Tyler shook the proffered hand. Mr. Nesbitt seemed to have better public relations skills than his boss. He was actually smiling.
He glanced around the quiet quadrangle. The young women were gathering up their handbags and getting up from the bench.
“I don’t mind talking out here, if you don’t.”
“What?” Nesbitt also looked around as if he were seeing it for the first time. “Good idea, actually. It’s always nice to have some fresh air, wouldn’t you say?” He gestured to the now-vacant bench. “Why don’t we nab that one. It’ll be quite private.”
The young man pulled out a pristine, large handkerchief and flicked away crumbs from the seat. They sat down and Nesbitt waited politely for Tyler to begin. He was a good listener. Maybe that was a prerequisite for an intelligence officer. When Tyler had finished relating the events that had occurred at St. Anne’s, Nesbitt was quiet for a few moments.
“And you think that the assassin had received commando training?”
“There’s not much doubt about that. I was hoping you folks could furnish me with a list of the men who have gone through Ariscraig. There has to be a connection to the hospital.” Nesbitt removed his glasses and started to rub vigorously at one of the lenses, as if that would help him clarify things.
“This will have to go in front of Mr. Grey, of course. I have no authority to reveal that information.”
“I understand. Do you know when he’s expected to return? I’d like to make this a priority.”
Nesbitt replaced his spectacles. “And so it will be. We can’t have murder and mayhem running wild in the countryside.” He frowned. “It’s such a rum go, isn’t it? No rhyme or reason that you can see as to why these unfortunate people were killed?”
“None. I have yet to find a motive.”
Nesbitt was silent for a moment. “Could the killer have been an accomplice, do you think? A sort of hired gun, so to speak.”
“I don’t know that either.”
“You do realize, sir, that the training and development of the commando force is highly secret? It is possible that we might not be able to release the names of the individuals in the programme.”
“Even when there are three murders to be investigated?”
“Even then. Not quite cricket from your point of view, but alas, in times of war, ordinary justice doesn’t always get the first look in. Longer-term goals and all that.”
“In other words, the government will protect even a vicious criminal if they deem it necessary.”
Nesbitt winced. “Quite. Now I do know that for the most part, the recruits for the commando units are thoroughly decent chaps. Want to do their bit and so on. But sometimes a bad apple does slip through. The training requires a certain amount of toughness.”
“Isn’t that another word for ruthlessness?”
“I suppose it is really. Couldn’t do it myself, don’t you know. Faint at the mere sight of blood.” He turned and his eyes met Tyler’s. “To tell the truth, sir, I’m damn grateful that there are blokes willing to do the dirty work for us.”
Tyler knew what Nesbitt was getting at, but in his own mind there was no moral ambiguity to the murder of a blind man, a boy, and a woman. All defenceless. He stood up.
“I’d appreciate it if you could bring this to Mr. Grey as soon as possible, Mr. Nesbitt. In the meantime, I’m going to do my job as a copper and follow up a couple of clues, faint as they may be.”
The young man also got to his feet and again offered his hand.
“Good for you, sir. I personally shall make sure Mr. Grey gets all this information first thing.”
They shook hands and Nesbitt bounded off back to his lair at the top of the stairs. A different pair of women came out of one of the huts and went to a bench, where they sat down and stretched out their legs, discreetly hitching up their skirts to catch the sun.
47.
TYLER MADE MORTIMER SWEAR SHE WOULD NOT DRIVE beyond thirty miles an hour, and he was more able to collect his thoughts as they headed back to Ludlow. Dusk was falling as they approached the town, the ragged battlements of the castle turning red in the setting sun. More sedately than he would have thought possible, the constable brought the motorcycle to a halt in front of the hospital entrance.
“Good job, Constable,” said Tyler as he got out.
“Thank you, sir. Is there anything else I can do to be of assistance? I feel a bit like a fifth wheel so far. Just fetching and carrying, as it were.”
“Thought you were going to say fifth columnist for a moment there. You’ll have to wait for me, I’m afraid. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”
“That’s all right, sir. I’ll wait for you in the common room.”
Tyler went in search of the almoner. She was in her office writing at her desk. She greeted him warmly.
“Good evening, Inspector. Please sit down. You look tired.”
He took the chair opposite her and he could feel his shoulders sag.
“What did Dr. Murnaghan have to impart?” she asked. “I can see from your face that it was distressing news.”
“It was. Dr. Murnaghan was able to do all the post-mortems, and I’d say there are three major things for us to consider. First, he found a large amount of barbiturates in Sister’s stomach. Was she in the habit of taking sleeping pills?”
“Not at all,” answered the almoner. “Quite the opposite. She was fond of boasting that she could sleep on a bed of nails if called upon to do so.”
“She was certainly drugged last night. The barbiturate was put into her cocoa. Dr. Murnaghan believes she would have become unconscious quite rapidly. Which would have made inhaling the chloroform of her own volition highly unlikely.”
Sister Rebecca drew in her breath. “Not a suicide. Another murder then?”
“I’d say so.”
For a moment, the almoner fell silent, lost in thought. Tyler waited until he had her attention again.
“Sister, I presume you are in charge of overseeing all drugs and medications.”
She nodded in confirmation.
“Could anybody other than yourself and the nurses or the orderlies have gained access to them?”
Sister Rebecca pointed at the cupboard behind her desk.
“All medications are locked in there. Every shift I give the nurse what she needs. She, in turn, locks them in the cupboard that is on the ward. You saw it. I check that I am giving her the correct dosage as has been prescribed. She always reads it back to me as a double check.” Sister Rebecca frowned. “I quite understand the direction of your questions, Inspector, but I cannot see how anybody who was not authorized could have taken medication without my being aware of it. I go through my stock twice a day.”
Tyler believed her. Even if somebody had broken into the medicine cabinet, she would have detected that some of the drugs were missing.
“I’d like to have a look at your patient records. I want to see who is receiving sleeping pills at night.”
She went to the filing cabinet and took out a folder. “I should say that we don’t believe in giving pills as a matter of routine. We tend to leave that choice up to the individual patient. If they are having trouble sleeping, medication is available to them. Otherwise we do not administer it.”
He opened the file. According to the list more than three-quarters of the patients had taken medication for sleep over the past week. The amount varied, but the variation was minimal. Three to five milligrams, and that was not consistent with every patient every night.
“How is the sleeping pill administered?”
“The tablet dissolves better in hot liquid, so it is usually stirred into a nightcap such as cocoa, hot milk, or Horlicks.”
“Does the nurse put the pill into the drink or does the patient?”
“That depends on the individual physical ability. As I said, we do encourage independence as much as possible. They do it themselves if they are able. But the evening round is busy. Usually, the nurse puts t
he pill in a paper cup. If it’s not there when she returns, she would naturally assume the patient has taken it.”
Her tone was a touch defensive.
“So in fact, it would be easy for somebody to ask for medication, pretend to take it, keep it aside, and use it later.”
There was silence between them. When she spoke the almoner’s voice was low.
“The implication is that one of the patients might have drugged Sister Ivy … and then killed her.”
“I’m afraid that is a likely possibility.”
She swallowed hard. “It is almost impossible to contemplate.” Then she continued, “You said earlier there were three major things the coroner told you about. You’ve told me one. What are the other two?”
“Were you aware that Jock McHattie was taking morphine?”
She blinked. “Yes. I was. He experienced a lot of pain from his war injuries and the morphine had been prescribed for some time. Our local doctor simply renewed the prescription when necessary.”
“Who gave him the injections? I presume he couldn’t do that himself?”
“His wife knew how, but when they came here from Scotland, he asked one of our orderlies to do it. He said Mrs. McHattie was too nervous.”
Something struck Tyler. “Which orderly?”
“Dai, the younger one.”
Dai, dark-haired and handsome. Not that Tyler would compare him to Walter Pidgeon, exactly, and he certainly wasn’t English gentry – but everything else fitted. The description, the proximity to the hotel, and especially the potential access to the morphine that the admirable Dr. Sargent had given to Miss Allthorpe for her migraine.
Tyler filled the almoner in on what Daisy had told him. Miss Allthorpe and the wonderful doctor from St. Anne’s who had cured her migraine with what sounded very much like a dose of morphine.
Again Sister Rebecca was quiet for a few moments. “I regret to say it, but that is plausible. A couple of weeks ago, Jock complained to me that his morphine injection didn’t seem to be as effective as usual. I know that patients can build up a tolerance to the drug and I assumed that was the reason. I asked his doctor to increase the dosage and he did so.”
“Could Hughes have siphoned off some of the morphine when he was giving Jock his injections?”
“It would not be hard to do, as it’s soluble in water. But for what purpose?”
“I don’t know for certain. It’s useful coinage on the black market,” Tyler said with a shrug. “Perhaps that’s what he was doing.”
“Even if Hughes has been stealing morphine, that does not explain the barbiturate given to Sister Ivy. I told you how the medication is monitored. And why on earth would Dai Hughes want to kill Sister Ivy?”
“Again, I have no answer I can give you, Sister. I’m going to have a talk with him shortly, but before I do, there is that third thing I learned from Dr. Murnaghan.”
He described what they had discovered about the wounds to Jock and Ben. The double tap.
She stared at him. “You’re telling me that the assailant was trained as a commando?”
“There’s no doubt.”
“But who could it be? You’ve gone through the files. The only man close to being a commando is Vadim Bhatti. He was trained as a Gurkha. But he is most definitely on your NOT ABLE list. He’s completely blind.”
Tyler pursed his lips. “There’s absolutely no evidence of outside entry.”
“You said the killer would have been highly trained.”
“True. But where is he then? He has to live somewhere. And of course we keep circling back to the so far unanswered question. Why target Jock McHattie?”
Sister Rebecca shuddered. “We’re at a complete impasse, aren’t we? If the killer was a commando as you claim and not from outside the hospital, somebody has well and truly pulled the wool over our eyes.”
“I’d say that is the case, Sister.”
Again the silence was heavy between them. Then she said, “What now? Are you planning to arrest Dai Hughes?”
“Not at the moment. Frankly, he doesn’t strike me as the cold-blooded type. I don’t seriously suspect him of murder.”
“I’m relieved to hear it. Neither do I. To the best of my knowledge he has not had any military training. He and his brother are considered to be in reserved occupations. I always thought this was something of a sore point for Dai. He would like to have the respect that soldiers get.”
“Nevertheless, I am most certainly going to have a talk with him.”
“Shall I fetch him?”
“If you would.” Tyler got to his feet. “While you do that, I’m going to have one of my constables pop in at the Wheatsheaf and bring the mysterious Mrs. Sargent down here. We can arrange a little confrontation.”
Constable Mortimer was leaning back with her eyes closed in one of the armchairs. The common room was deserted except for Alfie Fuller, who was mopping the floor. He beamed at Tyler as if they were the best of friends.
Mortimer woke up as soon as he approached.
“Sorry, sir. Having a bit of shut-eye.”
“I’ve got a job for you, Constable.” He told her what he wanted her to do. “You might as well use the motorcycle.”
“Yes, sir. What if the lady in question refuses to come with me?”
“Persuade her, Constable. That’s part of your job.”
“Is it? I didn’t realize that, sir, but I’ll do my best.”
There was that tone again.
“The young woman could be most important to our investigation, and I want to talk to her. So in this instance, perhaps you could surpass even your best.”
“Yes, sir. Of course.”
She looked rattled, but Tyler left her to get herself sorted out and returned to the office to wait for Dai Hughes.
48.
TYLER GAVE THE ORDERLY PERMISSION TO SMOKE AND the young man’s face was almost obliterated by the fog from the cigarette that he drew on as if it were oxygen itself.
Tyler let him stew for a bit longer, then said, “Mr. Hughes, do you know a woman by the name of Miss Allthorpe?”
Hughes clearly wasn’t expecting that question and he actually flinched. “Allthorpe? No, can’t say I do.”
“What about a doctor by the name of Sargent?”
“No. Never heard of him either.”
Tyler leaned forward until he was very close to the young man’s face.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Hughes, but I’d say you’re not a very good liar.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Tyler shoved aside the ashtray, plucked the cigarette end from Hughes’s fingers and stubbed it out.
“I think you do. Miss Allthorpe is the proprietor of the Wheatsheaf, and according to her she has guests, a doctor and his wife. The doctor says his name is Sargent and that he works here at the hospital.”
Hughes didn’t speak.
Tyler continued. “Now we both know there is no such person working here. Registering at a hotel under a false name in time of war is an offence. I could charge you.”
“That has nothing to do with me,” said Hughes sullenly.
“I think it does. However, what I’m more concerned about, Mr. Hughes, is the morphine you have been pilfering from the hospital. Now that is a worse crime. And unless you convince me otherwise, it is something I’m going to charge you with.”
That did get a response.
“What? I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Let me elucidate. I believe you were siphoning off liquid morphine from Jock McHattie’s nightly injections. You administered some of the drug to one Maud Allthorpe, the proprietor of the Wheatsheaf, where you have been visiting on a regular basis, using the alias Dr. Sargent.”
Hughes had obviously decided to bluster his way out of this pickle.
“This is all a pile of shite, look you.”
“The almoner says that Mr. McHattie was complaining about his morphine being less effective
. Was that because you were giving him a less potent dose?”
“No.”
“I need hardly remind you that Jock McHattie has been murdered,” said Tyler. “Did you shoot him to make sure he didn’t reveal what you’d been doing?”
Hughes met Tyler’s eyes directly this time. He had gone white. “Good Lord. Of course I didn’t.”
Before they could go any further, there was a rap on the door.
Tyler went to answer. Constable Mortimer was standing outside with an older woman beside her. She was grey-haired, suntanned, and sturdy-looking.
“Sir, this is Miss Allthorpe,” Mortimer said quietly. “She kindly agreed to accompany me. Apparently, Mrs. Sargent has had to deal with a family emergency and she checked out of the hotel this afternoon. I thought perhaps Miss Allthorpe would be able to make an identification for us equally as well.”
The other woman shuffled her feet. “I don’t understand what’s happening. Why are the police involved? Dr. Sargent is an absolute gentleman. He’s only one week in arrears and I trust him to make good the bill when he can.”
Tyler nodded at her reassuringly. “Thank you for coming, Miss Allthorpe. I’m not at liberty to explain everything at this moment. I would ask you to come into the room with me. If you recognize the man in the chair, I’d like you to tell me his name.”
“Very well.”
Tyler stepped back into the room and Miss Allthorpe followed. When she saw Dai Hughes, she beamed.
“Hello, Doctor.”
Dai looked at her in dismay and didn’t respond.
“Miss Allthorpe,” said Tyler, “is this gentleman sitting here the person you know as Dr. Sargent?”
“That’s correct.” She glanced anxiously at Hughes. “Is everything all right, Doctor? It’s not about the medicine, is it?”
The orderly had the grace to duck his head. “No, it’s not. Thank you, Miss Allthorpe.”
Tyler pulled out a chair for the proprietor to sit in. She perched on the edge.
“Miss Allthorpe, I understand that this gentleman has a wife who has been residing at your hotel?”
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