The lighter spluttered a little, and the flame sank, and quickly she extinguished it, and turned the little silver square upside down and shook it, to send the fuel back into the wick, and relit it with a quick flick of the spring.
And as the light flared up again, illuminating the circle which held just herself and the body at her feet, she saw it. The little red-covered notebook moved in the sudden sharp light, and then was gone.
She hadn’t really seen the hand that removed it, but she knew that it had emerged from the bank of rose bushes and picked up that notebook. And without thinking, she hurled herself at the ground, at the edge of the flower bed, trying to see who it was that lay there screened by the leafy low bushes and the heavy-headed drooping roses.
And as she did, the lighter went spinning from her hand, leaving her in thick darkness, and something happened at the back of her head, something hot and hard and cold and soft all at once, something that made her feel sick, and made someone somewhere scream and scream in a high pitched note that made her feel ill. And even as she felt the blackness get inside her head and her mouth, choking her, she knew the screams were her own, and that something across her mouth was trying to prevent them from coming out.
She was swimming, pushing up from the bottom of the blue-green pool, towards the sunlight above, and it was a very special pool because she could breathe under the water. She could hear, too, with a clarity that was surprising. ‘It’s Barney,’ she thought, ‘Barney calling me. I’d better get out——’ And then her head broke the surface and she opened her eyes and the sun was the central light fitting in the Casualty waiting room, and not the sun at all, and she felt faintly aggrieved, and wanted to tell Barney how unfair it was.
She turned her head to look for him, and the sudden sharp pain in the back of her head made her whimper, and then he was there. His hand was on hers, and he was leaning over and looking at her with his grey eyes wide and anxious, and his face carved into a heavy frown of worry.
But as she looked up at him, the frown went away, and he smiled with intense relief and said, ‘That’s better——’
Someone moved the room then. Barney was still beside her, but the ceiling was moving, and she realised she was lying on a trolley, and someone was pushing it.
‘What’s—what’s happening?’ Her voice seemed very thick.
‘You’re a bit concussed, love,’ Barney said. ‘Don’t fret you—you’ll be fine soon. But right now we’re taking you to sick bay for the night. You’ve got an abrasion on your scalp at the back, but there’s nothing much to it, and you’ll be fine in the morning—fine in this morning——’
His voice disappeared in a series of repetitions of the phrase, echoing and diminishing in the long corridors of her mind, and the next time she opened her eyes they were lifting her into a cool bed, and Barney had gone. She said his name, once, sleepily and someone said, ‘In the morning——’ and she closed her eyes again, feeling good suddenly. Barney, in the morning, and he’d said she’d feel fine then, so of course she would, not sick and pain-filled like now.
She woke with a beastly headache that throbbed behind her eyes and in her neck and made her feel sick, and she was grateful for the wash the night staff nurse gave her, grateful for the dose of aspirin that relieved much of her headache. By the time Barney arrived she had breakfasted on a little lemon tea and dry toast and felt weak and rather floppy, but reasonably in command of herself.
He put his head round the door, and his face lit up when she smiled at him.
‘Lucy, you look about fifteen, in that white nightshirt. How are you, love? Rotten?’
‘A bit on the fragile side,’ Lucy admitted. ‘And I’m sorry about the nightshirt. It’s a theatre gown—no one this morning had time to go and get me my own things. Barney, what happened?’
He came and perched on the side of the bed, and picked up one of her hands to hold it cradled in both of his.
‘I was the biggest bloody fool out last night,’ he said soberly. ‘I can’t tell you how sorry I am, Lucy. When I heard you screaming like that, I thought—I don’t know what I thought. I think I died a little. I hadn’t even got as far as the wing porter’s lodge phone, and I heard you scream and went running back as though all the hounds of hell were after me.’
‘But what happened?’ Lucy said again.
‘I got there the same time as Spain and Travers. They’d been in the Admin Block, and they heard you too, and came running. I got you back to Casualty and they dealt with the body——’
The body. At last she remembered. All morning, ever since she had woken, she had been trying to remember, but she hadn’t been able to take recollection beyond the point at which she and Barney had been walking across the grass towards the Admin Block, looking for Spain. But now she remembered, and she turned her head, painfully, and said urgently, ‘The notebook——’
‘What? What notebook?’
‘The one in her bag—I mean, it had fallen out with the other things, and it was lying on the grass, and then the lighter went out, and I shook it to get more light and put it on again and I saw the hand take it away, and then——’
‘Calm down, love, calm down——’ Barney pushed her gently back against her pillows and stroked her forehead gently. ‘Don’t get so excited——’ And Lucy realised she had been gabbling, and subsided.
‘Now, tell me quietly. Just take your time and tell me quietly. What about this notebook?’
Behind him the door clicked and opened, and the disapproving face of Sister in charge of the Staff Sick Bay appeared, with Inspector Spain and Sergeant Travers close behind her.
‘Sister, are you willing to talk to these people? Because if you are not I’m quite prepared to refuse them admission to this room. And if you think being nagged by policemen is too much for her, Dr. Elliot, then I shall be equally firm——’
Barney looked at Lucy consideringly, and she smiled, a little shakily, and said, ‘I’d really better talk to them, Ingram. I’ve got things to explain, and they ought to know——’
‘I’ll throw them out when she’s had enough, Sister, I promise,’ Barney said, and Sister Ingram sniffed and nodded, and went away leaving Travers and Spain standing at the foot of Lucy’s bed.
‘A right old mother hen, isn’t she?’ Spain said conversationally. ‘Does she always flap around like that?’
‘She’s a very good nurse, and looks after the sick staff very well,’ Lucy said loyally. ‘If I were in charge of me, I wouldn’t let you talk to me either. I’ve been concussed.’ She couldn’t help grinning a little then. She sounded exactly like a child boasting about a minor illness, and Spain grinned back in a companionable fashion, and came and sat on the other side of her bed with his hands crossed on his knees, and a benevolent look on his face as he looked down at her.
‘Well, well, well. A right little warrior, aren’t you? Gettin’ biffed on the head in that fashion. Not clever, Sister, not clever at all——’
‘It was my fault,’ Barney said. ‘I should never have left her. But I was so sure the murderer must have gone away from the body, that there’d be more likelihood of danger to the person who went to phone, that I left her and went myself, and I could kick myself for it——’
‘Yes, well, we all know about the way love’s young dream makes a feller feel. Blame yourself for everything, even the bee that stings her. But if we waste time listening to all that, that old hen out there’ll be in with a broom to chase us out. So let’s get down to some facts. Sister, can you tell me what happened last night?’
‘I think so,’ Lucy said. ‘Where do I start?’
‘Why were you walkin’ across the garden in the pitch dark? Or is that a silly question?’ And Spain looked slyly at Barney who frowned irritably.
‘We were looking for you——’ Lucy plunged into an account of the evening, the way they had decided to seek information about Quayle, and had contacted Sister Palmer, about meeting Roberta Vickers, the whole story. He listen
ed carefully, and when she had finished telling him about the disappearing notebook sighed heavily and shook his head.
‘I was slow off the mark there, wasn’t I, Travers? Yes. Should have gone to see Sister Palmer myself, and got some information about this Vickers woman. I’ll tell you the truth, Dr. Elliot, Sister Beaumont. I wasn’t what you might call convinced about the murder of that there sailor, or even the murder of Quayle. Y’see, I haven’t that much faith in hospitals. I’m not a bit surprised when people die in ’em, or when doctors make mistakes——’
‘But we didn’t!’ Barney burst in.
‘I know you didn’t—now,’ Spain said soothingly. ‘But yesterday, I wasn’t so certain. But I’ve had that ampoule looked at by the analytical people, and we’ve done some prowlin’ round in that laboratory, and I’ll tell you somethin’—there was insulin in that there ampoule, and we found some labels for blood bottles in the lab. And there ain’t supposed to be any such labels lyin’ around, accordin’ to Dr. Heath. We found these labels hidden right at the back of a store cupboard, and what with that and the insulin in the ampoule, and now that woman gettin’ killed, and you gettin’ biffed—well, there’s not much doubt now, is there? No. We’ve got a right juicy case here. Arson, drug runnin’ and now old fashioned murder—done in a very far fetched fashion, but murder all the same. If I’d’a realised yesterday evenin’ about all this, well, I’d’a been investigatin’ Quayle like a mad thing. I’d have talked to Sister Palmer about him, and copped a look at that Vickers woman—maybe even have got that notebook out of her. As it is——’ he shook his head mournfully. ‘As it is, I’ve got to be honest and admit I’ve made a right muck up of this. We’ve had another murder, and lost a valuable source of information. I feel rotten——’ And he looked so miserable that instinctively Lucy put out a hand and patted his arm.
But he grinned at her, and said, ‘Take no notice of me, m’dear. We all make mistakes—even policemen—and I’m not going to let it get me down. Now, the next thing I’ve got to do is go and have a good look at the stuff they found on the Vickers woman—her handbag and that——’
‘What about the brief case?’ Lucy asked.
‘No brief case there when we got there. I reckon that’s why the murderer hung about. To get his hands on it, and on that notebook. My, but I’d give a lot to know what was in that notebook, wouldn’t you, Travers? Yes. Ah, well, not to fret.
‘We’ll have a look over that houseboat—what was it called? The Bobby Vee? yes. We’ll have a good look at that, and maybe that’ll tell us something about the mysterious Mr. Quayle. There’s more to that feller than we know, that’s for sure. Well, Sister Beaumont! You look as though you need a bit of a kip. Right peaky lookin’ you are. Travers and me, we’ll go off and do some work, and leave you and your boy friend to it. But if you’ll take my advice, Dr. Elliot——’ and he looked sternly at Barney, ‘you’ll not hang around too long. She’s concussed, you know, and she needs time to recover.’
And he nodded affably and went away with Sergeant Travers, leaving Barney furious and Lucy laughing weakly.
For the next twenty-four hours Lucy remained in Sick Bay, rapidly recovering her normal good spirits, and enjoying holding court in a mild way. Several of the hospital staff came to visit her, Derek Foster and Harry Caspar coming over after supper in the evening, followed by Jeff Heath and Sister Palmer. This latter visitor curled up at the foot of Lucy’s bed and settled down to enjoy herself enormously. There was nothing Sister Palmer liked better than to spend time in male medical company.
Barney, of course, visited too, and sat beside Lucy holding her hand and apparently not caring who saw him do it. This warmed her greatly, though she couldn’t be quite sure whether it was the pressure of his hand on hers that made her feel so good, or the publicity of the action. A little of each, probably. Anyway, she felt remarkably happy, sitting there in bed with the ghost of a headache and a sticky plaster on her scalp.
It was inevitable that they should talk about the murders. It was Sister Palmer who started them off by asking flatly, ‘Well? What’s been happening? Anyone got hold of anything now? We’ve been talking our heads off in the Sisters’ dining room but it’s a waste of time because nobody knows a thing! One of you must know something——’
‘Do you know about the way the first man was killed?’ Derek Foster said, with relish. ‘Insulin, that’s what—I got that from Spain——’ and he recounted accurately what Barney had discovered, with Barney himself nodding agreement.
‘And I’ll tell you something else,’ Derek went on. ‘He’s been checking on alibis, Spain, I mean, and he’s worked out exactly when the switch was made—when the insulin filled ampoule was planted. The staff nurse on nights on the third floor of the wing complained of feeling a draught at around quarter past four—she swears the theatre doors were opened, because that’s the only place the draught could have come from—anyway, Spain reckoned that was the moment when it was done, so he’s been checking on everyone. And I’m the only one of the medical staff with a real alibi!’
‘How’s that?’ Caspar asked.
‘Because the night staff called me to Casualty at quarter to five, to see the sailor,’ Derek said triumphantly. ‘Spain has paced it all out, and he’s convinced I couldn’t have got to the theatres and back to my room in time for the night nurse to call me. Oh, yes, and Sir James is OK too. I phoned him at home, remember, and he lives a good fifteen miles away, so he’d never have had time either. But the rest of you—well, anyone of you could have done it.’
There was a silence, and then Lucy said miserably, ‘It’s hateful to think of someone you know, someone you work with, being a murderer. Couldn’t it be an outsider of some sort?’
‘No, ducky, it couldn’t,’ Derek said cheerfully. ‘You heard Bruce. Only someone who really knows the ins and outs of this place—and it’s a complicated sort of a joint—could have cooked these drug books. And anyway, whoever did all this knows the hospital geography inside out. It’s obviously one of us—a doctor or a senior nurse—and I’m bloody glad I’ve been cleared, I can promise you.’
‘But who?’ Who could possibly——’ Lucy began, and then Derek cut in again.
‘You could work it out, you know. Eliminate people.’
‘How do you mean?’ Barney looked interested.
‘Well,’ Derek settled himself more comfortably on the window sill on which he was sitting and lit a cigarette. ‘Work it out this way. Whoever planted the insulin didn’t know that the list had been changed, right? If he had, he’d have made sure the wrong bloke didn’t get it. Well, I knew, and you knew, so that’s us eliminated—though I was anyway—oh, and old Sir James is eliminated too. Nurse Cooper knew—the staff nurse in theatres—so she’s out. So did Sister Palmer, so she’s out. She knew because Quayle was her patient. Right, who does that leave on Spain’s list of suspects? Sister Osgood, and Colin Jackson, Jeff and Harry, and—who else? Oh, yes, John Hickson——’
‘John Hickson——’ Barney said sharply, and they turned and stared at him.
‘He—hell, I hate to say this, but I’ve already noticed the way he keeps bobbing up. Everywhere you turn in this case, there’s John Hickson hanging around with a face like a parboiled fish——’
‘Unkind——’ murmured Lucy.
‘Well, I’m sorry, but it’s true. Why does he hang around so?’
‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ Sister Palmer said. ‘If it’s hanging around the Nurses’ Home you mean.’
‘The Nurse’s Home? I hadn’t really meant—— Yes—I suppose you’re right. He was there the night of the fire, in the garden, and again yesterday——’
‘Well, of course he was!’ Palmer said. ‘Poor silly fool’s in love. He spends hours standing around and hiding, by the tree, or on the path through to Admin., just staring at Nurse Cooper’s window. It’s the silliest thing you ever saw, and all the nurses are laughing at him, even Cooper. And the poor sap thinks no one knows. B
etween ourselves, I think he might even have a streak of the Peeping Tom about him——’
‘Ah, come off it, Palmer!’ Derek Foster said, and laughed. ‘I can well believe he’d go mooning around under a girl’s window doing nothing practical about climbing inside, the way any real man would, but Peeping Tom? Never in a million years!’
Palmer shrugged, and Barney said, almost with relief, ‘Well, that clears up that point, I suppose. I’m glad. I don’t really enjoy suspecting people.’
‘It could be a cover-up,’ Jeff said. ‘Quite a good one, really.’
‘I suppose so,’ Barney said, and then shook his head a little irritably. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, let’s stop talking about it! I’ve heard nothing but mutterings about this wretched business for—it feels like a lifetime. And anyway, Lucy’s had enough flap and chatter. Go away, all of you. Go on, scram.’
They wished her well, and went away, and when they were alone, Barney pulled his chair closer to the head of Lucy’s bed, and propped his chin on his hands, so that his face was very close to hers.
‘Have you forgiven me, Lucy?’
‘What on earth for, Barney? What have you done?’
‘Left you alone with a murderer.’
‘Oh, for pity’s sake, be quiet about that! You weren’t to know! It all happened so quickly, anyway. Finding her, and deciding what to do—if we’d thought, there was no reason for me to stay behind anyway. I should have come with you to phone. But it was so instinctive—to stay with the body, I mean. One always does stay with patients, and somehow I looked on her as a patient.’
‘I rather think I did. Maybe that’s why I left you so willingly.’
‘Either way, forget it. It’s not important.’ Lucy smiled at him then, letting all her feeling for him show in her face. ‘But it’s nice of you to care.’
‘Nice?’ He smiled back, his own face as expressive. ‘That’s one hell of a word——’ And he leaned forwards, and kissed her gently, and then rather more firmly.
And for Lucy the next hour was one of quite remarkable happiness. As she said to Barney when she kissed him goodnight, at last, ‘It seems all wrong—to be so happy, in the middle of murder. But I can’t help it. I am happy.’
Death on the Table Page 12
