A VOW OF COMPASSION an utterly gripping crime mystery

by Black, Veronica

  She was almost certainly speaking the truth, Sister Joan reflected. Despite her cheap sexiness, her surface hardness, she had cared enough about her child to get a job in the same area where the child was being fostered and she had never agreed to give up Amy for permanent adoption.

  ‘When Amy is found will you apply to the courts for custody?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll have a nice little place for the two of us and her name down for nursery school,’ Betty Foster said. ‘They can’t keep her from me, can they?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. Amy doesn’t know that you’re her mother?’

  ‘Not a thing.’ The hard young mouth quivered suddenly. ‘I don’t mind telling you, Sister, that I was quite upset when I heard what’d happened to her. And since she’s been in the children’s unit I’ve tried to keep an eye open for her. She keeps trying to hurt herself it seems, but she never gets the chance when I’m on duty.’

  ‘When you apply to the courts,’ Sister Joan said, rising, ‘mention my name. It may help if it’s clear that you have a respectable friend.’

  ‘Instead of one of my gentlemen you mean?’ Betty Foster laughed again and then, as abruptly, spoke with sudden passion. ‘There won’t be any gentlemen after I get Amy back. I will get her back, won’t I? She isn’t — you know?’

  ‘I am praying not,’ Sister Joan said soberly. ‘Thank you for talking to me.’

  She came away from the residents’ unit in a thoughtful frame of mind, veering away from the van and taking the entry that ran down the side of the children’s unit. The solitary policeman at the front door nodded to her without interest. Nuns weren’t, it seemed, automatic suspects when a child was kidnapped. She walked on, turning the corner and finding herself on a patch of waste ground, doubtless earmarked for some further extension when hospital funds permitted, with the garden wall stretching along her right-hand side. It was a five foot wall, certainly too smooth and high for a child of four to climb. Sister Joan who was herself five feet two inches had to stand on tiptoe in order to look over into the fringe of bushes and the weeping willow that decorated the lawn. There was no way she could have leaned over and lifted up Amy unless she stood on a stepladder.

  ‘Having a look round, Sister?’

  Detective Sergeant Mill stood behind her, his voice making her jump.

  ‘There’s no way that Amy could’ve climbed over this wall by herself,’ she said.

  ‘The smear of blood we found was near the top on the inner side, as if she scraped her knee against the stone as she was being hauled up. If my guess is right you’ve been over to see Sister Foster.’

  ‘You know about that?’

  ‘Give us credit for a bit of whatever made Sherlock Holmes successful!’ he protested.

  ‘She doesn’t know that you know?’

  ‘Not yet. When the child disappeared the first thing we did was obtain her file from Social Services. Shirley Fleetwood was very helpful about that. There’s always the remote possibility that the mother decided to take her without going to the courts to establish full parental rights, and Betty Foster seems remarkably indifferent to the fact that her little girl’s gone missing.’

  ‘That’s just a front. She’s probably scared that her job here might be in jeopardy if anyone knew. Since they know already apparently it isn’t.’

  ‘She seems to be a good nurse from the little we’ve asked. Compassionate and ready for a bit of a laugh with the patients.’

  ‘Especially the male ones,’ Sister Joan said, and laughed herself.

  ‘Weren’t we due to meet later?’ He regarded her questioningly.

  ‘After lunch. Mother Dorothy gave me leave.’

  ‘I’ll treat you to a bite of lunch instead. Don’t worry, I’ll square it with Mother Dorothy. The Swallow Café?’

  ‘I rather fancy a pub lunch,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘You never cease to astonish me,’ he said gravely. ‘Which pub?’

  ‘The one where Madge Lee broke the window.’

  ‘The Crown and Anchor. Come on, I’ll drive you there.’

  When they reached the public house with its window pane newly replaced and a blackboard outside advertising everything with chips, Detective Sergeant Mill gave her another questioning glance.

  ‘Why the urge for alcohol?’ he enquired.

  ‘I’ll have a coffee and a toasted cheese sandwich,’ she said firmly. ‘I thought we might keep our eyes and ears open, find out who’s been giving away drugs?’

  ‘Drugs at lunch time? Bit of a long shot!’

  ‘Well, we might strike lucky,’ she argued. ‘Sometimes just being in the right place at the right time can set something in motion.’

  ‘Something other than gossip about a respectable police sergeant taking a very pretty woman out for lunch?’

  ‘A nun,’ she corrected primly. ‘And not so pretty either.’

  ‘You’re not standing where I’m standing,’ he retorted with a grin.

  Even friends sometimes flirted together, she reminded herself, hastily alighting from the car before he had time to walk round and assist her. It was a way of reminding themselves that if they wished to leave the safe platonic level they could do so. In her case that didn’t, of course, apply.

  The pub interior was quiet, cosy and warm. It reminded her of the way pubs used to be when she’d been eighteen years old and freshly hatched from the local sixth form. Twenty years ago! She stifled something that might have been a sigh and said brightly, ‘Let’s order and then we can chat up the landlord.’

  There was no need for them to open any conversation however. The landlord came round from the bar, hand outstretched, saying, ‘Jim Trecorne. Any news about the little girl who was snatched?’

  ‘Nothing so far,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said. ‘Sister Joan is helping me with a few enquiries on another matter. Madge Lee—’

  ‘I was fearful sorry about that.’ The landlord shook his head. ‘I feel badly about it seeing as it was me refused to serve her. She’d a skinful already when she came in, and with Padraic being a mate of mine I figured he’d not thank me for giving her more. Next thing I know there was a bloody big stone through my window, begging your pardon, Sister! But I never knew Madge to be noisy or violent before.’

  ‘Did you notice anyone giving her drugs?’ Sister Joan asked.

  ‘Drugs! I won’t have anything like that in my pub,’ Jim Trecorne said firmly. ‘I’ve a clean licence and I mean to keep it that way.’

  ‘Outside your pub.’ Sister Joan delved into her pocket and produced the foil-wrapped tablet. ‘A woman gave this one to Luther — you know Luther? And she gave one to Madge Lee before she, Madge that is, came in and tried to get a drink here. I think it may be LSD.’

  ‘I’ll get it analysed,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone selling or giving anything,’ Jim Trecorne said, furrowing his brow. ‘I’d’ve had something to say about that! I can ask Jean if you like. She was helping on the bar that night.’

  ‘And while you’re about it a coffee, a ploughman’s, a toasted cheese sandwich and some of your best cider, please,’ Detective Sergeant Mill added.

  ‘Right away!’ Jim Trecorne went off briskly.

  ‘You ought to have reported this before,’ Detective Sergeant Mill murmured.

  ‘I couldn’t. You were tied up with the search for Amy Foster and Mother Dorothy does have to give her permission before I can leave the convent or even telephone,’ Sister Joan said indignantly. ‘Anyway poor Madge Lee had died from drinking most of a bottle of brandy she managed to get hold of in the hospital. I suppose there could be an autopsy even now but it would upset Padraic terribly.’

  ‘Madge Lee was cremated about ten minutes ago,’ the detective said without emphasis.

  ‘Oh, my Lord!’ Sister Joan looked at him in consternation. ‘I didn’t think — oh, I’m most terribly sorry, Alan! I should have insisted on seeing you or telephoning you but they were absolutely certain
that she died of acute alcohol poisoning. She’d been treated for it for years.’

  ‘If we can find someone who actually saw her swallowing the tablet and if this tablet proves to be LSD then the drug may have been a contributory factor,’ he said. ‘The drug certainly wouldn’t have helped her.’

  ‘And if she’d started to hallucinate then she might’ve become unusually violent,’ Sister Joan said. ‘Luther gave me this. He said a lady had given him a sweet and he’d saved it for Sister Martha.’

  ‘And you recognized it as an LSD tablet?’ His dark eyebrows rose.

  ‘I’ve seen them before,’ she said briefly.

  ‘And tried them?’

  ‘I’m not that daft!’

  ‘Glad to hear it, but not having been acquainted with you during your misspent youth I’m pleased to be reassured on the point.’

  His smile told her she would hear no more about her blunder in delaying telling him about the incident.

  Jim Trecorne returned with their drinks accompanied by a plump woman in a flowered overall who set the ploughman’s and the toasted cheese sandwich before them.

  ‘Jean says she saw someone giving out tablets,’ the landlord said.

  ‘When?’ Detective Sergeant Mill looked at the woman.

  ‘Two — three nights ago, the night that Madge Lee broke the window and cut her hand on the flying glass,’ Jean said. ‘Big soft Luther was hanging about and she gave him one. She gave one to Madge too.’

  ‘Did you see Madge swallow it?’ Detective Sergeant Mill asked.

  ‘I did as a matter of fact,’ Jean said. ‘She was already quite drunk though we wouldn’t serve her here and I told her not to go eating anything she didn’t know anything about. She just pulled off the silver paper and swallowed it like an aspirin. I was going to tell the woman to sheer off but she’d already gone so I came inside. Five minutes later Madge rolled in demanding a gin and tonic, and Mr Trecorne here refused to serve her and advised her to go home. That was when she broke the window.’

  ‘The woman who gave out the tablets — did you know her?’

  Jean considered and shook her head.

  ‘Never got a good look at her,’ she said. ‘She was standing in the shadow and she moved off when I went over to Madge. She had red hair though. I saw it from the back as she went under the street lamp. Bright ginger hair. Curly and shoulder length.’

  ‘Thank you. That was very helpful,’ Detective Sergeant Mill said.

  ‘It wasn’t the tablet killed Madge, was it?’ Jean asked worriedly.

  ‘Almost certainly not. If you happen to see the red-haired woman again will you give me a ring?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Jean nodded, and went back to her kitchen quarters.

  ‘She should’ve told me about it,’ Jim Trecorne lingered to say, ‘but with all the fuss when Madge smashed the window I daresay she forgot. Enjoy your meal.’

  ‘Try a bit of ham with your cheese sandwich,’ Detective Sergeant Mill suggested, lifting a forkful from his untouched plate.

  ‘No thanks. You know we’re vegetarian and anyway I gave up pork when I was at art college, so the temptations receded.’

  She had spoken unwarily. His glance was keen as he said, ‘The Jewish boyfriend? You must’ve been smitten!’

  ‘It was a long time ago. Alan, about the LSD, could it have come from the hospital?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. I didn’t think they used LSD these days. Drugs going missing from St Keyne’s, are they?’

  ‘Sister Collet signed for thirty grams of digoxin just before Mrs Louisa Cummings died.’

  ‘Digoxin being?’

  ‘It’s used in very minute doses to slow down the heart in certain cases of heart disease. Mrs Cummings was on it when she was transferred to St Keyne’s for her hip replacement. Her normal dosage was being gradually weakened because her heart condition had stabilized. Mother Dorothy rang her GP and got that information. Mrs Cummings left a diary behind and mentioned in it that her tablets were different. I kept the diary in the library in case the entry was important but it looks as if the tablets were different simply because the dosage was being decreased. Nothing sinister there.’

  ‘Mrs Cummings died of a heart attack, surely?’

  ‘Yes, but Mother Dorothy wasn’t very happy about it.’

  ‘And asked you to ferret around?’

  ‘Well, not precisely,’ Sister Joan hesitated. ‘She just had a feeling that her godmother wasn’t so sick that she’d have a fatal heart attack just because her operation was delayed for a few hours. Anyway I did ask a few questions and it all seemed quite straightforward except for a couple of odd things.’

  ‘Which you’re going to tell me about when you’ve taken another bite of your sandwich.’

  Obediently she swallowed a mouthful of the crisp toast and succulently melting cheese.

  ‘Ward Sister Meecham was due to make her general rounds of the wards at twelve. Sister Collet was on the women’s surgical ward and she’d checked the patients a couple of hours before.’

  ‘Medically checked them?’ he asked.

  ‘No, just glanced to make sure they were comfortable. At that hour nearly all the patients are asleep anyway, I gather, and there were no seriously ill ladies on the ward. Anyway when Sophie Meecham came round at twelve with the student nurse, Ceri Williams, they found Mrs Cummings had died. Dr Geeson was called and in view of her history of heart problems was quite ready to sign the death certificate.’

  ‘But you and Mother Dorothy weren’t happy.’ He speared a pickled onion, looked at it consideringly and pushed it off his fork again.

  ‘Louisa Cummings was a fairly tough old lady,’ Sister Joan said. ‘She wasn’t the sort to have a massive heart attack just because her operation had been postponed. I know that’s terribly unscientific but there was something else. Sister Collet told me that Mrs Cummings’s hand was clenched in a last spasm but the sheet beneath it was smooth. It stuck in her mind.’

  ‘Hardly evidence,’ Detective Sergeant Mill pointed out.

  ‘No, of course not. Anyway she was cremated and that’s a fairly final thing.’

  ‘Was she a wealthy woman?’

  ‘She left everything to Mother Dorothy,’ Sister Joan said uncomfortably. ‘And if you’re going to say anything—!’

  ‘I’m not.’ He slanted her a grin. ‘I wouldn’t dare suspect Mother Dorothy! I take it she didn’t know about the legacy?’

  ‘She was astonished but Louisa Cummings had no children and no surviving blood relatives so everything goes to our order. There’s a house in Devon which can be either sold or rented out and Mother Dorothy is sharing the money with our mother house in London and giving generously to the hospital and the children’s home. Oh, and she gave Sister Collet Mrs Cummings’s engagement ring. I was having it valued when you came in to buy the anniversary present for your wife.’

  ‘Was Sister Collet pleased with the bequest?’

  ‘She burst into tears,’ Sister Joan said, remembering. ‘She’s a nervy, slapdash kind of person, always running to catch herself up.’

  ‘And she was on duty when Madge Lee died.’

  ‘She was on duty when Madge Lee was brought in the previous night. She was just going off duty, about to make the ward round and hand over to Ceri Williams when she got a message to go over to the children’s unit. When she got there nobody knew anything about any message and when she got back and did the ward round she found Madge dead with a bottle of brandy, most of it drunk, tangled in the bedclothes. The bottle came from the office where Sister Meecham keeps it. She enjoys a tipple now and then. Someone had opened it and taken it into the side ward where Madge was drying out. Ceri Williams helped clean the side ward after Dr Geeson had been called, the body taken down to the mortuary, and Constable Petrie informed, and she can’t recall seeing a bottle top. Sister Collet took the bottle itself to be washed out.’

  ‘And Madge Lee was in no condition to get out of the side ward, find her way u
p to the office, open a bottle of brandy and carry it back to the side ward where she got back into bed and drank most of the contents.’

  ‘And Padraic would never have taken in anything alcoholic for his wife.’

  ‘How did the message from the children’s unit reach Sister Collet?’

  ‘On a piece of paper. Just a scribble. She probably screwed it up and threw it in the trash bin. Sister Ceri Williams was making a drink for one of the patients so she wouldn’t have seen anybody go into the side ward. It opens on to the corridor outside the main ward.’

  ‘You haven’t given me very much to go on.’ He drummed softly with his fingers on the tabletop. ‘Louisa Cummings dies of a heart attack — not expected but not impossible either since she was seventy-five and had been taking medication for a heart condition for some considerable time. I agree the removal of a quantity of — digoxin? — from the drugs unit which wasn’t signed for until later looks suspicious but it could have been needed urgently for another patient and Sister Collet, being in a hurry, rushed back later to sign the register. And Madge Lee might’ve procured a bottle of brandy from somewhere else and concealed it in the side ward at any time during the night. She wasn’t unconscious, was she?’

  ‘She was sleeping on and off,’ Sister Joan said.

  ‘And alcoholics can be very resourceful. I’m not trying to damn your theories but — what connection was there between Louisa Cummings and Madge Lee? None. To the best of our knowledge they never even met. What motive did anyone have for doing away with either of them? None. Mrs Cummings’s property goes to your order and Madge Lee had nothing to leave. She drank heavily but she wasn’t an unpleasant or violent individual. She had no enemies and Padraic, who had every reason to regard her as a millstone round his neck, remained deeply attached to her. I’d agree with you that procedures at St Keyne’s need tightening up but I can’t see evidence of deliberate malicious intent, except in the case of little Amy Foster. Someone’s snatched her and the longer the search goes on the less optimistic I become.’