by Marlowe Benn
Dr. Perry’s housekeeper led them down a hallway lit by electrified sconces into a small sitting room, where a powerful fragrance greeted them. In the windowed bay overlooking a garden of purpling foliage and rain-pulped dahlias stood a floral arrangement worthy of the Ritz lobby. The old doctor sat in a wing chair with one leg propped on an ottoman, a brown satin quilt across his lap. “They come every week, to cheer me,” he said, waving a mottled hand toward the bouquet. “My wife always kept flowers in the house. She seems closer by with them here.”
He apologized for not rising. His gouty leg was at it again, he said. He was forbidden to indulge in the cakes and tea sandwiches glistening from a tiered plate on the trolley at his side, but the girls, as he called Glennis and Julia, were to tuck in to the sugary pyramid. Glennis took two small cakes and set the translucent little plate on the table.
“We’re sorry to come rampaging in on you like this,” Glennis began, the slang sounding ridiculous in the hush of porcelain, silver, and hothouse freesias. “We were wondering, well, we thought—” She stopped, as if stricken by the amiable gaze of his dewy eyes. “We, that is, I, well, both of us . . .” She fumbled a glance at Julia.
“It’s kind of you to talk with us, Dr. Perry,” Julia said slowly, in full voice, and the old man’s face relaxed. “We spoke with Alice Clintock last week. Naomi Rankin’s flatmate? She’s naturally quite upset. We hope you can help us ease her mind, if you’d be so kind, by clarifying a few matters that are troubling her. She’s rather a nervous person, it seems.”
Alice had expressed no misgivings whatsoever about Naomi’s illness. She would probably be aghast that they were pestering the old doctor in her name. But it was too late to change course, and the impromptu ruse would have to do.
“I remember her. Poor woman.” The doctor’s words came with bursts of phlegm. “She was quite distraught.”
“She told us she was too distressed the night you found Naomi’s body to fathom exactly what was happening,” Julia said. “We were hoping you could clear up a few questions for her.”
He agreed to try. He sat back, fingers knit around his teacup, the saucer in his lap.
“It was late that evening, I gather, when you were called in?”
“Near midnight. Mrs. Lucovich had retired some while before. She usually brings my evening cocoa in about ten. Sometimes as early as nine thirty but rarely after ten. I don’t sleep much anymore, you see, and find those late hours restful. I often read until my eyes tire.”
“And that particular evening?” Julia said.
“I was sitting just here. I’d put down my book.” He twisted to peer at the stack of books beside his chair. “Maurois’s Ariel, a most enjoyable biography of Shelley, quite excellent. I was listening to the wireless program, a silly vaudeville thing broadcast from one of the cabarets. I remember wishing they would switch to music, maybe some nice Chopin or Schumann, something restful. Yes, Chopin, that’s what I was wishing for.”
“The telephone bell must have startled you?” Julia gently prodded a return to the subject.
“Oh yes. But as I say, I was awake. It took a few moments to reach it”—he nodded at the writing desk to his left—“but I tried to hurry, before it could disturb Mrs. Lucovich.”
“What did Mr. Rankin tell you, Dr. Perry?”
“He was agitated, naturally, but he conveyed the details clearly enough. I knew it was a sad business right from the start.” The old man turned to Glennis. “He said your sister had taken her life.”
“Were you surprised that he called you? Not Dr. Pyle?” Glennis was blunt. Julia held her breath, hoping he would not take offense. Her next questions needed to find him in good spirits.
He chewed a mouthful of tea before replying. “I did wonder at the time. I’ve been retired a good eighteen years now, and Dr. Pyle handles the practice entirely. I assumed he was out on another call. If Chester had not told me Naomi was already dead, I would have insisted he telephone a younger man, probably Wendell Forsman or John Pugh, both excellent men not far from you. But as she was already deceased, and it was late, and I was awake and dressed, I thought I would spare those fellows and go myself. And with the nature of the trouble, I could see Chester was calling me because I know you all so well. He mentioned several times that it was a serious matter of some great delicacy. At any rate, I agreed to come at once.”
Dr. Perry spoke slowly. Listening to him involved a great deal of patient sipping.
“When did you arrive?” Julia asked.
“Hector, my driver, brought round the motorcar. I should think I arrived shortly after midnight. Around then, at any rate.”
“It must have been a shock to find Naomi like that.”
“It’s always difficult to find someone who had been so full of life. Your sister was very full of life, my dear,” he said, turning to Glennis.
“Chester must have been in quite a state,” Julia said.
Dr. Perry stared, sympathetic but puzzled. She was about to try another approach when he caught his breath and nodded. “Quite a state. He was pacing back and forth, perspiring heavily. I gave him two grains of Luminal to calm his nerves. He finally sat down and told me how he found her. But I could see for myself what had happened.”
“You mean the morphine tablets?”
Another nod. “The empty tube was still in her lap, poor girl. The glass was right there too, with a little water still in it and some residue, probably a tablet that had fallen and dissolved. She was stretched out as if she’d made herself comfortable first. But it was plain to see what she’d done. The tube confirmed everything. It was a new Parke-Davis tube, containing twenty-five tablets. If she’d taken them all, it would make more than six grains total, far more than a lethal dose.”
“And you saw tablets still in her mouth?”
“Yes, just inside her lip, and a few had fallen onto her blouse. She may have emptied the tube into her hand and tried to down them all at once. Sometimes people do that. I suppose they hope it will happen more quickly that way.”
“Does it? Happen more quickly, with a single large dose?” Julia asked.
“No. One can just as easily swallow a few at a time, over and over. It only matters how many accumulate at one time in the bloodstream.”
She hesitated. She’d already misrepresented Alice’s concerns and now saw no alternative but to plunge further into deceit. In for a dime, in for a dollar. “Miss Clintock worries that Naomi suffered terribly before she died. Do you think she did? I mean, had she been violently ill, that you could tell? Nausea and fever and that sort of thing?”
“Nausea and fever? No, I saw nothing to suggest either one.” Dr. Perry’s forehead wrinkled. “No. I’m quite sure.”
“You wouldn’t expect them with a narcotic overdose?”
“Nausea and vomiting are not uncommon, though one can never say for certain. The usual thing is a metabolic slowdown as blood pressure drops and pulse and respiration slow. Most likely she would have slipped into a stupor. It can be a fairly peaceful death. I suppose that’s why people choose it. Please assure Miss Clintock that Naomi probably suffered little at the end.”
Julia thanked him. “Dr. Perry, you told the family she may have swallowed the tablets by accident. But if she took all or even most of them at one time, wouldn’t that suggest deliberate intention, rather than an inadvertent overdose?”
His smile bore a practiced patience. “Not necessarily. Someone might be so desperate for relief they take a handful, and then another, without realizing what they’re doing. It’s not uncommon, sadly. And when Chester pointed out the absence of a note, I had to agree it was peculiar. It made accidental overdose seem far more likely.”
“Peculiar,” Glennis echoed under her breath. “I’ll say.”
Dr. Perry did not appear to hear, and Julia ignored it. They had reached the most delicate business at hand, and she needed to concentrate. She took a deep breath and tried to sound muddled.
“Dr. Perry, ple
ase excuse me for asking this, but Miss Clintock was wondering why you didn’t order an autopsy. Isn’t it the usual thing with a sudden or unexpected death?”
He drank the cooling remnant of his tea and lowered the empty cup to the trolley at his elbow. The saucer lay forgotten in his lap. A sigh whistled from his lungs. “It’s usual, yes. But not mandatory, you see. Quite a lot is left up to professional discretion.”
Hand shaking, he reached for his teacup. He peered into it for a moment, then looked up in confusion. Glennis refilled it.
Dr. Perry held the hot beverage below his chin. Almost a minute passed before he spoke. “When I suggested an autopsy was the prudent course in such situations, Chester expressed concerns. He felt it was plain enough what caused her death. He said the shock of her actions would be hard enough on the family, and an autopsy would only further distress his wife and young sons. Well, with the situation so clear, and when he reminded me about Naomi’s terrible headaches and so on, I saw no reason to doubt the obvious conclusion.” Dr. Perry took a sip of tea. “We decided an autopsy wasn’t necessary, as there really was no question of the fatal overdose. Mrs. Rankin had already consulted her father, Edgar Branston, on the telephone, you see. Chester explained that Branston knew a great deal about Naomi’s sort of troubles, as he specializes in complaints of women her age, and he felt the situation—her chronic difficulties and discomfort—supported indications of an overdose. Branston’s quite a powerful force in medical circles, you understand. One word from him settles any dispute. I was happy to confirm his judgment.”
“You also agreed not to summon the police?” Julia asked softly.
Dr. Perry considered, eyes on his knees bundled beneath the lap robe. When he looked up, he addressed Glennis. “My dear, you know how important family dignity is to your brother. As the oldest of you children and the only son, he’s always felt an extra responsibility in that department. He was troubled by the prospect of intense interest, some of it no doubt prurient, in the particulars of Naomi’s death. I’ve seen too often the needless pain police involvement can cause after a suicide. We all know how the newspapers can be.”
“But I understood the law requires suicide to be reported,” Julia said. Her knowledge was based on a few minutes’ conversation with a distracted Jack, whose concerns at the time lay more with the movement of his feet and placement of his hands.
Dr. Perry shifted his weight. “Again, there is some room for professional judgment. The unexpected death of an otherwise healthy person, whatever the cause, certainly invites notifying the police. No question there. But it’s different when an ill person dies. As I explained to the family, Chester persuaded me it was at least plausible Naomi’s death was an accident.”
“But not probable?”
“Oh, my dear young lady. I’ve lived too long to rack myself with such hair splitting. Does it matter? In the end I think not. To put it simply, Chester persuaded me that no good purpose would come from either an autopsy or involving the police.”
His words hung in the scented air. Glennis shifted in her chair, and Julia prayed she wouldn’t exclaim triumph, breaking his contemplation. The old doctor had more to say, she was certain.
“I did what I believed was best,” he said. “When Chester asked for my help to ease the family’s pain with this terrible thing, how could I refuse? He assured me the family would be told the truth, and you saw he kept his word there. So I told the medical examiner—Robert Spelzburg, a good fellow, friend of mine—it was a private tragedy, an accidental overdose. As it may well have been, don’t forget. Dr. Spelzburg agreed, as a favor to me, to leave it at that. You Rankins have been good friends to this city. Neither of us saw any reason to prolong your ordeal.”
He shuffled a hand toward Glennis, then dropped it to his quilt-covered thigh. “I know you grieve for your sister, my dear. But we must think of the family’s suffering too.”
Glennis tried to reassure the old man, but her smile was more of a grimace. Everything he’d said confirmed their suspicions of Chester’s manipulation. Julia spoke before Glennis could blurt out something foolish. There was more she needed to learn.
“You’ve been very helpful, Dr. Perry. But I’m still a bit confused.” She rubbed a round patch in the center of her forehead. “Miss Clintock told us Naomi was quite ill shortly before her death. Apparently she suffered severe stomach pain and a fever. This was before she took the tablets. Can a headache make someone that ill?”
The room was still except for Dr. Perry’s heaving breaths. He leaned forward, tea forgotten, brows beetling. “No one mentioned this before. Stomach pain with fever? Chester mentioned only the headache. It certainly fit, as a reason for taking the tablets, I mean.”
“What would cause—” Julia began.
“Migraine often brings on nausea. But rarely with fever and abdominal pain. Some sort of food poisoning? An intestinal virus? Any number of things might explain gastric trouble. Fever and a headache too? A brain ailment, an infection? I couldn’t possibly say with any certainty.”
Julia spoke as gently as she could. In for a dollar, in for a whole bloody inheritance. It was the principle of the thing she needed to establish, not firm fact. All facts had been destroyed in the crematorium. “It’s a dreadful thought, I know,” she said, “but Miss Clintock worries that if a few tablets were still on Naomi’s lips, maybe she died before she could swallow them all. Maybe they hadn’t yet entered her bloodstream. Maybe her affliction was so severe it killed her before the tablets could . . .” She let her voice trail away.
Dr. Perry pawed at the arm of his chair to pull himself up. Alarm aged him dramatically. “Abdominal pain and fever? Miss Clintock should have told me. If only she’d said something. This raises all sorts of questions. This is terrible. I must have missed something; I must have. I’m an old man. I shouldn’t have gone. I see that now.”
His distress brought a swift tread from the kitchen, and Mrs. Lucovich appeared. “Enough,” she said, motioning Glennis and Julia to the door. “I won’t have the good doctor agitated.”
He raised a hand. “Thank you, but I’m all right. Please, Ermgard. Leave us.” The woman muttered a foreign word and retreated behind the door, where no doubt she remained.
“This puts things in a very different light. I must consider the possibility she died from some other cause. A ruptured appendix. Some kind of toxic reaction, perhaps. Or tainted food.”
He kneaded his right eyebrow with a gnarled thumb. “But evidence for an opiate overdose was very strong. I saw no reason to suspect anything else.” It was a plea, a confession.
Julia eased up from her chair and took one of his hands, limp as laundry. “You have no reason to blame yourself, Dr. Perry. Miss Clintock was probably too upset herself to think clearly. You’ve been an immense help, and we’re deeply grateful.”
That was a profound understatement. He had just confirmed her theory that Naomi might have died before the tablets could kill her. That alone didn’t spell murder, but it opened wide the gate to that possibility.
He blinked and kneaded her fingers.
Seeing color return to his cheeks, Julia risked her last but most crucial question. “One final thing, Dr. Perry. Are you quite sure she’d been dead for some time before you saw her?”
His voice quieted as he regained his professional footing. “Rigor was half or more advanced. Under the room’s conditions that meant several hours. At least eight. More likely ten. She was dead before evening. Of that, at least, I am certain.”
Alice Clintock rose so quickly from the Union’s worktable that her chair fell over. She tucked a wrinkled handkerchief under her waistband and rubbed at her cheeks. She looked wan, but whether from the cares of Union business or the surprise of their visit, Julia couldn’t say.
“We’re sorry to interrupt,” Glennis said. “Could we talk with you for a minute?” It might have passed for a casual overture, as they’d planned in the taxi coming from Dr. Perry’s, if she hadn’t ad
ded, “In private?”
Alice instructed the other women to continue folding the materials laid in various piles across the table—a newsletter, judging by the cheap newsprint and large grainy photograph of Naomi—and led Glennis and Julia to the back office. As soon as the door closed, she said, “Did you find it? Her note?”
Glennis handed her the letter they’d found in Chester’s folder Saturday morning.
“I knew it,” Alice said at once. “Does he know you found it?”
“No. You’ll need to copy it so I can put it back before he sees it’s missing. I would’ve, but there’re too many words I can’t make out.”
Alice eagerly scanned the spiky handwriting. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Rankin. This means everything to me, to us. I know we can’t publish it directly as she’d have hoped, but I can borrow her words to assure our friends she died a hero, concerned more for the cause than even her own health at the end. That ought to inspire women everywhere to join our fight.”
Alice pressed the letter to her breast. “You’ve both been kindness itself. I doubt our paths will cross again, as I need to remove my last things from the apartment this weekend. Thank you for your help, most sincerely, from all of us.”
She was right. It was hard to imagine where or when they might again encounter each other. Julia had to push ahead with her half-formed thought. “Alice, before we go, I wonder if I might ask a quick question. On the day Naomi died, did you feel peculiar too? I mean, were you ill?”
Alice moistened her lips. Once noticed, the scar at the corner of her mouth was prominent. She folded Naomi’s letter and smoothed it against her hip. “What are you suggesting?”
“I’m simply wondering what caused her to fall ill that day. If she was prone to headaches, and to indigestion as you describe, why was it so much worse that day? Could something else have been bothering her? Something she ate or drank, perhaps?”
Alice studied the floor. “It’s possible. I’ve gone over the scene countless times in my head, Miss Kydd, and I just don’t know. To answer your question, no. I felt nothing unusual. But Naomi and I rarely ate the exact same meal even when we dined together. I’m afraid I don’t know what she ate that day or even where.”