‘Ah, you got here at last, then. Good. Now, seein’ I’ve got you all rounded up, let’s see if I can get some sense out of this strange situation, shall I? I don’t suppose it’ll take me that long—not if you co-operate. Only I’ll tell you one thing before we start. I’ve got a nose for lies—a real nose. Even if you bend the truth only a little bit, I’ll spot it, because that’s my job, eh Travers? Just like you lot spot a real illness, no matter what the patient may choose to say. So let’s save all our time, and tell the truth, eh? Good. I’ll start with yesterday morning’s operations, then——’
CHAPTER EIGHT
WATCHING and listening carefully, Lucy thought, ‘—he’s enjoying this. He’s like a puppet master making us all dance when he tells us to. Only we’re talking instead of dancing.’
And suddenly she found Spain’s relaxed urbanity somehow sinister, as she listened to Hickson stammering and stuttering through an explanation of why he was in the theatres during the sailor’s operation, and shrank nearer to Barney’s comforting bulk. And then realised she had done it, and moved back a step again to stand with her hands primly folded on her apron front.
Barney, too, had been a little repelled by Spain’s smooth handling of this difficult group of people, by the quiet way Sergeant Travers’ pencil slid over the pages of his shorthand notebook, but gradually his interest in what was going on rose to the top, and he listened intently.
And then, suddenly, the talking stopped, as Spain turned to Travers and held out his hand for the notebook. The two policemen stood with their heads together as Spain read swiftly through the squiggle-covered pages, and the hospital people moved and rustled, but didn’t speak, avoiding looking at each other’s faces. Even Sir James seemed somehow discomfited, and stood leaning against a charred wall with his heavy face closed and lowering.
‘Well, now,’ Spain’s voice made them jump slightly. ‘I think I begin to see a little light in this. Only a little, mind you, but enough to sort out fact from surmise. So let’s look at what we’ve got.’
He sat himself on the remains of the safe, and beamed round at them. ‘I know this isn’t the most comfortable place to be in, but bear with me, and I’ll let you all get back to your important work as soon as possible. Now. Since yesterday morning, two parts of this hospital seem to have been involved in some unexpected goings on. The theatres first—the Private Wing Theatres. Two patients died there.
‘Now, the first patient died as a result of his anaesthetic. Of that much we can be fairly certain, even though we haven’t yet got the findings of the post mortem. Nasty things, post mortems.’ He shuddered with a faintly theatrical air. ‘Yes, nasty. Now, the doctor who gave the anaesthetic tells us he thinks his patient was murdered. He can’t tell us how, or why, or anything nice and solid like that. Just that he believes it.’
Barney reddened painfully and opened his mouth to speak, but Spain went on unhurriedly, yet with an authority that effectively overrode Barney’s attempt.
‘And then there was the second patient. He died after his operation, as the result of being given a blood transfusion that was started in the operating theatres. Now, stop me if I get these difficult medical facts wrong——’ and he smiled to show that he knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t, ‘—but as I understand it, people have to have blood specially chosen for them. A bottleful has to be specially matched to the patient’s own blood, because if the wrong blood is given, it can kill. Mr. Heath tells us he did match the blood properly but that somehow the wrong blood got into the bottle between the time he crossmatched it and the time it was given to that poor ill man.’ His face sketched sympathy for the dead Quayle, and he lifted limpid eyes to Jeff’s face, which in its turn showed ugly red blotches. But Jeff’s attempts to speak were also overridden by the equable Spain.
‘Bottles of blood come to this hospital from the blood transfusion centre, already labelled as to group. All that has to be done here is to select the right group, match it, and label it with the patient’s name. Dr. Heath said he did this. Sir James and Mr. Caspar tell us that when they checked, it was the wrong blood,’ even though the bottle bore Quayle’s name. We can’t do any checking back on this, with the transfusion centre, owing to the fact that Sister Palmer who was in charge of Quayle’s ward didn’t return the bottle unwashed to the laboratory as she should have done. The bottle was returned after having been carefully sluiced out.’
Sister Palmer looked desperately distressed. ‘I told you!’ she burst out. ‘I told you! It was a new junior nurse! She forgot all she’d been told about blood transfusions and the stupid creature washed the bottle. I told you——’
‘Yes, Sister. I know you did! Everyone’s tellin’ me everything,’ Spain said with wide-eyed innocence. ‘All I’m doin’ now is running a brief outline of what happened. So, as I say, we can’t prove Dr. Heath isn’t to blame, any more than we can prove Dr. Elliot isn’t to blame for what happened to his patient. But they both agree that murder has been done. Once more, Dr. Heath can’t tell us why or how—how the wrong blood was given, that is, though we accept that it was.’
Jeff didn’t attempt to speak. He just stood with his arms folded and looked directly at Spain with a twist to his mouth that showed a fine disdain. Spain didn’t seem to notice.
‘So, there we have a few facts and a hell of a lot of surmise. Yes, lots of surmise. But now we come to what I like best—solid facts. Yesterday afternoon Mr. Bruce took himself off to Mr. Stroud’s office to report his discovery of a series of very clever thefts of drugs—drugs that bring a big price on the illicit market. Amphetamine—black bombers, and the like. Heroin. And snow—cocaine. When he got to Stroud’s office, he met Dr. Hickson outside, and in his efforts to avoid letting Dr. Hickson see that he was carrying all the drug requisition books managed to drop some, which Dr. Hickson picked up and gave back to him. I mention this——’ Spain looked directly at Hickson, who looked even sicker than he had that morning, ‘—to show that he knew, in common with everyone else here, that Mr. Bruce wanted to see Mr. Stroud on an important matter. The rest of you knew because Mr. Stroud’s secretary came into the office where you all were and announced the fact.
‘Right. We now move on to late last night. The Pharmacy started to burn. It was assumed that the fire had started in the sterilising room, which in fact is almost undamaged. It was the most likely place for a truly accidental fire to start, because of its bunsen burners and sterilisers and what have you, so it was a natural assumption. Well, unfortunately for someone, the fire was admirably controlled by our noble friends in the fire service——’ and Spain produced a bland smile, ‘—and a good look around this morning confirms last night’s suspicions. The fire was deliberately started by someone pouring paraffin over the drug books which Mr. Bruce had put in there, after Mr. Stroud had refused to see him——’ Stroud shifted his feet miserably, ‘—and that someone also removed the entire stock of amphetamine, heroin and cocaine which Mr. Bruce had prudently locked in there with the books. Not all that prudently, as it turns out.
‘And this brings me to another point. In talking to you all this morning, I’ve been shocked——’ he produced a prim expression ‘—shocked to discover just how casual you hospital people are about keys. You lock up important places when you leave them unattended, and then go and hang the keys on boards where any Tom, Dick or Harry can help himself to them!’
‘We’ve told you why!’ Stroud burst out. ‘We keep on telling you. A hospital gives a twenty-four hour service! We’ve got to be able to get to every part of the hospital at any time, without having to dig out some individual who has the keys! Bruce lives right out in the suburbs! If we needed some urgent drug in the middle of the night, it would take hours to get it! So, the dispensary keys hang on the board in the doctors’ common room when Bruce is away from the building, so that any doctor who needs them can get to them—and it’s the same with the laboratory keys and the operating theatre keys—only they, the Private Wing Theatre keys
, hang on the board in the porter’s lodge in the Private Wing——’
Spain opened his eyes very wide. ‘I know you told me why!’ he said. ‘But I’m still shocked! There must be a better way of ensuring security——’
‘We aren’t bloody policemen,’ Jeff said and his voice was grating. ‘We’re doctors. We’re more concerned with giving the patients immediate care when they need it than with security.’
‘Yes,’ Spain said smoothly. ‘Quite. Which brings me to my last point. Any one of you doctors could have got into this Pharmacy last night, and set it on its merry burnin’ way. Any one of you that had a motive. Mr. Bruce has given us information that suggests what that motive is. What we know about the way Mr. Bruce came over to Mr. Stroud’s office last night shows that you were all warned that there was urgent reason to do something to cover up those thefts. What we know about the keys tells us that you all had equal opportunity. So you see, we’ve got a lovely lot of facts. Seven doctors. Four nurses. Three administrative staff. Anyone of you could have been the drug thief, because you all had fair warning that the thefts were about to be revealed.’
He looked round consideringly. ‘We can cut out Mr. Bruce, since he was goin’ to do the revealing.’ Mr. Bruce produced a twisted smile. ‘We can cut out Mr. Stroud and his secretary, since they lack the specialist medical knowledge necessary to cook the drug books—which Mr. Bruce assures us was cleverly done. We’ll have to take his word for it, seein’ the books are no longer in the world of the livin’. So what are we left with? Doctors, Jackson, Foster, Caspar, Hickson, Heath, Elliot and Sir James——’
Dispassionately he let his glance move from one to the other, as he said their names, and they each responded in their special ways, Jackson looking disdainful, Derek Foster, Harry Caspar and John Hickson deeply embarrassed in varying degrees, and Jeff and Barney plain angry. Sir James was the only one who just stared back at the policeman impassively.
‘Of course,’ Inspector Spain went on. ‘There’s still the ladies—our four charmin’ nurses. Sister Osgood and Sister Palmer and Nurse Cooper were all in Mr. Stroud’s office yesterday, and all have the necessary understanding of the drug requisitioning system that would make the thefts possible. Sister Beaumont, on the other hand——’ Lucy felt her face whiten as Spain’s considering glance took her in. ‘Sister Beaumont is Dr. Elliot’s girl, and spent the evenin’ with him. If—and I’m only sayin’ if—Dr. Elliot is involved, I think it’s reasonable to suppose his girl friend is too. So you must join the ranks of suspects, Sister——’
Lucy wanted to die, quietly and immediately. She could feel the eyes of the other two Sisters fixed disapprovingly on her, was aware of sharp glances from Jackson and Stroud, but above all was aware of Barney standing beside her. Spain had no right to say such things, to stampede them into such a situation, calling her Barney’s ‘girl friend’! It was too much to cope with, too——
And then Barney took her hand in his and held it tightly and said loudly, ‘That is bloody outrageous! How dare you suggest that Sister Beaumont would——’
‘Oh, Dr. Elliot!’ Spain said, and his voice was exaggeratedly patient. ‘I’m a policeman! We’re trained to be outrageous, just like you’re trained to save lives! I can say what I like, you know, while I’m investigatin’ and no one can do a thing about it. But don’t you fret yourself, Doctor. I’m not gunnin’ for your Sister Beaumont—she looks too nice to be involved with anythin’ sordid, doesn’t she? Yes. I was just pointin’ out why I got you all here this morning. Because you’re all in some way connected with what’s goin’ on——’
He paused, and then looked round at the group again.
‘So. Some hard facts—proven arson, and virtually proven drug runnin’. Some wild surmises, like Stout Cortes’ lot went in for, about murders. Well, I’m lookin’ into those deaths very carefully. If I find the facts that prove them to be murders, I won’t be a bit surprised, mind you. In my experience where drugs are involved murder and God knows what else isn’t far in the background.’
His voice hardened and for the first time the bantering note left it and he spoke with very real feeling.
‘If there’s one thing that makes me sick it’s drug runnin’. I pity the poor bastards that use the stuff—you’ll never find me hounding poor bloody addicts to desperation—but I hate the people who supply them. So I give you fair warning, whoever you are—and it should be clear enough to all of you that it’s got to be one of you—I give you fair warning that I’m after your guts. And I’ll get you. Right. I’m now goin’ over to the admin, block where I’ve been given an office to use. If anyone has anything they want to tell me, they can come at any time to speak to me or Sergeant Travers. Good morning.’
And he pulled his coat around his heavy body and walked swiftly out of the Pharmacy block, turning right into the covered way that led to the Administrative offices, leaving them sullenly staring after him.
The group broke up, going back uneasily to work, without talking very much to each other. Inspector Spain seemed to have wrung them dry, and his final clear warning had alarmed them all. As Barney said, as he and Lucy walked across the garden towards the hospital, ‘It doesn’t matter how clear a conscience you’ve got, whenever accusations get thrown around, you immediately get all red and hot and look guilty——’
As they passed the big copper beech tree in the middle of the garden, Barney suddenly seized her wrist, and pulled her into its shadows, making her sit down on the wooden seat that was built round its heavy trunk.
‘Barney!’ she protested, but not with any great conviction. ‘For heaven’s sake! I’ve got to get on duty! The morning’s half gone, as it is——’
‘Then ten minutes either way won’t make all that much difference. Listen, Lucy——’ and then he stopped and just stared at her.
‘Yes?’ she said softly.
‘There are little yellow bits in your eyes.’ He sounded surprised.
‘I prefer to call them amber flecks,’ she said, and her voice was uneven. ‘It sounds more interesting. I—It’s just a genetic accident, really. My mother had amber coloured eyes, and Dad’s were brown, so I’ve got a mixture——’
‘You talk too much,’ he said, and kissed her lips very softly.
‘Barney! Have some sense! Broad daylight, in the nurses’ garden! Are you demented? You’ll have me drummed out. You know what an old bag Matron is. She goes mad if she finds out medical staff are within spitting distance of the Nurses’ Home—and you go around kissing me right under her windows——’
‘She’ll be over in her office now, so who cares?’ Barney said, and kissed her again, and Lucy lifted her face and cooperated with a great deal of enthusiasm.
‘Listen, Lucy,’ he said when he had raised his head from hers, rather unwillingly. ‘I wanted to tell you—I’m sorry about what Spain said just now. About your being my girl friend, I mean. Damn and blast! That isn’t what I mean at all. I’m not complaining because he called you my girl friend, but because it was there, with those gawping idiots, and——’
‘I know,’ she said gently. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Is it? Really? I was—afraid. Afraid you’d get all prickly and sheer off me, or something.’
‘I’m not the prickly kind,’ Lucy said.
‘No.’ He reached out his hand and touched her face gently, running the tips of his fingers along the curve of her lips. ‘No. Not prickly.’
‘Barney—if you don’t let me go on duty, I—I can’t answer for the consequences.’ She laughed a little breathlessly. ‘Please? Can’t we—er—continue this conversation some other time?’
‘Would you like that? To continue this specific conversation?’
She took a deep breath, and then nodded. ‘Yes, I would. Very much.’ And then grinned a little ruefully. ‘Oh, Lor! How’s that for a declaration?’
‘If that’s what it was, it’s just fine!’ and he stood up, and held out both hands to pull her to her feet. ‘
It’s the best thing I’ve heard this morning. Nice Lucy——’ and he bent his head to kiss her again, and then they walked in companionable silence, each glowing with an absurd pink and white happiness, across to the hospital.
He came to the ward with her. ‘I might just as well,’ he pointed out, when she demurred. ‘Seeing I can’t do any work. I’ve got to have Cantrell to hold my hand all the time, so he might just as well work alone as with me. I’ve nothing else to do. Can’t I come to the ward?’
And he looked so pathetically at her, that she laughed, and agreed, for of course there was nothing she wanted more than to have him with her all the time.
He sat peaceably in her office, drinking coffee and watching her as she checked the report book, and the requisitions, and took control of the day’s work. And sat on until lunch-time while she moved about the ward dealing with medicine rounds, and treatments, and ward visits from the physicians.
And all the time he sat, he thought and thought, trying to make some sense out of what Spain had discovered, and above all, to make some sense out of the deaths of the previous day.
It was after lunch—which they took together in her office, sharing egg sandwiches and soup—that it happened.
Staff Nurse Crowther put her head round the office door just before two to announce the imminent arrival of a new admission. ‘She’s in a diabetic coma, Sister?’ she said, ‘Casualty alty said could we please prepare a tray to give plain insulin intravenously. Forty units IV, and then sixty intradermally. And they want a drip——’
‘They’re sure it’s a diabetic coma, and not an insulin one?’ Lucy asked, getting up swiftly and moving over to the drug cupboard. ‘I remember the last case they sent up, and she was in insulin coma—sweating heavily—though the GP had said it was a diabetic coma.’
‘No, Sister, I specially checked.’ Nurse Crowther grinned. ‘Sister in casualty chewed my ears off for asking. Thought I was criticising her—this one’s as dry as they come, and there’s no doubt about it being a diabetic coma——’
Death on the Table Page 9
