I struggled for a calm, reasoned response, when what I wanted to do was pound this young man’s head against the wall. After taking a deep breath, I said, ‘Charles. Two people have died. It seems highly possible that their deaths may be related. We are at a dead end in the direct investigation of Dr Armstrong’s death. I believe that a searching investigation into Nathan’s death is warranted. You can help with that, if you will. If you will not, we will have to turn to someone else, and lose time, and meanwhile a very loveable old woman may be evicted from her home. I have no authority to coerce your cooperation. I rely on your sense of decency.’
He gave me a long look. ‘You’re retired, right?’
‘Yes.’ And what does that have to do with anything, I wanted to add.
‘Were you a priest or something?’
‘Or something. I taught school for many years, children of various ages.’
‘That explains it – your air of authority. If I give you a name, will you swear you won’t do something drastic?’
‘I won’t go charging in with bullets flying, if that’s what you mean. I won’t, for the moment, give the name to the official police. I will pass it, along with any other information you can give me, to my husband and David Tregarth. And we, the three of us, will do our utmost to pursue the question of how Nathan died.’
‘Okay. I don’t like it. I don’t like ratting on friends. On anyone, really. This guy is not a particular friend, but he’s a fellow student of this college.’ He looked down at his feet, and then up at me. ‘His name is Colin Grimsby. He doesn’t live in college. I suppose he has rooms somewhere.’
‘And why did you think of him, in particular?’
‘He’s one of the ones who seemed to hate Nathan more than the rest of us. And he’s been even more morose than usual after Nathan’s death.’ He spread his hands. ‘I don’t really know. It’s just a feeling.’ He gave me a challenging look.
I nodded. ‘Yes. Always trust your instincts.’ I stood, with some difficulty, and put out my hand. ‘Thank you, Charles. You’ve been a great help. I promise I won’t let anyone know the source of my information.’ I looked at the girls. ‘I’m sure no one else will, either. And please, Charles, don’t say anything at all about this to Colin Grimsby. If he knows something, and passes it along, you could be putting yourself in danger. And don’t disparage Jacobean drama! Those plays were popular, and have become popular again, because they speak truth about the wretched human condition – melodrama or not.’
He accepted my handshake, looking embarrassed, and left the room quickly.
‘Now what?’ Eileen looked at me expectantly.
‘Now we have to get Grimsby’s address. Can you do that, Sarah, as a fellow St Jude’s student?’
‘I can. In fact, if you want to come up to my room, I can get it on my laptop.’
More stairs. If I kept this up long enough I’d either be in great shape, or dead.
Armed with a name, address and phone number, I toiled back to the castle. Alan wasn’t there. He’d left a note saying he was with David, down at the pub. I called him, saying I was back and too tired to join him. ‘This getting old business puts a real damper on my ability to follow up on anything,’ I groused. ‘But I have some information for you both, if you’d like to come back here. Meanwhile I’m putting my feet up.’
Yes, there was need for haste, but I’ve learned over the years that neither my brain nor my body works well when I’m tired. Better to snatch a little rest when I could than blunder on doing stupid things that would have to be corrected later. More haste, less speed. Repeating that and other tired adages I lay down and was asleep in seconds.
FOURTEEN
It seemed only seconds later that the door opened to admit Alan and David, but I looked at the bedside alarm clock and realized I’d slept for about half an hour. Enough to provide a little refreshment and clear my head.
‘Awake, love?’
‘Almost. No, I don’t want any more bad coffee. A little cold water on my face, and I’ll be functional again. And then, could we take our discussion down to the courtyard? This room is really too small to hold three comfortably.’
The afternoon was waning, and the sun losing some of its warmth. It was pleasant sitting around a table, with the small sounds of the sparsely populated college around us. ‘This must be buzzing in term time,’ I commented.
‘Indeed. Now, Dorothy, I know you said you had information for us, but I gathered a trifle or two about young Nathan this afternoon, as well. I thought it might be worthwhile to know something about his family, so I checked with the police again. I told you he lived in Birmingham.’
‘Yes, but—’
David held up a hand. ‘Wait for it. He lived with his mother. An older brother is living on his own. In Bishop Auckland. That’s about ten miles from here, as the crow flies, a little longer by road.’
‘Oh.’ I thought about that for a while. ‘Do we know anything about the brother?’
‘Only this. When the Birmingham police called on the mother to notify her of her son’s death, she said something odd enough that the officers noted it in the record.’
‘All right, David, don’t make us beg.’
‘Apparently she was very controlled. You’ll remember, Alan, how much we hated making those visits.’
‘The hardest part of the job,’ Alan agreed. ‘Telling someone a child, or spouse, or sibling is dead …’ He shuddered. ‘It was worst, of course, when it was a death by violence. But an accident could be almost as bad.’
‘Yes. Then you’ll understand why the officers were surprised at the mother’s reaction. She said, and I quote: “It was bound to happen sometime. George can relax now.” George being the brother.’
‘But that is odd. What does it mean, do you think?’
‘One thing I’m sure it means,’ said Alan, ‘is that neither his mother nor his brother was distraught about Nathan’s death.’
I shook my head. ‘Neither, if what I’ve learned is true, were his fellow students. He must have been a truly unpleasant person.’
‘And I hate to remind you, but his potential as a pushee may have nothing whatever to do with the death we are actually investigating, that of Blake Armstrong.’
‘Who also sounds like a pushee, actually. Okay, disclaimer noted and discarded. Now let me tell you what I learned at St Jude’s.’
I gave a pretty thorough summary of what Sarah and Charles had told me, and finished with the name and address. ‘I must say I hesitated before giving you this. Just because the guy hated Nathan doesn’t mean he did anything about it.’
Alan shook his head. ‘You can’t have it both ways, Dorothy. Either we pursue this investigation or we don’t. You’ve decided there are benefits at the end of the trail. You’re caught up in another of the pitfalls of police work: the harassment of possibly innocent people.’
‘And remember what’s at stake here,’ said David, ‘the fate of an elderly lady whom I love like a mother.’
I bit my lip. ‘You’re right, of course. I’m sorry. I won’t wimp out. We have two solid leads now, Colin Grimsby and George Elliot. Which shall we tackle first? Or do we split up?’
‘Oh, no, we don’t!’ Alan spoke before David could say a word. ‘If you’re right, one of these men may be a murderer, and you are not going to speak with him alone!’
I rolled my eyes. Alan and I had fought this battle for years. His male protectiveness, enhanced by the English-gentleman code, kicked in every time I wanted to do anything involving the smallest degree of risk. I found his fears both endearing and infuriating. We had worked out an understanding over the years. I would promise to do nothing foolhardy if he would keep his impulses in check, but sometimes he simply couldn’t restrain himself.
‘I had thought,’ I said mildly, ‘of going with you to talk to one of the men, and David going to the other. I think I might do best with Grimsby; I do usually get along well with students.’
David had w
isely stayed out of the question, but now he nodded. ‘That sounds like a reasonable solution. Grimsby’s address is nearby, so why don’t you phone him, Dorothy? He may well be out of town. And I’ll call George Elliot.’
My call went to voicemail. I decided against leaving a message. ‘Drat. He isn’t there. Maybe away for the break; maybe just down at the pub. I didn’t leave a message, since he doesn’t know me from Adam and probably doesn’t want to. I’ll try again later. How’d you do, David?’
‘Voicemail. I left a message, a somewhat deceptive one, I fear, just saying I was calling from Durham about the death of his brother. I hope it sounded like a condolence message.’
‘Did you keep the policeman out of your voice?’
He smiled. ‘I tried.’
‘Then we’ve done all we can for now. Except pray for Amanda, of course. I wonder if the cathedral is still open?’
Alan looked at his watch. ‘No, it’s well after six. But we can pray anywhere. For now, unless you want a good-sized man fainting at your feet, let’s find a meal.’
Since it was Sunday, when the congestion fee didn’t apply, David had driven and, wonder of wonders, found a parking place not far from the castle. He drove us to a lovely Indian restaurant quite a way out of town, and just as our food (smelling absolutely wonderful) was served, his phone warbled. He looked at the display and answered immediately.
The end of the conversation we could hear was not illuminating. David clicked off, put his phone away, put a credit card on the table, and stood up. ‘George Elliot says he can see me briefly in about half an hour, and is then leaving town. Could you have them box up my dinner? I’ll be in touch.’
And he was out the door.
Alan and I ate quickly, not saying much. We were left with nothing to do until I could reach Colin Grimsby. I tried twice; still no answer. Alan pocketed David’s credit card to give back to him when we next saw him and paid with his own, getting a box for David’s untouched meal. Then it occurred to us: we were a few miles from our lodging in the castle, and night had fallen. How on earth were we to get back?
At home it would have been no problem. Someone we knew would have given us a ride. Here, we knew no one.
Alan went to the desk and inquired about a taxi. After a spirited conference among all the restaurant staff, it was agreed that taxis didn’t often come out this far, that they had no phone number to call a service, and that in any case it was a Sunday. This seemed to be an unarguable final answer. One of the waiters, however, said he lived near the castle and would be happy to take us there when his shift was over. And when might that be? Around eleven.
It wasn’t quite eight o’clock by Alan’s watch.
‘We could … um … walk out to the highway and thumb a ride.’ My heart wasn’t in the suggestion, and Alan rightly ignored it. ‘It seems we’re going to be here for a while,’ he told the man at the till. ‘Is there a small table you won’t be likely to need tonight where we can sit and wait?’
‘But yes, of course, please! The large tables will be in use, but there is a table for two – not the best table for dining, you understand, it is near the kitchen, with much traffic, but for sitting, with perhaps a bottle of wine?’
We ordered the wine, for lack of anything better to do, and I dug my notebook out of my purse. ‘Is there anything to write down?’ I asked dismally. ‘I can’t think of a thing to do, or lists to make, or in fact anything useful. I’m stuck.’
‘Take a look at the list you made before. Is there anything that needs following up?’
I turned back a page to where I’d transcribed the notes I’d made on the napkin. ‘I don’t think we ever found out exactly what time of day it was – the drowning. I don’t know that it matters, actually, and with our police contact out on what is probably a wild goose chase, we can’t check it now, anyway.’
‘Excuse me.’ I didn’t recognize the woman standing by our table. ‘You probably don’t remember me, but I work at the Milton Home, in the kitchen. You came to talk to us a few days ago. Mrs … Marlowe, is it?’
‘Martin. And yes, I do remember you, but I’m terrible about names.’
‘I don’t think I ever told you my name. It’s Kathleen, Kathleen Anderson. And I was really rude to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t quite understand … anyway, I overheard you say you’re stranded here. If your battery died or something, my husband can help, perhaps. He’s very good with cars.’
‘Oh, goodness, how kind of you, but it isn’t car trouble. Mr Tregarth brought us here and then had to rush off, which means we don’t have a way to get back to the castle until he returns, and that may not be for some time.’
‘Then we’d be happy to give you a lift. Please! I’d like to make it up to you.’
‘There’s no need! But we’d be most grateful for the lift. Thank you.’
Alan tried to call David to tell him our plans, but the call went to voicemail. ‘He’s probably driving back here right now. I left a message.’
We had scarcely settled ourselves in the car before Kathleen turned around. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you ever since that day. You were trying to find out about Mr Armstrong, and I was afraid to tell you anything. I need that job. We’re trying to save money because … well, we’re expecting a baby, and I won’t be able to work for a while.’
‘Congratulations! Your first?’
Her face might have lighted our way down the road. ‘I’m really excited. And a little bit scared. Were you scared with your first?’
‘Alas, I was never able to have children. But my sisters told me they could never remember afterwards whether they had been afraid. Once that baby was safely in their arms, they forgot the rest.’
‘That’s what my friends say, too. So anyway. Some of the others at the home said I didn’t need to worry about talking to you, that Mr Williams would never sack me for doing the right thing. But I didn’t know how to reach you without asking him, and …’
‘And you still weren’t sure it would work out all right. I understand. Well, here I am. What did you want to tell me?’
‘Two things. First, I started to tell you that I didn’t like Mr Armstrong. None of us did. He was smarmy, and he told lies.’
‘About what?’ I was suddenly alert. This could be important.
‘About everything. He lied about being ill, for a start. He was as healthy as I was. I thought – we all thought – he was hiding out from something. He was a doctor, and we thought maybe he was dodging a malpractice suit. Something like that. He’d moan and groan and carry on when anyone was in his room, any of the staff, I mean, and then be up and out to the garden room first thing. He hid his pills, too, and then said they hadn’t given them to him, and raised a great fuss.’
‘I thought he wasn’t on a nursing regime.’
‘He wasn’t, but he had a few prescriptions, just like any old person, and the staff were supposed to make sure he took them.’
‘Why would he hide them?’
‘Just to make trouble, we all thought. But the other thing is really important. Or may be, anyway. I know the talk is that it must have been someone in the home who killed him, because it’s very hard to get in. And they’re maybe going to make that sweet Miss Amanda leave, and there’s no way she could have done it. That’s just a crime! So I had to tell you, anybody can get into that place really easily. They’d just have to come in through the kitchen.’
‘David didn’t mention that there was an outside door in the kitchen.’
‘He probably didn’t know. No one ever uses it except kitchen staff and delivery men. We don’t worry about it, because the residents can’t get into the kitchen and then out that way. And it’s kept unlocked during the day, because there’s always someone in the kitchen.’
‘But could a stranger get in without being noticed?’
‘Oh, yes, if he was clever about choosing his time. Everyone’s madly busy just before mealtimes – any meal, but especially lunch and dinner. And of cour
se we’ve quite a turnover among the casual staff, just like any commercial kitchen. So even if we did notice a stranger, we’d just think he was a new hire.’
‘I see.’ I wasn’t sure about the implications of all this, except that almost anyone in the universe could have killed Blake Armstrong.
Alan had sat silent, taking all this in. ‘Miss Anderson, have you mentioned the kitchen door to anyone else?’
‘No. Of course everyone at the home knows about it.’
‘Yes. I think it would be as well if you didn’t talk about it.’
She wasn’t stupid. ‘Because anyone out there could be a murderer.’
‘Exactly. Will you promise me?’
‘She promises.’ That was her husband. ‘She has two people to look after now.’
‘I do promise. And it’s three, counting you.’ She turned back to the front and grinned at her husband, who reached over and patted her hand.
FIFTEEN
‘This changes everything,’ I said when we were back in our cosy little castle. ‘Now we have to look at anybody who had it in for Blake Armstrong. Unfortunately that includes Tim Hayes. And we can’t even eliminate very many of them on the basis of an alibi, since we don’t know exactly when he died.’
‘Perhaps we’ll discover that every medical man in the city was away at a convention in Paris for the whole day.’
‘And one of their spouses did the deed.’
We both sighed. ‘I wish we’d hear from David. Should we try calling him again?’
Alan glanced at his watch. ‘It’s a bit late, but perhaps.’ He pushed the proper buttons. ‘Voicemail,’ he said after a moment.
We looked at each other. ‘Are we going to start worrying about him?’ I asked. ‘How long would it take to get to that small town, whatever it’s called, have a brief talk, and get back?’
‘An hour there and back would be more than ample, I’d think, even if the road is truly terrible. He left us less than two hours ago. So no, we don’t start worrying yet. I’m not sure why we’d worry at all, really. David Tregarth is a trained policeman. He knows how to meet most sorts of trouble.’
Death Comes to Durham Page 11
