till 7.00 a.m.'

  Rafferty nodded. 'I understand you were late returning from your 11.15 p.m. break? Fifteen minutes late. Why was that?'

  Allward's sardonic expression became more thoughtful at this. He sat up a little straighter, as though realising he should treat the interview more seriously. Perhaps he hadn't expected his loyal little Staff Nurse to mention his lateness, Rafferty mused.

  'I was delayed by one of the patients,' Allward explained.

  'Which one?'

  'Old Mr Tompkinson. His room's at the end of the corridor, near the little cubby-hole where we make the hot drinks.'

  'I see. What was the matter with him?'

  'Just a bad dream.'

  'You didn't need to give him any medication?' He knew that would have to be entered up on the patient's records.

  'No. I just got him a drink and settled him down again.' He smiled easily. 'He's a nice old boy. Pathetically grateful for anything you do for him. He and I came here on the same day, so I've always regarded him as one of my special charges.'

  'You didn't see anything unusual that night?'

  'Depends what you mean by unusual. This is a psychiatric hospital, Inspector,' Allward gently teased.

  'Anything out of the ordinary then?'

  Allward shook his head. 'No. But then I didn't look out of the windows, if I had I might have seen something, I suppose. I'm afraid I can't help you, Inspector.'

  He even managed to look and sound as though he was genuinely sorry not to be of more assistance, which made Rafferty feel an unreasonable irritation. But Allward was far too smooth for his taste, and he too human to keep his feelings completely hidden. Rafferty wondered how it was that Llewellyn's professional composure never seemed to be ruffled by personal antagonisms. The thought added to his irritation.

  'The victim's name was Linda Wilks. Did you know her?'

  For a moment, he thought he saw a brief flicker of – something – in Allward's eyes, but it had vanished before he could decide whether it had been recognition, fear or surprise at their speed of identification that had caused it.

  'I'm afraid I can't help you, Inspector. But, of course, if she was a visitor to one of the female patients, I'd be unlikely to meet her. Perhaps one of the porters would know her?' he suggested helpfully. 'They get to see all the visitors.'

  'Surely, Gilbert's told you they didn't know her? That they had no idea what she was doing here?' replied Rafferty sharply. 'Neither has anyone else—or so they say. She's a regular mystery woman. Very strange. She wasn't a member of staff or a patient. She wasn't a visitor—at least not an official visitor, which, given what we've found out about her, leaves me to conclude she had a less than above board reason for coming here. She was a prostitute, Mr Allward,' Rafferty told him bluntly. 'Who do you think might have booked her services that night?'

  Allward met his eyes squarely. 'I can't imagine.'

  'Try,' suggested Rafferty. 'There were six members of staff on duty that night. One of them yourself, three of the others were women, which would seem to rule them out, and the others were Dr. Smythe and Fred Brown, the night porter. A limited field for your imagination to work in, I think.'

  'Are you inviting me to smear a colleague, Inspector? Hardly ethical. Besides, any of the other members of staff could have returned easily enough. The hospital would be a convenient place to take such a woman, I would have thought, away from prying families, especially as most of the patients are away at the moment and there are plenty of empty bedrooms.'

  'They've already been exonerated, Sir,' Rafferty told him with satisfaction. But i
t was clear that Allward wasn't about to confess.

  After Allward had gone, Rafferty pulled his coat off the back of the chair and shrugged into it. 'We'll do the rest of the interviews later. Guess who's got the happy task of breaking the news to the dead girl's parents?' He headed for the door but stopped when he heard the swiftly indrawn breath behind him.

  'Can't the Met can do that?' Llewellyn asked sharply. 'Surely we're not expected to go all the way to London to break the news. I hate—' He broke off and closed his mouth tightly, as though aware that he'd already said too much.

  Surprised at this unexpected outburst, Rafferty eyed Llewellyn with a certain degree of sympathy. Breaking news of sudden death was one of the more unpleasant aspects of police work. Nobody liked it. But he was startled to see the usually controlled Welshman show his distaste so openly.

  Llewellyn's pale face flushed and he made an awkward attempt at an explanation 'It's just that, as a child, I had often to accompany my father when he broke the news of sudden death. He was a minister,' he went on in a strange stiff voice. 'He told me it was part of my training for when I went into the ministry myself.' The flush had faded now, leaving his pale face starkly etched with lines of pain. His lips twitched in a ghostly semblance of a smile. 'I've hated having to break such bad news ever since.'

  Embarrassed, Rafferty remarked gruffly, 'Bit of a problem that in our line. How have you managed?'

  'Wasn't too bad in the little country town where I was stationed before. Most of the sudden deaths were of farmers driving home drunk at the end of market-day and the uniformed branch dealt with them.' He squared his shoulders. 'I suppose I've become a bit rusty, especially since my father died.'

  'Look,' said Rafferty diffidently. 'If you'd rather, just this once, I can take a WPC along.' He shuffled his feet awkwardly and avoided Llewellyn's eye. 'Ease you into it gradually, like, especially as this job's likely to be particularly gutty.'

  'Thank you for the offer, Sir, but no.' Llewellyn's stern self-control was back in place—just. 'Avoidance is no answer. I'd rather get it over with.'

  Rafferty nodded, 'As you like.' He returned to Llewellyn's previous remark, glad to get away from such an uncomfortable topic. 'I didn't know you had a religious vocation, Taff.'

  'I didn't.'

  'Ah.' Rafferty said no more. If Llewellyn wanted to confide in him, he would do so. Relieved to have discovered a more human side to his sergeant, Rafferty felt the stirring of a little fellow-feeling, and as they went out to the car, he explained, 'The victim rented one of those anonymous and tacky bed-sits in Streatham for her trade. But her family live near here, according to the Met. Only about half a mile from the hospital. Perhaps the victim was visiting her parents and decided to earn a little extra while she was here?’

  Llewellyn had brought the car round to the front earlier and now it stood gleaming in the brilliant April sunshine. The Welshman seemed to Rafferty to take little pleasure in anything else, but cars appeared to be the joy of his life; this one was certainly cleaned to within an inch of it. He probably offered such ritual cleanliness up as a sacrifice to his dour Welsh god, thought Rafferty and his earlier sympathy dissolved a little. 'I'll drive. Got the car keys?'

  Reluctantly, Llewellyn handed them over. Rafferty knew he didn't like anyone driving "his" car—particularly him, whom Llewellyn considered both fast and reckless.

  His expression resigned, Llewellyn got in. He visibly winced as Rafferty revved up.

  Rafferty reached to take his cigarettes from his pocket. Then he remembered he'd given them up. Instead, he pulled out a bag of boiled sweets, unwrapped one and popped it in his mouth. Glancing at Llewellyn, Rafferty noticed that the Welshman's eyes were still shadowed, even though he kept his gaze stiffly ‘eyes-front’, and declined the proffered bag of sweets with a taut nod. Anxious about the coming interview, Rafferty surmised, sucking hard on his sweet. That made two of them.