Murder Keeps No Calendar

by Cathy Ace

  Carol shifted in her seat, and noticed Annie do the same; she wondered if her friend was sharing her increasing sense of doom. Carol wasn’t certain she knew exactly where Matron was going with all this insight and history, but she knew she was talking about someone named Fred – one of the names mentioned by the ranting Willy at Tiny’s wake.

  ‘I’m afraid we couldn’t save Fred,’ continued Matron. ‘We were all saddened by his death, and alarmed by the appearance of the poison in his system. Of course, the doctor in charge reported his cause of death, and a major investigation and cleansing process was undertaken throughout the barracks. We managed to keep the news of what we’d found under our hats. Then, when Private Webber died – known by all as Stumpy, due to the loss of three of his fingers thanks to an incident involving a hand grenade – early in October, I was again puzzled. This time I wasn’t puzzled by his cause of death – a small cut he hadn’t reported had become infected, then septicemia set in and he was gone in a day. No, I was puzzled by why the cut had become so virulently septic in such a short time. I’ll be honest and tell you I put it down to his advanced age; once again we were all sad about his demise, but we moved on.’

  Carol noted with interest that the matron looked up at the women for the first time as she said, ‘I honestly saw no connection between Stumpy’s death and any others at the barracks. And, no, we did no’ test his wound for botulism.’

  Matron paused, and Carol felt she was composing herself again.

  ‘Then Corporal “Milky” Evans passed away. Once again a small wound was involved, but – because he at least brought it to our attention – we caught the infection in time, and were pleased, though not surprised, when he recovered. Sadly, Milky then suffered a violent bout of food poisoning and that, given his weakened state, sent him over the top. His body simply couldn’t take it, and he passed away peacefully. Another sad loss, again of a man over the age of 100, so not really a surprise, but this death gave me pause, so I carried out some tests of my own, and – lo and behold – Milky Evans had botulism poisoning too. I shared my insights, and panic spread throughout the higher-ups; we didn’t tell the Barrackers, but we began an extensive schedule of swabbing, testing, and cleaning the entire complex – not easy, and not cheap. It’s been a major undertaking I can tell you – all of us working long hours, and none of us feeling comfortable about not telling the men what’s going on. After all, they live here and have a right to know if their lives are in danger.’

  ‘So, do you think you’ve got a serial poisoner in your midst, Matron?’ Annie’s voice sounded cold. Carol didn’t like it.

  ‘Yes, Miss Parker. I do. The more research we carried out, the clearer it became to us that the deaths weren’t caused by an accidental encounter with clostridium botulinum, the cause of botulism. I have, painfully, come to believe there is someone systematically killing off our oldest residents. And that’s one other thing that’s particularly odd, and truly awful; the men who’ve died, have died in age order, the oldest first. I cannae be sure yet whether Corporal Tiny Wilson’s death is connected to this pattern; he most definitely suffered heart failure, and we have detected no botulism in his body, from the minimal testing his daughter allowed us to carry out. But, what I do know is, he was the latest in the line of men due to head up the Cenotaph Parade, because he had become our oldest resident. The parade takes place on November 12th this year, just over a week away, and we’re all on pins about whether the next man in line will make it.’

  ‘Who is the next oldest?’ asked Carol; she hardly dared ask, but knew she had to.

  ‘Corporal Lofty Teddington,’ replied Matron, gravely.

  ‘Do you think someone’s going to try to kill him too?’ was Carol’s next question. She clapped her hand in front of her mouth as soon as she uttered the words. Before Matron could answer a knock was heard at her door.

  ‘Enter,’ called Matron clearly. A tall, thin nurse poked her head around the door.

  ‘It’s Corporal Teddington, Matron. He’s taken a definite turn for the worse, as we feared.’ Annie, Carol, and Matron exchanged horrified glances.

  ‘I’m on my way,’ replied Matron, then added, ‘you two, come with me; not a word, mind you.’

  With that, the diminutive woman shot out of her chair and began to march rapidly toward the infirmary; Annie and Carol cantered to keep up. By the time the trio reached the all-white cubicles, Carol was out of breath, and she could see Annie was sweating profusely.

  Lofty Teddington looked much older and more withered than he had at Tiny’s funeral; Carol was shocked by the change she saw in him. He looked uncomfortable propped within a nest of crisp white sheets, monitors attached to various parts of his crepe-like skin. Tears were rolling down his hollow cheeks. Carol thought a light had gone from him.

  ‘Doc’s on the way,’ the thin nurse informed her superior as Matron took an electronic tablet from the nurse’s hands and cast her trained eye over the charts and figures displayed there.

  Lofty’s voice crackled. ‘Come here, dear.’ He looked straight at Annie. ‘You’re the one. I have to talk to you. Now. You lot? You can all bugger off.’

  Matron nodded as she drew back, and Annie moved toward the sick old man; Carol was rather glad he’d picked on Annie, not her, and wondered what he had to say to her friend that was so urgent.

  Annie Parker had sat beside her uncle’s bed when he was dying; she knew what death smelled like, and recognized it now; Lofty reeked of it. She almost gagged.

  ‘I’m dying,’ stated Lofty in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ replied Annie, calmly. Lofty was the only one who seemed to not be surprised by her answer. The moment she’d seen the expression on his face she’d known; and in that instant she’d also known more than that he was dying.

  ‘Only needed a week more, didn’t you?’ she said.

  ‘I’d have been Top Dog,’ he whispered. A wry smile wrinkled his face.

  ‘It wasn’t worth killing them all, was it?’ replied Annie gravely. Carol looked puzzled; Matron hovered, and a look of horror crossed her face.

  ‘I don’t know about that; I got a couple of extra beers in the mess after Tiny went. But I didn’t have nothing to do with him; he just went natural. Which was good; I liked him. The others were just old farts.’

  Matron made as if to move forward, but Annie’s eyes warned her not to interrupt.

  ‘It was all just so you could head up the Remembrance Day parade at the cenotaph, and carry the wreath, weren’t it?’ asked Annie flatly.

  ‘No “just” about it,’ replied Lofty, with as much emotion as his weak frame could muster. ‘I’d have been cock of the hoop for a time; on the telly and everything. My whole life I’ve been a nothing; I gave everything to this country, and got bugger all for it. The pension is pitiful. They should do something about that. At least if I’d been carrying that wreath at the cenotaph my family could have been proud of me. I’d have left them that, at least; the memory of me on the telly, something for them to boast about. Haven’t got nothing else to leave them. But now this stupid heart of mine has given out. Why couldn’t it have kept me going for just another week? I know what’s happening; they said this morning my kidneys were all messed up. Always the beginning of the end that. That’s right, isn’t it, Matron Mavis?’

  For the first time Lofty directly acknowledged Matron’s presence; she nodded her agreement with Lofty’s prognosis. ‘Aye. No point lying about it, Lofty, not now. I cannae say things look promising for you. I suggest we get you the chaplain, and let you make your peace with your Maker.’

  ‘No need, Matron,’ Lofty gasped. ‘It’s too late for all that guff. I’ll make my confession here and now to you lot – and you can pass it on to him if you like. I’ve killed a lot of men in my time – most of them because it was my job to kill them, so I suppose I might get away with that lot. But the ones here? No chance. I expect I’ll burn for them. All done for pride, see. They
say it’s a deadly sin. I reckon I’ll know for sure, pretty soon.’

  Annie looked into Lofty’s eyes. She had to know. ‘How did you do it exactly, Lofty?’

  Again there was a smile playing around the man’s cracked lips. ‘Honey, fish paste, rotten root vegetables, and garlic oil. Easy enough, really. Smelly though, and you’ve got to be patient. There was a story about it on an anti-terrorism website I came across by accident one day on the Internet. Maybe if I hadn’t read about it I wouldn’t have come up with the idea. I don’t know. It didn’t seem too difficult, so I gave it a go. It’s one of the most poisonous substances known to man, you know? But women get injections of it in their faces in spite of that. Can you believe it? The things women do. Never understood them, I haven’t, and there’s me with two daughters. Anyway, I took my time, and gave it a go on old Fred. They say babies can’t cope with honey because their insides haven’t developed; I dare say it’s the same with us old ’uns, except our insides have given up the ghost. Anyway, off went Fred, nice and peaceful, like. Then all I had to do was scratch Stumpy when we was over at the allotments and put a bit of the stuff on his cut. Off he went too. Milky was more difficult. He needed two goes, but I never touched Tiny, honest. That was Him Upstairs that was; saved me a job I didn’t much fancy, because Tiny would have had to have gone eventually. Planning to put it off till the last minute, I was. As I said, I liked him.’

  Lofty coughed; his entire, withered body shook, and he took a sip of water offered to him by the thin nurse, who clearly didn’t know what on earth the man was talking about.

  ‘Where is it, Lofty? You know it’s dangerous.’ Annie spoke quietly.

  ‘Shed, at the allotment,’ Lofty gasped. He coughed more, this time so violently that Matron had to act; she and the nurse pulled Lofty to a fully seated position, rubbing his back to try to calm the convulsions he was suffering.

  ‘Where’s the doctor?’ called Matron toward the open end of the ward. ‘What’s keeping him?’

  Almost magically a doctor appeared, and Annie and Carol were ushered away from the deathbed of Corporal Lofty Teddington, Carol shaking her head in disbelief and Annie feeling something in her heart she wasn’t used to – a mixture of anger, coldness, and utter indignation.

  Matron called, ‘Back to my office, you two, and not a word to anyone; I’ll be there as soon as I can.’ She nodded her head toward Lofty’s cubicle. ‘He’s no’ got long,’ and she turned on her heel, her apron crackling.

  Three months had passed since the death of Tiny Wilson, closely followed by that of Lofty Teddington. Annie and Carol had managed to convince Christine’s mother that Tiny’s death had, truly, been from natural causes, but they’d given Christine herself the full story, swearing her to secrecy – as Matron MacDonald had done to them. No matter how diligently they surveyed the news media, none of them ever saw or heard a single word about Lofty’s killing spree.

  This was a special night; Annie and Carol had arranged to meet with Matron Mavis MacDonald and Christine Wilson-Smythe at the Liveried Lizard pub. Christine had chosen the venue; Carol had thought it a poor choice.

  Sitting quietly with a glass of wine each, neither Annie nor Carol remarked on the matron’s entrance to the pub.

  ‘Hello girls,’ said the small woman, hooking her bobbed grey hair behind her ears. She beamed as she approached their little table.

  ‘Oh Matron, I didn’t recognize you,’ replied Carol lightly, and she sprang to her feet. Annie would have said Carol sprang to attention.

  ‘Please, call me Mavis; they’ve retired me and I’m no’ “Matron” any longer.’

  ‘Hello Mave,’ said Annie with a warm smile as she raised her glass toward the woman, who looked smaller than Annie remembered, and rather drawn.

  ‘No dear, it’s Mavis, not Mave, thank you,’ admonished Mavis, with a tone that sent Carol back to her schooldays in an instant.

  ‘Mavis,’ Annie hissed into her glass, rolling her eyes toward Carol.

  ‘I keep telling you people don’t like it when you shorten their names,’ said Carol, emboldened by Mavis’s presence.

  ‘Carol, darling,’ gushed Christine when she entered a few moments later, ‘it’s been ages. I haven’t seen you since you brought all of Granddad’s stuff to the house.’ She hugged Carol. ‘And Annie . . .’ Christine bent over to try to hug Annie, but Annie pulled away, leaving Christine to hug an empty space. ‘And you must be the wonderful matron who looked after Granddad so well.’ This time Christine wisely held out a hand in greeting, which Mavis shook vigorously.

  ‘What does everyone want?’ asked Christine, then set about ordering drinks at the bar.

  When all four women were finally settled, each with a fully-charged glass in their hands, Christine rose and made a toast. ‘Ladies – I give you Tiny Wilson – Granddad.’ The little group accepted the toast and drank.

  Christine broke the slightly awkward silence that ensued. ‘I can’t believe it’s been over three months since Granddad died; Mummy’s still very upset, of course, but she and Daddy phoned from Barbados today, and Daddy said she’s rallying a bit.’

  ‘I reckon I’d rally too if I was lying about on a beach in Barbados,’ replied Annie sulkily.

  ‘Now, Annie,’ admonished Mavis, ‘there’s no need to be like that, is there?’

  Carol looked from one woman to the other, and could see that – for at least this evening – Mavis would rule the roost, and Annie would probably toe the line a little.

  ‘I have an announcement to make; it’s worth a toast too, I think,’ dared Carol. All three women gave her their attention.

  ‘Well, you can’t be pregnant, Car, or you wouldn’t be drinking,’ quipped Annie; she shut up when Mavis arched an eyebrow in her direction.

  ‘You’re right, Annie, I’m not pregnant,’ said Carol glumly, ‘and that’s the problem; my specialist says I’m not likely to ever conceive if I keep living such a stressful life. So I’ve handed in my notice. David makes enough for us to live on, if we cut a few expenses, and I’m going to give my body a chance to do what I want it to: make a baby.’

  Annie was dumbstruck; she couldn’t imagine anyone actually wanting a baby so much that they’d give up their career.

  Mavis patted Carol’s hand. ‘Good for you, Carol; I’m sure the doctor’s right, and I am equally sure you’ll fall pregnant when the time is right for you and David. Just give yourself a wee break and it’ll all come naturally.’

  ‘And have as much sex as possible,’ added Annie, grinning and raising her glass toward her friend. ‘You tell that husband of yours from me that you two have got to go at it like rabbits.’

  Once again Mavis’s warning glance quietened Annie, but only for a second or two. ‘Okay then,’ continued Annie, ‘since it’s a night for announcements, I have one of my own.’

  Carol looked surprised. ‘What haven’t you told me?’

  Annie winked. ‘Haven’t had a chance to tell you, doll. Sorry. Only just found out meself. And I certainly don’t mean to steal your thunder Car –’ a stern look from Mavis followed – ‘sorry, Carol –’ she rolled her eyes – ‘but I suppose you’ll all know soon enough so I’ll tell you now. My bosses have sold the company to some Swiss gazillionaires who are going to assume all our business and leave yours truly high and dry without a job. Cheers!’ Annie raised her glass and half-drained it.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Annie,’ said Christine and Carol simultaneously. Annie knew they were both being truly sympathetic, but she also realized only Carol really understood what this meant for her; she was almost fifty-two and without a job – not a good position to be in, whichever way you looked at it. What not even Carol knew was that Annie had never really come to terms with the concept of ‘saving’.

  ‘Any sort of package?’ asked Mavis directly.

  ‘Thanks to the luvverly laws of the land, I get about twelve grand in redundancy money, and the Swiss lot have offered a golden h
andshake of ten grand more,’ replied Annie glumly. ‘I know it sounds like a lot, but it’s not really.’

  Mavis nodded. ‘I have a fair pension, but I’m not going to enjoy living on it.’