‘And we’ll go along with you and give you a nice feed when you’re through with the inspector,’ said Maureen reassuringly.
The Reverend Mother sat silent for some time after they had gone and when she spoke, it was more to herself than to Dr Scher. ‘Patrick could not arrest the major,’ she said. ‘There is no evidence that could stand up in any court. Even if Brian had been willing to say more, it would still be very doubtful. Our only chance was for the major to admit the crime.’ And then she looked at Dr Scher with an irritated expression. ‘You were too quick,’ she complained. ‘I knew he’d never admit to it, but if you had caught him in the act of trying to smother me, then he’d have had some explaining to do. Why didn’t you wait in the waiting room, instead of lurking in the corridor?’
‘It’s just professional pride,’ said Dr Scher. ‘I hate losing a patient. You gave me the fright of my life. I knew that you were up to something. If I had known that Patrick was on his way up the stairs, I’d have felt relieved. But I didn’t and I thought that smooth-talking major might do for you. I was waiting in the corridor, listening at the door, in fact. I suppose when Eileen popped in to see you, you sent her over to Patrick with a letter. Well, all’s well, that ends well.’
‘All is not well,’ said the Reverend Mother, compressing her lips. ‘A boy has been corrupted, an elderly man has been murdered and the guilty person has escaped, unscathed and in possession of a fortune. I’ve mismanaged this. I knew he was guilty and now he has escaped. And if you had waited in the waiting room as I had told you to do, we might have got a confession out of him when you came in and caught him strangling me. You could have told him that I was on the point of death, or something, made him admit his guilt.’
‘Now, Reverend Mother, I wonder could you explain to a dull old man how you fastened on the major as the guilty one.’ Dr Scher had the air of one who wished to change the conversation. He took her wrist and checked her pulse before continuing. ‘Patrick was just saying the other day that he never knew of a case where so many people appeared to be guilty. They were all going around trying to fabricate alibis for themselves. Why were they doing that if they were innocent of the crime?’
The Reverend Mother leaned back in her chair and thought about that for a moment. ‘Fear, Dr Scher, is like a noxious gas and there was an atmosphere of dread and of anxiety spread over the whole of that shop. I’m not sorry that it is being pulled down. The late Mr Joseph Fitzwilliam kept his wife and three of his four children in a state of nervousness and unease. As he did with his employees and his apprentices. All were used to being blamed for something of which they were innocent. They expected irrationality when it came to apportioning culpability and therefore they became accustomed to producing alibis or blaming someone else. Once poor Mrs Fitzwilliam accused Brian, they all fastened on him as a scapegoat. They did not know what she knew. She was the only one who had seen him, I feel sure, but he made a handy scapegoat. And then, of course, Brian muddied the waters by staging his own murder and trying to make it appear that he was a victim, a witness, perhaps, rather than the perpetrator. It was a strange case, but not a particularly difficult case. One had only to determine who really benefitted from the murder and then to work out how it could have been done. The use of an underling, of course, as you yourself suggested, came naturally to an army officer who would be used to giving commands to kill.’
‘Well, there’s nothing to be done now,’ said Dr Scher. ‘Anyway, I don’t suppose it would do any good to hang the man. Wouldn’t bring back the father, would it?’
‘There is one thing to be done,’ said the Reverend Mother. ‘And I hope that Patrick will have the authority to do it. That boy was taken away without the consent of his mother, about to be launched into a life where killing is the norm. He has now been brought back, but I am seriously worried about him and think that he will need care; that his mother, that all of us will need to think about him. Something which he did, at the age of thirteen, some evil action, almost resulted in a total change in his life, very nearly, in fact, gave him his heart’s desire. That is a very dangerous start to adult life and the boy will need to be monitored to make sure that he does not think that the death of another is a solution to problems.’ She leaned back in her chair, feeling exhausted and very depressed. Murder, she thought, was like a cancer. Its tentacles spread out and infected those who had been touched by it. A sense of failure had seeped through her own veins. What was she, an elderly unwell nun, doing meddling with crime instead of sitting by the fire and telling her rosary beads? She looked across at Dr Scher, who was delving into his attaché case, no doubt for some remedy. And somehow, as she looked at him, her spirits lightened.
He, she thought, battled on a daily basis against disease. He fought against cancers and tuberculosis and the terrible effects of starvation. He was often defeated, but never gave up. She sat up a little straighter and resolved not to be downcast by one failure.
Aloud she said, ‘And it does matter that the man has escaped justice. Thomas Aquinas, as usual, sums it up for us. Bonum commune praeminet bonum singulari unius personae. The good of the community must predominate over the good of the individual person. For the sake of the community, murder must never be tolerated.’
She took in a long breath. It stabbed at her lungs but she ignored the pain and sat up very straight. ‘And one miscarriage of justice,’ she said firmly, ‘cannot ever be allowed to make the lawgivers lose heart.’
Murder at the Queen's Old Castle Page 25
