No Known Grave

by Maureen Jennings

  Clark made an explosive noise in his throat.

  “Vic is trying to tell us something,” said Daisy. “What is it, Vic?”

  The man tapped his watch and rubbed his stomach.

  “You’re hungry?” asked Daisy. “Me too. Why don’t you come with me? Here, I’ll help you up.”

  She offered him her hand and pulled him out of his chair. He took his cane and together they went slowly toward the table where the cook had set up a tea urn.

  Daisy was having a hard time keeping a grip on her feelings. The truth was she was glad the nun had seen to Babs. She didn’t think, in reality, that she would have been much help. She felt like crying herself. It was one thing to bend her mind around the fact of Jock’s death, another to go the next step. Somebody had deliberately shot him and his son. Surely it couldn’t be any of the residents? Please God it wasn’t. Please God it would turn out to be a stranger, a foreigner, not anybody she knew.

  As they went past Babs and the nun, Daisy took a fast peek. She hadn’t thought of Sister Rachel as being attractive. She’d never got past the perception of her as a virgin, a woman dedicated to Christ. However, she could see Melrose was right. The nun was young, probably not that much older than Daisy herself. She had a good figure that the plain frock didn’t totally hide. Whatever lumi … whatever that word was Melrose had used, she did have a sort of glow to her, dark eyes and smooth skin. Daisy kept moving. She already knew she was going to encounter a lot of young women whose looks hadn’t been destroyed the way hers had. She’d better get used to it.

  14.

  SISTER REBECCA’S OFFICE WINDOWS WERE ALLOWING in as much sun as could conquer the wall. There was a large metal filing cabinet against one wall, a good-sized table with a typewriter and telephone, and a couple of wooden chairs. Apart from the simple wooden cross on the wall, it could have been any strictly functional business room.

  Tyler sat down and took out his cigarette case. “Would you like a cigarette, Sister?”

  She went to accept, then stopped. “Thank you, no. I’ve been trying to break the habit for the past two months. It got the better of me this morning, but I am determined to resist.”

  “Will it bother you if I smoke?”

  “Yes. But that’s my problem, not yours. Please.” She waved her hand at him. It was Tyler’s turn to hesitate. After all, he was supposed to be cutting back, wasn’t he? He snapped the case shut. Virtue has its own reward.

  “Will you give me a bit of history of the hospital, Sister? I’ve only been in Ludlow for three days. I don’t completely know my jurisdiction yet.”

  She took the chair across from him and clasped her hands together in what was becoming a familiar gesture.

  “We took over on April 19 and received our first patients on May 3. All of them have received initial treatment elsewhere, mostly at East Grinstead in Sussex, where Dr. McIndoe is doing pioneering work with such cases. Severe burns and facial injuries.”

  “So I’ve heard. The Guinea Pig Club.”

  “That’s right. That’s what they call themselves. Given the extent of their injuries, lots of experimenting with treatments is necessary,” she said with a sigh. “Anyway, we, too, are a kind of experiment. A small number of patients, personal attention, emphasis on returning them to normal life.”

  Tyler couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at that, and she caught his expression.

  “You’d be surprised at how adaptable our residents are, Inspector.”

  “I’ll take your word for it, Sister. They’ve got a lot to overcome. I’d have a very hard time with that, if it were me.”

  “As would I. And some, of course, cope better than others. Fortunately, as I mentioned, we have the services of an experienced psychiatrist who is able to assess them and give us guidance. He comes up from London once a month.”

  “I’d like to talk to him. When is his next visit?”

  “Unfortunately not until August. He was just here.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dr. Beck.”

  Tyler looked at her in surprise. “Bruno Beck? An Austrian chap.”

  “That’s him. Have you met?”

  “Yes, indeed. I was stationed out of Whitchurch when he was in the Prees Heath internment camp in ’40. We … Our paths crossed.” Tyler paused, wondering if she knew anything about the tragedy that had occurred there.

  She gave no sign that she did. “Looking back on it, the wholesale internment of foreign nationals seems so draconian, but after Dunkirk, we expected England to be invaded at any moment, didn’t we?”

  Tyler nodded. That summer had proved to be one of the most painful of his life. He was suddenly inundated with memories of what had happened to him and his family. Maybe at a later date, he’d share them with the almoner. He thought he’d rather like to.

  “I myself was in the Lake District all that summer,” continued the almoner. “But even up there we were terrified of what might happen.” Suddenly she held out her hand. “You know, if you don’t mind, I’m going to give in and have that cigarette.”

  He opened his case, offered her a cigarette, and took one for himself. He lit hers with his lighter and did the same with his. They both drew in smoke with relief.

  Tyler balanced his cigarette in the ashtray that she had produced from a drawer.

  “Can you give me some idea of the daily routines, Sister? For instance, how do you as a religious community follow the rules of your order, as well as minister to your patients?”

  “They remain our priority, of course. We have to accommodate ourselves to our work, not the other way around. If it is not feasible for a sister to break away from what she is doing to join in the saying of the office of the day, then she is permitted to make her observance on her own when she can.”

  So strictly speaking, Sister Ivy had no reason to feel guilty. Perhaps she had an especially tender conscience.

  Tyler felt rather awkward questioning her about her nuns, but he couldn’t rule them out as yet.

  “Did all your community come here at the same time?”

  “All except our novice, Sister Rachel. She joined us two weeks later. She was with the mother house in Ambleside.”

  “I’d like their names. How long they have been with your order and any particular expertise they might have.”

  “Why is that, Inspector? Are you concerned a member of our community has a knowledge of firearms?” Her voice was sharp.

  Before he could reply, she said, “Forgive me. I apologize. That was quite uncalled for.”

  “This has been a shocking time for you, Sister. I can understand the strain it has put you under.”

  She smiled slightly. “Thank you. I am behaving like an utter idiot. These are things you need to know.”

  “They are, I’m afraid.”

  “First of all, our sisters are trained nurses. That is the mandate of our community. Because we are a small group, we rely on everyone to do other things as well. You’ve already met Sister Ivy Packwin. She is particularly good with hysterical patients. She’s been with us for fifteen years. Sister Virginia Wren, always called Jenny, of course, is an accomplished piano player. She has started to give lessons to those patients who would like to learn. She entered the community five years ago. Sister Clarissa Cunningham is our oldest serving nun. She joined seventeen years ago. She teaches typewriting. Sister Rachel Hayden is our young novice. She has not yet taken her final vows. She is showing an aptitude for physiotherapy.”

  Tyler was writing all this down.

  “And you, Sister? When did you join the community?”

  “Ten years ago. I became the almoner of our chapter two years ago. Part of my work involves being the liaison between our patients and the outside world. I arrange for family visits, make sure pensions are correct. That sort of thing. When the patients are eventually discharged, I will make sure they are going into suitable situations where they will continue to make progress.”

  “Did anybody in the
community or the staff have a prior acquaintance with the McHatties?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. Nobody mentioned it.”

  Tyler finished his note. “All right. Tell me about the rest of the staff.”

  “Mrs. Fuller and Alfie are from Shrewsbury.”

  “And the Hughes brothers?”

  “They’re from Swansea.”

  “Reasons for moving to St. Anne’s?”

  “They all said we were offering better wages than where they were employed.”

  “I assume you have references?”

  “Yes. They all checked out.”

  “I’ll need to interview them as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll arrange it.”

  “And the McHatties? What can you tell me about Jock?”

  “As I said, he was a veteran of the Great War, gassed and rendered blind and scarred. But he adapted to normal life by teaching massage to others likewise damaged. He transferred here from Fort William in Scotland.”

  “What reason did he give for moving?”

  The almoner shook her head. “Ironically, he said it was for a ‘change of scene.’ ”

  “Poor blighter. What was your opinion?”

  She considered her answer for a moment. “Jock never struck me as the restless type, and I think the move had more to do with his daughter’s pregnancy. I think he wanted to be in a place where they weren’t known.”

  “But she still uses her maiden name. She hasn’t pretended to be married, which she could easily have done.”

  “That’s right. I think Jock was the kind of man whose integrity was uncompromising. He wouldn’t have lied about the situation even though it left his daughter vulnerable to unkind gossip.”

  Tyler couldn’t help but think of his own daughter. He hoped to God if anything like that happened to Janet, he’d be kinder, lying or not.

  He sat back in the chair, eyed the cigarette, then took a puff.

  “Who among the residents here would have had the most connection with McHattie?”

  “Definitely the five massage students. The Rub-a-Dub Club, as they call themselves. Jock has been meeting them six or more hours a day for the past week. He has always tended to keep himself to himself, so I doubt if the other residents know much of him at all.”

  “Let’s hope he wasn’t killed because one of the students wasn’t happy with their marks.”

  She looked at him uncertainly.

  “Sorry, Sister. Bad joke.”

  He didn’t want to alarm her any more than necessary, but Tyler was increasingly sure he was looking for an insider. Somebody who was familiar with both the routine and the layout of the hospital. The outside gates were bolted. The moon was waxing and the night had been dark. In his book, a person doesn’t just stumble into somebody’s house, in the pitch-dark, without, well, without stumbling. There was no sign of a disturbance. This person knew their way around.

  “As soon as I can get my officers together, we’ll conduct a search of the grounds. That might yield more information.”

  Sister Rebecca glanced down at her clasped hands. “Would it be possible for us to continue with our daily routines as much as possible? Today is when some of the residents go into town. We think it’s important for all concerned, townspeople and patients, that they interact as normally as possible.”

  “I’m all for that, but …” He paused. His eyes met hers. “I don’t see why most of the activities shouldn’t continue. Just keep me informed.”

  “Of course.”

  There was a stubborn set to her jaw he hadn’t noticed before. Sister Rebecca was no pushover where her charges were concerned.

  “As I said, just let me know the comings and goings.” Tyler took a drag on his cigarette. “My big stumbling block at the moment is that there is no apparent and understandable motivation for the crime.”

  “Are you suggesting Jock was the victim of somebody’s troubled mind?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “It is the implication, isn’t it? Which brings us back to our patients.”

  He shrugged. “They don’t have a monopoly on madness, Sister. Sorry, but I’ve got to ask this: Could any of these people be malingering? Faking it? Pretending to be worse than they are?”

  She frowned. “The ones with evident physical injuries obviously not, but those with more mental wounds … I suppose it’s possible. I have to admit, though, the recompense for malingering, as you call it, is miniscule. Alekzander Bobik has no broken bones, no amputated limbs – he can see. But he spent five days in a dinghy in the North Atlantic when his plane crashed. Eventually, the only survivor of five. He shakes so badly, he can barely hold his knife and fork. Hard to keep up that act for weeks on end. I could say the same about Mrs. Bowman, who stares into space without blinking. So much so, we have to regularly apply lubrication to her eyes.”

  “Believe me, Sister, I have the utmost sympathy, but as a police officer, I have to ask the question.”

  “I realize that. I’m sorry if I again sounded sharp … It’s just that these people have all suffered so. Perhaps you could speak with Dr. Beck. He has assessed most of them to date.”

  “I—”

  They were interrupted by a sharp rap at the door and the nun Tyler had labelled in his mind as “the pretty one” popped her head around the door.

  “Sorry to disturb you, Sister, but we can’t settle Miss Broadbent down. She is quite hysterical. I think she needs an injection.”

  The almoner got to her feet quickly. “Thank you, Sister Rachel. I’ll be right there. Excuse me, Inspector.”

  The two women hurried away.

  Tyler made some notes. As well as the three in the Rub-a-Dub Club – the actor, the former WREN, and the mute – there were five other people in the ABLE column.

  1. The Polish flyer. Bobik. Shell-shock case. Mental?

  2. Isaac Farber. Doesn’t move but no physical determining cause. Mental?

  3. Graham Coates. Some sight. Mobile. Also depressed.

  4. Mrs. Carol Bowman. No physical injuries. Mental?

  5. Miss Susan Broadbent. No physical injuries. Could walk but doesn’t?

  Eight in total.

  Add to this the two Welsh orderlies, the cook and her adult son, and the five members of the Community of Mary Magdalene. Tyler thought – that is, he hoped – he could exclude Jock’s wife, daughter, and younger son. All together then, he had seventeen potential suspects. Not to mention a possibly suicidal pigeon. Wonderful.

  He added, WHY? Then he underlined the word several times.

  Sister Rebecca returned just then.

  “Everything under control?” he asked.

  “For the time being.”

  “All right then, Sister. I’m waiting for Dr. Murnaghan to arrive, and as soon as I’ve heard what he has to say, we can begin the interviews. Can I leave you to organize that? We’ll meet in here, shall we? Assure them this is regular procedure. I’ll start with the five massage students. As you say, they were the ones who had the most contact with McHattie. Then I’ll go through the remaining residents in the ABLE group. I promise I shall take their mental states into consideration. And if it is possible I will ask you to sit in on the interviews when necessary.”

  “Of course, Inspector.”

  There was another brisk knock on the door and a man came in. “Breezed in” would be a good way to describe it. Brisk, moustached, formally dressed in a grey wool suit, everything about him said doctor, even without the telltale black bag he carried.

  He stretched out his hand immediately.

  “I was told I’d find you in here, Tyler. Came as soon as I could.”

  Tyler shook hands. “Dr. Murnaghan, this is Sister Rebecca Meade. She is the almoner of the hospital.”

  They, too, shook hands, then Murnaghan turned back to Tyler.

  “Thanks for inviting me. Bit boring being retired, I must admit. Bit of excitement always welcome.”

  Tyler grinned. He knew the coroner
well enough to know he wasn’t being ghoulish. He was just a very capable man who loved his work.

  15.

  A NERVOUS-LOOKING YOUNG CONSTABLE GREETED them at the door to the cottage.

  “Nothing happening, sir. Silent as the grave.” Tyler and Murnaghan exchanged a look. The chap didn’t seem to realize what an unfortunate choice of expression this was.

  “Come on, Doctor,” said Tyler as he led the way inside and up to the bedroom. With the curtains and windows closed, the house was heating up. He could hear the flies.

  “Bodies are in here.”

  Dr. Murnaghan entered the room and stood for a moment. Then he went to Ben, knelt down, and placed his medical bag on the floor. Rigor mortis had advanced, and when Murnaghan attempted to move the boy’s chin, he was unable to do so.

  “I concur with your opinion, Tyler. I’d say death occurred about five or six hours ago.” He squinted at the underside of one arm. “Lividity is intact. The body has not been moved.” Dr. Murnaghan tended to talk as if he were addressing a class of aspiring medical students. He took a large magnifying glass from his bag and focused it on the bullet hole in the forehead.

  “It’s a large wound, and we can see from the sooty residue that the gun was fired at close range. Perhaps less than a foot away.”

  Carefully, he raised the boy’s head enough to see underneath. “No exit wound, so the bullet is still in the skull. I’ll examine the calibre and so on when I do the post. Have you found any casings?”

  Tyler shook his head.

  “Must have been a revolver then.”

  “A younger boy survived. According to him, the killer came to his door and the boy described a gun with a long barrel. He thought it was a rifle, but I’d guess he was looking at a silencer.”

  “All right. The bullet should tell us.”

  The doctor stood up. He tapped the cricket bat with his toe. “Poor chappie brought a weapon, I see.”

  He went over to the bed. Jock’s corpse, too, was much stiffened, and his face was crawling with flies come to do their job. Shooing them away, Murnaghan scrutinized this wound too with his magnifying glass. “I’d say the gun was actually pressed against the man’s temple. That’s why there’s a lot of powder burn.” He checked the back of McHattie’s head. “There is an exit wound here, Tyler. By the look of the pillow, the bullet will be lodged in there. I’ll take the pillow with me and extract it. Do an examination of the brain tissue at the same time.” He nodded in the direction of the dish with the glass eye balls. “Good fakes, aren’t they. From the appearance of the eye sockets, I’d say the man suffered burns. Was that the case?”