A Dead Man in Malta

by Michael Pearce

  Thinking it over, said Carmen - and she had done a lot of thinking it over - she thought that maybe that was what they had seen.

  ‘As a matter of fact.’ said Melinda, ‘I did look in. I don’t think she saw me, but I did. I wanted to be sure that things were all right. She’s new and inexperienced. So I was keeping my eye on her. She’s fine, or she will be fine. But she’s a bit unsure of herself still. Naturally Especially about the measuring. Actually, she’s not great shakes at sums. But she’s very conscientious, so she does them again to make sure. And again. And again. And she was doing that when I looked in, so I didn’t disturb her.’

  ‘Would she have been concentrating so much that she wouldn’t have seen - ?’

  ‘Someone come in and stifle Turner? Of course not!’ said Melinda.

  ‘Then - ? She says she didn’t leave the ward.’

  ‘She wouldn’t have done.’

  Melinda thought. ‘Unless - ’

  She stopped.

  ‘I think I can see how it might have happened.’ she said. ‘When Mrs Ferreira comes round with the dispensing trolley she sometimes gets stuck along the corridor - there’s a door that has to be held open. Usually the nurse in that ward goes along to help her. If Carmen had done that, she wouldn’t have thought she was leaving the ward!’

  ‘But it wouldn’t have taken a moment, would it? Not long enough to allow someone to - ’

  Melinda thought again.

  ‘Barely long enough,’ she conceded. ‘But usually there’s a bit of chat. And there would have been in Carmen’s case, because Mrs Ferreira knows her mother, and had probably been asked to keep an eye on Carmen for her.’

  ‘Still - ’ said Seymour. ‘Would this have been a regular occurrence?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Melinda. ‘Every day. Bang on the dot! Mrs Ferreira would be there with her trolley.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have had very long.’ said Seymour. ‘And you would have to know the hospital routines very well.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Melinda. ‘You would.’

  Felix had developed the art of never listening to his mother. This morning, though, as she was talking to his father over the breakfast table, he suddenly heard something which shot him alert.

  ‘Yes, on Saturday,’ she said. ‘That will give me the whole of Sunday to get Felix’s things together so that he’ll be ready on Monday.’

  ‘Ready?’ said Felix. ‘What for?’

  ‘School,’ said his father. ‘Remember it?’

  ‘Monday? Next Monday?’

  ‘As ever is,’ said his father.

  ‘But I thought that was the week after! I thought I had another week!’

  ‘Felix,’ said his mother. ‘You are so vague!’

  ‘But - but I shall still be here. In Malta!’

  ‘Not unless you’ve made arrangements to stay on your own,’ said his father.

  ‘We are leaving on Saturday morning,’ said his mother. ‘Early. If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a hundred times!’

  ‘But ... but... I can’t!’ said Felix.

  ‘Well, of course, if you’ve made private arrangements - ’ said his father.

  ‘I’ve got my project to do!’

  ‘There’ll be time for you to finish it,’ said his mother. ‘We’ve still got four days.’

  ‘But I haven’t started it!’

  ‘You’ve been talking about it for days. If not weeks.’

  ‘But I haven’t actually started writing!’

  ‘Then, Felix,’ said his father, ‘I suggest you start writing pretty soon!’

  Much perturbed, Felix went to see Sophia.

  He found her still at breakfast with a very long face.

  ‘But, Sophia,’ her mother was saying patiently, ‘it’s written on the calendar. Up on the wall.’

  Sophia turned to Felix.

  ‘School starts on Monday,’ she said, ‘and I haven’t done my project. It’s supposed to be handed in the first morning.’

  ‘Same here.’ said Felix. ‘We’re going back on Saturday. Now I haven’t even started!’

  ‘I will clear the table.’ said Mrs Ferreira, ‘and then you can both sit down and get writing.’

  ‘I’m still not sure what it’s going to be about!’

  ‘Then, Felix, I suggest you decide in the next thirty seconds. And you, too, Sophia, instead of blaming the British, the Government, and your grandfather.’

  ‘What’s all this about?’ said Grandfather.

  ‘Sophia’s project. It’s got to be handed in on Monday and she hasn’t even started. She hasn’t even made her mind up about the title.’

  ‘I thought ... the Victoria Lines, wasn’t it?’

  ‘It’s going to have to be,’ said Sophia glumly.

  ‘And you, Felix?’ said Mrs Ferreira, turning to Felix.

  ‘Well, I had thought about doing the Armouries - ’

  ‘Yes, but you said they were closed?’

  ‘You could do it on what you would have seen if they had been open,’ suggested Sophia.

  ‘I think you should follow Dr Malia’s advice and do it on the Infermeria,’ said Mrs Ferreira firmly.

  ‘You’d better ask Umberto.’ said Berto uneasily.

  ‘I want to ask you.’

  ‘Look, I don’t know anything about it. What Umberto does is his own business, I don’t ask him and he doesn’t ask me. But what I say is, you’ve got to give a bloke a bit of leeway. All right, maybe not as much as Umberto took, but he thought it was all right. He’d made arrangements - ’

  ‘Mario?’

  ‘I’m not saying that was right, the way it turned out. But it’s happened before and it’s been all right. The hospital has not suffered. And it wouldn’t have suffered, normally, because Mario is a good kid and has got his head screwed on the right way and he knows what to do as well as Umberto or me. Normally, I mean. It was just that this time was different. Now, I don’t live too far away and he could have come and got me or sent someone, and I would have come running, I really would. Mario’s a good kid and he’s not to blame, that’s what I am saying. And nor is Umberto. We all make mistakes, and he’s made one, and he knows it. He’s not been the same man. Look, I’ll admit it, if that’s what you want. We messed it up between us really bad and - ’

  ‘That was not what I wanted to see you about.’

  ‘It wasn’t?’ said Berto, taken aback. ‘Then - ?’

  ‘I wanted to ask you about something that happened on a different day. The day of the balloons. Now, unlike Umberto, you were inside the hospital the whole time, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, I was.’

  ‘Well, I want you to tell me about that.’

  ‘About the balloons?’

  ‘About what happened here. When the German arrived.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Berto, relieved. ‘Well, it was a right to-do. Pandemonium. Absolute pandemonium! Never known anything like it. One minute it was as quiet as the grave. I’d been sitting peacefully here. Nothing was happening, so I wandered out to the front to take a look at the balloons. Then I saw one of them coming down, and Laura said: “You’d better get ready, Berto!”

  ‘Well, the next minute there were bloody hundreds in here, all pushing and shoving. “Get them out!” shouts Laura. Easier said than done but I did what I could. Even the bloody band was here! “What the hell are you lot doing here?” I said. But they just pushed past me. Laura came out from behind her desk and grabbed some of them by the scruff of the neck and tried to push them out of the door and I was doing my best, but they were all over the place.

  ‘And then Umberto appears. “Christ, what’s this?” he says, seeing the band. “Are you having a party, Berto?” “No, I’m bloody not!” I say. “Where the hell have you been?” “Putting that little German bastard to bed!” he says. “And it’s not been easy.” “Well, it’s not been exactly easy here,” I said. “Help me get them out!”

  ‘So he started shoving, and I kept pushing, and Laura was sh
outing her head off, but it was a sort of deadlock.

  No one could get anywhere. “What the hell do you lot want, anyway?” shouts Umberto. “We want to see the German,” someone shouts. “Is he all right?” “He’s having a kip,” said Umberto. “The doctors say he’s got to rest.” “Have they given him a sedative?” asks someone. “I expect so,” said Umberto, “and I wish they’d give me one, too.”

  “‘Can we see him?” asked someone. “No, you bloody can’t!” said Umberto. “Melinda has got him locked away in the nurses’ room and no one is allowed in.” “Is he asleep?” asks someone. “Yes,” says Umberto, “and I wish I was, too.”

  ‘Well, in the end we got rid of them. But it took nearly an hour because by this time they’d got all over the place and we were having to chase after them. But in the end we did it.’

  He found Mrs Ferreira making ready her trolley.

  ‘Hello!’ she said. ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you. We’re having a fenkata to send off our St John Ambulance friends from England. You will come, won’t you?’

  ‘I would be delighted to.’

  ‘Chantale has got the details.’

  ‘I look forward to it.’ He smiled. ‘I expect that, deep in your heart, you will not be sorry to see them go.’

  ‘Oh, no, no!’ protested Mrs Ferreira, laughing.

  ‘You have been very kind and very patient, but I suspect that sometimes it has not been easy.’

  ‘She means well,’ said Mrs Ferreira laughing; and Seymour knew she was not talking about Chantale.

  ‘She was in here the other day,’ she said, ‘showing me her charts. She wanted to talk them over with me to make sure that she had got them right. Of course, I was glad to, although I was really rather busy at the time. Paolo had just brought his clothes in for me to check over. His seagoing clothes, I mean - he’s off back to sea shortly. I insist on him bringing them to me. Like a fussy mother, I suppose. Well, I am a fussy mother, and I try to be one for him. Since Debra can’t. Anyway, he had just brought them in when Mrs Wynne-Gurr arrived with an armful of charts she had drawn up.’

  ‘So it wasn’t a good moment?’

  ‘No. Not that it mattered, because I had plenty of time to do Paolo’s things. But I had set aside the morning for that.’

  ‘Did he mind?’

  ‘Oh, he didn’t have to be there. All he had to do was bring the things in. He might have stayed and chatted for a bit but when he saw her, he pulled a face and said: “The English!” and hurried off when she got started and he heard what it was all about.’

  ‘I don’t blame him,’ said Seymour. ‘She explained them all to me, too!’

  Mrs Ferreira laughed.

  ‘What did you think of them?’ asked Seymour. ‘Her ideas, I mean?’

  ‘Well, she seemed to have worked everything out. But …‘

  ‘But?’

  She was silent for a moment.

  ‘Things are not like that. Not here in the hospital. She makes it all seem too neat. And ...’

  ‘And?’

  She was silent again, this time for quite some minutes. At last she said: ‘And I didn’t like the way they seemed to be pointing.’

  ‘What way were they pointing?’

  ‘I think I’d better leave that to her to tell you,’ she said. ‘Because I simply don’t believe it.’

  As he was getting into the dghajsa he met Lucca. He was preoccupied and seemed not a little distressed.

  ‘He’s going crazy! Backhaus!’

  ‘Backhaus?’

  ‘Yes. He wants me to take the technicians into custody. I’ll need some evidence before I can do that, I told him. “I have evidence!” he said. “Written evidence!” “Written

  evidence?” I said. “Yes,” he said, and waved a letter under my nose. “Let me take a look at it,” I said. “No,” he said, “it is evidence.” “No, it’s not, if I can’t look at it,” I said. Well, he thought a bit and then said: “How can I trust you?” “Look,” I said. “I’m a policeman!” “Yes,” he said, “but that means you’re in the pay of the British.”

  ‘If anything makes me mad, that does. “I’m in the pay of the Maltese Government,” I said. “Maltese, not British, can’t you understand that, you daft bastard?” (I shall deny ever having said that, if it becomes an issue.) “There’s a difference between the two.”

  “‘Ah, yes,” he said, “but - ‘

  “‘No buts,” I said. “Maltese!”

  “‘All right, all right!” he said. “Perhaps I can trust you, if that’s the way it is. I’ll send you a copy of the letter.” “Thank you very much,” I said, and would have walked away, but he said: “Wait! I will read it to you.”

  ‘So I waited, and he read it to me. At first, I thought it was just another anonymous letter. I get them all the time. I think there are people in Valletta who, when they’ve got nothing to do, say to themselves: “I know, I’ll write to Lucca!” Anyway, this one said, as quite a lot of them do, the British are behind it.’

  ‘Behind what?’ said Seymour.

  ‘Behind killing the German. It was something to do with this new destroyer that’s in. Kiesewetter’s technicians were British, the letter said, and in England’s pay. They had sabotaged Kiesewetter’s balloon so that it would crash and kill Kiesewetter.

  ‘“Look,” I said, “this is nothing new. I’ve had the idea myself. What I need is evidence.”

  ‘“Ah,” Backhaus said, “but there is more.” The letter went on to say that an agent of the British Government had been seen talking to the technicians at a pub that morning. And that afterwards the agent had gone over with the technicians to Marsa racetrack to see the balloon and tell them how to do it.

  ‘That made me stop for a minute because it was quite specific. It even gave the pub by name. It gave the pub and the time. And the writer said he could supply witnesses.

  ‘Well, that made me think. People who write this kind of letter don’t usually go into details. And they don’t usually offer to give the names of witnesses. Witnesses, plural. I began to wonder if Backhaus was quite as crazy as I had thought.

  ‘And then he said: “There is yet more!” and looked at me sort of triumphantly.

  ‘And this bit was new, and when I heard it I didn’t like it at all. The letter said the agent was a woman and a nurse. And that she had been there when Kiesewetter was admitted and had been near him the whole time he was in the hospital. Including when he died.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Seymour. ‘I think someone is about to make the same point to me. Did the letter say any more?’

  ‘It did, and I didn’t like this, either. It said that after Kiesewetter had died, she left the hospital and went straight down to the Navy place, the new one at St Angelo. To report, says the letter, and Backhaus.’

  ‘Well,’ said Seymour, ‘that ought to be easy to check.’

  ‘And that is just what I am about to do,’ said Lucca.

  ‘Yes, we were in the Eagle,’ said the technicians.

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘What do you think? Having a beer.’

  ‘And something to eat,’ said the other technician. ‘We’d been on since four getting things sorted out for the launch. Making sure that everything was ready.’

  ‘And hadn’t had anything to eat.’

  ‘Not even breakfast.’

  ‘And I said to George, we’re not going to get through the day if we go on like this. Let’s go out for a bite. We’re well ahead.’

  ‘Why didn’t you find somewhere at the racetrack to have a bite?’ asked Seymour.

  ‘They don’t do an English breakfast,’ said George. ‘The Eagle does.’

  ‘A proper breakfast.’ said the other technician. ‘And a big one. That’s what we needed.’

  ‘Two.’ said George.

  ‘Two breakfasts?’

  ‘Two eggs. And bacon and sausages. And black pudding, but they don’t do black pudding in Malta.’

  ‘I suppose it was getting on t
owards lunch by this time,’ said Seymour.

  ‘Yes, it was. And we knew we were going to miss out on that as well. So we had a beer with the eggs and chips. To put us on.’

  ‘And see us through.’

  ‘Did you check it with Kiesewetter?’

  ‘Kiesewetter was off somewhere.’

  ‘Looking for milk.’

  ‘He’d been on since four, too.’

  ‘Did we check with him that it would be all right? No. Because he wouldn’t have agreed.’

  ‘How long were you in the pub for?’

  ‘Three-quarters of an hour. No more. We had to get back.’

  ‘While you were in there, did you talk to anyone?’ asked Seymour.

  ‘We certainly did! This beautiful bird walks in. She said she was a nurse and had been on duty all night. And what she wanted was a bit of breakfast, too. “Join the party,” we said. So she sat down beside us. But all she had was a cup of coffee and a bread roll. She said she had to go back to the hospital because it was a special day, what with the balloons and the crowds, and that they were sure to be called in at the hospital at some point. But what she needed was to get out for a bit of fresh air.’

  ‘Did she know you were working on the balloon?’

  ‘We told her. She said it must be wonderful to go up in a balloon and see everything spread out below. It is, for the first few times, we said, but then you get used to it. She said how much she would like to go up in a balloon and asked if there was any chance of going up in ours. “You’d have to ask the Herr,” we said. “And he’ll probably say no, because he’s like that.” She said what a pity. And we said we could show her the balloon if she liked. She could come back with us.’

  ‘And did she come back with you?’

  ‘Oh, yes. We let her look over it. The balloons were about ready to go by then.’

  ‘Of course, you’d got yours ready before you went to the pub?’

  ‘Pretty well, yes.’

  ‘And it was all right when you got back, was it?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’