“Your front door was not locked, Mrs. McHattie,” said Tyler.
“Jock was responsible for that. He did forget sometimes.”
Again Tyler waited.
Shirley choked back a sob and Mrs. McHattie began to stroke her hair the way Hughes had stroked Charlie’s.
“Did your husband have any enemies that you know of?” Tyler asked.
Mrs. McHattie bristled. “Jock was well respected, sir. He was blind and not a man to have enemies. You’re barking up the wrong tree. I doubt it was a personal attack, if you understand me. There are some troubled young men in this hospital. Ask the sister. Perhaps it was one of them. Reliving some battle he’d been through. Thought he’d nabbed a Jerry.”
Tyler was of the opinion this murder had been carefully planned, but he supposed that didn’t completely rule out madness and delusion.
“Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to see my son,” said Mrs. McHattie.
Tyler turned to the nun. “Sister, would you take Mrs. McHattie and Miss McHattie to Charlie? And would you make sure Hughes stays with them for the time being?” He added the last part quietly, but Mrs. McHattie still heard him.
“Don’t fret, Inspector. We’re not going to run off to reveal anything suspicious, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”
“That was not on my mind, madam. I thought, as you know Mr. Hughes, he might be of some comfort to you.”
“Comfort? I dinna think that’s going to be possible.” For the first time since she’d heard the news, Mrs. McHattie looked as if she were going to break down. But she sucked in her cheeks and didn’t cry.
“When will we be able to go back to our house?”
“Not just yet, I’m afraid. First, we will have to remove the bodies to the mortuary.”
“And when can we give them a decent burial?”
“You will be notified as soon as possible when they can be released.”
“I see.”
“We have a guest room in the sisters’ quarters,” said Sister Rebecca. “You can all stay there until things get sorted out.”
“Thank you, Sister. That is kind … I couldn’t bear to be too far away at the moment.” She held out her hand to Shirley and helped her to heave herself out of the armchair. “Let’s go and see our Charlie.”
9.
CONSTABLE MORTIMER HAD STATIONED HERSELF IN the hall outside the consulting room and Tyler beckoned to her to come in.
“Have the constables arrived?”
“Yes, sir. Constable Chase is in the common room. Constable Mady has gone down to the cottage.”
“He’s that little whippersnapper of a bloke, isn’t he? Flat feet or something, so he couldn’t go in the army.”
“Yes, sir. I would say he fits that description.”
Tyler sighed. She couldn’t help her voice, at least he assumed she couldn’t, but her way of speaking was getting his back up.
“What about the others?”
“Constables Eaves, Biggs, and Stanton are in the foyer awaiting orders. Constable Swinfell is on his way. Sergeant Rowell has sent word that four reservists should be here shortly after noon. He also wished you to know that he has reached Dr. Murnaghan and he will be arriving in about an hour’s time.”
“Good.”
“What is the next step, sir?”
Valid enough question. She’s not challenging you, just wants to know what to expect.
“I’m going to get my bearings first. Sister Rebecca will show me around the hospital. I want you to go tell the constables to start patrolling the grounds. As soon as we have our full complement, we’ll organize a proper search, but they can at least have a look round now.”
“Do you suspect a resident, sir?” Mortimer’s expression was anxious. “My relatives were quite fearful of robbers. Hence the high wall and thicket. It would be difficult for an outsider to penetrate, I do believe.”
“Yes, well, I tend to agree with you. We’ll see what we find.”
Tyler stepped out through the French doors. The almoner came towards him. She didn’t need to say how painful it had been to witness the reunion of the McHattie women with Charlie; it was obvious from the haggard expression on her face.
“Where would you like to start, Inspector? I hope you won’t mind if we move quickly. The residents have been waiting for quite a while now.”
“I realize that.” He was trying not to show how edgy he felt. “Is there a back door?”
“There is. Come this way.”
She turned on her heel and he followed her around the side of the building to the rear, where a door opened onto a narrow hall. The day was already starting to heat up, but inside the main house it was pleasantly cool. The original oak panelling had been retained, and in spite of the linoleum floor covering, there was an immediate sense of a more luxurious, bygone age.
“The doors are closed,” said the almoner. “The patients won’t see us.”
They went through to the main foyer, which was also panelled and spacious. An elegant staircase curved to the second storey.
A faint sound of BBC light music emanated from the room where the residents had been gathered. Tyler could feel himself grow tense. He’d be seeing them all soon enough.
Sister Rebecca proceeded up the staircase.
“The original bedrooms have been converted into wards. We have thirteen men on the second floor and our four women on the third. Their rooms were originally the servants’ quarters. We would have preferred the women have nicer rooms, but it wasn’t practical. We would also have liked more light on the ground floor, but obviously we can’t take down the wall even though it blocks everything out. We are cramped, but as the house was donated for the duration, we’re very grateful.”
The stairs swept upward to a wide, gallery-style hall that opened to the left and stretched along the breadth of the second floor. Deeply inset windows looked out to the front of the house and the hall was currently splashed with bands of sunlight. The four bedrooms were on the opposite side and the doors to each were standing open. As with the downstairs, there was no carpeting, and here a dark wood floor gleamed with the patina of age.
It was impressive. Tyler thought Rowell’s kitchen would have fitted in that hall a couple of times over.
Sister Rebecca gave him a bit of an impish grin. “Those Victorians knew how to waste space when they wanted to. The generosity of the design of this house is itself healing. It also makes it easier for our wheelchair-bound patients to get around.”
She indicated an alcove a few feet to the right of the staircase. “We call this the nurses’ station, although it barely deserves the name. There was originally a good-sized linen cupboard just there, and we were able to open it up sufficiently to make room for the desk.” She pointed at two cabinets behind the desk. “We use these to store medications and medical utensils. And here—” she pulled open the lower drawer “—we have a spirit stove and kettle for the sister on night duty to make tea or cocoa when she has her break.”
He could tell she was rather proud of their ingenuity.
Tyler went and sat in the wooden chair behind the desk. The desk was strictly functional, with a night lamp and a single drawer. Somebody had left a silver mug in which he could see the remains of cocoa.
“Who was on duty last night?”
“Sister Ivy Packwin.”
“And presumably she hasn’t reported anything untoward?”
“Nothing. She was as shocked as all of us when we heard the news.”
From where he sat, there was a clear view down the hall as far as the side window where he’d seen the fire escape.
Tyler stood up. “I’d better take a look at that.”
The sash window opened smoothly and the sill was low. He climbed out onto the iron steps. They were steep, dropping almost vertically to the path. He half-slid to the bottom and then turned and came back up as fast as he could. Once he had clambered back inside, he was panting. The fire escape would only be an easy exit
for the agile.
The almoner waited.
“Sister, I’m going to need a list of all the residents, both patients and staff. I know I’ll be meeting them shortly, but any information from you now would be helpful. For instance, how many of the patients are actually mobile and physically able?”
She hesitated. “I understand what you need to know, Inspector, but from our point of view the answer is not necessarily simple. All of our patients have a disability of some kind, whether it be mental or physical. Sometimes it is both.”
He regarded her quizzically. “Details please.”
“As I mentioned, we have seventeen patients in total: thirteen men and four women. I would say that eight of the men are clearly incapable, because they are either blind or unable to walk. In some cases, both.”
Tyler took out his notebook and pencil. “What about the women?”
“One is blind. One has partial sight and is mobile. The other two are afflicted with severe psychosomatic troubles and are confined to wheelchairs.”
“But physically there’s nothing wrong with them?”
“I suppose you could say that.”
Tyler chewed on his pencil for a moment. “If I’ve done my arithmetic properly, I count eight able-bodied people. Five of them are men.”
“Technically speaking there are five, but as with our two female patients, two of the men have psychosomatic illnesses that incapacitate them.”
“But there is no physical injury? They can see and they can walk if they have to?”
“Yes.”
Sorry, Sister, I know you are being loyal and protective of your patients, but at the moment, they are all suspects. That’s how it goes with a murder investigation.
“Other than the front and back doors, are there any other entrances to the hospital?”
“There is a door on the east side. It was originally reserved for the servants, who slept on the second floor. The stairs from those quarters lead into a passageway that can be accessed through here.” She pointed to the door just a few feet behind where they were standing.
“Do you use that door?”
“Hardly ever. It’s kept locked. We try to keep a close eye on the comings and goings of our residents and prefer that those who can walk make use of the main staircase.”
“And if they can’t walk?”
“We have a small lift. We were able to open the original dumb waiter in the kitchen. It’s a bit inconvenient because it means the access is from there – and we weren’t able to install it all the way up. The women patients have to be helped down to the second floor, but it’s still a godsend.”
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 indicate
d 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.
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