No Known Grave

by Maureen Jennings

  “Thank you, Sister. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  She flinched a little and her eyes met his. He immediately regretted being brusque with her.

  As they entered the deserted foyer and headed for the stairs, Alfie Fuller burst through the swing door that led to the kitchen.

  “What’s all the carryings on? I was supposed take a cup of tea to Miss Oakshutt ’cos she’s feeling poorly, but Ma says I mustn’t. She says there’s been an accident.”

  “That’s right, Alfie,” said the almoner. “I’d rather you stayed here with your mother for now.”

  “Somebody’s died again, ain’t they? Who is it, Sister? Please don’t tell me it’s Miss Shirley? Please don’t say that.”

  Tyler interjected. “Why would it be Shirley, Alfie?”

  “ ’Cos somebody is out to get all of them. Pa and kiddies. Her next and her ma. I just know it.”

  Mrs. Fuller emerged.

  “Alfie! How many times must I tell you? You’re to let me know when you go off somewhere. What are you doing?”

  “I was going to the toilet, Ma, but the policeman and Sister was here and I had to asks him what was happening.”

  Mrs. Fuller frowned at him. “It’s none of our business. They’ll tell us soon as they’re ready. Come on. Right now, do you hear?”

  She held open the door so that her son had no choice but to do as she said. She rolled her eyes at Tyler but evinced no curiosity as to what had happened.

  Tyler and Sister Rebecca continued up to the second floor.

  The blackout curtains were still drawn and the ward was in darkness, except for the soft light from a lamp filtering through the screen around the desk. The orderly was seated a few feet away and stood up as soon as he saw Tyler. He looked frightened.

  “Glad to see you, Inspector.”

  “Mr. Hughes. Will you make sure everybody stays in their rooms while I take a look at the body? I don’t want anybody out here. Are they awake yet?”

  “So far, only two are. Mr. Melrose and Mr. Mullin. My brother is tending to them. Miss Stevens did come down from the third floor to use the toilet but she can enter by way of the passageway, so I was able to make sure she went back upstairs without seeing anything.”

  “Good man.”

  Sister Rebecca stationed herself beside the screen and Tyler shifted it to one side. The body was covered with a sheet and he unfolded it carefully.

  Sister Ivy, big, pink-cheeked country woman that she had been, was now grey-white as death claimed its territory. Her head was turned to one side, resting on her arm. The strings of a white, cone-shaped mask were hooked around her ears, pulling the mask tightly against her mouth and nose, and Tyler could smell the sweet, pungent odour of chloroform. A labelled vial was by her right hand.

  He bent in a little closer. He could see that the inside of her right index finger was stained with ink. A pen lay on the desk.

  He beckoned to the almoner. “She must have been writing something, Sister. But you say you didn’t find a note?”

  “No, I did not. The wastepaper basket is empty and there was nothing on the floor nearby. Perhaps she was writing her report.”

  A clipboard was balanced on the edge of the desk. Carefully, Tyler picked it up. It held the nurses’ report sheet. WEDNESDAY, JULY 15.

  “She signed in at eleven o’clock, taking over from Sister Rachel. She made her first round at midnight.”

  Sister Rebecca nodded as she said, “Yes, that is the routine.”

  “She reported that all patients were settled for the night except for Vadim Bhatti, who was in discomfort. She gave him two ASA powders. She made another round at one o’clock and then another one an hour later. Both included the women’s rooms upstairs. Two o’clock is the final entry.”

  Tyler replaced the clipboard. Ironically, the last thing the nun had written was ALL WELL.

  The desk itself was tidy. The blotter was straight, lightly used by the look of it. Tucked into the cubby hole with the inkwell and a container of drawing pins was the silver-plated mug Sister Ivy had claimed yesterday. He picked it up. She must have received the mug as a prize at some point because her name was engraved on it, together with the words FIRST PRIZE JUNE 1912. What exactly she had come first in was not specified.

  “It looks as if she made cocoa and drank most of it. So we are to believe that after finishing her cocoa, at her usual time of a quarter past two, she then took out a vial of chloroform from the medicine cabinet, dripped the anaesthetic onto the mask, put it on, and inhaled enough to kill herself.”

  There was the sound of a woman’s voice in the hall.

  “Sister? Sister Ivy?”

  Somebody was knocking on the door that led to the passageway.

  “I’ll deal with it,” said Sister Rebecca.

  Tyler turned to the alcove behind the desk. Nothing appeared to be disturbed. The kettle sitting on the spirit stove was cold, the lid was on the cocoa tin, the silver teaspoon was clean. The matching sugar bowl was almost empty. The key to the medicine cabinet was still in the lock, and so he opened it. The stock was neatly arranged and he could see the space where the chloroform must have been. He picked up the vial on the desk with his handkerchief. Only a drop was left. There was no leaving it to chance.

  From the moment he’d clapped eyes on the dead woman, Tyler knew she hadn’t committed suicide. He knew from experience that having a chloroform mask on your face was not pleasant. When he’d been injured two years ago and required anaesthetic prior to surgery, his every instinct was to fight against the mask that had been placed on his face. He felt as though it was suffocating him. But in an operating room, there were nurses and a doctor telling you to breathe normally, who had their hands on your arms just in case. If you were doing it yourself, it would require tremendous self-discipline not to rip off the mask that was impeding your breathing. He also knew that for the anaesthetic to work, the mask had to stay in place for at least five minutes.

  Suicides frequently left people behind who were devastated by their death; who asked themselves how they could have missed the signs of utter despair. Because there were always signs; he’d been a copper long enough to know that. But here was a nurse, a woman of religion, who was performing her usual duties, who had made herself a hot drink. Nothing to indicate “the balance of her mind was disturbed,” as the official language put it.

  The majority of suicides left a note, some communication with those they were about to leave behind. If Sister Ivy had indeed written a farewell note, it had now vanished.

  He pulled the sheet back over the body and came out from behind the screen. Dai Hughes was sitting a few feet away.

  “I’d like you to stay here and make sure nobody touches anything. Keep the screen up, but you might as well open the blackout curtains. I’ll have an officer relieve you as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir. And … sir?” The orderly gulped. “I’m terrible sorry about the sister. She was a good woman. To think she would do this …”

  His voice trailed off.

  Sister Rebecca returned. “It was Miss Stevens. She wanted some ASA powders. She’s gone back to her room.”

  “Thank you, Sister.”

  “Shall I ring Dr. Murnaghan?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Unless you need me here, I’ll go and speak to the sisters. We’ll need to tend to the patients.” Then she lowered her voice so Hughes couldn’t hear her. “Sister Ivy didn’t commit suicide, did she, Inspector?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

  She left, and Tyler walked to the window at the end of the hall. It was half open. Was this to let in some air or had somebody entered the ward by way of the fire escape? He dismissed that notion immediately. Constable Mady might be flat-footed and short-sighted, but he was a conscientious lad. He’d been doing his job. Even if the killer had been moving swiftly and silently – as he seemed able to do – if he had climbed up and down the fire escape, Mady or Biggs would
surely have detected him.

  Ergo, the murderer was within the house. But how could a killer have got behind the nun and taken her so completely unawares that she didn’t put up even the slightest struggle?

  And we are back to “Why?”

  36.

  DAI HUGHES FELT AN OVERWHELMING URGE TO HAVE a cigarette. Sister Rebecca didn’t like them to smoke on the ward, but he might be able to sneak in a few puffs before things got moving. He took out the single cigarette he kept tucked away in his top pocket. Matches? There’d be some for the spirit stove, but it meant he’d have to go around the other side of the screen, and he wasn’t sure he was up to that. He’d been an orderly for a year now and he’d seen several dead bodies, but they were always nicely in their beds, not sprawled over a desk with a chloroform mask on their face. He was braced himself, just about to risk it, when Evan came striding out of the blue bedroom.

  “We only have a minute. They’re all waking up. Bancroft needs a bedpan.”

  His face was contorted with anger. Knowing his temper, Dai quailed.

  “I’ve got to stay here until a constable arrives,” he said.

  Before Dai could move, Evan grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into the chair. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it under his brother’s nose.

  “Do you know what this is, laddie?”

  “Looks like a letter.”

  “Aye. It is. The nun here was writing it to the inspector. No, don’t start to make up a story, you sorry piece of shite. She says everything. She says how you were going out on a regular basis when you were supposed to be on duty. She was good enough to keep the side door unlocked for you. You went out again, didn’t you, when I’d expressly told you not to?”

  “Evan, I had to go. Polly’s ill. She needed me.”

  “Got the clap, does she?”

  “No, it’s a touch of bronchitis.”

  Evan glared at him. “You’re lying. Either she’s telling you a story or you’re telling me one.”

  “It came on sudden,” said Dai sullenly.

  Evan put the letter back into his pocket. “It’s a bloody good thing I took a look at what the sister had been writing. Her farewell letter.”

  “What she did for me was a little thing – no reason to off yourself.”

  “Isn’t it? How can you be so sure? She sounds pretty sorry.”

  “No, Evan. She didn’t feel bad about helping me. She said I reminded her of her brother.”

  “I pity the poor woman, if that’s the case.”

  “Evan, I just can’t believe that the sister killed herself. She was so jolly.”

  Evan scrutinized Dai for a moment, then he stepped back. “Can I have faith that your little tom-catting in the night has nothing to do with what happened to Jock McHattie?”

  Dai stared at him in horror. “How can you say a thing like that? Of course it didn’t.”

  “I’m relieved to hear that. We’ll let the copper sort it out. We won’t say anything about the note for now. It’s our business. Yours and mine.”

  “I don’t know, Evan. We should probably tell. I’ll take my lumps.”

  “Not yet. Let’s see what happens. You say you don’t think the sister did off herself. But she might have. Guilty conscience. She was religious, after all. In which case it don’t matter what she wrote.” He tapped his pocket. “I will keep this note to myself, but I warn you, if you so much as put a toe outside of these gates without permission, this little billet will find its way straight to the police. Is that clear?”

  “I’m your brother. You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

  “Short answer? Yes.”

  “Everything all right, Mr. Hughes?” called a voice. Nigel Melrose was standing in the hall.

  Evan turned to face him. “I’m afraid there’s been an accident, Mr. Melrose. Sister Ivy.” He walked towards the other man and his voice was soothing. “I’d appreciate it if you’d stay in your room for now. We’re all going to meet after breakfast and you’ll be told what has happened.”

  Melrose didn’t move. He stared over Hughes’s shoulder, where he could clearly see the screen.

  “Is she dead?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “Another one. Was it really an accident, or are you just saying that to keep me calm?”

  “We’ll know more when the doctor arrives. But we don’t want to upset everybody more than we have to. When everybody’s up, we’ll proceed downstairs in an orderly fashion.”

  Melrose allowed himself to be directed back into his room as he declaimed:

  “She should have died hereafter. There would have been a time for such a word.”

  Evan followed him and closed the bedroom door behind them.

  Dai heard footsteps on the stairs, coming up to the ward, and then a police officer appeared. It was the young, skinny one.

  “Good morning. I’m Constable Mady, and I’ve been sent to take over the watching.”

  Dai was too rattled from his conversation with his brother to be magnanimous.

  “About time. I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got to tend to the patients.”

  Mady looked around. “Could I just ask you something? Is it true there’s maniacs in this place? One of them isn’t likely to pop and start shooting, are they?”

  “Wish I could guarantee that, but I can’t,” said Dai. “Let’s just say it’s not likely.”

  “But something has happened here – and people say that the patients are all crackers.”

  “People are ignorant then.”

  “So they’re not loonies is what you’re saying?”

  “No. I said they wasn’t likely to come out and shoot you. But let’s put it this way, look you. If you suddenly had your legs shot off, your hands amputated, and you couldn’t see but darkness, you’d be a bit off your rocker, wouldn’t you, laddie?”

  “I suppose I would.”

  “Not to mention you’d lost your good looks and the girls run away crying. Not to mention you couldn’t be a man to her even if she wanted it. That’d send you around the bend, don’t you think?”

  “My God. Has that happened to some of these chaps?”

  “It has indeed. Me, I’d rather be put out of me misery.”

  “So you do think it’s one of them that did the murders?” whispered Mady.

  Rather roughly, Dai tapped the young constable on the forehead.

  “You’re not using your noggin, my friend. How can you shoot anybody if you can’t walk, can’t see, and can’t hold anything?”

  “But they’re not all that bad, are they?”

  Before Dai could answer, Sister Clarissa appeared, puffing hard from the exertion of climbing the stairs.

  “Mr. Hughes, Sister Rebecca wants to let you know that the patients should be brought down to the dining room as soon as possible. She wants them to have some breakfast before the inspector talks to them.”

  “We’ll be right there, Sister.” Dai nodded at the constable. “Chin up, laddie. The grave’s where we all end up eventually.”

  The nun frowned at him. “Why’re you saying that, Dai Hughes? It’s nothing a young fellow like him should be thinking about.”

  “I disagree with you there, Sister,” said Dai with a grimace. “None of us knows, do us? When we’ll be called. We’ve got to be prepared, look you.”

  37.

  AFTER A BRIEF CONSULTATION WITH SISTER REBECCA, Tyler decided not to include the McHattie family in the general meeting. He had no idea how they were going to react, and it seemed cruel to subject them to more tragedy. He’d have to talk to them afterwards. Once again, he found himself in the distressingly familiar position of delivering news of violent death to the gathered residents.

  There had been a wide range of reactions: fear, disbelief, anger – the usual emotions people feel when presented with such a situation. Although he was beginning to fume at his own impotence, all Tyler could do at this juncture was say he didn’t know exactly how Sis
ter Ivy had died.

  In terms of actual evidence or information, he got nothing new from the patients. He concluded the meeting by eight o’clock. He’d said all he could say, gone over the same ground a couple of times, reassured as best he could. Sister Rebecca said the other nuns would stay in the dining room and give the patients the opportunity to air their feelings if they wanted to. There was often a delayed reaction to these tragic incidents. In the meantime, she would go with him to talk to the McHatties.

  First, Tyler had to organize the influx of constables. Rowell had done a good job. As well as the men from the morning roster and the reservists, he’d been able to contact the afternoon shift, and they were there as well. More than a dozen men all told. Tyler was gratified. Looked like an army to him.

  The sergeant had come himself.

  “This has priority, sir. I’ve left Constable Mortimer temporarily in charge of the station until Constable Pepper arrives from his rest day.”

  “The grounds were searched thoroughly yesterday, but we need to do it again,” said Tyler. “Once we’re satisfied with that, we’ll continue to question the locals. We’ll have to go further afield.”

  “When are you going to make the incidents public, sir?”

  “Frankly, I’m delaying that as long as possible. People will be seeing Jerry parachutists under every tree.”

  Rowell looked at him. “I assume we are ruling out enemy infiltration, sir?”

  Tyler sighed. “I’m not ruling out men from Mars, Sergeant. But first we’ll keep looking closer to home. Have Eaves and Stanton made any progress with the fingerprint checks?”

  “Not yet. They didn’t get very clear impressions from the cottage, but they are studying everything they have.”

  Tyler turned back to Sister Rebecca. “Shall we go, Sister? The sooner I get this over with, the better.”

  She fell into step with him as they headed along the path for the nuns’ quarters.

  “I reached Dr. Murnaghan and he says he’ll come as soon as he can.”

  “Good … You know, Sister, I’ve delivered news of death before. It never gets easier. In this case, I feel as if I’m piling on one more tragedy to people already devastated.”