50
“I know you, don’t I?”
“Of course, you do. I was here when they brought you in.”
When Anne awoke, she was in a bed at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Charlottetown. She felt rested and groggy and somewhat disoriented. A nurse was holding her wrist and checking her pulse. Her name tag read “Jayne R.”
“You had a lovely sleep, dear. How are you feeling?” Jayne R. spoke with a rich British accent and a cheery lilt to her voice. She was a pretty woman with a creamy complexion and a long thin nose. Her blonde hair was styled and short.
“I remember…,” Anne started to say, and then pieces of her memory fell away. A sense of dismay overcame her and expressed itself in her face. Anne found herself staring at gaping holes in what should have been her past. “What’s happened to me?”
“Quite natural, dear.” Jayne patted her shoulder reassuringly. “It’ll all come back to you soon enough. You’ve had a bit of a chill. Some hypothermia. And a good deal of stress. Nothing to fret about.”
“How did I get here?”
“Ambulance from Summerside early this morning. Doctor looked you over, put you on an IV. You’ve been asleep ever since.”
Anne squirmed in her bed. She felt trapped by the blanket and sheets. Nurse Jayne plumped her pillow, cranked her bed, and helped her sit up.
“Can I go now? I have things that…”
“Doctor just finished his rounds. He wants you to rest until tomorrow. By then you’ll be right as rain. Besides, you can’t leave before you’ve tasted our chef’s special. Dinner trays are on their way as we speak. And I think you may have some visitors, too.”
Jayne R. motioned toward the door. Anne looked over. Sarah smiled through the doorway. Ben carried a worried smile behind her.
“Hey girl! How are you?” exclaimed Sarah who rushed in and gave her a hug and a kiss and then another hug.
Ben trailed after her. “You okay?” he asked. Anne nodded to both of them. Sarah perched on the side of the bed. Ben sank into a bedside chair as if he were about to fall sleep.
“I remember bits and pieces. Some things seem like a dream… and maybe they are but… How’s Dit?”
The brightness in Sarah’s face dimmed. Her lips parted to say nothing, and her eyes, like those of Ben, drifted to somewhere else in the room.
“Is he in this wing?” Anne asked.
“He’s not here anymore.”
“Home?”
“No. Paramedics brought him in last night. I arrived a short time later. A nurse told me that he wasn’t critical, and the next thing I knew he was gone. They had called another ambulance and took him to Halifax. Something about his spine. They wouldn’t give me details. They wanted information on relatives, next of kin. I’m so sorry,” she added. “That’s all I know.”
“It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”
“That’s not so, Anne.”
“Yes, it is. I was being selfish. I was only thinking about myself, and I got him involved, and I got Ben involved, and I even got Jacqui involved. Stupid… stupid… I should have known better. I…”
“Anne, please.”
“Dit was hurt. He could have been killed, and none of this would have happened if I hadn’t played the big shot and took on something I knew nothing about.”
“You’re getting yourself worked up for no good reason,” Sarah said.
“Other people could have been killed, too.”
“Two others were killed tonight,” Ben broke in. His voice was clear and deep and resonant and seemed to fill the room.
“Ben!” Sarah chided. “That’s not necessary… not now!”
“It is,” said Ben firmly.
“What do you mean?” asked Anne.
“Two others died tonight,” he repeated. “I shot the Client. He was trying to kill you and me, and he almost succeeded. Before that, the Client killed a US Secret Service agent. He was trailing MacLaren’s cell phone signal and stumbled upon him in MacLaren’s library. He shot him there. Do you remember any of that?”
“I remember the Client chasing me through the house. That’s all.”
“My point is that none of that is your fault. Not what happened to them. Not what happened to Dit. None of it. You got caught in the middle. You did what you had to do. No more, no less.”
“You killed the Client?”
Ben nodded.
“I’m sorry,” said Anne.
“Don’t be. If anyone deserved to die, it was him.”
“Sergeant Solomon?” A teenaged hospital volunteer presented herself at the door. Her eyes swung around the room until they landed on Ben. “There’s a call for you at the nurse’s station.”
Ben left the room.
“It takes decades to teach a man tact,” said Sarah, and gave Anne a nudge. “Sometimes longer.”
“It’s fine, Sarah,” said Anne. “Friends don’t need to be tactful.”
“Are you going to be all right? Anything I can bring you?”
Anne shook her head.
Ben returned. Frustration etched into the wrinkles of an already overtired face.
“Do a ton of paperwork expeditiously, and they want another half-ton even quicker. Gotta go. Oh, by the way, Harbour Patrol lost Cutter’s boat last night. Win some, lose some, huh? See ya tomorrow.”
Ben and Sarah disappeared out the door. Anne heard the rattle of food trays a few doors down the ward. Then Ben’s head appeared again.
“Forgot. I called Mary Anne. She contacted Delia McKay and told her a bit of what happened. She and Jacqui will be coming back from the Magdalens tomorrow. I don’t know the ferry schedule.”
Anne smiled and almost immediately fell into a sound sleep. The chef’s special lay untouched on the table next to her.
51
“I have seen you before,” said Anne when Nurse Jayne R. walked into her hospital room the next morning.
“Your memory is recovering. Splendid! Let’s go for a little walk up the hall and see how you do.” Jayne pulled the breakfast cart away from the bed, sat Anne up, slipped a bathrobe over her, and took her arm. As Anne stood, she winced.
“Is that leg tender?” Jayne asked, setting her down again.
“My ankle. I think I sprained it in a fall.”
Jayne examined Anne’s ankle. There was some swelling, but no indication of a fracture. So she wound an elastic bandage around the joint for support.
“Try that.”
Anne cautiously stood up and put some pressure on it. She walked a few steps and said, “That feels better.”
“I can get a crutch if that would help.”
“No, this is fine. Let’s get on with that walk. No offense, but I want to get out of here.”
“Right then,” Jayne said and guided her by the arm out of the room. Anne and Jayne walked silently down one corridor and along a second. They stopped near the doors leading out of Anne’s ward.
“How are we doing?” asked Jayne.
“Great,” said Anne. “Just a bit shaky.” Both of them sat on a bench for a moment. Then Anne continued a bit uneasily, “I do remember you, though. You’re an acquaintance of Lord Somerville. You’re the yoga instructor at the community school.”
Jayne R. laughed and turned toward Anne. “A wonderful memory! Good for you! By tomorrow you’ll be a hundred per cent. And you’re correct on both instances. I do teach yoga for fun and exercise, and I am acquainted with Lord Somerville.” At the words “Lord Somerville,” her voice deepened into a mocking display of awe.
Anne must have looked aghast at the unexpected irreverence Jayne showed for Somerville because Jayne caught herself and apologized.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be so mean. But it’s hard to think of the man who mowed your lawn and tended your flowers as a nobleman.”
“You mean he’s a fraud.”
“Oh no. Bobby’s certainly legitimate, but that’s a long story. We should get you back to your room. I’ve got a ward full of patients, and some of them are actually ill… unlike present company… and doctor may make rounds this morning. Wouldn’t want to miss him, would we? Come along now, Anne. That’s such a pretty name,” she said, and then she led Anne Brown back to her hospital room.
Anne was eager to press Jayne for more details about Robert Somerville and her involvement with him. Jayne apparently known him when he was younger, and she’d spoken of him with a familiarity that no one else had. Surely, Jayne held the threads which could unravel the mystery behind Lord Robert Somerville and put to rest Mrs. Murphy’s suspicions, but Anne feared that, if she appeared too desperate, she might scare her off. So she summoned up some patience, held her tongue, and bided her time.
In spite of a bit of soreness in her ankle, Anne felt well. After last night’s sleep she was rested. The little morning walk had freshened her lungs and got her blood churning. She could remember many more details of the previous several days, and she was anxious to get her life back to some sort of normalcy. In fact, she was anxious to do anything except lie like a lump in a hospital where the only pleasure to be found was anticipating the next serving of leathery meat, tepid coffee, and brittle toast.
Anne tried to lie back quietly in her bed and wait until the doctor made his rounds, but she couldn’t. She was too restless. Anne wished for a book, a crossword puzzle, or sudoku to fill up the time. Then her eyes fell upon the morning newspaper. A copy of it lay on the table next to her breakfast tray. The first couple of pages rehashed the Canada Day celebrations, but two articles on page three caught her attention.
Both stories were short, one-column news pieces. The first headline read “Ottawa Visitor Succumbs.” It went on: Franklin Pierce, an employee with the US embassy in Ottawa, was found dead on Monday evening in a Summerside residence. Cause of death is believed to be heart failure. Pierce was vacationing on the Island and visiting friends when the incident occurred and…
The second headline read “Truck Strikes Tourist.” A Florida State man died after being hit by a tractor trailer in Summerside. The accident occurred early Tuesday morning near the waterfront complex. Identification of the victim is being withheld pending notification of next of kin. Officials say weather conditions were poor at the time of the accident. Alcohol was not a factor. No charges are pending…
“Anything interesting in The Guardian?” asked Ben. “I dropped in earlier, but you were out. I left the paper.”
“It’s always interesting when two men dead from gunshot wounds don’t make page two. What the devil is going on?”
“I think we’re in the middle of a cover-up.”
“How so?”
“After the shooting, they put me on administrative leave. I spent most of yesterday filling out paperwork and being interviewed. I came in this morning to sign my report and Chief hands me my weapon and badge back. I was pretty surprised. When I asked him what was up, he told me I’d been exonerated. He looked at me real close and serious-like and said there was no incident to report – to forget about it. Then he congratulated me on my great police work in the incident that never happened. Not bad, eh? And all that before my morning coffee break.”
“Interesting, but I still don’t know what’s going on,” said Anne.
“Neither did I until I had another little chat with a couple of people I can’t name. They came with gold-plated credentials from both Ottawa and Washington. They made me… and you… an offer that I couldn’t refuse. You shouldn’t either. A carrot and a stick kind of proposal. We’ll forget about the stick. It’s kind of disturbing. The carrot, however, is worth a second glance.”
“Go on. I’m in suspense,” she said somewhat sarcastically. Ben ignored her. He was visibly excited.
“First, the five grand retainer you deposited from the client.” He looked at her. She nodded in recognition. “The RCMP is releasing their hold on it.”
“But it’s counterfeit,” she protested.
“Not anymore. It’s all legitimate. They made up the difference. It will be as if the transaction never hit a snag. A technical error on the part of the teller.”
“Well, that’s a help. At least I won’t be bankrupt.”
“There’s more. The US government, through their embassy in Ottawa, will be issuing you a cheque for another five thousand for your valued investigative services.” Ben stopped there and looked at Anne with a toothy grin.
“I haven’t done any work for them.”
“Evidently, they believe you did.”
“All right, let’s cut to the chase. What am I giving them?”
“Two things. Number one, you return all the counterfeit money. Number two, you have a lapse of memory. The Client never existed. The phoney money never existed. And anything related to either one never happened.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“You haven’t given them the counterfeit yet? It’s still in your trunk, ya know.”
Ben nodded.
“Give it to them,” Anne said with resignation and a sigh, “… and good riddance to it! All I’ve tried to do since the beginning of this job is to give it to the right person. Toughest thing I ever had to do.”
Anne thought for a minute. Then she looked at Ben. “What about you? Did they throw you any bones?”
“They gave me a raise and a promotion of sorts. My job description is somewhat vague, though, something to do with coordinating special investigations between provincial and federal agencies.”
Anne smiled. “Good for you!” she said. Then her face clouded. She looked perplexed. “It bothers me, though. When the high and mighty begin to talk that sweet talk, I get goose bumps. Something is really screwed up, and I sure would like to know what.”
Anne stared at Ben. Ben shrugged.
“There’s egg on somebody’s face,” he said, “and they’re scramblin’ hard to clean it off. Washington, for sure. Ottawa, maybe. I still have a couple of law enforcement buddies who might offer a theory or two. I should make a few calls, catch up on old times.”
52
“Pins and needles?”
“Yes, pins and needles. A kind of tingling. Incredible,” said Dit.
“After all these years, how can that be?”
“Nobody knows. That’s why I’m here.”
“Maybe they could book you as a guest on that Ripley’s Believe it or Not! show,” laughed Anne.
“They were going to, but I got bumped by some Lazarus fellow.”
Anne looked up from the phone. A man and a woman stood in front of her. Both wore white coats. The woman carried a clipboard.
“Uh oh, Dit, I gotta go. Two people in white coats are here, and one of them is staring at his watch. I’ll call later. Bye.”
Dr. Aziz looked at Anne’s chart and examined her. He described Anne’s case to the nurse who accompanied him. Then he addressed Anne and told her that she was well enough to go home. He was discharging her from the hospital.
Jayne R. was still on duty when the doctor left Anne’s room. She arrived to help Anne gather up her belongings and make a call to Ben to pick her up.
“How do you come to know Robert Somerville?” asked Anne.
“Well, it’s not telling tales out of school but, when I knew him, he was Bobby Dill. We were brought up in a small village near Cambridge. Bobby was quite a bit older than I. He was a university student when I was a child. His mother, Marion Dunning, had been a visiting nurse and midwife. Local gossip has it that she got pregnant out of wedlock and had Bobby. The next year she married Peter Dill, a local school teacher, one of my teachers, in fact. He adopted Bobby and his name became Robert Dill. Everyone believed that Peter was his real father anyw
ay.”
“How does a man cross the bridge from schoolmaster’s son to lord of the manor? That’s a quantum leap, isn’t it?”
“I can hardly comprehend it myself. I came upon Bobby in Charlottetown last fall for the first time since I’d left England. It was at a fundraiser for the QEH. We were introduced. My jaw dropped. He hadn’t changed much, you see. He winked, and afterwards we had a great laugh together. Now let’s get you into that wheelchair, and we’ll run you out to the main entrance.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair. I can walk perfectly well, thank you.”
“Hospital rules. Into the chair,” she ordered, “or we make you stay for lunch. Creamed beef on toast. Yum!”
Anne lowered herself into the wheelchair under duress. “I feel silly doing this,” she said.
“Just as silly as I did every time I had to call Bobby Dill ‘Lord Somerville’ or even ‘Robert.’ Anyway, Bobby told me the whole story. It wasn’t until many years later, after the deaths of his parents, that he found the truth in some letters and birth documents his mother had put aside. Harrison Somerville, Lord Somerville, was his birth father. Apparently the two had become intimate while Marion was visiting the manor and caring for Harrison’s dying mother.”
“What did Bobby do after he learned the truth?”
“There wasn’t much he could do really. Harrison Somerville was long dead. There were no known heirs. The estate had been broken up and sold ten or fifteen years before. But I guess there was something in Bobby’s character that wanted to set things right. It wasn’t money. He already had that. He had made a small fortune as an engineering consultant to some oil companies in Africa. Yes, I think it was simply setting things right… claiming his birthright.”
“What had to be set right?”
“To be honest, Bobby’s father was a bit of a dink. Outside of giving some legitimacy to Bobby’s name, Peter Dill was a philanderer. Bobby never got along with him. When he learned the truth about his birth, Bobby legally changed his name to Somerville. He bought a parcel of land from the old Somerville estate. Then he acquired the title.”
The Reluctant Detective Page 24