Death Comes to Durham

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘No, it’s very warm. I think I want something cold. I know! I’d love a gin and tonic. With ice and lime, please.’

  I looked at the lovely old clock on the back wall of the building. It read ten-fifteen.

  ‘Coming right up, then, dear.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t have to fetch it. Blake will get it for me. Where is Blake? He said he would meet me here. Blake is my best friend, you know.’ She smiled impartially at all of us, three people she didn’t know, and then frowned. ‘Blake should be here. Why isn’t Blake here?’

  ‘He can’t come right now, Aunt Amanda. I’ll get your drink.’

  Her face had begun to melt. ‘No! I want Blake! Where’s Blake?’

  I stepped in, hoping a different voice would calm her. ‘I believe someone said Blake isn’t feeling well today. I’m sure you’ll see him later.’ And that wasn’t even a lie. Amanda wouldn’t see her friend this side of the great divide, but I firmly believed they would meet eventually.

  It didn’t work. Tears started to roll down those pink cheeks. ‘Something’s wrong. Why won’t anyone tell me what’s wrong? Where’s Blake?’

  It was Alan’s turn. ‘Blake won’t be coming, Amanda. He died suddenly yesterday. I’m so very sorry.’

  The tears became sobs. An attendant materialized. ‘I’ll take her in, Mr Tregarth,’ he said quietly. ‘The doctor prescribed a mild sedative for her. It’s hard for her, because she can’t remember what’s happened from one moment to the next, so it’s always a fresh sorrow. She’ll need some time to let him vanish from her memory, but it will happen. She won’t always be grieving.’

  We watched while the aide wheeled her away, murmuring soft consolations.

  ‘I can’t decide,’ Alan finally said, ‘whether the inevitable loss of her memory of Armstrong is a mercy or a great pity. Grieving is painful, but in the end it’s a part of dealing with death.’

  ‘In this case it’s a mercy, I think,’ said David. ‘She’s essentially a happy, cheerful person. When the memory of this awful thing goes away, she’ll be happy and cheerful again.’

  ‘Oh, David, you hope so, but she’s in her late nineties!’ I shook my head. ‘How much longer will she have even the limited mind she has now?’

  The man shrugged. ‘Don’t know. Nobody knows. The man who was killed claimed he had some ways of slowing the degeneration, but I for one was sceptical.’

  ‘You knew him, then?’

  ‘Knew of him. He was well-known for his work with the elderly, and very popular in some circles.’

  ‘You sound less than wildly enthusiastic.’

  ‘Oh, I knew nothing to his discredit. I’ve been living in Durham only a few months, you know, and it takes a long time to blend fully with the people here. So many of them are connected with either the cathedral or the university, and those are tightly-knit groups.’

  ‘Unfriendly? I had the impression Durham was a very friendly place.’

  ‘It is, it is. No, I’ve met with no rejection – quite the reverse. It’s just that it takes quite a long while to be admitted to the grapevine, so I’ve heard only a few fleeting rumours here and there.’

  ‘Rumours about the doctor?’

  ‘Hints that he might have been a little too close to some of his patients.’

  I tried not to be shocked. ‘Unwelcome advances? At their age?’

  ‘Oh, no. Money. This is all unproven, mind you. But I told you the man was wealthy, and there’s some talk that a good deal of his money was left him by his adoring patients.’

  Alan heaved a sigh. ‘Undue influence.’

  ‘That’s the idea. But it’s just an idea, and what I’ve just told you is slanderous.’

  We hadn’t noticed the gathering clouds until a chilly wind began to blow, and the garden began to clear rapidly. ‘Right. Let’s go in and have some lunch, and work out what we ought to do next.’

  FOUR

  David had, it turned out, already ordered our lunches. ‘They’re always happy to accommodate guests, given enough notice. I think you’ll find the food surprisingly good.’

  It was, in fact, excellent. The kitchen had prepared salads, in anticipation of another hot day, but had soup ready, just in case. We had both, and I accepted a serving of sticky toffee pudding, just this once.

  We’d eaten in a private room, normally set aside for family conferences. As we settled to our coffee, Alan began asking questions.

  ‘For a start, how did the man die? You haven’t said.’

  ‘He was smothered with a pillow. We found the pillow tucked into the cupboard in his room, with marks of his teeth on the torn case, and saliva.’

  ‘Wouldn’t that have required a good deal of strength?’ I queried. ‘Well beyond the ability of Aunt Amanda, I’d think.’

  ‘It depends. If Armstrong was asleep at the time of the attack, or if he was sedated, it would have been easy.’

  Alan groaned in frustration. ‘And since they’re dithering about calling in the police, valuable evidence of that sort is being lost every moment. What, by the way, have they done with the body?’

  ‘Cold storage. They do have a small morgue here, of course. I insisted that they not put him in the hands of a mortuary, not yet.’

  ‘David, when are you going to insist they notify the authorities? It will have to be done, and the sooner the better.’

  ‘Don’t you think I’ve told them that? They keep saying they will, just as soon as I’ve come up with some answers. What they mean is when I’ve found proof that Amanda killed him.’

  ‘Which you’re not going to do, since she didn’t.’

  Both men frowned at me.

  ‘I don’t care what you think, you two with your policeman minds. That poor woman never killed anyone.’ I folded my arms across my chest and glared at them.

  ‘We don’t think she did either,’ said Alan wearily. ‘But there’s no proof, either way.’

  ‘All the more reason to get the police here. What we need is forensic work, and you both know it. And if you’re not going to force the authorities here to call them, I’ll do it myself.’ I pulled out my phone. ‘This has gone on long enough.’

  David laid a hand on my arm. ‘You’re quite right. I’ve realized that. I’d have done it immediately, but with Aunt Amanda’s possible involvement I lost sight of … well. I’m going right now to threaten Mr Williams – that’s the director’s name, by the way – with the loss of the home’s licence if he doesn’t report it at once. I’ll leave it to him to explain why he didn’t do so yesterday. Excuse me.’

  ‘Meanwhile,’ I said when David had left the room, ‘is there anything more we can do here?’

  ‘Not a great deal,’ said Alan. ‘The entire staff, and all the residents, will have to be questioned as to their whereabouts. But until the time of death can be determined, those inquiries are virtually futile. Not to mention the fact that some of the residents may not remember where they were and what they were doing ten minutes ago, let alone for an undetermined period of time yesterday.’

  ‘And the fact that the residents must be treated carefully, gently. The staff won’t be able to say much about where the residents were, either, given the flexible nature of this place. I must say it would be easier if one could say that Mr Doe and Mrs Roe were, of course, in their rooms, or in the dining room, or playing bingo, at such-and-such a time.’

  ‘Indeed.’

  We sat silent until David returned.

  ‘They’re not best pleased, but they have reluctantly agreed. The director was on the phone as I left his office. It’s infuriating that it will now be almost impossible to determine a time of death, even approximately.’

  ‘Not to mention evidence of any possible sedative. So many of these drugs dissipate quickly, as we learned to our sorrow in our working lives.’

  ‘And of course,’ I added, ‘no one on the staff will admit to have given him anything of the sort.’

  ‘No.’

  Silence again.

>   ‘You know,’ I began, ‘we’re down to the variable you cops like least. Anyone could have had the opportunity. The means was readily to hand. So we’re left with …’

  ‘Motive.’ Alan sighed. ‘Who wanted him dead? I knew you’d get there sooner or later, Dorothy.’

  ‘Well, what else is there? I know it’s almost impossible to convict anyone on the basis of motive, but once you have a motive pinned down and know who you’re looking for, building a case against that person is a whole lot easier. Am I right, or am I right?’

  Alan suddenly grinned. ‘You’re right, my love. Much as I hate to admit it. That means this is where your much-admired penchant for asking nosy questions comes into play. Where are you going to start?’

  ‘That’s the hard part. I don’t know a soul in Durham except you, David. And your granddaughter. And Aunt Amanda, but she can’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Then I think you need to start making friends with the staff,’ said David. ‘You have a gift with people, and these are good, friendly people.’

  ‘They may not be so friendly when I start asking them sensitive questions. However, I’ll give it a shot. I’ll start with the lower echelons. The bigwigs will all be busy with you and the police, to begin with. David, where’s the kitchen?’

  He told me, and added, ‘It’s behind a locked door, remember.’

  ‘I’ll manage somehow.’

  A very young man was coming out of the kitchen door as I approached; his courtesy overrode his training about the door, and he politely held it open for me.

  I thought it would be easy to talk to the kitchen staff, and so it proved. Mid-afternoon was a slow time, with lunch over and tidied up and tea goodies already prepared. I could honestly praise the food, which made for a cordial beginning.

  ‘I must admit,’ I said to a young woman who was somewhat languidly chopping vegetables, ‘that I was surprised to find institutional food so delicious. You all do a great job.’

  ‘Well, it makes it easier,’ said the young woman, ‘that we’re not dealing with hundreds of meals. I worked in a hospital before, and that was a real challenge. All sorts of special diets, not to mention patients in all stages of illness. Here no one is terribly ill, though of course they’re all headed in the one direction. Our goal is to make the journey as pleasant and easy as possible.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit depressing?’

  ‘Not really.’ She fingered the small cross pinned to her lapel. ‘We’re all of us on that same journey, aren’t we? The dear old souls here will just reach their destination sooner than most of us. And a quiet, easy death is far from the worst thing that can happen to anyone.’

  ‘You’re quite right, of course.’ Though at your age the matter is far less urgent than for some of us, I thought but did not say. ‘I’ve heard, though, that one of your residents was pushed along that journey, not at all peacefully. Yesterday, wasn’t it?’

  Her face closed. ‘We’re not supposed to talk about that.’

  ‘Oh, how thoughtless of me! Of course you won’t want to dwell on the poor old soul’s misfortune.’

  ‘No, it isn’t that.’ She looked around nervously and lowered her voice. ‘I wasn’t actually all that fond of Mr Armstrong. Most of the old ladies loved him, but a lot of the staff thought he was creepy. I made sure I was never alone in a room with him.’

  ‘Oh, dear! That sort, was he?’

  ‘Well, he never … but I’m not supposed to talk about the residents. Especially not to— Are you with the police, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh, no, just a visitor. I came to meet Amanda – I don’t know her last name, I’m afraid. She’s the great-aunt of my husband’s dear friend.’ That seemed to put her at an impossible distance from me, and while I was trying to find a way to rephrase, the young woman settled the matter.

  ‘I see. Not really anyone you’d really care about meeting, especially since she won’t remember you five minutes later. And her great-nephew is Mr Tregarth, isn’t he? A policeman, or was. Excuse me. If I’m late getting these cut, the chef will have something to say.’ She turned her back and began to wield the knife with some vigour.

  So much for the kitchen. Drat. Now I couldn’t approach any of the other staff there, at least not today. The word would get around in seconds, the word that I was trouble. At least I had learned one thing: the staff, at least some of them, hadn’t liked the doctor. Was he in fact a sexual predator, or did he simply create unease? ‘Creepy’, the young woman had said. Useful information, but vague.

  Well, the other staff, then. It would take a little longer for them to be alerted. How could I get into conversation with the caregivers?

  I drifted into the sun porch, but no one was sitting there. The clouds had brought rain with them, and the view was grey and gloomy.

  Let’s see. Afternoon. A time, as I knew all too well, when older people were apt to take naps. I wondered if there was a common room for the staff to use when they weren’t urgently needed.

  I remembered that David had said the offices were on the first floor (second, to my American mind) and that both the elevators and the stairs were locked off to keep the residents from wandering. The common room was probably up there, too. How was I to find it?

  I’d just have to ask. Surely someone would be about.

  But no one was. This was truly a dead time.

  Oh, dear. I wished I hadn’t thought of that particular phrase. At last I heard voices coming from the front part of the house, and headed toward them. Probably the police, along with David and Alan and Mr Williams, the director.

  I didn’t especially want to run into them just now, but I did want to get upstairs while most of the residents were resting and I could talk to the caregivers. But how? Drat it, they’d made this place secure, all right. Too blasted secure for my purposes right now.

  Ah. My phone. I belong to a generation that isn’t accustomed to instant communication, and I often forget about my mobile. But it might just come in handy. I took it out of my pocket and called Alan.

  He answered instantly; we have special rings for each other.

  ‘Alan, don’t say anything if you can help it, but I need the elevator code – lift, I mean. I have to go upstairs to talk to some of the staff and I want to get there before the police do. Do you suppose David has it?’

  ‘I’ll ask,’ he murmured, and came back on the line instantly. ‘No, but he’ll ask the receptionist to call you.’

  Which she did in only a moment, and I had found the elevator and keyed my way in just before I heard the voices enter the lobby. The police were on the move.

  I found the common room instantly. There were indeed a number of people relaxing with cups of tea or coffee, and of course they were talking about the murder. None of them wore uniform, so I couldn’t easily work out who was who. Conversation stopped when I entered the room. ‘May I help you?’ asked one young man, in the tone that so clearly says ‘go away’, the first unfriendly attitude I’d met here. Well, not counting the frightened kitchen worker.

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude. I know I don’t belong here. My name’s Dorothy Martin, and I’m visiting with David Tregarth, who came to see his Aunt Amanda. I expect you all know him.’

  The temperature thawed a degree or two. ‘I came up here to get away from the police, if you want to know. I can’t really tell them anything about what happened to Dr Armstrong, and since I don’t believe poor Amanda had anything to do with it, I wanted to hide for a little while. I’ll try not to be a nuisance.’

  That eased the atmosphere, too. ‘We don’t think Amanda could have done it, either, Mrs Martin. She’s a sweet person, and she doesn’t have the strength.’

  ‘I heard she had a quarrel with Dr Armstrong.’

  ‘Oh, that was nothing. He shouted at her, and it upset her dreadfully at the time, but she’d forgotten all about it half an hour later. You have to understand, Mrs Martin, she is literally incapable, at her stage of dementia, of holding a grudge.’

&nb
sp; ‘She seemed like a really pleasant woman, when I met her this morning. Of course, it’s a little hard to tell, given the state of her mind.’

  ‘She is a pleasant person. Never complains about anything, never makes demands, just happy and cheerful all day long. Anyone will tell you; we all love her.’

  ‘Isn’t that somewhat unusual for victims of dementia? I’ve heard stories – well, I’ve known a few people myself – whose personalities changed completely as the disease took greater and greater hold. Some became grouchy, petulant, even given sometimes to violent outbursts of temper.’

  Several of the people in the room nodded in agreement. ‘But not Amanda,’ said the woman who’d been doing most of the talking. ‘She’s gone downhill rapidly in the past few weeks, and she doesn’t recognize many people now, but she’s unfailingly charming to everyone.’

  ‘Especially to that Dr Armstrong,’ said another woman, rather waspishly. ‘I never could see the attraction there.’

  ‘Oh, Velma, come now! He flattered her, made much of her, just as he did to all his old ladies. He had to do it every time he saw her, of course, because all she would remember was that he was a person she felt comfortable with.’

  ‘And his name. She remembers his name.’ I told them about the pathetic episode this morning when she had to be told yet again that he was dead. ‘That’s one reason I’m sure she had no part in his death. She wasn’t faking her distress. But what do you all think about the man’s death?’

  ‘Who did it, you mean?’ Another woman, youngish, very attractive. ‘Oh, we all know Mr Tregarth is a retired policeman, and we can guess why you’re here, Mrs Martin. Your husband used to be with the police too, didn’t he?’

  I was too astonished to frame an instant reply. My interrogator laughed. ‘There’s no mystery about it. One of the aides here is from down south, near Sherebury. She knows all about you and your husband and all the detecting you’ve done. When Mr Tregarth first decided to invite you two for a visit, he happened to mention it to Judith, and she spread the word. I’m Dharani, by the way.’